Chapter 24

 

Author’s note:

 

Telogreika: padded, quilted jacket, popularised by the defenders of Stalingrad during the fearsome winter of 1942-1943.

 

I have also taken a slight liberty with history, as the German Army had been pushed further back along the 800-mile front by New Year 1944. But, I thought, perhaps one rogue Panzer might just show up along the banks of the Dnepr River on a slushy January day …

 

*************

 

The 88-millimetre shell missed the convoy by a hair’s breadth and slammed into the trees beyond, exploding as it impacted against a particularly sturdy fir. Nikolai and his men were showered by dirt and pieces of tree and shrapnel. The ground shook and the noise was deafening.

 

As they crouched behind a truck Nikolai heard the man next to him give a breathless groan and he turned to see the man slump bonelessly against the truck side. His chest was a gaping mass of blood and bone from the chunk of metal embedded in it. The soldier was dead before he hit the ground.

 

“Shit!”

 

Ignoring the now-easing hail of debris clunking and thudding around him, Nikolai peeked out over the bonnet of the truck and assessed the situation. He had had only moments to warn his men after spotting the Panzer moving amongst the trees, and he cursed himself for not being more cautious. The fact that he was still suffering from the aftermath of the fever was no excuse in his eyes. He had let down his men, and now they were pinned down by a Fritz tank which was even now re-sighting on the crippled convoy. The only reason the tank had missed he decided, was that the machine had hit a small rise in the ground amongst the trees and it had shifted its aim slightly. But he knew the crews in the Panzers were seasoned, hard-bitten veterans and the small respite would be over in moments as the crew regained their aim.

 

He turned to Nikitin, the little corporal crouching beside him.

 

“Where the bloody hell is that PTRD??!” he snapped, shouting over the roar of the tank only 40 metres away. The PTRD was a 14.5mm anti-tank rifle capable of penetrating the armour of most German tanks. It was a two-man job operating the weapon because of its length. The chatter of small arms fire from the rest of his men as they began to spread out and return fire compounded the problem. But Nikolai was not concerned about the noise, he was more concerned with taking out the Panzer tank and getting his men the hell out of this dire situation.

 

Nikitin winced as a large piece of chewed-up, burning wood bounced on the slushy ground beside him, and he kicked it away before it melted the truck tire beside him.

 

“Two trucks back!” he yelled back.  Beside him Lubov was peering around the truck and watching the tank as it rumbled towards the front of the convoy. “Putin and Razov know how to use the thing!” he continued.

 

Nikolai nodded tersely. He knew there would probably be some German infantry close by to mop up after the tank had done its gruesome work.

 

“All right. Get Putin and Razov to dig in up near the front of the column and see if they can blow the bastard’s tracks out, or if that’s too difficult then go for the fuel tank. I need that Panzer either destroyed or at the very least disabled, do you hear me?” Without waiting for Nikitin’s reply he turned to Lubov, the lad crouching beside him now. “Come on lad – let’s get these lazy sods organised.”

 

Nikolai checked again on the tank’s position, and for a moment was puzzled as to why the Panzer was working its way through the widely-spaced trees rather than heading onto the road to destroy the convoy in more open conditions. The German tank commander must have realised that with the demise of the convoy’s armoured car the rest of the vehicles were more or less defenceless.  Checking out the lie of the land he suddenly understood the tank’s problem – running alongside the road, almost hidden by snow and  frozen gorse, was a trench. He couldn’t see how deep it was or whether it was water-filled, but it was nearly two metres wide, and the tank was hesitant to cross without a good run at it – if the commander misjudged his speed the front end of the tank would topple into the trench and it would take precious minutes to back out of its predicament.

 

Nikolai grinned. As he peered further up the road he could see where the tank would have to cross the road – the trench narrowed there to less than a metre and a half. Checking behind him for a moment, he could just see Rivka’s face peering out at him from behind a tree over a hundred metres away, Vasha held tight in her arms. He could see the horror on his wife’s face, so he lifted his hand and gave her a tiny gesture of reassurance, and he was relieved to see Rivka raise her own hand in acknowledgement. Then she disappeared back into the trees.

 

Happier now that he knew Rivka was safe, he turned to the job in hand.

