Enemy at the Gates Monologues

A Russian and a German sniper play a game of cat-and-mouse during the Battle of Stalingrad.

On the train… coming here… we were in the same car.

I saw you. You were reading and you fell asleep. Oh, I didn't dare look at you, you were so beautiful. It was scary. Afterwards, I couldn't stop thinking about you. It made me smile. And then I thought of all the men who would get to hold you, who would make you laugh... how lucky they were. And now I'm the one lying next to you.

Sad to have a dream you know won't happen.

All these men here know they're going to die. So, each night when they make it back, it's a bonus. So, every cup of tea, every cigarette is like a little celebration. You just have to accept that.

On this day, September 20th 1942, a young shepherd boy from the Urals arrived in the city of Stalingrad on the banks of the Volga. His name is Vassilij Zaitzev. Like thousands before him he came to answer comrade Stalin's call. Armed only with a rifle, he quickly made the fascist invader realise that from now on he would be punished for every step he took in the motherland, that from here on the only way was back.

No! He'll kill you. He'll kill you and then I'll run after you and he'll kill me too. This is what he wants. I'll get him. I promise I'll get him. I'll get his rifle for you. I promise, Tania.

He doesn't know you exist, but at that moment you're closer to him than anyone else on earth. You see his face through the sign. You see whether he shaved or not. You can see whether he's married if he's got a wedding ring. It's not like firing at a distant shape. It's not just a uniform. It's a man's face. Those faces don't go away. They come back and they get replaced by more faces.

He didn't relocate. A sniper who doesn't relocate isn't normal. He was very good. It wasn't just his shooting, it was his instinct. He was a step ahead of me all the time.

We should carry on. We're not tired. Thank you, Mrs. Filipov. These people took the trouble to write to us. Tomorrow we might not be around to write back.

Autumn, 1942. Europe lies crushed beneath the Nazi jackboot. The German Third Reich is at the height of its power. Hitler's Armies are charging through the heart of the Soviet Union towards the oil fields of Asia. One last obstacle remains, a city on the Volga, where the fate of the world is being decided - Stalingrad.