City of Fate (12 page)

There was a pause before a voice asked respectfully, ‘Where are they being held, comrade?’

‘Why, in the arms of the Germans, of course.’ The NKVD officer smiled to show he was serious. ‘The battle begins here. Get into the city and nab yourselves a German gun. Use your fists, your heads and your feet. Give them the
beating
they deserve, every last one of them.’

Vlad did his best to shut out the horrified whisperings
around him, as his fellow soldiers wondered, ‘How do I kick a man who is firing a gun at me?’ Leo chuckled to himself. He seemed so far away from Vlad, though only two men stood between them. Anton, meanwhile, was doing his best to find the perfect attitude for a Russian soldier. He nodded his head vigorously while trying, as discreetly as he could, to catch the attention, that is, earn the approval of the officer. Watching him, Vlad felt, in spite of everything, a rush of something, like pride or love, for this dimwit bully who was always so annoying back home.

Anton found his voice and began to suggest that it was possible, that what they were being asked to do was possible, ‘I’ve been in loads of fights with fellows twice my size. See, it’s dark, so we can surprise them, can’t we? There has to be rocks and stones. Now, a good rock thrown hard can do just as much damage as a bullet.’ He looked around, hoping for someone to agree with him and was rewarded with a few faces, especially from the tougher-looking men, seeming to consider his words and then shrug in agreement. This never happened in class where he was always on the outside of what was really going on.

The officer allowed himself a brief, tight smile, pleased to see, for the first time, a spark of hope in the men’s eyes, even though he believed that most of them would be dead in another few minutes. ‘Not long, now,’ he said, in a cheerful way that didn’t help.

Fortunately, no one could read his thoughts, so the soldiers concentrated their concern on getting their hands on a gun. How could they have possibly known the horrible truth, that the boats were emptying out hundreds of unarmed Russian soldiers in order to force the Germans to use up their
precious
bullets on them? The officer knew this and did not have an opinion on it; orders were orders after all. It was only fitting that Russian lives be sacrificed in this way for Russia. In fact, the officer, who never bothered to give these men and boys his name, allowed himself to pretend that he envied these soldiers, for they had been especially chosen, almost by Stalin himself, to perform this noble sacrifice – of themselves – in the name of the Motherland.

When the boat was less than twenty feet from the shore, he ordered the sailor to stop, before urging the men into the water. Anton was first out, looking back to make sure he was being followed. Bullets dashed the river all around them while Anton, of all people, seemed to take charge, yelling at his companions to keep their heads down. Vlad welcomed the cold water as it seeped into his shoes and through his trousers, all the way up to his thighs, reminding him he was still alive, in the midst of all this madness. Not all bullets ended up in the Volga; more than a few found their mark; men were falling down dead before they had the time to realise they had been shot. Doing his best to ignore the dead and dying, Vlad concentrated on finding Leo.

‘I’m behind you,’ his friend shouted above the noise and terror.

They clasped each other’s arm, determined to meet their fate together, though, even now, Leo managed to do what he always did – make fun of Anton. As they sloshed their way towards the bank, heads in their chest, trying not to think about the danger magnifying with every step they took, Leo roared, ‘C’mon then! We better keep up with the colonel.’

The NKVD officer was last out of the boat. He yelled at the men in front of him over the explosions and gunfire, ‘Keep going! Don’t stop for anything. I’m right behind you!’ The few faces that turned towards him, to show they had heard, had his gun waved in their direction. They stumbled on, as fast as they could.

Leo dragged Vlad to quicken their pace. ‘He’s going to shoot the stragglers!’

Vlad had guessed as much too. He hoped once more that he wasn’t a coward, he didn’t think he was. Actually, he wasn’t sure. All he had done in his life up to now was go to school, help his father in his workshop and play football. He had never needed to be brave to do any of that, and he certainly didn’t feel brave now. But, wasn’t he only obeying orders, following Anton because he didn’t want to be murdered by the officer behind him? Did that not mean he was a coward after all?
No
, he thought,
I just don’t want to die here.