 

The Panzer was not firing now, the commander obviously sure that resistance from the stranded Russian soldiers would be minimal. The German knew they could not escape his attack … the road was too treacherous and rutted for the heavily-laden trucks to outrun the Panzer. All the Russians could do was stand and fight, for all the good it would do.

 

He began to work his way along the rest of the convoy, keeping an eye on Nikitin as the little corporal rousted out Putin and Razov and headed towards the truck carrying the PTRD. After a few moments scrabbling about in the truck’s interior they hauled out the PTRD. Nearly two metres long, it seemed to consist of nothing but barrel with a shoulder-brace, a biped-prop and a hand-grip. Razov grabbed the back carrying the 20-round cartridge pouch and slung it over one shoulder. With Nikitin in the lead, they ran, crouched, beside the trucks and flung themselves under the first truck in the convoy … Lubov’s truck. Within seconds Putin had set the weapon up and Razov handed him the cartridge pouch. They had both put on their helmets.

 

Nikolai, satisfied that the two soldiers knew what they were doing, unslung his rifle and caught Lubov by the shoulder.

 

“Righto – there might be infantry not far behind, so tell the men to keep their eyes peeled. Then get to the fuel truck and fill up a couple of bottles or whatever with diesel, you hear me? When you’ve done that, get back to me as soon as you can.”

 

The tank had not located the truck, that was obvious – but if it did, they were finished in more ways than one. If the truck blew, then it would destroy most of the convoy in the blast, and even if the rest survived, they would not have enough fuel to get to safety.

 

Lubov nodded, then ran the rest of the way down the convoy, passing on Nikolai’s orders and making sure the men knew what to expect.

 

As he went from truck to truck, each one harbouring a small complement of soldiers, Nikolai saw them dig in. Whether it was underneath the trucks or behind them, each soldier looked professional and well-trained. Which they were – Nikolai had seen to that. If a Fritz soldier had the temerity to show his face, then he would end up with a bullet between his eyes.

 

By the time Lubov had worked his way back to Nikolai, panting hard with effort and not a little fear, Nikolai had checked his rifle and made sure the barrel was free from dirt and ice. Lubov held up two army-issue glass water bottles filled with fuel, the necks stuffed with a length of rag.

 

Nikolai grunted in satisfaction.

 

“Good lad. Now then … let’s go and see if we can get ourselves a tank, shall we?”

 

Lubov’s eyes widened.

 

“How? I mean, it’s a tank, comrade Colonel! What - ”

 

Nikolai raised a hand and stopped Lubov’s outburst.

 

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s go,” he said, and he set off along the convoy, working his way from truck to truck until he reached Lubov’s vehicle. He crouched down beside it and peered underneath at Nikitin, who was sprawled on his belly beside Razov and Putin.

 

“Are you men ready?” Seeing Nikitin’s nod, he continued. “Lubov and I will be in that trench, so try not to blow our bloody heads off, will you? Do what you can to stop the thing, but if it gets over the trench stop firing and leave it to Lubov and me. Nikitin, you just make sure the rest of  ‘em keep an eye out for Fritz soldiers lurking in the undergrowth. Right – we’re off.”

 

And shoving Lubov ahead of him, he scurried behind the truck. Hesitating for a few moments, Nikolai and Lubov ran desperately towards the trench.

 

Nikolai went into a rolling slide as he launched himself over the edge of the trench. For a moment he feared the trench would be too deep and filled with icy water, but he landed on his booted feet in a few centimetres of slush. Lubov tumbled down beside him, all arms and legs, and Nikolai caught him by the shoulder of his telogreika, stopping the young mechanic collapsing in a heap in the sloshing mess at the bottom of the trench. The rumble of the tank was getting closer.

 

Nikolai quickly checked out the trench. It was v-shaped, sides sloping inwards in a tangle of undergrowth, and the bottom was about half a metre wide – just wide enough for a man to move comfortably along in a semi-crouch. It was about a metre and a half deep, and nearly two metres wide at the top. He looked northwards to where the tank was, and saw how the trench narrowed twenty metres ahead. There, he thought. That’s where the bugger will try to cross. He looked down at Lubov, the young soldier trying to catch his breath from the wild dash to the trench and the inelegant tumble into its depths.

