I'm kind of proud of this, but finished too late by 15 minutes to enter it in the competition. Is it any good? Each line of dialogue begins with the next letter of the alphabet.
“Abraham they’ve blown both of the bridges!” The scout shouted as he leapt back behind the safety of the barricade.
“Both of them? That means the Bolsheviks won’t be able to get into the city,” replied the Home Army Captain.
“Communists have been holed up on the other side of the river for days, they aren’t getting here any time soon,” noted Lieutenant Juliusz.
“Damn,” swore Abraham.
“Even if the Russians break through, it will take them forever to ferry troops across the river,” Juliusz continued.
“Ferries? There are no craft across the Vistula since the war began, and in the cold, swimming is impossible.” The scout’s remark was girdled by a sound like the crumpling of rough paper; only a thousand times louder.
“Gunfire! Hit the deck!” shouted Abraham. The Home Guard soldiers sheltered behind their barricades as a withering hail of bullets erupted from the other end of the street.
Through the smoke, Juliusz saw the armoured bulk of a vehicle turn the corner onto their street. “Hurry, load the PIAT’s.” A trio of soldiers quickly made a scramble toward the anti-tank weapons; loading them under fire.
He leapt over towards his commander, grasping him around the star-adorned armband he worse as a matter of pride. “I don’t think we can hold them.” As if underlining his point, a large part of the barricade exploded inwards.
“Juliusz, they’re breaking through to the south,” shouted the scout, favouring the Polish nationalist over his Jewish commander.
The lieutenant turned towards the company’s sole machine-gunner, “Karl, cover the south.”
“Lieutenant, do you see any way out of this?” Abraham shouted over the sounds of gunfire, and of agonised shouts.
“Many, but few that don’t involve a shallow grave or a bodybag,” replied the Pole as he reloaded his automatic pistol.
“Not greatly appealing,” admitted Abraham, firing blindly over the ruined parapet, into the street.
The damaged barricade caved completely as another explosion rocked the street. Juliusz made it to cover, Abraham did not. “Over here!” he shouted, but the dazed Captain did not respond. He lay helpless and exposed on the street.
Through the dust and debris clouding his vision, Abraham could make out the shapes of his command, dead or dying in the ruins of their post. “Poor men,” he muttered weakly, his thoughts askew.
“Quick Abraham, get over here!” Shouted Juliusz; perhaps too loudly. Soldiers were making their way up the street toward the post.
“Right away, sir,” joked Abraham to his subordinate, as if it had been the Jew’s idea to lie in the middle of the street with Nazi soldiers advancing from either end.
“Stupid fool,” replied Juliusz, grabbing Abraham’s arm as the latter scampered for cover.
“Time to surrender?”
“Unlikely. Polish Nationalist and Jew? I don’t like our chances in their camps.” Abraham said.
“Very unlikely,” Juliusz agreed.
“Well then, if you’ll do the honours...” Abraham passed Juliusz a grenade. The Lieutenant realised the plan as soon as his gaze shifted to the company’s ammunition cache, which lay all but untouched in the centre of the street.
“Xenophobe,” chuckled Abraham in farewell.
“You there, put your hands in the air!” Ordered the German officer who had just seen them. Two dozen of his subordinates stood scattered around the ruined outpost, examining the corpses.”
“Zealot,” chortled Juliusz to his old friend, his tone the same. Both men raised their arms in surrender. Juliusz let the grenade roll from his hand. It bounced across the cobblestones before stopping at the German officer’s feet.
The feet of the German officer who stood next to a rather large pile of ammunition dropped by British planes days earlier.
The street exploded.
.