Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(78)

The fuse burned for two seconds, there was recoil straight down into the ground, which rumbled as though it were an earthquake fault line, and the first bomb whistled out of the barrel, in an arc through the air. It flew a kilometer and a half; Alexander watched it fall into the trees and burst. By the time it reached its target, the second bomb was already on its way. Alexander didn't even look to see where the second one landed. He had already begun to dismantle the mortar. Leaving Ouspensky in charge of the remaining men, he wheeled the heavy artillery back to the requisition house and managed to attach the lock and throw the keys back to the unconscious guard at two minutes to six. "Well done," he said to Melkov as they hurriedly walked back to their tents for morning inspection.

"Thank you, sir," said Melkov. "It was my pleasure."

"I can see that," Alexander said, smiling. "Don't let me catch you drinking so much again. Or you're going straight to the brig."

The requisition guard remained unconscious for another four hours and was summarily taken off guard duty for gross dereliction. "It's a good thing for you, Corporal, that nothing was missing!" Muraviev hollered.

The guard's punishment consisted of serving a week under Alexander's railroad repair command. Alexander said, "You're lucky the Germans have been quiet the past two days, otherwise you'd be going to your death, Corporal."

While the Germans were regrouping, Alexander's men fixed the railroad tracks unharmed, and five trains with food and medical supplies made it through to Leningrad.

After that the Germans resumed shelling the Soviet soldiers, but not for long because Muravievgave Alexander the mortar. Having exposed the German position and after a few more mortar attacks on the Sinyavino area, a battalion of the 67th Army stormed the hills, leaving Alexander's men down below on artillery support. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

The battalion did not return, but the Germans stopped shooting at the railroad for good.

In the fall of 1943, the 67th Army ordered Alexander's penal battalion--shrunk to two minimal companies, 144 men in total--across the river Neva south to Pulkovo, to the last holdout of the German blockade ring around Leningrad. This time, Alexander received some artillery--heavy machine guns, mortars, anti-tank bombs, and a case of grenades. Each of his men had a light machine gun and plenty of ammunition. At Pulkovo, for twelve days in September 1943, Alexander's 7th battalion, with two others and a motorized company, bombarded the Germans. They even had some airpower helping them, two Shtukareviches. It was all to no avail.

The leaves fell off the trees. Sergeant Melkov was killed. It got cold, another winter came, the fourteenth winter since the Barringtons came to the Soviet Union. Alexander continued to push his way up the hill day after bloodied bitter day. He received new men--200 of them. The eastern side of the hill was liberated from the Germans in December 1943.

Up on a Pulkovo hill, Alexander could look north and see in the distance the few twinkling lights of Leningrad. And in the near distance during a clear winter day, he could see the smokestacks of the Kirov factory, which continued to produce arms for the city. If he looked through his binoculars, he would be able to see the Kirov wall, in front of which he could see himself standing day after day, week after week with his cap in his hands, waiting for Tatiana to run out of the factory doors.

He didn't need to stand on the Pulkovo crest to see it.

New Year's Eve, 1943, Alexander spent in front of a fire near his officer's tent with his three first lieutenants, three second lieutenants, and three sergeants. He drank vodka with Ouspensky by his side. Everyone seemed optimistic about 1944. The Germans were on the way out of Russia. After the summer of 1943, after Sinyavino, after the Battle of Kursk, after the liberation of Kiev in November and Crimea just a few weeks ago, Alexander knew that 1944 was going to be the last year the Germans would be on Soviet soil. His mission was to proceed westward with his penal battalion, to push the Germans back into Germany--at all costs, at whatever the cost.

That was Alexander's New Year resolution--to make his way west. His only hope lay there.

He allowed himself another drink. Someone, already drunk, told a bad Stalin joke. Someone cried for his wife. Alexander was almost certain it wasn't him. On the outside he tried to be fashioned of concrete. Ouspensky clinked a glass of vodka with him and finished off the bottle.

"Why can't we get furlough like other soldiers?" Ouspensky complained, drunk, sentimental, disheveled. "Why can't we go home for a day on New Year's?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Lieutenant, but we're fighting a war. Tomorrow we sleep away the hangover and on Tuesday we're in battle again. The German blockade around Leningrad will be lifted completely this month. The Nazis will leave our city and it will be because of your efforts."

"I don't care about the f*cking Nazis. I want to see my wife," said Ouspensky. "You've got nowhere to go--that's why you want to push the Germans out of Russia." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"I've got somewhere to go," said Alexander slowly.

Studying him carefully, Ouspensky asked, "You have a family?"

"Not around here, no."

For some reason this made Ouspensky only more glum.

"Look on the bright side, Nikolai," said Alexander. "We're not among the enemy, right?"