 

“Right. Here’s what we do.” He gestured at the narrow part of the trench. “If Nikitin can’t blow the bastard to hell, then that’s where the tank will try to get in front of the column. I hope you haven’t broken those Molotov cocktails, you young sod!” He grinned at Lubov, who grinned back and pulled the fuel-filled bottles from the inside of his telogreika. “Good. Now, let’s get moving. I want to be there before that bloody Fritz tank.” Grasping his rifle in his right hand. Nikolai began to move along the trench towards the narrower section, Lubov following behind.

 

The tank was rumbling ever closer, and he heard the sharp bark of Nikitin’s voice away to his left. Turning, Nikolai shoved Lubov down into the icy filth under their feet and crouched down beside him. There was the sharp belch of the PTRD as Putin fired a round that whumped over their heads and hit the Panzer.

 

The earth shook. The percussion and noise of the heavy 14.5mm shell was deafening, and there was a rending screech of metal as it impacted on the front plating of the Panzer. Nikolai grimaced as the noise assailed his ears, the roar and blast of the shot deafening both of the soldiers for a moment. But as the sound lessened, Nikolai’s heart sank. The tank was still moving. Putin’s shot hadn’t disabled it.

 

Standing and peeking carefully over the edge of the trench he blenched.

 

The Panzer was heading straight for them, the hole blasted in its side by the PTRD blackened and gaping.

 

“Shit!” Lubov was beside him in a moment. “The bloody plating’s been spaced!” He looked up at Nikolai, his face white with fear. “They’ve put spacing between two layers of plates – the shells tend to break up and don’t cause so much damage!”

 

Nikolai’s blue eyes glittered. Now it was up to him. Putin might get another shot in before the tank rolled over the narrowed part of the trench, but he doubted it. They wouldn’t be able to destroy the tank with only one PTRD without taking heavy losses, and Colonel Nikolai Koulikov of the 284^th Rifle division was not about to let that happen. He thought through his plan, and decided there was little else he could do but get on with it and hope for the best.

 

“Listen!” he said, getting Lubov’s attention. The boy was terrified, he could tell. “When the tank goes over the trench I want you to light one of those bottles and - ”

 

But the young mechanic was ahead of him, a smile suddenly wreathing his baby face.

 

“The air intake!!! I’ll dump it in the air intake! The burning diesel will get sucked into the engine!”

 

Nikolai grinned wolfishly.

 

“You’ve got it, lad! With their engine on fire those bastards will get out of that bloody death trap like rats leaving a sinking ship! Then we can pick ‘em off at our leisure. It’s a trick I learned back in Sevastopol. Very handy.”

 

But they were interrupted by the Panzer. The huge machine headed inexorably towards them, the heavy ice-treads crushing stone, undergrowth and even small trees in its wake, its deadly barrel coming to bear on the truck where Nikitin, Razov and Putin were probably desperately trying to reload the PTRD.  It lumbered on like some enormous mechanical beast, and before Nikolai could yell at Lubov to get down it was upon them.

 

It reared above them, the stench of fuel and hot metal almost making them gag, and with a thud that Nikolai was sure would rattle loose his teeth it landed across the narrow gap of the trench. The treads sent a skittering shower of dirt and stones down upon them as they crouched helplessly in the trench, and Nikolai grunted in pain as a particularly heavy stone hit him on the back.

 

Lubov was terrified, but even in his terror the young soldier was thinking, working out how much time he had to scramble up the side of the trench and do his utmost to drop the burning bottle of diesel into the Panzer’s vulnerable air intake at its rear.

 

The tank hauled its huge bulk over the trench, its immense weight crumbling the edges, and for a few heart-stopping moments Nikolai was sure both he and Lubov were going to be buried under an avalanche of dirt, but within moments the rear of the tank was above them, the treads spewing clods of earth and muck down into the trench. And then the Panzer was heading away from them up, up onto the edge of the road.
 

 Lubov gave a terrified, brazen yell of bravado and hurling himself up the broken sides of the trench he stumbled upright. He brought out a small cigarette lighter, flicked up a small blue flame, lit the fuel-soaked rag in the glass bottle he held, and ran like hell for the rear of the tank. Within seconds the bottle smashed against the small air vent below the turret.

