City of Fate Page 8

  ‘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.

  Downstairs, they went to a quiet corner, away from the rest of the men. Sausage was duly presented to the boys, the sergeant making a face at Rodimtsev to let him know that he would be conducting the enquiry. ‘Well, young man, you deserve this. So, what did you see? Do your best to remember everything.’

  Peter nodded as he gulped down the meat. ‘I saw soldiers, and I wasn’t scared!’

  ‘Of course you weren’t,’ said the sergeant. ‘And how many soldiers were there?’

  Peter took a moment to think before saying, in a worried voice, ‘I forget.’

  Rodimtsev exploded with a curse, making the boys jump. His sergeant immediately asked him to fetch him some water. The corporal marched off, looking disgusted with all of them.

  ‘Okay, now, Peter. It’s just the three of us,’ said the sergeant, ‘Take your time and don’t worry if you can’t remember everything. Can you tell me what the soldiers were doing?’

  Peter put on a very proper thinking expression, screwing up his forehead and squeezing his eyes closed. ‘Mmmm. One was talking on a telephone, his friend was holding it for him, it was in a black box. One man was writing in a notebook, he looked sad.’

  ‘Good boy!’ said the sergeant, ‘Was there anyone else there with them?’

  Scrunching up his face again, Peter suddenly remembered, ‘One man had a big, long gun; he was hiding behind the window.’

  ‘Right, lad,’ nodded the sergeant, ‘So that’s three soldiers altogether. Were there more than that?’

  Peter looked at Yuri for help, his face a picture of remorse. ‘I don’t know!’

  Yuri had an idea. ‘Peter, look at the men over there.’

  Peter did as he was told.

  ‘Now, were there more men than that?’

  There was a pause before the small boy shrugged and said, ‘The same. I think.’

  It was enough for the sergeant, ‘Well done, boys, well done!’

  Rodimtsev rejoined the group, presenting the water to his boss, who told him, ‘There’s about the same amount of Germans as us, Rodimtsev, according to young Peter here. They have a phone, so they’re in communication, and one of them was writing. Isn’t that right, Peter?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘That means they’re receiving orders of some kind.’

  ‘The man looked sad, the one who was writing.’ Peter wanted the corporal to know this, and received a brief nod as thanks.

  The sergeant grew brisk; it was time for the boys to leave. ‘Right, off with the pair of you! You’ve both been a great help to us and your country. And you never know, perhaps we’ll run into one another again.’ He strode towards his men, leaving Rodimtsev to escort the boys back through the gap that was the front door. As he scanned the area the grumpy corporal whispered, ‘As quick as you can, back down the street. Don’t waste any time looking back, just keep going.’

  Neither Peter nor Yuri bothered to say goodbye to him.

  THE SMELL OF STALINGRAD

  The train journey was rudely and brutally interrupted by one solitary German plane. Vlad and his classmates stood together in awe as the sound of the engine grew louder, deafening them just before their carriage was sprayed with machine-gun fire. Anton instinctively leapt from his seat just as the old man was knocked sideways by bullets that left hundreds of tiny holes in the roof above them – he was dead before his riddled head hit the warm spot left by Anton’s behind. The brakes shrieked in protest as the driver pulled hard and fast, dragging the battered train to a stop while any number of men were bellowing to one another, ‘Get outside, quick as you can!’ All the boys could do was follow everyone else.

  It must have made an impressive sight, the train vomiting its hordes of passengers out on to the side of the track. Leo instantly assessing the wisest course of action, grabbed Vlad and Misha, assuming Anton to be close by, and made for the ditch, alongside everyone else. The ditch was the only cover around, the landscape doing what it could to provide some sort of shelter.

  The plane crissed-crossed the afternoon sky, shooting and darting the fire that was coming from Russian guns in the near distance. Vlad flung himself in the dip, hurting his nose as his face smacked hard against the ground. His friends pressed around him, their heads bobbing to watch the train being punctured some more. A man in uniform ordered everyone who could hear him, ‘Keep your bloody heads down and dig in!’ With that, men began to claw at the earth so that they could burrow forwards.

  However, there was no need. It proved to be a temporary interruption. The pilot grew bored and sped off to greener pastures, in search of more Russians to kill. The older and more experienced soldiers waved goodbye, with one man shouting out, ‘That’s it? Now that you’ve had your fun, you’re just going to leave us?’ His companions roared with laughter, relieving the tension of the previous few minutes.

  Vlad, Anton and Leo joined in, standing up slowly to rub the dirt from their uniforms. Misha stood too, a little apart from the others, hoping the smell of his urine was lost in the chaos. Seeing the embarrassment in his friend’s eyes, Leo smiled, and shrugged his shoulders, pretending that he too had wet himself. Misha was desperate enough to believe him.

  The order went out, ‘Collect any dead!’

  Men poured back onto the train, finding three bodies, including the old man’s. Not knowing what else to do, the boys took up their former positions, standing exactly where they had been before the plane’s arrival, ready to be of assistance should they be needed. Misha gingerly felt the front of his trousers, while the other two pretended not to notice.

