Stalingrad House To House Fighting Poem by Shaun Cronick

The Germanski filth fearfully shout out Ivan!
Which we always kindly reward with a bullet.
When an arrogant new officer breaks cover,
Our sniper fingers his trigger and pulls it.

He didn't live long
Nothing ever does.
Welcome to Stalingrad.

My shock squads tough, demanding objective is one tall end house,
Defended by die hard Waffen SS armed to the bloody teeth.
My men so dearly love to kill these so called Hitler elite,
Our cold knives will stab them when out of their oiled sheath.

My boys are hardened veterans, and I their kymvzvoda,
A platoon commander, who of Stalin, I'm not a fan.
He killed my older brother in a pre-war officer purge,
I fight for Mother Russia and secretly detest the man.

Night falls, and we blow a hole in the ground floor wall,
We storm the breach twenty strong firing at rapid pace.
They're caught napping, if it sleeps or moves it dies,
We now own the room and the corridor to the staircase.

The staircase, always a staircase, a damn bloody staircase,
A tough nut to crack under constant fire, but not impossible for us.
Grenades, smoke grenades, more grenades, more smoke grenades,
We throw them up under covering fire and feel them all concuss.

We break cover, moving, moving, moving, rushing upward!
They can't see what they're shooting at in the thick smoke.
But we can, we fire full load Shpagin at faint muzzle flashes,
They scream and fall at the sweet sound it's buzz does evoke.

We move on, my men like me, now are blood crazed and honed,
Then a shout goes out, Major we got kids in here, both alive.
The house is now thankfully cleared and we rush to view the kids,
Pitiful, hollow-eyed, starving, a boy and girl no older than five.

Bastards! They wouldn't let them go, just fun to see them starve.
Myself and my men in tears, this is why we fight and die for.
Suddenly, we hear the rockets roar fired from our many Katyusha's,
An offensive, as we feed and sing lullabies to the little babooshka's.