Eventually she let me lay her down and I found out why she remembered. Her courses had begun and the sight of blood had taken her back to that horrible night.
I wanted to do right by my dear sister and even then I had known that I could not. Such as it was, our family—and its safety—came first.
A tide of guilt washed over me as I exited the room and realized my relief at my parents’ willful blindness. I was grateful that they did not see, could not, would not.
I was grateful and I hated myself.
Chapter Sixteen
Range G5, Camp Budapest
The red range flag, warning people to watch out, flew from a stout pole raised over the range.
It had taken longer to build the new range than Kostyshakov had estimated. Indeed, the sun was already near to setting on this day, before the range was ready to use.
But, then, it always takes longer than you expect it to, he thought, while standing and waiting to be the first man to go down this particular subterranean shoot-fest. Sad, but true.
Cherimisov had offered Daniil a guided tour, but he’d begged off. “No, I need to see it as every one of your soldiers executing it will see it; fresh and surprising. And I’ll want to do it again after sunset.”
Then Daniil had asked for a submachine gun and a magazine bag with six loaded magazines, holding one hundred and ninety-two rounds. He also had his pistol, his German flashlight on his chest, and his Adrian helmet on his head. Another bag with another six magazines was slung across Cherimisov, for the night rendition.
“Okay, sir,” said the captain, “just stand by the window frame Second Company built. When I say ‘Flash!’ that will be your signal to go or to continue on to the next chamber. The rules of the game are, in the first place, shoot the ones in olive while sparing the ones in lighter colors, and in the second, get the ones in lighter colors behind you. Note that there are a couple of places where Second Company erected canvas barriers. I’ll drop those at the right time. You may expect the unexpected on the other side.
“Ready, sir?”
Daniil noticed both his pulse and blood pressure rising as he took the bolt handle from the safety notch on his MP18. He replied, “Ready.”
“Flash!”
Daniil hurdled the windowsill to stand on the floor of the trench. Ahead, he saw a light painted target with what appeared to be golden curls—frayed rope—around the “head.” Not a target, he knew. Overhead, walking behind and well above, Cherimisov used the toe of his right boot to lift the looped end of a rope off of a peg. Down below, instantly, a weighted target swung out from the side of the trench opposite the other target.
It took Daniil half a second to recognize another target, another half second to realize it was enemy, and then yet another half second to decide to engage. Above, Cherimisov counted aloud, “One… two…”
Daniil fired before “three,” hitting the target with two of five rounds.
“Decent for a first run, sir, but you’ll have to decide and engage faster—and so will the men—or you will be a very dead soldier. Mayevsky and I dry ran this thing several times, alternating playing Bolshevik. We figure you’ve got—maximum—a second and a half to decide and shoot. A bare second would be better and safer, though even then there’s no guarantee. Also, your burst was too long. Shoot for three rounds, sir. Yes, it takes practice. Flash!”
Filled with anger—at himself, not Cherimisov or the range—Daniil moved forward and turned the sharp corner of the next section. There were two dark targets. Daniil fired at one, hitting it, then turned to the other. Once again, Cherimisov lifted a loop from a peg. This time a weighted target of an innocent swung out, half covering the remaining enemy target. Daniil couldn’t just fire from the hip; he had to lift the machine pistol to his shoulder and aim.
Overhead, the captain counted, “One… two…” He got to “three…” before Daniil was able to fire at the target’s head.
“We figure, sir, that pulling one of the Romanovs in front of himself, rather than shooting immediately, will take up a second or two. So, while you were slow, you weren’t that slow. Flash!”
Breathing heavily, Daniil rounded the corner and came face to face with a blank piece of dark canvas. Above, unseen, Cherimisov toed-up another loop. The canvas fell. On the other side was a chamber full of furniture, couches, chairs, table, and a cabinet. Some pieces were real furniture, others had been tied and hammered together from thin logs. There were no targets immediately visible. Overhead a few logs crossed the trench.
Daniil saw a large rock begin to fall from the log. That distracted him enough that he missed the target half-appearing from behind a cabinet. Overhead, Cherimisov counted, “One… two… three. Sorry, you’re dead sir. You want to back up and try this again?”
“Yes, please.”
Daniil went back around the sharp corner as the captain hoisted up the canvas again. “Ready… Flash!”
This time Daniil was ready. To his chagrin, however, a rock descended from near the half hidden target and, while he was engaging that, another—very small—target popped straight up from behind a chair. “One… two… three.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you are a dick, Captain Cherimisov.”
“Yes, sir. Many times. The second target would have gotten you. Ready… Flash!”
After perhaps ten minutes, an exhausted Daniil emerged from the final chamber into another but much narrower trench.
“That was… quite something,” Kostyshakov said.
“Yes, sir,” the captain agreed. “Can we start using it?”
“How many people can you run through in a day?”
“Maybe ten hours of adequate light, fifteen chambers, about fifteen seconds per, at full speed—but they won’t make full speed right away, so call it thirty—and we can do both assault platoons, even reinforced, in maybe six hours. If the second rendition is faster than the first, as I think it will be, we can get both platoons through, twice, in one day.”
“What about resetting targets behind them?”
“Mayevsky worked that out. A team follows the assaulter a couple of chambers behind, resetting the targets. Almost no delay. And we have a scheme to change the targets around so that they can’t predict what will happen the second time through.”
“Then start; there’s no time to waste.”
“Yes, sir. You feel ready to do the other one? It’s not really for individuals, but for two-man teams.”
“No, just show it to me. Can you start a platoon on Range G6 as soon as they finish here?”
“No, sir; in the first place, though the range is quick, it’s also exhausting. In the second, I don’t have enough people to run both at once. And I don’t know that it would save time to stop and teach another group to run them, even if they built them. And besides, the rifle companies need their training time, too.”
“Yeah… yeah,” Daniil agreed. “That last point, in particular, is well taken. Now show me G6.”
That evening, in the mess, Daniil observed to Cherimisov, “Those German dynamo lights, they really suck, don’t they?”
“No, sir, not exactly,” Cherimisov answered, wearing his normal serious face. “They’re a lot better than nothing. But, yes, I wish they put out three times more light than they do, for three times longer. But… what can we do?”