Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (30 page)

“Well,” says Elena, as they
emerge into a large, cobbled street. “I hope you don’t have the same opinion of
Ukrainians!”

“No. I don’t even think that about
Russians anymore. Not after Bolotino.”

“Bolotino?”

Hans clears his throat before he
continues. “It’s just a small Russian village near Pskov, barely thirty or
forty houses clustered together around a narrow strip of river. Or rather, it
was
… not any more. The few men that
lived there were farmers from the kolkhoz, struggling to provide a little bread
for their wives and children. There were Russian partisans holed up in a nearby
forest. My team, together with an SS division, was headed through the region
and these partisans opened fire on us, killing a number of our men. We tried to
flush them out, but nothing seemed to work. Our commanding officer, the
gruppenführer, insisted we interrogate the Bolotino villagers to find out where
partisans were hiding.”

“Why?” asks Elena. “Were
partisans in touch with the villagers?”

“I don’t know, but the
gruppenführer certainly thought so.” Hans sighs, recalling the painful memory.

“What happened?”

“We interrogated the village
leader, who was the head of the Bolotino kolkhoz, but he refused to tell us
anything about the partisans.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Quite. We promised him rewards.
Then we threatened him, but when he still refused to give us any information,
the gruppenführer shot the man in the head. Right there, in front of his
family!” Hans pauses, shaking his head as if to shake off the ghosts of the
memory. “Then he ordered us to gather up all the villagers, including the women
and children, and lock them in one of the barns. I helped, assuming this was nothing
more than an attempt to scare them into giving away information about the
partisans.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t.”

“Oh, Elena,” says Hans, his voice
breaking slightly as he tries to share what happened. “It was awful. Such
horror! Once the barn doors were boarded shut, we were ordered to pour gasoline
around the base of the walls, all of which were made of wood. And again, in my
naivety, I thought this was all part of some trick to get them to tell us what
they knew. But then the gruppenführer barked out the order to set fire to the
barn.” He turns to look at Elena, the pain of the memory evident in his face. “I
couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even move. I just stood there staring in disbelief.
And then he walked over and thrust a flaming stick in my hand and pushed me
towards the barn. I still couldn’t do it, though, it was so inhuman! Even with
the gruppenführer screaming in my face, I didn’t move. In the end, he grabbed
my arm and lifted it up so the fire licked over the straw of the roof. It burst
into flames immediately, and all around me men were busy lighting the petrol
covered walls. In minutes the whole barn was on fire. That was when the banging
began. Those poor villagers tried the break through the door, throwing
themselves at it, but there was no way they could get out. It was nailed shut.
I can still hear it now, the desperate prayers of the men, the screaming of the
women, the terrible crying of the children. Before long it all mingled in a
single frenzy of screaming as the fire engulfed them. Awful screaming, beyond
anything you could imagine. That’s the screaming that keeps me awake at night.”

Elena realizes that they have
stopped walking, both of them consumed with the horror of Hans’ story. She
places a hand on his, hoping to bring some sort of comfort.

“Eventually that barn door burned
through and collapsed in a heap of smoldering embers. Two figures ran out from
the inferno, both of them already on fire and so badly burned that I couldn’t
tell if they were men or women. But there was no escape. The gruppenführer gave
an order to mow them down with automatic guns before they got ten paces from
the barn. I couldn’t do it, and had to run and throw up in the bushes. Then we
gathered up the farm animals, food and the very few valuables they had before
burning the whole village to the ground.” He sighs, and starts walking again,
heading towards the light of the café at the end of the street. “Slavic blood
may not be as good or as acceptable as that of us Germans, but they are still
humans all the same. They still bleed like us, feel pain like us and die like
us. And sometimes, because of us, they die screaming like the people of
Bolotino. And only vodka can silence them in my head. That’s why I drink!”

He pulls open the door to the
café, holding it for Elena to enter first. The room inside is filled with
smoke, lit by the warm glow of paraffin lamps. A handful of soldiers sit in a
huddle near the window, sipping tea or beer and talking in hushed voices.

“Your usual table?” says a voice
through the haze, and Elena spots a short man looking up at them from behind
his enormous gray moustache.

Hans nods. “Thank you, Tolya.”
The little man leads them through to the back of the café, which Elena is
pleased to see is almost entirely deserted. One old lady, whom Elena assumes is
Tolya’s wife, sits at a table by the kitchen, sifting through a pile of papers.
This is the perfect place,
thinks
Elena, as she takes her seat at a table against the opposite wall.
And I reckon poor Hans is ripe for signing
up. I’ve never seen anyone so disillusioned.

