Returning to the room of entry, she found the infantryman hunched on the sofa. He had taken off his helmet and outer coat. The sweat in his shirt was rank. (Well, Katya thought, I’m scarcely a rose garden myself. When did I last have a proper bath? Ages ago, that night in the forest when I went to earth in a peasant’s hut—) His hair was curly. A hint of color had risen in his face.
“Beware taking a chill, comrade,” she warned. “We’ll be here a while.” She set her rifle down and unshipped her canteen. “You must need water worse yet than I do, so you first, but don’t take much. Swish it around in your month sfore you swallow. It has to last us.”
While he did, she squatted, took his injured hand in both hers, shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Nasty,” she said. “Those bones are a mess. At least no major blood vessel was cut. I can do something for it. Hold still. This will hurt.”
He caught his breath repeatedly when she cleaned and wrapped the wounds. Thereafter she gave him a piece of chocolate. “We’ll share my rations too,” she promised. “They’re scant, but hunger is a joy set beside our real problems, no?”
The bite revived him somewhat. He managed a shaky smile. “What is your name in Heaven, you angel?” he quavered.
She checked both the windows. Nothing, except the distant cannon fire. “Me an angel?” she replied meanwhile with a grin. “What kind of Communist are you?”
“I’m not a Party member,” he said humbly. “I should have joined, my rather wanted me to, but— Well, after the war.”
She put a chair in front of him and settled down. There was no sense in constantly staring ouU She’d hear any important movement, as quiet as things were. A glance every few minutes would serve. “What are you, then?” she asked.
“Pyotr Sergeyevitch Kulikov, private, Sixty-Second Army.”
A tingle passed through her spine. She whistled softly. “Kulikov! What a perfectly splendid omen.”
“Eh? Oh … oh, yes. Kutikovo. Where Dmitri Donskoi smote the Mongols.” He sighed. “But that was … six hundred years ago, almost.”
“True.” I remember how we rejoiced when the news reached our village. “And we aren’t supposed to believe in omens any longer, are we?” She leaned forward, interested. “So you know the exact date of that battle, do you?” Even now, exhausted, in pain, penned up to wait for possible death. “You sound educated.”
“My family in Moscow is. I hope someday to become a professor of classics.” He tried to straighten. His voice took on a ghost of resonance. “But who and what are you, my rescuer?”
“Ekaterina Borisovna Tazurina.” The latest of my names, my serf-created identities.
“A woman soldier—”
“We exist, you know.” She mastered her annoyance. “I was a partisan before the fighting swept me here. Then they put me in uniform—not that mat’s likely to make any difference if the Germans catch me—and when I’d passed Lieutenant Zaitsev’s course, they raised me to sergeant because a sharpshooter needs some freedom of action.”
Pyotr’s eyes widened. They had heard about Zaitsev from end to end of the Soviet Union. “This must be a special mission for you, not just sniping.”
Katya nodded. “Word came from Pavlov’s House. Do you know what I mean?”
“Of course. A building hereabouts, right in among the Germans, that Sergeant Pavlov and a few heroes have held since—the end of September, hasn’t it been?”
She forgave him repeating the obvious. He was hurt, bewildered, and oh, how young. “They maintain communication with us,” she explained. “Certain things they’ve noticed give reason to believe the enemy plans a major thrust into our end of town. No, I wasn’t told what things, no need for me to hear, but I was sent to watch from this point and report whatever I see.”
“And you happened to pass by when— Incredible luck for me.” Tears welled. “But my poor friends.”
“What happened?”
“Our squad went on patrol. My unit’s currently in a block of detached houses well south of Mamaev. We didn’t expect trouble, as quiet as it’s gotten.” Pyotr drew an uneven breath. “But all at once it was shooting and screaming and— My comrades dropped, right and left. I think I was the last one alive after … a few minutes. And with this hand. What could I do but run?”