The Undaunted (Book 2 of The Undesirables)

Chapter 9: The Organ-Grinder

"Down! Down! Down!" Petr yelled. It's all he had time for: three words. Just three words before the MG-42 opened up. So many bullets flew so fast that it sounded like the sky was ripping open.

But three words were enough. They were enough because the men listening to him did what he said: they hit the deck.

The incoming machinegun bullets hammered into the concrete berm, ricocheting every which way. Other rounds tore over their heads, each bullet its own little sonic boom.

Petr kept his cheek pressed to the cellar floor that served as the bottom of the trench. He didn't dare move, but he could see three men squirming in front of him. Were they hit?

No, they weren't wounded, they weren't squirming in pain. They were squirming in panic, like worms, trying to press or dig themselves deeper into the safety of mother earth.

Petr became dimly aware that he was doing exactly the same thing. He hadn't even realized it, but his arms were cuddled to his chest and his legs were twisting against the ground like he was trying to make snow angels.

It was raining bullets. Cartridges were falling all around him. Big bullets, too, a quarter inch thick, long and tapered into sharp points: machinegun bullets. The spent lead projectiles had ricocheted off concrete, spun up into the air, and bounced on the cellar floor.

Petr reached out, hypnotized by the spectacle. He picked one of the bullets up.

It scorched his fingers and he immediately dropped it.

But the sudden searing pain jolted him back to reality. He rolled onto his back and pushed himself up against the edge of the trench. He forced his body upwards until the bullets that weren't bouncing off the edge of the berm were skimming the air just above his helmet.

He froze there. Any inch higher and he'd take a bullet to his crown.

Petr waited. He was still. He was silent.

He was calm.

The men began to notice him. His calm was infectious. They stopped squirming. Slowly, carefully, they picked up their weapons and crawled to the trench edge.

The bullets kept coming.

Kazimir turned the DP light machinegun over in his hands. Dirt poured out of the cylinder drum magazine. He shook it, emptying it, and then righted the weapon. He ejected the cartridge, shook out more dirt, and snapped it back into place.

Petr hoped it would still fire.

Josef ran his fingers over his own weapon, checking the bolt and the magazine. Then he kissed the barrel, closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer.

So much for communist atheism, thought Petr.

And then, suddenly, the machinegun fire stopped.

"Cover me!!!" screamed Petr.

He leapt up over the side of the trench and began sprinting toward second squad's position.

There was a gunshot behind him. And then another. Was it the Germans? Were they shooting at him in the open, like he'd just done to the scarecrows?

No, those were Russian rifles he was hearing, not German ones. And then he heard the "badabadabadabada..." of the "record player" DP machinegun. Despite the dirt it was working just fine.

Petr's men were doing exactly as they were told. They were covering him.

Petr was running too fast. The trench was over a hundred yards away. At his current pace he'd exhaust himself. He needed to slow down.