 

The blast almost threw Lubov off his feet, and the young soldier’s slight figure was sent reeling back towards the trench. Flames, hot and blue, licked over the back of the tank and the air vent sucked in both heat and fire, black smoke suddenly billowing from the engine. Within seconds the tank had ground to a halt.

 

Lubov grinned.

 

****************

 

From her vantage point amongst the trees, Rivka Koulikova clutched her baby son to her breast and watched the events unfold before her very eyes.

 

Her scream of warning had gone unheeded, but she almost wept with relief when she saw that the tank had missed its target by a hair’s breadth. She saw the Panzer rumble onwards towards the front of the convoy, and saw the mad scramble for the PTRD in the truck. Her heart leapt into her mouth as Nikolai rallied his soldiers and sent Nikitin and his two men to try and stop the tank with the ungainly PTRD … and she saw the soldiers flinch with fear as it became obvious that the anti-tank rifle was almost completely ineffective against the Panzer.

 

But when she glimpsed Nikolai and young Lubov scurrying for cover and then disappearing into what appeared to be a hole in the ground, she had to bite back a cry of fear – what on earth was the big ox doing??? He was going to get himself killed!!

 

The tank trundled on and it suddenly turned neatly on its tracks and headed towards the road. It lurched for a moment and seemed to struggle to get over some sort of depression in the ground, but it soon gained traction once more and gathered speed as it headed out of the trees and up the slight incline onto the road.

 

Then Lubov appeared as if from thin air, yelling, Rivka thought, although she couldn’t tell because of the noise of the tank, and he threw something that burst in a sheet of flames against the tank’s rear plating. Within seconds the vehicle was wreathed in thick black smoke, and it lurched to a halt.

 

“Dear God …” she whispered to herself. “Niko … where are you, Niko …”

 

Rivka’s heart faltered in her chest and she took a sharp intake of breath.

 

There, striding purposefully from the long drift of billowing smoke, was Nikolai, his rifle at the ready, his steps steady and assured. He stopped perhaps twenty metres from the tank … and waited.

 

 

There was not a single shot from the Russian soldiers in the convoy. Indeed, the only sound was that of the Panzer as it sat, its engine faltering and belching oily smoke. Rivka realised she was holding her breath as she stood with Vasha in her arms, both mesmerised and appalled at what she was witnessing.

 

She nearly jumped out of her skin with fright as the hatch on the Panzer’s turret suddenly flipped open, the heavy hatch-door banging back on its hinges. The five-man crew of the crippled vehicle decided enough was enough. Barrelling out of the tank, several of them coughing but all of them with Lugers in hand, they toppled out of the Panzer. They hit the ground firing.

 

Nikolai Koulikov was ready for them.

 

Five cartridges in a clip ... five men. One bullet to every man. He grinned. That was all he needed.

 

Rivka watched open-mouthed as Nikolai went into action. Until her dying day she would remember the smooth deadliness of this man who was the love of her life ... the father of her son, the gentlest person she had ever known.

 

The first bullet tumbled one of the Germans off the turret before the man knew what had hit him, the spray of blood from his cap and the boneless way he fell telling Rivka he was dead before he hit the ground. Looking back to Nikolai she watched him smoothly work the bolt as the remaining crew members realised that the danger came not from the column of battered trucks but from behind them.

 

They scattered, but it was too late.

 

Nikolai’s aim was unerring. In the space of just under twenty seconds, four men lay dead or dying, and after each shot Nikolai calmly altered his aim while working the awkward bolt on the Moisin-Nagant. Two of the Germans managed to get off a shot, and Rivka cried out as she saw one of the bullets rip a hole in the side of Nikolai’s telogreika. But the big sniper never flinched and his next shot punched into the German lieutenant’s chest, putting a neat hole above the insignia of the Waffen SS on his breast pocket. The Luger arced away from his dead hand, and the man was flung backwards into the icy mud with a finality that made Rivka gasp in horror.

 

It was all over in less than half a minute.

 

The black smoke from the Panzer now mingled with the wisps of smoke from the barrel of the Moisin-Nagant as Nikolai lowered the rifle, removing the empty clip and automatically slotting in a new one. He stood still, poised, listening, watchful, gauging the situation, long legs braced and big, brawny body tense and ready to burst into action.