  Anton made a lunge at the corpse of the elderly passenger but lost out to two tough-looking soldiers who were in no need of his help. He stood watching them as they easily picked the body off the seat and moved to the door, nodding his head as if he was well pleased with their work. Finally he got his reward when one of the soldiers felt him staring and barked, ‘Go and get some planks of wood from the bunks in the next carriage. We’ll use them to cover the body.’

  Three hasty burials were performed while the driver readied the train for the rest of the journey. Misha, trying to hide his upset, whispered, ‘But who was he? We don’t even know his name. What about his family?’

  Leo and Vlad exchanged glances, Vlad offering, ‘I suppose his relatives will assume the worst when he doesn’t return home.’

  Misha nodded unhappily. ‘The other two, were they from this carriage?’

  Neither of his friends answered his question.

  Staring out the window, at the freshly dug graves, Misha made a request, ‘If that ever happens to me, make sure someone tells my mother,’ adding almost apologetically, ‘and I’ll do the same for you two and Anton.’

  Leo glanced at him and away again, and said, ‘Yep, it’s a deal!’

  Vlad barely realised he had been about to say something like ‘Don’t be daft, nothing bad is going to happen to us.’ Because, isn’t that what you say to your friends when they are worried about something? Instead he found himself thinking, this is it, we’re soldiers now.

  Anton reappeared, failing to hide how proud he was that he had been singled out for his assistance. He nodded coolly at his classmates, obviously not wanting them to affect his new-found independence, and sat back down on his bloodied seat. Glancing quickly behind him, towards the door, he edged himself along, making room for the men he
had helped. When the door was closed and the train heaved into action, with no sign of his funeral companions, Anton concentrated hard on not looking disappointed.

  Leo, always the quickest to poke fun, asked, ‘Oh dear, Anton! Did you leave your new friends behind?’

  He was completely ignored. Anton, to his relief, spotted his fallen newspaper on the floor and bent down to retrieve it, flicking away the coagulating drops of blood that blotted out some of the headlines, pretending once more to be utterly absorbed in current affairs while Misha continued to look haunted by the immediate future.

  There were no more attacks and only a little over an hour left until their final destination, not that the boys knew that. The train began to slow down for the second time. Misha started, expecting to hear another plane, while Leo said quickly, to reassure him, ‘We must be here.’ Vlad would have preferred the train to keep moving. He didn’t feel ready to arrive anywhere yet. Even Leo rubbed sweat from his forehead and avoided looking out the window for more information.

  If Leo, Vlad and Misha were already feeling a little overwhelmed, it was nothing compared to their feelings as the carriage doors were pulled open. The scene that met their eyes was, quite simply, mad. There were hundreds and hundreds of soldiers, all moving in different directions. They had to queue to get off the train, trying not to trip over each other. Anton had somehow managed to end up standing beside them. His three classmates were too distracted for it to occur to them that maybe, just maybe, Anton was suddenly feeling as shy and awkward as the rest of them.

  Vlad could smell burning and checked the carriage to see if there was something on fire. Seeing him wrinkle his nose, Leo muttered, ‘It’s coming from outside.’

  A few minutes of slow, shuffling steps later and, finally, they were able to jump down from the train. The next thing was to find their sergeant. Misha practically stood on Vlad’s foot, in his determination to remain as close as possible to him. Vlad couldn’t help noticing the strain on his friend’s face.

  The silent group of four took a moment to watch the other soldiers, who looked like they knew each other and knew exactly what they were meant to do. Anton tried to find some of his earlier confidence. He took a deep breath and stuck out his chest, not realising that his innocence was all too obvious as he turned his head, this way and that, like a child in a toy shop.

  He spoke first, ‘Come on, then!’

  ‘Where?’ asked Leo, who was not prepared to allow Anton even to pretend to boss them around.

  Anton shrugged in honest confusion. ‘There must be a sign somewhere,’ he offered.

  ‘Oh, like “Welcome Anton, come right this way”.’ Leo’s nervousness was making him bad-tempered.

  ‘Don’t be silly, that’s not what I meant!’ Anton’s nervousness, on the other hand, was making him patient and, well, nicer than usual. Everyone ignored him, which didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

  ‘Hey, you lot!’

  The boys guessed correctly that this welcome was directed at them. Their four heads swivelled in different directions, to find the source of the voice. Anton was the first to meet the tired face of Sergeant Batyuk, a plump man, with greying stubble dotted across his two chins. His uniform was in need of a wash.

  ‘Are you lot Batyuk’s ducklings, then?’

  They were unsure how to answer this. Only Anton gulped, ‘Sir?’ The man laughed, briefly and loudly. Actually, it was more like a few sharp snorts, one after the other. ‘I’m Sergeant Batyuk and you’re my new recruits, yes?’

  Delighted that he knew the answer to this question, Anton bellowed, ‘Oh, yes, sir! We are, sir!’ He raised his arm to make a joyous salute.

  The other three straightened their backs, but kept their arms clamped down either side of their torsos.

  ‘At ease, lads. You’re not going anywhere just yet. As you may have guessed, you are not in Stalingrad.’

