The blade withdrew. A strong hand went into Katya’s hair and yanked up her head to see. The face that slid close to hers was dirty and unshaven, yellow teeth flickered in the dying flare.
‘I’m going to cut you out of here. Do you understand me?’
Katya tried to speak but her throat stayed clamped in hurt and the ebb of her terror. She tried to say Vera’s name.
The face issued an order to someone else. ‘Kick some dirt on that fucking flare, fast!’
Instantly, the white light went out. The hand that gripped her head by the hair let go. Katya heard a snipping sound, several hands pushed up on her in the cockpit and she was released into them past the shreds of the slashed belts.
‘Can you walk?’ The hands lowered her out of the cockpit. They tried to put her on her feet. Her knees buckled. Dark shapes did not let her hit the ground.
‘Her,’ she mumbled. ‘Get her.’
‘No time,’ the voice answered. ‘You two carry this one. Let’s go.’
Before she could protest, she was dragged away from her plane. The tops of her flight boots scraped over the ground. The three men smelled of wool, sweat, and grass. The sourness of gun oil rose from their backs, where their carbines were strapped.
‘Leonid. Where… ?’
The man hurrying on her left, short and burly under her arm, answered. ‘He ran away before we could find him. We weren’t expecting you to swoop in like that.’
No, Katya thought. Leonid wouldn’t have done that. He would have run to the plane the moment it crashed, he would have gotten me out of the wreck. He would have gotten Vera out.
‘He…’ she forced the words out, to defend Leonid, ‘… wouldn’t run away’
She felt the partisan’s heavy shoulder shrug under her weight. ‘Then the Germans got him.’
* * * *
CHAPTER 8
July 3
0120 hours
Wehrmacht train
north of Khar’kov,
near the Ukraine-Russian border
the Russian steppe
A knock sounded on Luis’s compartment door. He snapped awake. His sleep was never deep anymore, this frail frame he despised needed only shallow rest.
‘Yes.’
‘A message for you from the engineer, sir.’
Luis pulled his heels off the bench across from him. He stood and arranged his uniform. No trooper would see him in disarray, he was a Waffen SS Captain. His father had always told him the power is in the performance.
He slid the cabin door all the way back. The soldier seemed surprised, expecting the door to be only cracked at this time in the morning, not to encounter such alertness.
‘Give it to me, Private.’
‘Yes, sir. Good morning, sir.’
Luis took the folded sheet without looking down, keeping his eyes glued to the young grenadier’s face. Was there any hint of surprise on the boy at the gaunt white form who’d opened the door? No. Good. Luis nodded and the soldier clicked his heels in attention. Bearing, thought Luis.
Bearing. This soldier could snap me in half if he had a mind to, but I can make him jump off this moving train with a word.
Luis opened the page. The private waited.
He read the one-line message, then looked the soldier up and down.
Strong boy, he thought, big blond lad. But the soldier was not German. The insignia on his collar and sleeve revealed he was Czech. He and Luis had this in common, they were non-Germans serving in the SS. Because of their massive losses, the SS was recruiting outside Germany. Standing here on this rattling train deep in Russia, blond and dark, were two samples of the reach of Hitler’s ambitions.
Luis patted the boy’s arm.
‘Tell the engineer to stop the train.’
The soldier set his jaw, a love of taking orders was clear. Looking at him, Luis thought: This boy has not been to Russia before. The soldier said, ‘Yes, sir!’ and left. Luis reached back for his cap, nestled it on his head, and walked to the next compartment. He knocked.
‘Major Grimm.’
Behind the door, a sleepy throat snorted and coughed.
‘Yes. Yes, who is it?’
‘Captain de Vega.’
‘Captain. What time is it?’
‘Open up, please, Major.’
‘Yes. A moment.’
The major slid back the door only inches, disheveled, the plat of hair he combed over his wispy pate hung below his ear. Luis saw he was barefoot and in his undershirt.
‘Do you have a sidearm, Major?’
‘What?’
‘A weapon, sir. Do you have a gun with you?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Please strap it on and come with me.’
The fat officer sighed, then nodded, resigned. ‘Give me a…’
The major started to close the door to dress but Luis gave him a displeased glance, that he would not care to linger outside a shut door, waiting. The major slid the door full open and turned to his task.
The car jerked to the squealing of brakes, the train slowed and stopped. Under the gasps of steam from the locomotive, the officer donned his pants, tunic, and boots. Out of a travel case he took his Luger pistol and holster and buckled them on. He asked no questions.
Luis led him down the hall to the passenger car door. He spoke over his shoulder. ‘As ranking officer on this train, I thought I should alert you, Major. I’ve received a radio message that the tracks are broken ahead at the Oktabrskaya station. We cannot get through just yet. I’ve ordered the train to a halt.’
Luis stepped out of the train onto the rail mound. The major clambered down behind him.
‘Why are we stopping out here in the middle of…’
‘Shhh, Major. Please.’
The train stood still, the locomotive continued its heavy metal breath, waiting for the order to continue. On either side of the tracks stretched a field, without trees or bushes. His ears caught nothing, not the rustle of a leaf or the shush of a breeze, so vast was the open land, just a flat earth black with unmown grasses.
‘They won’t come here.’
‘Who won’t come here?’ the major asked.
‘The partisans.’
‘Partisans?’
‘They’re trying to stop this train, Major.’
Something in Luis’s flat tone kept the major from further queries. The officer’s bare head pivoted up and down the empty tracks, he seemed suddenly aware he was alone outside the train car with only a skinny SS
captain and their two pistols. The notion of partisans was a fearsome one, bearded wild men in civilian clothes who fought with abandon, with vengeful crudeness and animal cunning. They were natives who knew every inch of the land and had the local populace to abet them. But there’s no danger right here, Luis thought. He’d seen enough ambushes, set a few himself, to know when and where they were likely Not here, without cover to attack and retreat. No, they’re waiting somewhere ahead. There will be trees beside the tracks and they’ll come out of them.