i was balls deep in the s**t.
a mortar shell had gone off 7 yards from me and blown my right eardrum. in the fuzz and catastrophe of stalingrad on october the 3rd, 1942, there was a shrieking pain and a shrieking ring on one side of me, and heinkel one-elevens laying a barrage nine hundred yards to the other.
fritz rolled slowly around the corner of the block ahead of me--if you could call the slabs of demolished concrete and jagged glass with their carpets of black smoke billowing in a concord of suffering 'buildings', he came around it with a panzer, infantry, and a mortar. slowly. tentatively.
I was dug in a crater, mud caked on my face and clothes, and I was separated from my unit. it was too late for me to run. playing dead was not an option; they'd shoot or bayonet me as they passed. within moments, i'd be spotted.
suddenly, a terrible thought dawned on me. i knew that i was going to die--that was a given and i put it out of my mind. i realized that the raspberries i'd had in my lunch had left seeds jammed between my molars.
'f**k,' i thought. 'i can't get a string off my socks to use to floss these out'
so i grabbed my 91/30. over the rattling clatter of the tank treads, i heard fritz shouting in german: "schauen sie, es gibt denjenigen". clearly i had been spotted.
i flipped the bayonet out, and jammed it into my mouth, never happier that i'd kept a wicked point on it. bullets from fritz's mausers thwapped into the dirt above my head. i wiggled the point of the bayonet in between my first and second molars and tried to flick the seed out.
come on, you sonofa#####, i thought.
come to papa.