"Beginning of a WW2 short story. Somewhere in the USSR" Topic

This is a pretty quick first draft so might be some grammar issues.
The full story will be in the 3000 word range. Let me know what you think.

It was still raining. Of course it was, it had been raining for a week straight. He tried to peer around the corner of the wrecked tank, but the downpour made it hard to make out any details. There was no mistaking the the sound of the MG42 firing sporadically from the barn. The Germans were dug in good and it didn't seem like they were intending to go anywhere.

He looked back at the men huddled behind the smouldering tank and frowned a bit. It had been a year and he still felt strange knowing that these kids were looking to him for guidance. The faces of the squad were tense and anxious. They were waiting for him to give them their directions and for him to tell them it was going to be fine.
If only he'd had some dry cigarettes. How had he even ended up in this place? Like several of his friends at college, they had enlisted when the Germans attacked the Soviet Union. They'd have been drafted in any event, but their teacher had urged the class to join the army and defend the Motherland.
He hadn't been that great a student. Heck, he wasn't even that great of a communist. Yet here he was. For some reason, soldiers would follow him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots in the mud. Looking up, he saw Alexei approaching, crouched over to avoid drawing attention to himself.
"What did you find?"

Alexei held up his hand for a moment to catch his breath, then spoke in his familiar raspy voice:
"There's an old trench on the east side. If we went through there, I think we could come up on their side". Alexei always motioned with his hands when he talked and this was no exception.
He bit his lip and looked back at the men, then nodded. It was better than trying to take the fascists on from the front and the Captain had made it clear that they needed to take this position before soon. All along their retreat, the fascists kept leaving rearguards behind to buy them time and this was no different.

If they were this tenacious on Soviet soil, how would they fight when we reach Germany?

"Okay, we're moving out. We'll go through that trench. Bring extra grenades and follow Alexei". He gestured to the squad and they began getting to their feet, cold fingers picking up rifles yet again. Alexei ran across the muddy field with the cold, wet men following him one at a time in a single file.
He waited until he was sure the entire squad was on the move, then rolled to his feet, wearily and painfully. It seemed every day was a repetition of the last; One more gun, one more trench, one more fascist to fight.

As they reached the trench, the men cursed quietly as they slid into it's muddy, watery confines. "Damn you Alexei, you didn't tell me it was full of water" he spat.
From the front of the line, the young soldier grinned at him "Comrade, it's been raining for many days. Besides" He gestured around him "No machine gun bullets here".

He shook his head and motioned the squad onwards. At least the trench seemed to have been abandoned without much fighting. Wading through the mud was bad enough without stepping on the remnants of dead soldiers.

After a few minutes, Alexei indicated for them to stop at a corner and waved up the Sergeant. He slowly made his way to the corner and peered carefully over the edge. At the closest point, they'd have to cross 3 or 4 meters of open ground, then they'd be at the side of the barn. Occasional rifle fire could be heard from both sides, some of the men in the platoon must be firing at the Germans.
They'd have to be careful not to get hit by their own fire. Those bastard Ukrainians never knew what they were aiming at.

Turning around, he surveyed the men and mentally went over who could be trusted to succeed with each task. Their eyes were wide as they waited for his instructions yet again. They all trusted him to get them through this alive and he didn't like it one bit.
The squads sharp shooter would stay here to try and pick off any fascists that showed in the windows. 2 men would take the machine gun a bit further down the trench and discourage any enemies that might be lurking out there. 2 men would go around the back of the barn and throw in a couple of grenades then he'd lead the last 3 through the door to overrun the fascists.

"Everyone understand?". His inquiry was met with mumbles and vague nods. Angrily he asked again, much sharper "Everyone understand what the hell I am telling you?"

This time they nodded vigorously. It was scary,they'd gone through this so many times, it felt like a routine. As the men moved to prepare themselves for the action ahead, they moved with an almost complacent familiarity. It worried him and yet he envied them at the same time. If they died, would they even realize they were dead?

He shut out the thought and checked the drum on his sub machine gun. He knew it was full of ammunition but the ritual helped assure him, and the unit commissar was very particular about keeping their kit in good order. They had resented him for it but now it seemed natural.

Interesting – you might want to bring in a few things like if it hot or cold – I presume cool but not clear

Also, I don't know how long tanks smolder in the rain

Looking forward to more to come!

Do you personally know any Russians? Do you personally know any Russian combat veterans of WWII? You might want to write about people you know better.

But did he get it wrong?

The monologue sounded American to me, sprinkled with an occasional 'fascist' or 'comrade', not like Russians I have known. No one in the USSR in 1941 made speeches or volunteered for anything – that had all been Purged out of them by design. Anyone who called attention to himself wound up in a labor camp.

"When the war broke out so unexpectedly we could hardly believe it. In our shock we stopped going to class, instead gathering around radios for every scrap of news, while we waited for the orders that we knew would come. On the third day of the war we were mobilized for labor, told to pack one bag and report to the train station. Four days later we were ordered out of the train cars into an open field in Kazakhstan. For a month and a half we picked cotton. At first we slept under the open sky. Later we were allowed to build wooden shelters to keep off the rain. The food was terrible! Nothing but watery barley gruel with sometimes a few cabbage leaves floating in it. We thought we would starve. After the cotton was picked we were all drafted into an anti-aircraft regiment…"

That's a Soviet war memoir.

I know quite a few russians though none that are veterans though I've read a few books that were written by russian veterans though the titles escape me now (they were translations into Danish) which I was trying to emulate, though more introspective than they tend to be (most of them were very straight forward and focused what was going on).

They seemed to use "fascist" quite extensively though again, that could be translation. A coworkers grandpa was in the military and she says he used fascist about pretty much anyone they fought in ww2 and beyond.

In the end though, I am more steeped in American culture than Russian one, obviously.

That no one volunteered is incorrect, though most were drafted before they had a chance to do so. This is set during 44 or so though, when the germans are generally on retreat.

you have no comissars in 1944, as comissars' institute was officially dismissed in 1942.

Also,the soldiers were typically calling their opponents "nemtsy" (germans), or "fritzy" (Fritz). "Fascists" were mostly in papers and official documents, more precisely "nemetzko-faschistsliye" i.e german-fascists.
Using of "comrade" was mostly reserved for official speech – i.e. "comrade captain". Between themselves, the soldiers would very unlikely use "comrade"….
And there were plenty of volunteers, especially when the front line was moving to large cities. Also the boys were often trying to add a couple of years to be able to fight. My only relative who is still alive was able to get into army at 16.5 years…

Was the commissar position reinstituted later?

The books I have on cold war Red Army discusses political officers being a thing, but were they called something else later then?

Appreciate the feedback Barin.

No, idea was to have a single chain of command – always. The function of politrabotnik (i.e poliyical officer) was a bit different to commissar's function – he was to read the newspapers and Informbyuro information to soldiers, check soldier's morale, watch for signs of "treason", but this was later handled by different officers. Typically a common politrabotnik was fighting with his unit – he was equivalent to battery commander in artillery, could lead a squadron of planes – depended on his qualities and size of the unit.
In cold war time political officer was called "zampolit" i.e. short for "commander's deputy for political work", in small units he was also a chief of local CPSU structure. In many cases they were reporting through KGB structure. Again, they could be good combat officers, but normally other ofiicers were uneasy about them…

Okay, that explains the confusion then. Thanks!