“Two teas and two cakes, please,”
says Hans and, as Tolya hurries off back to his counter, he leans forward in
his chair, and continues in a low whisper. “I don’t know about you, Elena, but
I just want this war to be over, so I can go home to my wife and children and
try to forget about the screams of those wretched families we butchered in
Bolotino.”

“So would I, Hans,” says Elena,
leaning forward and keeping her voice low as well. “Wouldn’t you like to play
your part in doing that?”

Hans frowns. “Doing what?”

“Speeding up the end of this
horror.”

“How?” says Hans, looking back
towards the front of the café to make sure no one can hear them. “What do you
mean, Elena?”

“It may come as a surprise, Hans,
but I am not really a waitress. Well, I am… but I’m more than that. I play an
important role in helping to stop this nightmare that Hitler started. But I
can’t do it alone. I need other people, people like you, to help me bring about
an end to this inhuman war.”

Hans takes off his hat, holding
it in both of his hands, his fingers running over the insignia as he considers
Elena’s words. She holds her breath, suddenly anxious about her decision to
approach him. With a word he could unmask her, destroying her work and putting
her contacts at risk. She clenches her fists, praying silently under her
breath.

At last, Hans looks up at her and
nods. “Yes, Elena. Please tell me more.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

D
ammit!” says Elena, leaning over the small sink and gripping the
edge with white knuckles. “It’s been sixteen weeks and I just can’t shake off
this morning sickness.” She retches again, but brings nothing up.

“It will be over soon,” says
Missus Petrenko. In one hand she holds Elena’s hair back from her face, while
the other gently rubs her back. “It was just the same for me, my dear. I was
sick with every one of my six children, sometimes up to the twentieth week.”

Elena straightens up and wipes a
flannel across her face. “That’s not very reassuring, but thanks all the same.”

“Well, if you’re done, I’ll go
and make you up some breakfast.” And with that the old lady shuffles out,
leaving Elena with another wave of nausea to cope with.

Thank goodness I’m here with Missus Petrenko and not out on the
front lines
, she thinks, as she heads to her room
to get dressed.
I doubt there’d be anyone
there to hold my hair for me or offer me salted cucumber to get rid of this
awful nausea. And this little fellow is really starting to show.
She pulls
a night dress on and looks down at her naked belly. It’s not large, but the
baby bump is clearly noticeable and Elena smiles as she runs a hand over the
unfamiliar bulge.
If only I had some way
of getting a message to Kostya. He has no idea that he is going to be a father!
But what can I do? The Germans have this place sewn up; no messages get in, no
messages get out. Except for my coded messages of course!

She climbs into the usual working
clothes and, pausing briefly to make sure that her blond roots aren’t growing
through, heads down to the restaurant. The thought of the cipher machine, which
is currently hidden in a house on the other side of the city, reminds her that
Hans is supposed to be dropping in soon. In the weeks since he agreed to work
with her as her agent, he has provided invaluable information about the German
strategic and tactical decisions. Her mission as a double-agent, serving both
the Russians
and
the U.S., is working
exactly as planned.
I just wish he didn’t
always have that haunted look,
she thinks as she begins the daily job of
setting out the chairs and preparing for the day’s business.
I’m always worried he’s about to burst into
tears at any moment. After what he went through in that village, I’m not
surprised he finds it hard, but he just seems a little… unstable.

They usually meet at the
restaurant early in the day, and today, when Hans arrives an hour after
opening, he is almost glowing with eagerness to share his news.

“What is it, Hans?” asks Elena,
having made sure that there are no other customers in. “You look like you’re
going to burst!”

“I have information about
Operation Citadel,” he says, his voice an excited whisper. “Information and an
idea!”

“The forthcoming invasion of
Kursk? What’s happened? Hitler hasn’t decided to change the date again has he?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Hans
leans forward over his cup of tea. “We received word today of an airstrike to
prepare the way for the invasion. In two weeks’ time, the Luftwaffe will carry
out a series of bombing raids to destroy as many of the Soviet tanks as
possible, paving the way for our new, improved Panzer forces.”

“Improved?” Elena raises her
eyebrows in surprise and concern. “What do you mean? How have they been
improved?”