Leo shouted, possibly to keep himself and Vlad busy, ‘The
Germans might miss us in the middle of this crowd, but our esteemed comrade and his handgun won’t. So, we’ve a better chance against the Germans, hey?’

Vlad did his best to smile through his fright, answering Leo’s fighting words with, ‘I hope so!’

With that, the two boys trudged grimly forward, not
stopping
when they reached the end of the water and found themselves on land, at last. They kept going, up the banks and onto the grassy embankment. Anton couldn’t hide the relief in his face when he looked back and saw them. He might have called out to them, only he was brutally
distracted
when the man walking beside him had the side of his face blown clean off. The soldier collapsed quickly, without a word, like a dancer taking his final bow. The smell of blood was sweet and heavy in the air.

The group scattered, keeping as low as they could to the ground – at least if they were struck they wouldn’t have too far to fall. It was impossible to see who was watching them, or where they were shooting from. Up ahead was the beginning of a street. Anton could make out bits of buildings, which meant shelter. He pointed at them, silently inviting his friends to join him. Leo allowed himself to be surprised at Anton’s new role in the proceedings, thinking,
I can’t believe I’m following him. But, then again, who else would be stupid enough to lead the way in a situation like this!

Determined to pretend that he was back home playing
football, Vlad decided that Anton was the forward with the football and the first building he could see was the goal. The gunfire was nothing more than the chorus of the home crowd as he and Leo sprinted after their forward, determined to help him score.

There was no doubt about it; Anton was feeling elated. Men older than him were looking to see what he was doing and his classmates were falling in line behind him. This was much more enjoyable than bullying small kids for their pocket money, or scaring the nine lives out of a stray cat. For the first time in his grubby life, Anton felt he was doing something right, something that mattered.

As they neared the street, they began to stumble over the bodies; there were scores of them. Anton heard some of the fellows exclaim, ‘There are so many!’ and ‘Who are they?’

However, this was not the time for questions. Anton led by example, flinging himself at them, scrambling through limbs, this way and that. ‘Look for guns!’ he yelled to
whoever
could hear him.

Of course!
thought Vlad,
Of course!
He got to work
immediately
, Leo at his side. Quickly they shifted through the corpses, feeling around in the darkness for anything they could use.

A gun battle was taking place just above their heads. Russian soldiers were firing on their attackers, trying to give these new recruits a chance to join them.

‘Vlad, here!’ Leo was doing his best to pull a large rifle out of the locked fingers of a German soldier.

Vlad grabbed the hand, bending the fingers open with great effort, one by one. Who would have thought the dead could be so strong? Leo was unbuckling the man’s belt which was full of bullets. A couple of precious moments later and they had their quarry.

Anton, sporting a small handgun and what looked to be a bread knife, was already a few feet in front of them. There was no time to make a second search for another gun, but Vlad quickly scanned the bodies, just in case. And then he saw something he didn’t expect to, something which made him forget he was in danger of being shot dead at any second. It was a young girl, maybe nine or ten years old, it was hard to judge her age thanks to the mess that covered most of her face. Her hair might once have been pretty and maybe blonde. Now it was dark with dirt and her blood. Her eyes were wide open, causing Vlad to reach forward to help her. What was she doing here, in the middle of these dead soldiers? She didn’t blink as he grabbed her hand. It was freezing, so thin and so small. ‘Little one, are you okay?’ Vlad ignored his name being called over and over as he tried to pull the child from the ground. She didn’t answer him, her eyes only stared and stared, hypnotising Vlad with their emptiness.

It was Leo who broke the spell, pushing his gun into Vlad’s
side. ‘She’s dead! They’re all dead! We have to go now or we’ll be dead too!’ Not giving Vlad a choice, Leo caught hold of his friend’s sleeve and shook his arm until he released the girl’s. Then Leo dragged Vlad after Anton, not stopping once, nor taking one step back.

