City of Fate (8 page)

One of the soldiers sitting on the floor exchanged a glance with his friend and got to his feet, his rifle pointing in the same direction. Peter’s scalp began to itch. It started off as a little niggle just above his ear, and stretched into a full-blown, head-thrashing kind of itch, where it felt like every hair on his head was being tugged by hungry lice.

Meanwhile, all Yuri could do was wait with the sergeant and his corporal, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. He
asked, ‘If something happens, can we fetch him back straight away? Will we be able to hear him if he needs us?’

The sergeant kept himself too busy to look at Yuri, taking his time to find a cigarette in his pocket and then begin a second search for his box of matches, eventually saying, ‘Oh … sure, sure.’

Yuri was not comforted by this answer. It was as if he had asked if the sky was blue, and the sergeant hadn’t bothered checking outside to discover that the sky was actually grey with dark clouds; he’d merely said blue since most people believed that blue was the nicest colour for the sky, and, therefore, the nicest answer of all.

Yuri sat down to wait but then stood back up again.
Needing
to move around, he walked over to a window to gaze through it.

‘Wouldn’t do that, son,’ warned the sergeant, as his
corporal
seemed ready to tackle him to the ground. ‘There are snipers everywhere, especially in this area.’

Feeling more than a little embarrassed, Yuri returned to where he had been sitting. ‘Sorry!’

The sergeant settled himself onto a few of the bigger bricks and began to blow rings of smoke towards the sky. ‘It’s all about learning lessons, at the end of the day. What’s your name anyway?’

‘Yuri. Yuri Bogdanov.’

‘Well, Yuri Bogdanov, have you heard of the legendary
Vasily Zaitsev, our top sniper?’

Yuri replied, ‘No, sir.’

The corporal, who had been watching him rather
suspiciously
, asked, ‘Do you know what a sniper is?’

Blushing guiltily, Yuri hated admitting, ‘Well, no. Not really.’

‘Huh!’ the corporal exclaimed. ‘Thought as much!’

The sergeant smiled at both their sulky faces. ‘Really, Rodimtsev, why would he know? He’s not in the army, is he?’ Taking a puff of his cigarette, he went on to explain, ‘A sniper is a special soldier with perfect eye-sight, a steady hand, a great deal of patience and, of course, his rifle. His job is to hide somewhere, if necessary for days on end, in order to get as close as possible to the Fritzes to shoot as many as he can. He has to lie completely still since any movement will attract the attention of the German sniper who is
looking
, in turn, to kill him.’

Ignoring the corporal’s smirk, Yuri nodded at the sergeant, grateful for the lesson.

‘Now, our Vasily has his own system. He uses a shop dummy, wearing bits of Red Army uniform, and positions it where the Germans will see it. Naturally they think it’s a Russian sniper and they fire at it from wherever they are hiding, in other words letting Vasily know exactly where they are. And that’s how he always gets his man.’ The sergeant took a long pull on his cigarette. ‘Never forget this, Yuri, the
best plan is usually the simplest one.’

A second or two passed while Yuri thought about this and then his eyes flickered once more to the pipe. Noting this, the sergeant asked, ‘How long has it been now, Rodimtsev?

‘Twelve minutes, sir.’

‘Hmm, early days yet, I’d say. Wouldn’t you agree?’

The corporal grimaced. ‘With all respect, sir, you did tell him to take his time.’

His superior blinked heavily and sighed, ‘Yes, Corporal Rodimtsev, I certainly did, because it didn’t make sense to have the child stumble and be riddled with bullets before he had a chance to tell us anything!’

Yuri swallowed a gasp and shot Rodimtsev the dirty look he deserved. ‘Sir?’ A question had just occurred to him and he felt the sergeant just might be able to answer it. ‘When will it – the war – be over?’

The man stubbed out his cigarette on the ground beside him and said, ‘As soon as we clobber the Nazis, Yuri, as soon as that. But I tell you this much, we have to win.’

Yuri was not impressed with being told something that was all too obvious. Of course they had to win the war, what was the point otherwise? The sergeant decided to explain some more, ‘Hitler is overcoming all his enemies, country by country. So, it is up to us to stop him. We have got to win this battle, Yuri. The world is holding its breath because if he takes Stalingrad, it makes it easier for him to take Russia, and
if he takes Russia, then God help us all. In other words, this city is playing host to one of the most important battles ever to take place.’

Too overwhelmed to make a decent reply, Yuri could only say ‘Oh’.

Peter was determined not to move until he really, really had to. He could win this game, he was sure he could, the game of who could stay still the longest. The two soldiers hushed the others and stood firmly side by side with their rifles propped against their shoulders. Peter fancied they looked a little scared too, perhaps they thought he was a ghost. His head was itchy though, getting worse and worse. The only thing he wanted more than anything else in the world was to scratch it, just one quick, hard scratch, that’s all. His fingers ached to do their business. Surely it would be okay. Closing his eyes, blocking out the Germans, he finally gave in, sliding his right hand up to the crown of his head and tearing at it as fast as he could. At the sound of shouting, he opened his eyes again.

Two shots rang out.

Yuri jumped up while the sergeant lowered his head. An expression of genuine surprise flitted across the corporal’s face as he looked over at the pipe’s opening, hoping for an answer.

‘Is that them, the Germans next door?’ Yuri asked,
desperately
wanting someone to contradict him.

Rodimtsev walked over to the pipe, poked his head inside and listened for anything at all. His sergeant lit another
cigarette
and studied his boots.

Yuri stood, petrified, waiting for someone to say
something
. He couldn’t understand the two men; they didn’t seem to appreciate that Peter could be hurt, that those
bullets
could have been fired at him. ‘Sir,’ he asked, ‘what are we going to do?’

The sergeant decided that now was as good a time as any to tell a simple truth, ‘Nothing. We can do nothing.’

Peter was trembling all over, and much too shocked to cry for the rat that had been splattered all over the floor. The two soldiers laughed and shook hands while the boy above them had had enough, he crawled backwards, able to ignore the lice and his dribbling nose thanks to the killing he had just
witnessed. One day he might realise that the rat had saved him from a similar fate. He edged himself back, looking
forward
to seeing Yuri again and to receiving his prize of more food.

‘Listen!’ said Rodimtsev. ‘Someone is coming.’

Taking comfort in the fact that there was no way for a man to fit in the pipe, Yuri stood beside the corporal,
straining
his ears for a hint that the sound of shuffling was
definitely
Peter. He leant forward and was rewarded with the sound of a familiar little sniff. That nose could be completely dry of anything and he’d still have to sniff as if he had a bad cold. Sure enough, Peter’s feet gradually appeared in view. Yuri waited, dazed, fighting the urge to cry out in relief. Muscling Rodimtsev out of the way, he made sure that he was the one to pull Peter out of the pipe. Peter was
triumphant
in his return, though innocent of how narrow his chances had been just a few minutes earlier. He smiled at the three of them in turn.

‘Well?’ said the corporal, impatiently.

‘I saw them!’ was all that Peter would say.

‘Did someone shoot you?’ asked Yuri.

‘No,’ sniffed Peter, ‘it was a rat, but I saw him first!’

‘C’mon, boys,’ said the sergeant, ‘Let’s go back downstairs
for some more grub and Peter can tell us everything then.’

Yuri trailed after Peter as he happily walked ahead of him, his hand in the sergeant’s instead of his own. Rodimtsev was behind him, Yuri imagined the corporal smirking at his back as he watched Peter ignore him for the more exciting figure of the sergeant.