“After the devastating effect of
the T34s, our mechanic and designers have been working to make something
better. The latest intel is that the new Panzers have much thicker armor. They
are almost impenetrable, apparently. And their guns have been upgraded so
they’re accurate to six thousand feet, far further than the range of the T34s.”

Elena breathes in sharply, her
thoughts immediately turning to Konstantin. “Are you sure, Hans? The improved
Panzers and the airstrike?”

“Absolutely. The Gestapo is
always kept informed of the latest directives. The airstrike’s definitely going
to happen, Elena. In two weeks.”

As she considers the implications
of this news, Elena slumps down in the opposite seat, a hand on her forehead,
her hair falling across her face. “Is the date already fixed?”

 
“Yes. It’s going to start on July fifth,” says Hans, still
wearing his eager expression. “And remember I said I had a suggestion?”

“Yes?” Elena looks up at him,
pushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Well, our intel on the Kursk
region is scant at best. As far as I can tell we have no detailed maps or
descriptions of the area, which means we don’t know where the Soviet tanks are
based.”

“Okay. But I don’t see what
difference that makes. Once your planes are over Kursk, they’ll soon spot the
tanks. Those T34s aren’t small!”

“They may not be small, but they can
be camouflaged to hide them from the Luftwaffe.” Hans looks over his shoulder
to make sure it is still safe to talk before continuing. “Once that’s done, the
Soviets can create dummy tanks elsewhere to draw away the bombers. Simple.”

“It doesn’t sound
that
simple,” says Elena, as she
considers this plan. “But I’ll definitely pass it to my contacts. Thank you,
Hans.” She places a hand on his for just the briefest of moments. Then,
noticing some customers entering the restaurant, she gets quickly to her feet
and, speaking in a louder voice, says, “More tea, Herr Officer?”

Hans sits back and looks up at
her, matching her tone for the benefit of the restaurant’s other customers. “Thank
you, fraulein. And maybe one of your delicious pastries?”

Twenty minutes later, leaving the
restaurant in the care of Missus Petrenko, Elena slips through the front door
and heads to a building across the square, where her cipher machine is
currently located. She turns the rotors to the setting that ensures only her U.S.
military contacts near Moscow can decrypt her message and begins to type,
sharing this latest intelligence from Hans; both his information
and
his suggestion.

She waits to hear confirmation
that her message has arrived, expecting the door to burst open at any moment as
the Germans trace her signal. Eventually the confirmation arrives, only this
time it comes with a reply.

Using her codebook, as she has
been trained to do, she painstakingly pieces together the message, which reads,
“Extraction plan in progress. Return to Eagle in two months. Await
instructions.”

Extraction plan?
She frowns at the
message.
They’re pulling me out? But I’ve
only just got everything set up here. It’s all working so perfectly
. She
runs a hand across her belly.
It’s the
baby. Wouldn’t look good back home to let an American women give birth out
here.
Elena switches off the cipher machine, pulls the cover back over it
and heads back to the restaurant in a daze.
Home.
I’m going home. Back to the States, back to my family and my friends! I can’t
believe it!

~

“I can’t believe it!” says Hans
as he sits in the restaurant late one evening. “The plan worked even better
than I expected.”

Having slipped the lock on the
door, Elena brings over a single candle to the table and joins Hans. “Tell me,”
she says. “What’s happened?”

“As we anticipated, the invasion
began on July fifth, five days ago. But when our new Panzers came rolling in,
certain of finding the Soviet tanks all but wiped out by the Luftwaffe over the
last few weeks, they were surprised to find the T34s in full force. Your guys
have more than double the number of tanks we have, if not more! Those dummies
worked perfectly!”

Elena breathes a sigh of relief.
Over the last few weeks, reports of the devastation wreaked by the German
bombers and the destructive power of the upgraded Panzers have made her
increasingly concerned for Konstantin, her beloved man and the father of the
coming child. To hear that the ruse with the fake tanks paid off almost
overwhelms her. “That’s wonderful news, Hans! Does this mean the battle will be
over swiftly?”

Hans shrugs. “Not necessarily,
I’m afraid. It could still be a number of days or, who knows? Maybe even weeks
yet before the Soviet tanks really start to make their presence felt. After all,
those upgraded Panzers are real heavyweights. They’re going to make life very
hard for the T34s. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. This could be one
of the key battles that brings this war to an end, thanks to
—
”

He stops at the sound of
footsteps approaching and they turn to see Missus Petrenko shuffling in from
the kitchen.

