Eastern-Front
Warning, the following contains possibly objectionable material, reader discretion is advised. Copyright Leslie Rashana.
- * * Excerpts from the journal of Leftenant Karl Hautinfaust, AWOL. December 7, 1942 It has been three days since my squad and myself were separated from the rest of the Regiment. Our rations are running low and the terrain affords little shelter from the cold winds. I know it is treason to think much less write this, but Heir Hitler must surely be mad to have ordered us to press the invasion during the Russian winter. I hear shelling in the distance, the men want to go and investigate but I have ordered them to stay put. I fear what would happen if the lines we were to approach should prove to be Russian and not German. December 8, 1942 We have been most fortunate this day. We found an overturned and abandoned heavy wagon, obviously from a Russian supply train. It's team was still tangled in their hitchings. Blast craters were nearby leaving little doubt why they would abandon it so quickly. Feeling pity for the poor animals I ordered the men to cut the horses free from with their bayonets. The horses, a 4-mare heavy draft team, helped us unload the wagon with little urging as if in gratitude. It was a treasure-trove; Food, warm clothing, fire-starting implements and fuel, even a large cold-weather tent. The team helped us pitch the tent after I ordered that we would camp here indefinitely, my men need time to recuperate from their ordeal. December 8, 1942 Supplemental... I am writing this outside the tent by lantern light in the lee of the tent, I do not think I can bring myself to go back in there despite the cold. I was awoken tonight by strange noises elsewhere in the tent. I had noticed that many of my men were sleeping close to where we allowed the mares to rest, not being so cruel as to force them to sleep out in the cold. At first I believed they were just doing this to stay warm from the mare's body-heat, but that was not the case. I heard moaning coming from these clusters of people and horses, in voices both human and equine. I hastily got dressed and made my way outside, as the moonlight came in through the open tent-flap when I exited I could see them writhing under the heavy blankets we had liberated. I can still remember the newsreels, admonishing us as perfect Aryan's not to pollute our bodies by laying with The Jews, or The Negroes, or The Asians, or the new servant races who look so human yet are still clearly animal. Yet these mares, Russian Mares at that, seem so compelling. I do not fault my men for falling to their baser instincts in these trying times but that is all the more reason why I as their commanding officer must remain pure to serve as an example, though I grow more and more uncertain as to what example it is I should provide. One of the mares has come outside to speak to me. She says something in Russian which of course I do not understand. She continues to stand there expectantly as I write this even after I wave her off and I find myself tested even more as she stands in the moonlight. Tall and strong, yet soft and smooth in so many places which scream in my mind of womanly beauty. She seems curious, as to what I am writing or why I refuse to come inside I am not sure. She peers over my shoulder but she is so sweet and gentle I am loathe to shoo her away, even though it becomes more and more difficult to write with her large and matronly [CENSORED] pressing against my back. I fear that this is one war I may loose, her heavy arms are closed around me and she is grooming my hair as horses often do with their own kind. I find this strangely soothing despite all that I was taught telling me to forcefully reject her. Now I must put pen and paper down; when next I write is when it will be known who has won, what I was taught or what I do now feel. December 12, 1942 A truly rapturous day dawns, I awoke in the soft and warm embrace of my [CENSORED], Nadia, and could not imagine anything not being right with the world. I have been woefully neglecting this journal for sometime and felt compelled to update it. We have since learned the names of all of them. Nadia, who is head of the team and has provided me with a pillar of strength during this troubled time. Katrina, who's firey [CENSORED] has kept many of my soldiers warm on these cold Russian nights. Anna, who has been doting over myself and my men in an almost motherly fashion, when she is not engaged in [CENSORED]. And Natasha, who has been anything but shy with her outrageously well-developed [CENSORED]. Our days have been made busy with almost domestic chores that in the end not only provide us with the means of survival, but keep us in a surprising state of comfort despite our situation. Our nights are filled with [CENSORED] with our new equine friends. I and all my men would be very sad to see them leave and I worry about what would happen if we were to take them back to our own lines; perhaps, we should not go back at all? End Excerpt This Journal was found in an abandoned campsite eleven miles south of Stalingrad. We have of course censored it to minimize it's capacity to cause social and moral damage but still it clearly indicates how harmful the influence of the culturally backward Soviets can be. I know, I find the actions hinted at within these pages repugnant as well but we must know the enemy if we ever hope to overcome them. Hail the Fuhrer. Office of the Media.