BREAD FOR YURI AND PETER

P
eter looked very glum, his head bowed as he kicked away any pebbles that dared to stand in his way. ‘I’m hungry!’ he whispered for about the tenth time since they left the basement.

Yuri was hungry too but what was the use in
complaining
. ‘I’m not your mother,’ he snapped bitterly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he was sorry for them.

Peter seemed not to have heard. He kicked another stone and didn’t even bother to see how far it would roll, ‘Where are the soldiers?’

‘How should I know?’ Yuri was tetchy and irritable, and Peter was really getting on his nerves. Everything was. That’s
the bad thing about kids his age; they don’t worry about anything. Yuri, on the other hand, had to do all the worrying for the both of them. For instance, should he be looking for the sergeant and his soldiers again? What they made Peter do was so dangerous. Thank goodness it worked out fine and they both got fed, but today Peter was in a bad mood, and clumsy with it. Already Yuri had had to steady him twice when he lost his balance, either out of hunger or tiredness.

But if they didn’t bother with the soldiers and their bribes of sausage meat, they were going to go hungry again. There would be nothing to eat until Tanya came back, and that might be nothing more than a few crusts. What else could they do for food? Apart from not wanting to listen to the moans of a hungry Peter, Yuri was determined to find
something
to bring back. Surely Tanya would regret her decision to have them move in if there wasn’t enough to eat for her mother and herself. He couldn’t bear the thought of her asking him and Peter to go back to sleeping in the tunnels or, worse still, the sewers. He had an idea. ‘Will we go and see if there are any apples left on that big tree?’

‘No!’ Peter’s answer was definite and Yuri wasn’t going to try and change his mind. Neither of them wanted to run into that mad woman with her dead baby. Peter must have felt obliged to provide a proper explanation because he added, ‘She’ll only try to eat me.’

Yuri didn’t bother to argue. They continued on in silence
until something built up inside Peter causing him to blurt out, ‘I want cake!’ He started to cry, although there were no tears in sight.

The small boy’s sorrow was so dramatic that Yuri couldn’t help himself; he started to laugh.

Peter was shocked. ‘Why are you laughing?’ The pain in his voice was real, dampening Yuri’s fun.

‘I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. I mean, when was the last time you had cake?’

Peter’s faced creased up like newspaper, and tears
threatened
this time as he yelped, ‘I don’t know!’

To soothe him, Yuri agreed that it was all so stupid, ‘We should be able to have cake if we want.’

Peter peeped up at him, full of hope. ‘Can we?’

Now it was Yuri who wanted to cry. The last cake he had eaten was his birthday cake, shared between himself and his mother. How he wished that she would suddenly appear. It was scary not knowing what to do, or what was going to happen.

It was then, despite all his worries, all the hundreds of thoughts racing through his brain, that Yuri noticed the smell. He stood rooted to the spot as if a door had been slammed in his face.

Peter was sulking too much to care about what he was doing, or, at least, that’s what he wanted Yuri to think.
However
, when they didn’t move after a few seconds he pouted,
through down-turned lips, ‘What?’ Just that: ‘What?’

Against his better judgement Yuri told him the truth. ‘I can smell freshly baked bread.’ He closed his eyes as if this would improve the strength of his nose and opened them again when Peter leant his head against his arm and asked, ‘Can we have some?’

It was a sensible question; Yuri just had no idea how to answer it. They were on an empty street in the older part of the city, where the roads were shorter and narrower. The shooting had been fierce a few minutes ago, so he had walked them away from it, never expecting to lead them to
smelling
fresh bread.
Where is it coming from? Is it in the wind?
Yuri hadn’t realised he was talking out loud until Peter sniffed, and said, ‘I can’t feel any wind.’

