‘You’re a dutiful son,’ said Vlad as he watched Leo’s pen churn out lines of cheerfulness:
9 November 1942
My Dearest Mother,
I hope you are well and that the children are behaving themselves.
Vlad is here beside me, telling me to send you his best wishes. Anton is somewhere outside, hopefully collecting our lunch. We take it in turns to pick up our meals, though I think Anton would prefer to do it himself all the time – you know how he is!
The weather has turned miserable. I am sure that it is the same back home, with freezing rain and thick fog? We’ve also had the first flurries of snow. I cannot help but think that this city will be much improved by a layer of snow which will nicely hide the dirt and broken walls.
If you are wondering if I miss music, fear not! Can you believe that I enjoy a concert almost every evening, just after it gets dark? We think it is some German soldier, or general perhaps, who has boldly stolen a piano from one of the smashed-up theatres. I like to think that he took it to keep it safe, but maybe he is only a common thief who just happens to play beautifully. It has a strange effect on one of the men here; he actually believes that it is the sound of a forlorn ghost, the spirit of some long dead Russian who mourns the ruins of Stalingrad. Of course I feel it is best not to point out that the music is German so it cannot be a Russian musician, ghost or not!
To soothe him, the others play a record, the only one we have. When our comrades took over this building they found a gramophone, still in perfect condition, and the only record that had not been broken during the bombing. It is a wonder to me that they have not worn it out at this stage. They think it is fun to turn up the volume as far as it will go to compete against the ghost musician.
So, now, Mother, I must finish up. I can smell my soup and a boy is calling out for any letters that are ready to be posted.
Please do not wear yourself out worrying about me, believe me I am fine.
Your son,
Leo
Vlad, who had stepped up behind his friend to read over his shoulder, burst out laughing. ‘You make it sound like we are on a holiday, with no mention of fighting or Nazis. And where is this glorious soup that you smell, along with our obliging postman who visits us in our cosy hovel … or should I say hotel?’
Leo shrugged. ‘You know what she’s like.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Vlad, ‘but if my mother ever received a letter like that, she would know that I was leaving out stuff. Do you not think that your mother is going to question what you are not telling her? That whatever it is, it must be dreadful.’
Leo refused to smile. Instead, he said quietly, ‘Well it is, isn’t it … dreadful?’
Vlad stopped laughing, his face crumpling. ‘Oh, come on. It’s dangerous to think like that. We’re still alive, aren’t we?’
Too busy folding his letter over and over again, until it resembled a paper rowing boat – there were no envelopes so every letter was posted off in the same shape – his friend did not make a reply to this.
A burst of footsteps on the stairs put an end to their conversation. The two boys tensed and looked towards the open doorway, unwilling to be believe they were about to be attacked. Sure enough, Anton whistled his special whistle to identify himself, just before he appeared, along with three older companions and Sergeant Jakob Pavlov. He had taken over command when Lieutenant Afanaser was blinded a few days earlier and was brought off to one of the makeshift hospitals. They had to persuade the lieutenant to leave, despite the fact he could not see a blessed thing after shrapnel from a German grenade had sent splinters of brick into both of his eyes. He howled in pain and frustration at having to go. Sergeant Pavlov assured him that he would carry on with his good work.
Vlad had read plenty of war stories about soldiers having to go ‘to the front’ to fight, and he had assumed that he would end up on a battlefield, that is, a proper field, with grass, that he would have to walk across in order to shoot at the enemy. However, nothing in Stalingrad was like any of the books he had read.
The night that he, Leo and Anton had been picked up on the street, they had been brought to this shell of a broken-down building which they were told to guard with their lives. Vlad shyly asked was there something particularly special about the place? He reckoned that, even without its gaping war wounds, it was not much to look at, just a boring grey four-storey apartment block. Someone had written on the wall, We’ll die before we let the Germans pass us!
