“Can you follow me?” she asked. “We’ll have to move fast.”
His left forefinger rose and wobbled in the air, as if to trace her outline. “You are a soldier,” he mumbled. “Like me. But you are a woman.”
“What of it?” Katya snapped. She took hold of his forearm and shook him. “Listen. I can’t stay. That’s death. Come along if you’re able. Do you understand? Do you want to live? Come!”
He shuddered. Breath went raggedly down his throat. “I … can … try.”
“Good. This way.” Katya shoved him around and forward. Turn right at the next comer, left at the next after that, put a maze between yourself and the enemy. This’dis-trict was smashed, like the city center toward which she aimed—snags, debris, choked lanes, masonry still fire-blackened in spots, a wilderness where you could shake your hunters. Despite lacking sun or shadows, she kept her sense of direction … A growl resounded.
“Take cover!” Katya ordered. The youth joined her beneath a rusted metal sheet which stuck out of a vast heap of wreckage like an awning. A stench hung beneath, oozing from bricks, beams, broken glass, thick and sickly-sweet even in the chill. A shell or bomb must have made a direct hit, bringing this whole tenement down on everybody inside. Children, their mothers, their babushkas? No, most who couldn’t fight were evacuated early on. Likeliest it was soldiers who rotted here. Any building could become a fort when defenders fought invaders street by street. Which had these been? … It didn’t matter, least of all to them.
Her companion retched. He must have recognized the smell. That was a hopeful sign. He was coming out of his daze.
The aircraft swept low above rooflessness. She had a glimpse of it, lean, swift, swastika on its tail, then it was gone. Reconnaissance, or what? Probably the pilot wouldn’t have noticed them, or troubled about them if he did. But you could never tell. The fascists had strafed crowds of evacuees waiting for ferries across the river. Two Soviet soldiers were game more fair.
The throbbing receded. Katya heard no other. “Let’s go,” she said.
The young man accompanied her for some paces before he exclaimed weakly, “Is this right, comrade? I think we’re headed south.”
“We are,” she told him.
“B-but, but the enemy has that part. Our people, they’re in the north end of town.”
“I know.” She took his elbow and hurried him onward. “I have my orders. Turn back if you wish. I doubt you’ll get far. Or you may come with me if you can. If you can’t, I’ll have to leave you. If you make a noise, or any kind of trouble for me, I must kill you. But I do believe it’s your only chance.”
He clenched his usable fist. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “Thank you, comrade.”
She wondered whether Zaitsev would thank her. This mission was .worth more lives than a single cripple’s. Well, sharpshooters must rely on their own judgment oftener than not. And supposing she did get this private back to his unit, her superiors needn’t know. Unless he really could tell something worthwhile—
The street ended at Krutoy Gully. On the opposite side of the ravine, buildings were equally damaged but more high and massive than here. That was where the central city began. “We have to get across,” Katya said. “No bridge. We crawl down and creep up. You go first.”
He nodded, jerkily, nevertheless a nod. Stooping, he scuttled over the open space and wriggled out of sight. She had been prepared to let him draw any fire. She hadn’t wanted a stalking horse, but there he was, and if he proved hopelessly clumsy she couldn’t let him destroy her too. Instead, he did well enough. So he’d been rather lightly shocked, and was shaking that off with the vitality of youth.
Rifle in hand, every sense honed, she followed. Dirt gritted, leafless bushes scratched. After they started up, his strength flagged. He scrabbled, slid back a way, sank together and sobbed for air. She slung her weapon and went on all fours to his side. He gave her a desperate look. “I can’t,” he wheezed. “I’m sorry. Go on.”