  Sergeant Batyuk must not have realised that this was a surprising piece of news to his young audience. Not one of them had ever visited Stalin’s favourite city before and, therefore, had no reason to believe that they hadn’t reached their famous destination. The sergeant continued furnishing them with information that he believed was already obvious to them. ‘So, we’ve a bit of a walk, about forty miles in all, but we won’t be making a move until it’s dark and a hell of a lot cooler than it is now.’

  It was a hot September afternoon, though the boys hardly noticed the sweat stains under their arms or the beads of sweat on their foreheads. As far as they were concerned, normal stuff like noting the weather was for another time, another place.

  Vlad felt like he was in a completely different country, far, far away from anything he had ever known. He also felt a little bit ashamed of just how glad he was that Leo, Misha, and yes, even Anton, were standing next to him.

  The sergeant issued their orders, ‘I want you boys to walk about twenty minutes in that direction. You’re digging trenches against enemy attack from the air. Meet me back here in two hours. Got that?’

  All four boys nodded quickly and replied in unison, ‘Yes, sir!’ Then they jumped as the train sounded out that it was on its way back again, for more soldiers, with a loud blast of steam.

  Their sergeant rolled his eyes, and said, ‘You chicks will have to toughen up because it’s going to be very noisy from here on in. Okay? If nothing happens over the next two hours, you’ve had an easy start.’ As he turned away, he snorted one more time, ‘And I sure hope you can all swim because God only knows what tonight is going to be like, for the crossing.’

  Misha couldn’t help himself; he had to know more, ‘The c-crossing, sir?’ Immediately, his cheeks glowed red and he panicked over opening his mouth.

  However, the sergeant had run out of time and smiles, snapping, ‘Go and dig trenches. That’s all you need to know, for now.’

  Anton, rather stupidly, saluted the sergeant’s back, while his comrades began to walk in the direction they had been told to. They had barely gone a few steps before Anton passed them by, purposely taking long strides so that he could lead them, or they could follow him. Vlad heard Leo mumble something awful but chose to ignore it. Instead, he pointed to a sign post that read, ‘Lenisk’. ‘Well’, he said, ‘At least we know where we are now.’

  ‘In relation to what?’ smirked Leo.

  Vlad shrugged his shoulders and laughed. ‘I have absolutely no idea!’

  There were posters everywhere, on lamp-posts and trees, urging people to join in the fight for Stalingrad, making them feel they were part of something important, that they were needed just as much as anyone else. This newfound confidence, however, was no match for their corporal, who appeared to take a violent dislike to the boys as soon as he laid eyes on them. ‘OH NO! As if I hadn’t enough problems to deal with, now I have to babysit kids!’

  His greeting confused the boys because he didn’t look that much older than them. Still, he did have his followers, who laughed with him, or for him. It was hard to tell.

  Anton hoped to clear up any misunderstanding, ‘Sir, Sergeant Batyuk sent us to …’

  ‘Yes, dearie, I know. I know everything, don’t I! That’s my job! Now, the four of you drop your gear over there and grab a shovel over here. Then I want you to dig a great big bloody hole beside your things, as fast as possible.’

  It was fortunate that none of them had any questions since the corporal stalked off almost as soon as he finished talking. Anton shrugged off the rudeness, able to accept that this was what being a soldier involved. Misha, however, looked like he was going to cry, while Leo silently removed his coat and bag, dropping them to the ground, where they had been instructed, before going over to a sad pile of ancient, mucky shovels. He grabbed four and brought them back, handing them out without saying a word. Anton pouted, as if annoyed that he hadn’t been able to fetch his own shovel. He was painfully aware that the other soldiers, who were taking a quick break, were passing around cigarettes while lazily watching the new recruits.


  Vlad felt exhausted, although he knew it wasn’t because he was actually tired; it was because he did not want to be here at all. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was half past four: half past four in the middle of nowhere, on a day that seemed to have no end in sight. He detested not knowing the little details, like when was dinner time, where would they be sleeping tonight and what time they would have to get up tomorrow morning. These questions buzzed around his head, like warring planes, as he dug and dug, alongside the others, into the soft, cool earth.

  ‘Cheer up, comrades. Things could be a lot worse, you know. You could be dead!’

  These cheerful words did not actually bring a smile to the boys’ faces but at least the young man who said them did not look at them with scorn in his eyes. Vlad and Leo nodded over at him, while Anton smiled knowingly. Misha was the only one who pretended not to have heard them. No doubt he was determined not to have the mean corporal shout at them again. He kept digging as if his life depended on it, which, one would suppose, it did.

  The German airplanes continued to bombard the Russian army as often and as hard as possible. Jumping into a trench, or any kind of deep hole, was about the only thing a fellow could do to save himself from being blown into a million little pieces, like shattered glass.

  The man scanned the sky overhead. ‘No sign of Gerry yet. Maybe he’ll leave us alone today.’

  Anton practically jumped into the air, so excited was he to be able to contribute to the conversation, ‘We already had a run in with … er, a Gerry. Our train was attacked a while back.’ To his credit, he paused before saying ‘a’ before ‘Gerry’. It must not have sounded right in his head either, and he blushed slightly, not looking the least bit surprised when some of the men repeated it and shook their heads in disbelief.