The sergeant, a short man with a thin face, whose uniform was faded and covered in dust, told him to take a quick glance out of the windows on the top floor as soon as it was light, adding, ‘But be careful, always remember there are German snipers everywhere!’
Vlad did as he was told. Very early the following morning, he crept up the torn staircase, with Leo and Anton, who had decided to tag along at the last moment. He did not want to miss out on anything Leo and Vlad did.
Once upstairs, the three boys looked out and, to their amazement, saw a large square of land, which must have been pretty once, but that wasn’t what shocked them. They had mere seconds to admire the square before they realised what lined the edges of the square … lots and lots of German soldiers.
Shocked, the three of them quickly ducked beneath the smashed window. Anton’s face was flushed with excitement and streaked with the dirt he had slept on. ‘Can you imagine that? What a spot!’
Vlad ached for a second look, to try and convince himself that he had not seen that many soldiers, but he knew it was too risky. Remaining on their hunkers, the three boys stared at one another as they clearly heard Germans call out to one another, a shout of laughter here and there, and they could even smell the soldiers’ morning coffee in the cold air.
A gentle tapping from below reminded them that they had to return downstairs. Sergeant Pavlov was waiting for them, a smile on his face. ‘Well, did you see how we are sitting pretty, overlooking the Ninth of January Square?’
The boys nodded. Taking the lead, his giggles long gone, Vlad said, ‘We’re in their territory.’
Pavlov agreed, as he accepted a hunk of bread from one of the others, ‘Something like that. Look, lads, what you have to understand is, there is no battlefield and no front. We are fighting over buildings like this, one room at a time: apartment blocks, factories and shops, upstairs, downstairs and underground in the sewers. You know what the Nazis call this kind of battle?’
He paused, giving them a chance to answer, if they could, but they only looked blankly at him. With a great deal of pride, he explained, ‘They call it the “War of the Rats”. The poor buggers aren’t used to fighting like this. There are no rules and, more importantly, they don’t know their way around the streets.’
He laughed. ‘Actually, it’s their own fault. Thanks to their planes destroying the place, Stalingrad no longer looks like the city in the maps they have, so most of the time they haven’t a clue where they are. Damned fools!’
He winked at the three friends, gesturing to what was left of the room they were standing in. ‘They used to be based right here until we threw a few grenades through those windows there and followed them up with some decent fighting. Of course, they keep trying to take it back from us. So, boys, whatever it takes. We don’t have much ammo left, but there are plenty of rocks everywhere; help yourselves! And don’t forget if your hands are empty, don’t be shy, you can still punch and kick as hard as you can. They will do their rotten best to come in here, and it is our job to keep them out. Got it?’
‘Got it, sir!’ said Anton loudly, raring to go and almost impatient for an immediate invasion of some kind.
Just when Vlad and Leo had begun to feel that Anton was turning into someone they could consider a friend, his delight at finding himself with a mission and army comrades had turned his head once more. He went back to being what he had always been, a show-off pretending to be a lot tougher than he actually was.
Over the last few days, as soon as
Anton had realised that the other men were wary of Vlad and Leo, he had quickly switched sides, doing his best to make it seem like he didn’t know the boys as well as he did. His classmates had accidentally helped him with this, by only talking to him when it was absolutely necessary.
It wasn’t that the other men didn’t like the two boys, not really; they just found them a little different. In between trying to shoot Nazis, while doing their utmost not to be killed themselves, the men simply preferred to relax with ordinary fellows like themselves.
One of them, Breshov, had explained to Anton the kind of fellow solidiers they wanted by their side, ‘You know, the sort of bloke you could trust if you got into a tight spot.’
Now Anton could have stuck up for his classmates, but he’d chosen to do the opposite, nodding and murmuring, ‘I think I know what you mean.’
He had been huddled together with Breshov, keeping watch on the enemy and enjoying the chance to chat quietly.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ the soldier had hurried on. ‘You seem like a decent bloke!’