Like every other street they had ever walked in, the
buildings
were broken and smashed. The few walls which were still standing were completely blackened by the fires that had raged for weeks on end. Nevertheless, Yuri was sure that there were ordinary people living here, somewhere. Then he heard a whispered exclamation, ‘Why, it’s just two boys.’ Rightly or wrongly, Yuri called out a quiet hello. If there was food to be had, he was willing to risk looking stupid. He was instantly shushed, but from where he couldn’t work out. Peter put his hand in his while Yuri hoped they looked as young and as miserable as they felt. He scanned the
buildings
either side of them but couldn’t detect any movement
whatsoever, although he could still smell the bread, which prevented him from going anywhere.

To his horror, the lid of a man-hole, that was a few feet in front of them, shifted slightly. He jumped, forcing Peter to jump too, which nearly gave Yuri a fit of the giggles. Peter had a serious expression on his face, but Yuri was sure that they must have looked really daft jumping like that. He shrugged at Peter apologetically as Peter stared dolefully back at him. In any case, they immediately forgot about one another on hearing a woman’s voice urging, ‘Come on, you two. Quick as you can!’ Neither of them moved.

A woman’s forehead and pair of eyes appeared from beneath the lid. ‘Are you alone, just the pair of you?’

Peter nodded before Yuri could think about whether to say ‘yes’ or not.

‘Poor little things! Would you like some bread? Are you hungry?’

They both nodded at that.

Cocking her head, she said, ‘Down you come then, just for a few minutes, alright?’

They ran over to her. She pushed the lid back, telling Yuri to pull it closed after him. Peter went first and was happy to announce, ‘There are steps, Yuri.’

Glancing around to make sure there was nobody watching them, Yuri made a quick wish:
don’t let this be a trick, not like the mother with her invisible dinner.
Surely there was definitely
food here; the smell of bread was only getting stronger and stronger.

It was dark and chilly in the sewer, for that was what they were walking through, beneath the battered street above.

‘We’re just down here,’ said the woman as she padded along.

‘Who else is there?’ asked Yuri, just because it seemed a bit rude not to make an attempt at conversation.

‘Just me and my sister’, was the reply.

She led them into an opening off the main tunnel, down a small corridor and then around a corner, up some steps and there appeared, out of the gloom, a large room which Yuri guessed to be the basement cellar of a house, long gone, just like Tanya’s. The boys felt suddenly shy as another woman stared at their approach while their guide declared, ‘Two waifs in need of bread.’

Yuri was too nervous to smile, just in case he did
something
to make them change their mind about giving them food. However, a low moan erupted out of Peter’s belly,
causing
the women to rush into action. The sister, a tall woman in a grey dress, wearing a purple scarf on her head,
actually
clapped her hands and led them to a table with a white tablecloth on it. Really, a white tablecloth in the middle of nowhere! ‘Rest your bones down there!’

They willingly obeyed. The woman who had invited them strode over to a small counter where, to Yuri’s surprise, and
heady delight, he spied a stove. She opened the door, and the smell nearly knocked him over. Using a towel, she slowly lifted out a tray with two loaves on it. Meanwhile, the sister set out two small plates in front of the boys. They looked like new.

‘Thank you!’ said Peter as he stared at the bread, and then, in a rush of excitement, informed his hosts, ‘I wanted cake but this is nice!’

‘Peter!’ hissed Yuri, frantic that the boy sounded ungrateful and cheeky.

‘Oh dear!’ said the sister. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any cake, child.’

Peter smiled, as if he was bestowing a giant favour on them all, and said, ‘I don’t mind. I like bread too. Don’t I, Yuri?’

Feeling a little embarrassed, Yuri said ‘yes’, while giving Peter a warning look to mind his manners.

The women grinned at one another, taking no offence at Peter’s precociousness. ‘So’, said the taller of the two, ‘at least I know what to call you two, Yuri and Peter. My name is Isabella and this is Sarah.’

Yuri nodded, shook her hand and said, ‘Pleased to meet you.’

Peter watched him and then copied him, word for word, making Isabella smile.

