Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(104)

"I can't swim, sir!"

"Oh, for f*ck's sake!" Alexander got Ouspensky, Telikov and Verenkov to help Yermenko across. They were all ten meters from the shoreline when from the nearby bushes on the beach out jumped three Germans. Alexander didn't spend a second thinking. He fired; through the air they flew.

Then three more came. Then three more. He fired again and again. Four Germans jumped in the river and headed straight for Alexander, raising their weapons at him. Yermenko lunged in front of Alexander, pointed his weapon at the Germans and mowed them down. Ouspensky, Telikov, and Verenkov formed a wall in front of Alexander. Ouspensky yelled, "Back, Captain! Stand back!" He shot from above the shoulder and missed.

Alexander lifted his Shpagin above Ouspensky's head, shot from above the shoulder and did not miss. "If you miss, shoot again, Lieutenant!" he yelled.

But now five Germans were in the water, meters away, water up to their waists. Alexander kept shooting and trying to get closer to the beachhead. His men kept fighting off the Germans with the butts of their rifles and their bayonets, trying to get closer to shore, but they were having no luck. The wet band of them in the water were too exposed, and more and more Germans kept coming.

In battle, three out of Alexander's five senses were heightened. He saw danger like an owl in darkness, he smelled blood like a hyena, he heard noises like a wolf. He never got distracted, he never got confused, he never became uncertain, he saw and smelled and heard everything. He did not taste his own blood, he did not feel his own pain.

On his flank he saw a flash of light and had just enough time to lurch forward, the bullet missing him by half a meter. The German soldier was so livid at missing at point blank range, he stabbed Alexander with his bayonet. He was aiming for the neck, but Alexander's neck was too high for the German. The bayonet pierced him in the lower left shoulder, cutting into his arm. Alexander swung his weapon and nearly sliced off the German's head. The man went down, but now there were five of them on top of him, and he with his arm bleeding took out his knife and his bayonet and fought them until they went down and Ouspensky got their guns. Now that they had weapons in each hand, they became a wall of bullets moving to the shore and they weren't stopped.

There were no more Germans coming from the bushes, and there was no more firing, either. And suddenly all was quiet except for the panting of the still breathing, except for the death throes of the still dying, except for the bubbling of the river burying the dead.

Alexander's men crawled out onto the sand.

Alexander wanted a smoke, but his cigarettes were wet. He watched the NKGB troops cautiously swim across the river, holding their rifles and mortars above their heads.

"Fucking pussies," Ouspensky whispered to Alexander, who sat between him and Yermenko. Alexander didn't say anything to Ouspensky, but when the NKGB got to the beach, he stood up and without saluting said, "You should have taken the unmined bridge and walked across like the civilians you are."

The NKGB man--not a scrape on him--stared coldly at Alexander and said, "Address me properly." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"You should have taken the f*cking bridge, comrade," said Alexander, bloodied from the helmet down, holding on to his machine gun.

"I am alieutenant in the Red Army!" the man shouted. "Lieutenant Sennev. Weapons down, soldier."

"And I am a captain!" Alexander shouted back, lifting up the weapon with his good arm. "Captain Belov." One more word, and Alexander was going to see how many rounds his Shpagin still had in it.

The man stood down and motioned his men to leave the beach and follow him into the woods, cursing under his breath.

What was left of Alexander's men stayed on the beach. He wanted to assess the damage to his battalion (he was afraid it was more like a platoon now) but the medic, a Ukrainian by the name of Kremler, came to take a look at him. He washed out the arm gash with carbolic acid and poured sulfa powder right into the wound to disinfect it further. "It's deep," was the only thing Kremler said.

"You have thread for stitches?"

"I have a small spool. We have many injured men."

"Just give me three stitches. To hold it together, that's all."

Kremler sewed him, cleaned his banged-up head, and gave him a drink of vodka and a shot of morphine in the stomach. Afterward Ouspensky came and stood in front of him. "Captain, may I have a word?"

Alexander was sitting on the sand, having a smoke. The morphine was making him sleepy. He looked up. "First I'm going to have a word with you. How many men down?"

"All of them. We have thirty-two privates left, three corporals, two sergeants, one lieutenant--that would be me--and one captain--that would be you." Ouspensky said the last grimly.

"Yermenko?"

"Yes."

"Verenkov?"

"Neck wound, shell grazing on stomach, lost the f*cking glasses you gave him, but yes."

"Telikov?"

"Broken foot, but yes."

"How in f*ck's name did he break his foot?"

"He tripped." Ouspensky was not smiling.

"What's the matter? Areyou all right?"

"I'm fine. My head has been bleeding out my brains for two hours." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html