“Don’t mind me,” says the old
woman. “I just found something I think belongs to you, Elena.”

“What did she say?” asks Hans,
unable to understand Missus Petrenko. “Can she understand German?”

Elena shakes her head. “Not even
a little.” Then, speaking in Russian, she turns to Missus Petrenko. “What is
it? What have you found?”

“A letter,” says the old woman,
holding out an envelope. “It was hidden in among the groceries. Thankfully they
rarely ever get searched by this lot.” She jabs a finger towards Hans, dressed
as always in his Gestapo uniform.

“What was that?” he says as Missus
Petrenko shuffles back into the kitchen.

“Nothing. Don’t mind her. Look,”
she says, her eyes flicking over the words on the envelope excitedly, “I’m
going to have to go. This is important. Thanks again for the update. Please do
keep me posted.”

Having let Hans out and bolted
the door shut again, Elena hurries back to her room, one hand clutching the
large bulge of her belly as she heads up the stairs.

Kostya!
She thinks.
At last! I don’t know how you managed it,
but this is definitely your handwriting.
Once in the seclusion of her room,
she sits on the bed and tears open the envelope. She straightens it out on her
lap, revealing Konstantin’s familiar handwriting across the back of a torn
poster.

“Lenochka, my darling,” she
reads, her eyes hungrily devouring the words. “Here we are on the eve of battle
and it’s looking like a big one! We’re ready for it though, thanks to all the
information we’ve received from our agents and allies in recent months. Even
the British have been helping us, the enemy of our enemy and all that! We also
extracted information from the German officers we captured at Stalingrad, so we
not only know the “surprise” attack is coming, but the forces we’re going to
face: at least a million soldiers of the Wehrmacht and three thousand German
tanks. But we’re the ones with the surprise! We’ve had months to prepare our
defenses and they’re ready at last. With the help of the locals, we’ve dug
enough trenches to reach from Moscow to the Far East together with thousands of
tank traps. You wouldn’t believe how much hard work it’s taken, Lena, even just
to shift the earth for a single tank trap! Last night, our guys caught a couple
of German snipers, still busy building a nest for themselves, and we squeezed
them for information on the time they were due to launch the offensive and from
which direction. Not long now, and our artillery has got a nasty treat for the
Nazis when they make their move. Should all be over in fairly short order.”
Elena shakes her head at Konstantin’s words.
It must be six days since he penned this letter,
she thinks.
And Hans reckons there could still be
another week of fighting. Hardly what I’d call “fairly short order”!
She
turns her attention back to the closing lines.

“Lenochka, my love, I am worried
about you. I have not heard from you since we parted over all those months ago.
I do hope the little misunderstanding of our last discussion has not played a
part in your silence. I miss you and I look forward so much to seeing you again
soon. Very soon! With all my love and kisses, Kostya.”

Elena sighs as she folds up the
letter. Although delighted at receiving word from Konstantin, she is
disappointed that she cannot reply, cannot tell him how she feels, cannot tell
him how concerned she is for him. And she cannot tell him about their baby.

She undresses for bed and slips
into the covers, but finds it impossible to sleep. Her head is buzzing with
questions about the future.
Is Kostya
going to be alright? Is he going to survive the Germans’ attack on Kursk, what
with the improvements Hans says they’ve made to their tanks? And if he does,
will I be able to get word to him about the baby before I am whisked off back to
America? And what happens when I get back there? Will I be able to return after
I give birth? Will I even want to?
Round and round her thoughts go,
alternately anxious for Konstantin and for the child growing inside her. At
last, Elena drifts into a fitful sleep, but even here there is no rest. Instead
she finds herself caught up in a nightmare.

In her dream, she turns and there
behind her is a towering furnace, its flames fiercely licking at molten steel,
casting a deep orange glow into the darkness around. She tries to back away, to
escape from the searing heat of the furnace, but she cannot move.

“Lena.” She looks up at the sound
of her name and peers into the fire, shielding her eyes from the blinding
light. There in the flames is Konstantin, in the helmet and uniform of the tank
leader. His handsome face is its usual calm, though his eyes are sad and there
are a few soot marks on his cheeks. “Lena,” he says again. “You are such a
wonderful woman. It has been my greatest joy to meet you and get to know you. I
shall never forget those beautiful moments we’ve had together.” He pauses, as
he gazes at her from the flames with sorrowful eyes. “I have come to say
farewell, Lena, my darling. Please do well and remember that I love you. And I
always will.”