Lights over Stalingrad

It was a cold and windy night of 6^th August 1943. My guard post as a trooper of the allied forces was on the west bank of the river Volga, a key watchpoint to fire the at the Nazis. A routine 7 o’clock shift was settling at the watchpoint, and I remember how it used to be dark, dreary and deathly a few years before. With the news of the big win for allies getting over posts along the river, duty was somewhat lighter and more liven up.

It’s 8 months after last Christmas and all I can think about is home. My thoughts are heavy about my new born, a healthy boy of 2 months and 16 days. Back at home, I would have taken up the farm if I had not been called to serve the country, being the eldest of a family of 5. My brothers and sisters were in school when I left home in 1940 to my first post in the south borders of England. I was shifted to north France and having won the grounds from German power, I was stationed in Stalingrad, Russia. I got married in the middle of the war in the Winter of 1941, but our happy days together were of so little time as I had to put my duty for the country was put first. I connected with everything happening at home and the farm through letters, all the events and emotions being read out from words on paper.  The last Christmas letter from home had a lot to hold onto, and the urge to go home grows stronger each day like the ice over the waters of the Russian border.

This river Volga washed bloodshed of thousands of soldiers of both German troops and allied troops for the past year. Stalingrad was the last city we had to save from the Germans and by doing so the Allied countries of Great Britain, United States of America and Soviet Russia would win the 2^nd world war. Being alive was gift all this time, but with that gift came a lot of uncertainty of how long a man in war would live. The days of the beginning of the war were ghastly, as I had to be prepared for the worst and without no option but to keep going. I couldn’t sleep over the horrors continuous deaths and blood over grounds everywhere I went. My fellow troopers died, some went missing, I didn’t think deep to each of what was happening as I felt knowing less would lighten all the pain.

The men of the German troops were not only starving but running out of ammunition. Nevertheless, they continued to resist, in part because they believed the Allies would execute any who surrendered. December of 1941 brought the coldest of days I have ever been, but still the German men had not given up.4 years into this war and power struggle, it looked like it would take a bit more than some bitingly cold nights to weaken the Germans. The banks of Volga had bitter winds at night, and to live through the night watch was almost impossible.

Our men were always prepared these nights as each day promised us the big win. This was the final leg of the war. We just had to get through this. It was 11 in the night and we saw the first signs of the light from the east side. Shrill whistles and shouts over posts, all men stood straight and ready. The captain would call “Fire”, when our first post stationed at the very brink of the river signals us. But there weren’t the slightest of sounds of firing to be heard. Or screams. Or shouts. No airplanes circling the sky above us either. Confused, I looked beyond to my left. The sky seemed different, filled all sorts specks of color. The sky was lighting up with purple, green, blue hues and so much of stars. This could be the northern lights, which are a type of natural polar lights which is visible in the skies during May and June. But on an eerie late night of early August, what could this be? Our men were confused yet we looked on along the borders, hoping that the Germans would start fire before daylight.

As daylight swept in, we heard sound of more allied troops making their way to the banks of the river. The news they brought with them was all what I was praying for. The German troops were attacked by our allied forces in Stalingrad yesterday night and our troopers had won. The battle of Stalingrad was the biggest defeat in the history of the German Army and the biggest win for allied troops in the 2^nd world war. The joy of allied victory swept over Stalingrad rapidly. It was a relieving feeling, to know that the world would turn towards better and spread peace, unity across all borders. The relief of the war being over was so overwhelming, knowing all we had lost, all we sacrificed and all we went through to live up to this day. Knowing that the massive bloodshed would end from today was the best news of the day and I knew I could stop fearing of not dying anytime soon. My head started reeling towards my people, finally I could go home….I want to go home.

With all the victory and celebration around, it was quite hard for the wait for the letters to be called off duty and permission to return home. The day passed with leftover beer, dancing and victory speeches being made at watch posts by friends and seniors. By late afternoon the letters came with orders from Royal Army, and I was permitted to leave in the 2^nd vessel to England the following evening.

I couldn’t sleep that night, as my head was busy with thoughts over how the future would be for me and my family. I went out to walk towards my post on the west bank on my last night at Stalingrad and hoping to see the lights in the sky if they showed up again. Sadly, the lights weren’t visible that night.

Years later I feel that the lights over Stalingrad on the 6^th of August 1943 were a sign of good hope and a blessing for all allied troopers on the banks of river Volga. They were the lights which ended the war, saved our troops and called me home.