(and yes i know it probably isn't historically accurate either) Present for you if you read the whole thing Stalingrad
As far as could be seen from one end to the other, there were rippling waters reflecting the early morning sun coming from the east, and the beautiful cloudless sky above the river. The wonderful clear sky seemed a paradise on Earth. When it was looked upon it seemed that there could never be any wrong in the world. But how extremely wrong that futile concept was. For the image was obstructed and disturbed straight ahead. For the waters became a perilous red, the wreckage from hundreds of boats floated in the water, and there was so much smoke it seemed the sun was not even shining upon that portion of the Earth. It was like a small portion of Hell put within Heaven, but the large heaven around was not the focus, for all was happening in the desolate, murky place.
Beyond the river lie the very ground of Satan himself it seemed. There were ruined docks, nothing more than some mere oak planks, blackened by the destruction around them. They were connected to a land of chaos, for sloping gently up from the water, coming in contact with the docks, and continuing upward was a slope of doom. A perilous incline riddled with the decay of hundreds, perhaps thousands of bodies. Among them were tattered banners which might have once been red, with a yellow symbol in the upper-left corner, but were now just blackened, torn, pieces of ugly dark gray cloth, with various hints of a obscured red in small spots. These pieces of torn cloth were usually attached to a dark brown pole, stretching down to a cold clammy hand of a soldier, obviously shot in the head, for dried blood could be seen all over the face and a gaping wound near the center of the forehead. It was a wound that could only be made by a sniper rifle, a Scoped Mauser Kar98k to be specific.
But these were only some of the bodies, for past the slope there were many more. Beyond the incline lay a once magnificent city, now riddled with bullet holes. Not one building could be seen that was not at least partly destroyed. The top of almost every building had seemingly been sheared raggedly off, as if Death had taken a large scythe, and swept it over the city, back and forth. The outside of the remaining walls of the buildings were blackened by constant shelling of artillery, shots from T-34, Panzer IV, Elefant, and Tiger tanks, and by the many fires burning within, and on the outskirts of the buildings. The interiors of the buildings had received much the same punishment, furniture, clothes, statues, and other trinkets were scattered everywhere among blackened and collapsed floors.
The beautiful, once magnificent city was corrupted by the horrible tides of war. This stunning city named after the very ruler, Joseph Stalin, was ruined, but the fighting within had not yet ended. For this was Stalingrad of the USSR, lying to the West of the Volga, and within the limits of the city the fate of the world was being decided. It was the Soviet’s last defense against Hitler, and if it fell, then all would be lost, for Russia would fall, the Western Front would fall, and Africa would be taken control of, until the whole world was under the fascist reign. This one heap of ruins was the very heartbeat of the world, and it must not stop.