Anton had been delighted to hear this. Praise like this from a fellow soldier was worth a bit of disloyalty.
Breshov had continued in a whisper, ‘It’s just that we can’t help noticing how much Leo likes listening to that German piano player?’
Anton had shrugged to show he was unwilling to argue this point. Of course, he could have mentioned that Leo was simply a talented musician and, therefore, loved all sorts of music. But, he didn’t.
‘And then, there’s the other one. What’s his name again, Vlad? Why does he always look so miserable, as if fighting for his country is the very last thing he wishes he was doing?’
Anton had taken the risk of merely repeating what he’d said before, ‘I think I know what you mean.’ To his mind it had been better than saying anything definite either way.
This kind of talk was dangerous indeed. Gossip like this could result in a citizen – that is a neighbour, former friend or family member – being sentenced to a few years toiling in the freezing temperatures of a Siberian gulag. Plenty of citizens had been expelled to the work camps for less and, more often than not, following months of being worked beyond exhaustion, with too little food, they never made it back home again.
Vlad may have been ignorant about his lack of popularity in the group, but Leo wasn’t. In those precious hours of temporary peace, when the guns had stopped firing to allow both sides to bury their dead, shave and grab a bite to eat, Leo sensed the dubious atmosphere in their battletorn apartment block. Even in the midst of war and utter chaos, he couldn’t help noticing that their ‘home’ was like any other, containing a family, of sorts, of different people who did not actually choose their house-mates. He did not need to hear what the others were thinking to recognise that there was an invisible fence around himself and Vlad. Not that it bothered him. A sensitive boy he might be, but he was made of stern stuff that gave him a quiet confidence. As a budding musician with little interest in football, he’d always had to fight his corner.
Without realising it themselves, Vlad, poor Misha and, yes, even Anton, would have been aware of this sureness he had, and they all hoped, without knowing it, that they might have some for themselves. When Anton and his little band of restless tyrants scouted around for some boy to harass, they would almost coo in delight when they’d come across a solitary figure walking toward them. On discovering, however, it was Leo, the chase would be immediately cancelled. It was simply due to the fact that Leo would never consider himself to be a victim … and so he never was.
Vlad might have assumed he was like his best friend, but he would have been mistaken. He shared none of Leo’s self-confidence, although he did his best to hide this fact. Yes, he was sensitive in his own way but only about what other people thought of him. Unlike Leo, Vlad yearned to be liked by anyone he met.
Anton strode over to the battered phonograph and put on the one piece of music they had, for the umpteenth time. The record was badly scratched making the needle jump a little, jolting the melody along faster than the orchestra was playing it. Consequently, it was unpleasant on the ears, particularly the ears of a talented musician.
Leo kept his head down, to hide his gritted teeth, and fiercely gripped his pen, pretending it was Anton’s head and he was squashing it flat. He was so enjoying his little fantasy that he hardly heard the shout:
‘Tanks! They’re aiming straight at us!’
Both Anton and Sergeant Pavlov leapt towards the window.
Anton sounded impressed. ‘Well, I’ll be …!’
Sure enough, four German panzers had taken up position about seventy feet away from them, the guns pointing directly into their building. Behind the steel giants were about twenty-five soldiers on foot, rifles at the ready.
The sergeant clapped his hands with glee. ‘Okay, lads, we’re in business.’ His men looked at him eagerly. ‘Right, you lot down to the basement with the machine guns. Wait for my command!’
There was a resounding ‘Yes, sir!’ as the older men turned and clambered downstairs, leaving Vlad, Leo and Anton waiting their turn.
The sergeant made for the stairs and shouted, ‘Come on, we’re going upstairs. Anton, grab the anti-tank rifle. Fast as you can!’