While waiting impatiently for their bread, the boys took the opportunity to have a peek at their surroundings. It was
an odd room, slightly smaller than their basement, with lots of drawings, books and lit candles. In the middle of the table was a small jar filled with flowers which had started to droop. Someone had been drawing pictures of the flowers. Yuri could see them on a chair in the corner, and it must have been when the flowers were fresh because of how straight they stood in the paintings.

Isabella saw him looking at the artwork and said, ‘We have to try and remember the important things, and keep them alive in our mind’. Her sister smiled in agreement.

‘You have a lot of books and things,’ Yuri said. ‘All we have are chairs and blankets where we live.’

Isabella followed his greedy looks at the books in
towering
piles that leant precariously against one another. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘But they’re not ours.’

There was a gasp from Peter, and before Yuri could stop him he blurted out, ‘You stole them?’

The women laughed heartily while Sarah managed to say, ‘Goodness, no! We’re not thieves.’

Yuri wanted to put his head in his hands. Isabella
continued
on from her sister’s cheery denial, ‘They’re from one of the libraries. We’re just minding them until the war is over.’ She picked up one and blew the dust off its cover. ‘When we found this nice place to live, we used to go out looking for things to rescue: books, flowers, pictures or whatever we could find.’

‘Why?’ asked Peter.

‘Well, one day the soldiers will leave and it will be time to build Stalingrad back up again.’

‘Why?’ asked Peter again.

Isabella gave him a gentle smile. ‘Don’t you want things to go back to normal?’

Peter scrunched up his nose. ‘What do you mean “normal”’?

‘Oh, now,’ said Sarah. ‘Isn’t that a good question!’

Peter’s reply was one of genuine surprise, ‘It is?’

Isabella was enjoying the conversation. ‘Tell me, pet, wouldn’t you like the houses to be fixed up, along with the roads, the shops and the schools, you know, for the city to go back to how it used to be before the bombs?’

Peter looked as if he was hearing the most fantastic story. ‘Really, can somebody do that?’

Isabella put the book back in its place. ‘Well, the war can’t last forever and that has to mean that things will get better again. So, we can all look forward to that, can’t we?’

Yuri had guessed what was coming next.

Peter whispered, ‘Do you mean I’ll be able to go home and Mama will be there, like before?’

Yuri quickly opened his mouth to explain, but Isabella shook her head, letting him know that she had guessed it all. Taking one of Peter’s hands, she said, ‘No, my dear. I am afraid that the people we have lost – like your mother and
my sister Maria – won’t be coming back after the war but they will always be with us in our hearts.’

Peter cried softly for just a minute or two. It was the first time that Yuri had seen Peter cry about his mother, and he had to dig his nails into his thighs to stop himself from doing the same thing.

Finally, four thin slices were cut from the first loaf and barely touched with the butter knife. Sarah laid them gently on their plates and then fetched two small glasses of brownish water. Bread and water, it was a banquet. Silence reigned as Peter and Yuri ate and drank, both of them taking their time, wanting to make the meal last for as long as possible. The two women busied themselves as the boys ate. Isabella produced knitting, which must have been in her apron pocket, while Sarah moved the paintings out of the armchair and sat down. She picked up a tin box which was at her feet, and taking one of the paintings, she turned it over. Next, she opened the box and took out a pencil and, with that, began to make marks on the blank side. It only occurred to Yuri what she was doing when he saw her study himself and Peter in turn and then go back to the page, over and over again. So, she was the artist and, apparently, they were her next picture. He pretended not to notice; it was a little embarrassing to have her stare at him. Anyway, he was thoroughly enjoying the bread, the nicest he had ever tasted.

Perhaps to distract them from her drawing, she began
talking about her sister, Maria, ‘She was a bit older than us. We called her “Mother” because she went out every day no matter how loud the guns were, carrying a bucket of soup to feed whoever was hungry. She wasn’t afraid of anything, was she Isabella?’