The siege of Leningrad was the longest siege in the history of modern warfare. It lasted 872 days but is colloquially known as the 900-day siege. Leningrad’s population of 2.5 million was decimated to 800,000 by German and Finnish forces during Operation Barbarossa. This operation was primarily designed to create lebensraum (living space) for Hitler’s Third Reich, capture the resources of the USSR and to annihilate the Slavic people of the east. In this piece, I will weave together the daily events of different groups of people during this period of great conflict.
* * *
Monday morning. Brief cracks of gunfire arouse the denizens of the city. Worn down soldiers hastily reply with their own barrage of lead. A crowd of well clothed women stream out of their houses, hiking through snow and compacted ice. Each holds a faded ration card, entitling them to a grey lump of bread. Some devour it immediately, their immense hunger satiated for a few blissful seconds while others trudge back to their homes, hoping to feed their frail children. They ignore the decayed bodies that adorn the streets. Some resort to eating rats, frayed tires and chalky insulation. But that only lasts so long.
Suddenly, on the opposite end of the street an old woman of skin and bones roars. She has discovered a prize like no other. The women run, viciously pushing their way through the masses of people. The old woman is thrown aside, her sudden burst of strength subdued. They circle around a horse. A beautiful chestnut mare, with a rich black mane. Dead. The women, like surgeons, carefully carve the flesh of the horse, selecting the most succulent meat. A bone is removed, smashed and the marrow is distributed. The women return to their houses, renewed vigour in their eyes. Another day in Leningrad.
* * *
Across the city a group of boys run effortlessly around the city. It seems the siege hasn’t affected them at all. Young Ivan takes the ball and dances around the opposition scoring a well-earned goal. He slides along the ice, burning his legs in the process. He dreams of playing football for one of the city’s most prestigious teams, Dinamo Leningrad. They continue to play, gleefully shouting as Ivan’s pet dog Zaza saves a goal. Breathless, they decide to conserve the minuscule energy they have and return home. They part their own ways; however, Ivan decides to visit his brother, who is stationed at the North Outpost.
He straps on a velvety, fur hat and begins his journey. Deserted shops and the smell of death cordially greet him as he passes. As the landscape darkens and the sun prepares to take rest, he is stopped by a group of men. “What a majestic dog you have there young sir” an older man says. “A German Shepherd if I am not mistaken,” snarls another, younger man.
“A fine dog like that could feed us for days couldn’t it? You wouldn’t deny us a meal would you?” The younger man pulls on Zaza’s chain, who ferociously barks and bites his leg. Ivan instinctively runs, the outpost is only a couple of hundred metres away. Two more men appear before him and brutally beat him until he falls unconscious. They carry him back to their den cheerfully greeting a soldier. That evening they feast on a shank of dog and Ivan is never seen again. Another night in Leningrad.
* * *
Group D, Battalion 73 of the South Patrol group walk in tight formation, armed with standard, polished rifles. They gradually move towards the frontlines from the inner city. There is a ghostly silence in the group. Each soldier sports a sombre expression. It is clear they are joining the next assault. "It is suicidal!", one shouts, as the others nod in agreement. On this crisp morning they are asked to return their ration cards, clean their weapons and to polish their boots. It starts to snow. The snowflakes, like tiny daggers attack the soldiers, burning their skin. They march rhythmically, joining other lifeless battalions. The unforgiving Siberian winter denies them the use of vehicles.
They approach the battlefield, grimacing as a shell explodes behind them. They trudge on, their feet already numb with cold. Deserted, armoured vehicles house decaying German soldiers. A rotten corpse ripped in two lies under a tank. A stray bullet hits a member of the company. He screams with pain and writhes on the icy floor. The soldiers continue, dutifully awaiting their captain’s orders. Someone breaks rank and is immediately mown down by multiple members of the company. Treachery is not accepted in any capacity. The soldiers take cover in a man-made trench. Some pray for mercy, asking for forgiveness. Others sit with brutally plain expressions. The captain blows his whistle, and the ranks break into three groups. They scurry out of the trench like a pack of disturbed rats. The cacophony of the battlefield is drowned out by the sounds these young men charging towards certain death.
Group E, Battalion 13 walk in tight formation. Their captain regales them with tales of victory on the battlefield. "The Russians are victorious" he exclaims. He lies. His words are poison, disguised as nectar. The soldiers greedily lap it up. Another assault in Leningrad.