The three boys, anxious to do their utmost, followed him closely, dodging the large gaps in the walls, to avoid the snipers. Anton hugged his precious cargo; it was their last anti-tank gun. No other gun was able to stop a tank. On reaching the fourth floor, Sergeant Pavlov told Anton and Vlad to be ready to put the rifle in place. They didn’t need to be told twice, although Vlad was bewildered by the smile on his sergeant’s face. Surely, this could only end badly: four tanks against a bunch of men with a few weapons, even if one of the weapons was an anti-tank rifle. It wasn’t enough.
‘What now, sir?’ asked Leo.
Sergeant Pavlov replied, ‘Why, we let them show us what they’re made of.’
Only Anton seemed comforted by this. As they watched, one of the tanks launched a shell which whizzed straight through the air, with deadly precision, until it reached its final destination. There was a crash from the empty floor, two stories below.
‘Ha!’ bawled the sergeant. ‘And that’s all they can do!’
The tank’s three companions responded in kind and the second storey took quite a battering. Of course the noise was dreadful, the boys’ teeth vibrated in their gums while Leo wondered how the poor building withstood the pounding, but it did.
Pavlov gestured at the rifle, ‘Quick, get it up on the window ledge and fire when ready.’
Anton heaved the gun upwards, hardly needing any help from Vlad. ‘Which one should I aim for?’ In his excitement he dropped the ‘sir’.
Sergeant Pavlov shouted, ‘Whichever one you want. Just make it a perfect hit.’
As Anton chose his target, the sergeant declared, ‘The tanks are too close to hurt us. They can’t raise the gun to reach us up here nor lower them to touch our comrades below.’
Now that Vlad understood Sergeant Pavlov’s cheerfulness, he allowed himself to relax, just a little.
Meanwhile, Anton was ready. Every inch of his body was ready. This was his moment of glory, at last. His two classmates watched their attackers as Anton pulled the trigger … and released it. BOOM! All it took was one well-aimed shot. The tank on the far right shuddered and its gun went quiet. As soon as it did, Pavlov, who must have been expecting this sudden conclusion, roared down to the basement, ‘FIRE!’ Shots rang out in quick succession. To the boys’ surprise, the other three tanks ceased firing. The German infantry men scattered at the sound of the machine guns while the tanks awkwardly swung themselves around, bumping against one another, and took off in full retreat around the nearest corner. The attack was over minutes after it had begun.
Leo giggled in disbelief. ‘That’s it?’
Sergeant Pavlov winked. ‘Yep. That’s it for now, anyway. They must have thought we were out of ammunition.’
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He headed for the stairs, shouting to the others to stop firing, to save on bullets. Vlad and Leo turned to Anton, with genuine smiles of congratulation.
Vlad thumped him on the arm. ‘Well, Anton. You did it. What a great shot!’
Instead of his usual condescending manner, Anton squirmed under their gaze. He took the gun down from the ledge and let it hang limply by his side.
Leo was intrigued, ‘What’s the matter?’
Anton pouted and shrugged simultaneously. ‘I was aiming for the tank on the left.’ He continued to pout while the other two laughed and laughed.
MRS KARMANOVA GOES SHOPPING
Yuri opened his eyes, believing that Anna was sitting on his lap, having plainly heard her giggle, while catching a whiff of the soap that his mother bought especially for a baby’s dimpled skin. His hands were around her waist, making sure she didn’t fall. He felt the crease of her bunched-up dress, the soft padding of her nappy, and the pull of her body as she leant fearlessly forward to try and dive to the floor.
He quickly closed his eyes and opened them again, and she was gone. Just like that.
A few minutes passed before he was able to sit up. He felt dreadfully cold and utterly hollowed out. Why? Why? As soon as the shock slid away, the tears streamed forth.
Peter suddenly appeared beside him. He bent down, clumsily placing his arms around his friend, as far as they would stretch, as Yuri sobbed into the crook of his mucky little neck.
‘She’s gone, isn’t she?’ murmured Mrs Karmanova from the other side of the room.
City of Fate Page 15
