Fritzhelm jolts awake as he hears a building collapse just across the street from him and his squad's position within the Russian hotel. The hotel is referred to as Hotel Ivan by Fritz and his squad-mates, in fact it was him who coined the name as a joke shortly after they arrived at their then-new position.

The MG-42 gunner sits up slowly, dirt and little splinters of wood from bombardments from the night fall off of him as he raises himself into a crouching position just a couple of feet from a window.

Although Fritzhelm is very content with being a support gunner, he can't help but wonder what it would be like to be in a different branch of the Wehrmacht.

As the thought of being in a different branch tumbles through his mind, another thought slowly makes it way to the forefront of Fritzhelm's focus:

What if he wasn't in the Wehrmacht at all?

Fritzhelm's eyes drift all around the room as he thinks of a peaceful civilian life. Maybe he'd be a rifle craftsman; Fritz's father was a smart man and made sure to teach his son the ins and outs of guns, specifically sporting rifles, at a young age. So, needless to say, being a rifle maker would be a rather enjoyable profession for the tall German.

Fritz smiles as he imagines a normal life: Being able to go to sleep whenever he wants, being able to say whatever the hell he pleases, having a wife, hell- even getting up to the sounds of birds chirping instead of buildings collapsing. The thought of a normal life nearly brought Fritz to tears.

The German slowly scoots his way up to the window he was closest to which also faces towards the building that collapsed just a minute or two ago. Fritzhelm comes to stop just to the left of the window and positions himself to where he has a small vantage of the newly-collapsed building, dust still floating and dispersing.

A sound shoots to the German's ears just out of visible range of Fritz, causing him to lean farther out while crouching.

Three figures take long strides as they carefully maneuver through the collapsed building, trying their best to not slip on any of the rubble. Fritzhelm immediately freezes, trying to contemplate on how to handle the situation.

The German gets on his knees and turns to face the other window before leaning towards it and grabbing his MG-42 from the floor under the window. As Fritz sets the barrel on the windowsill, he notices the figures were beginning to retreat into the buildings that lay behind the rubble, one of them has already gotten behind a wall.

Fritz opens up on the two remaining figures with a long burst and quickly swipes his gun across the area the two soldiers are in, effectively hosing both down.

The first soldier tenses, his shoulders coming up as far as they can while he reaches out for the wall in front of him. Fritz watches keenly as the soldier turns to his left, arm dropping to his side and rifle falling to the ground as the Russian drops suddenly. It was almost as if a boy was finally done playing with a toy and dropped it on the ground, never to pick it up again.

The second soldier, however, immediately turns away from the wall and sprints towards the road between the collapsed building and the hotel, obviously in utter confusion. His arms flail about him as he desperately tries to wave off the bullets or maybe pull the air behind him in an attempt to go faster, but his efforts are in total vein as his injuries quickly catch up to him and he stumbles in the street, rolling several times before coming to a stop in a spread-eagle pose.

Fritz begins to dismount the MG-42 from the sill but stops dead in his tracks as he sees the third Russian in a prone position peaking from behind the door frame. Almost as if it is Fritz's instinct, he automatically pulls the trigger, sending dust flying up around the Russian and forcing the Russian to try and retreat.

The third Russian stands suddenly in a jagged manner, jerking in an almost robot-like fashion, and immediately stumbles behind the wall, out of sight of Fritzhelm.

The gunner stares for what feels like half an hour but is really just a minute before he even thinks about moving. Fritz slowly lifts the MG and lowers it to the ground under the window before turning and pressing his back against the wall, letting out a long sigh as what just happened really sinks it.

Fritz's other German squad-mates in the room stare at the gunner with terrified looks, almost as if he had just burned their mothers in front of their eyes. It's obvious that they were woken up by Fritz's 42 when he opened fire on the Russians, but adrenaline flowed through their veins nevertheless, albeit wasted fighting power seeing as Frtiz killed the three Ivan already.

Fritz looks at Gunther, the second-in-command of Frtiz's squad, and nods at him.

"Time?" The words were dry and hoarse from the cold temperature.

"Three-O'-Clock. Get some fucking rest and wake us up next time." Gunther says, tired and angry at missing out on getting to fire his weapon.

Fritz doesn't respond to Gunther's boldness with him but instead lies with his back to the wall and drifts to sleep.


Fritz's eyes flutter as Gunther gives him a stern kick to his side to wake the gunner up. The tall German rolls onto his stomach and rolls a second time onto his back in an attempt to get his blood flowing and wake himself up.

The German scans the ground once him and his squad have left their third-floor home, his eyes coming to rest on the two Russian men which he killed last night. Fritz slowly approaches, moving his MG-42 to the side to search the Russian man that lay in the road closest to the hotel.

Fritz's fingers tremble as he retrieves a leather booklet from the man's left trouser pocket, fearing what may wait on the inside of it.

And just as he thought, a young girl's face peers out from inside the leather booklet. Fritz stares at the woman who he has widowed for a solid minute before he finally drops the booklet in the snow and marches onward, holding back any sob or mournful wail that builds inside him.

The second man lies with both arms frozen by his side in a stiff manner, his face swollen on one side from where he was hit by the MG. Fritz does another search, this time retrieving a crumpled letter in a torn-open, dirty envelope. The gunner is reluctant to read it, fearing the exact same thing he did when searching the first man, but eventually decides to read it, much to his despair.

From what little Russian he learned form the translator in the month prior to his squad moving into Stalingrad, Fritz could make out several small words like "Mama," "Father," and "Little one,"- Possibly referring to a little sister of the Russian.

Fritz tightens his grip on the letter in both hands,causing a small tear to make it's way down the middle of the paper before the gunner drops it and moves onward.

The third Russian was not hard to find, he simply positioned himself directly to the left of the doorway after being fatally wounded, making the job much easier for Fritz to figure out where the last Ivan was

Immediately after laying eyes upon the dead Russian, tears run down Fritz's dry and cracked skin, leaving visible brown trails as they run over the caked dirt that stains the German as deeps as his actions have.

The Russian must not have been older than sixteen. This soldier- no- this boy's life was taken from him by Fritz. The gunner closes his eyes while facing the body, trying to come up with a story to convince himself he didn't just kill a young child, but ultimately failing to convince himself that he took the life of a child.

Fritz immediately turns and stomps back towards the hotel, MG-42 slung over his back and head low as he enters the hotel. Gunther looks up from a small map after noticing the obvious tear streams on Fritz.

"Fritzhelm, are you OK?" Gunther asks, brows furrowing in concern.

Fritz looks up at him with empty eyes and a slight frown as the recent memories run through his mind's eye at a rapid pace.

"Why can't I have a normal life?"