Zero: A Short Story

Gazing into the landscape of Berlin, I sit propped up by concrete rubble. With my sentry duty over, I smother my cigarette and begin wading through remains of previous battles to get back to camp. Inside the camp the atmosphere was grim, full of depression and malice. There were bodies laying in piles on the sides of the street. Empty bullet shells scattered everywhere. Blood stained pavement as far as the eye could see. The camp was far from welcoming. After being awake for 10 hours I rest my head and quickly drift off to sleep.

The sound of alarms and desperate cries wake me and instinct took over. Fueled by adrenaline, I catapult up, one arm grabbing my MG42 and the other grabbing my stahlhelm. I clamber out of my tent. My body trembling. I look around at
My bullets rip through the enemy's flesh, painting the pavement with blood. Torn fabric flew into the air hindering my line of sight. As the fabric clears I can start to make out Russian sniper aiming in my direction, ready to fire. Before I could react the bullet left the snipers barrel and quickly closes the distance between me, and the sniper. The bullet ripped through my uniform and penetrated my shoulder, tearing flesh and splintering bone. The bullet recoiled me away from my gun. Holding my shoulder in pain, I crouched on the ground, desperately trying to regain the courage to continue fighting. I slowly stood up, gripping the handle of my machine gun and firing onto the soldiers once again. My barrage of lead was quickly put to rest as yet another bullet left the barrel of a sniper. This time it did the job. The bullet hit my neck, severing my carotid artery and just missing my spine. I fell to the hard, dusty concrete floor. Laying in a pool of my own blood, the Russians cheered about their small victory. Disappointed, I close my eyes for the last time, beginning my descent into