 

Then he suddenly relaxed slightly – the moment of danger had passed. His men scrambled up from their places behind the trucks and cheered, hats waving in the air in a roar of relief and sheer pleasure in still being alive. Nikitin scrabbled out from beneath the truck and ran over to a befuddled Lubov, the boy still lying dazed beside the trench.

 

“You stupid little bastard! You could have got yourself killed, you idiot Ukranian fart!” Nikitin helped Lubov to his feet, his outburst trying to hide the worry he had for the young soldier.

 

Lubov just gave him a silly, slightly bemused grin.

 

“Did you see that Corp?? Did you see the way we stopped the tank? Just a little bottle of fuel, and BOOM! POOF! Gone! We got the buggers, Corp … we got ‘em …”

 

“Yeah, you got ‘em! But shit, boy, you almost got your balls blown off …”

 

Lubov’s grin became slightly manic as he shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness brought on by the blast. But he was in one piece, Nikitin thought, and that was all that mattered. He had become quite paternal in his old age, he decided, then dismissed the thought. All he was interested in was keeping the boy alive because he was a bloody good mechanic.

 

Nikolai almost staggered under the pounding slaps of congratulations on his broad shoulders from his men, but he looked up at the tree-line, seeking the sight he needed more than life itself. He let loose a grunt of relief as he saw Rivka step out from behind the tree, her face pale but eager. Vasha sat happily in her arms, his fear having gone as quickly as it had arrived.

 

Nikolai lifted a hand and waved, his smile telling her all was well and that she could return to the safety of the convoy.

Within moments she was in his arms, sobbing her relief against his chest and murmuring how terrified she had been for him. Vasha just gurgled happily at his father’s whispered words of reassurance as Nikolai held his wife and son to him, his kisses telling them both how much he loved them. But soon he lifted her face to his and he looked into eyes that still glistened with tears.

 

“Now then Rivka, we have to go. There could be Fritz infantry here any minute now and it’s not a good idea to linger. So get yourself into that jeep and I’ll be with you in a few moments.”

 

Nikolai turned away and set off down the line of trucks to give out orders, and the soldiers, faces still wreathed in smiles, nodded and saluted their Colonel … the man who had saved their lives.

 

Rivka turned to look at Nikitin who was guiding a still-shaky but wildly grinning Lubov to his truck.

 

Nikitin gave her his ferret-like grin.

 

“Well Missus, this is a pretty mess, tell me if it isn’t!” He looked back down the line to the ruin of the communications truck and he sobered for a moment. “Those bastards killed Turgenev.” He sniffed. “Bloody good man, Turgenev. A good sort, too. Bloody useless harmonica player though.” He sniffed again and used his jacket sleeve to wipe his nose. “Yes … well … it happens, hey? War’s a right bastard.” He turned back to Rivka. “Well, Missus, let’s get you and the little ‘un back …” He frowned looking past Rivka for a moment. Then his eyes widened. “Oh shit!!”

 

And Rivka was suddenly knocked off her feet, Vasha still held tightly in her arms.

 

Nikitin’s heavy tackle drove the breath out of her and she heard a soft grunt from the little corporal as his scrawny frame sent her flying, his strong, wiry arms shoving her sideways and down. She thought she heard the crack of a shot but then she was hitting the ground, Vasha too frightened to yell out, Nikitin’s body cushioning their fall.

 

As she lay dazed and winded, Vasha screaming once more in fear, she heard the flurry of shots and a cry of pain. Through the heavy, rapid beating of her heart she heard shouts of anger, and felt a warmth at her back. Nikitin was very still.

 

She shifted, wincing from bruises on her side. Untangling herself from the corporal’s grasp and sitting up she tried to soothe Vasha, the boy hiccuping now against her jacket. As Vasha quietened Rivka suddenly realised Nikitin hadn’t moved.

 

“Ivan?” She shifted sideways and stared at Nikitin, why lay sprawled on his back. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open. She was appalled to see a darkening stain soaking the side of his jacket. “Ivan!! Dear God … Misha … Misha!!!” She looked wildly around for Mikhail Valentin Lubov. Lubov turned from staring at the still-twitching corpse of the German sergeant who had, in his dying moments, managed to lift his Luger and take a shot at the nearest figure he could make out with his failing vision. That person had been Rivka Koulikova. The man now lay riddled with bullets, and Rivka glimpsed Nikolai running as fast as he could back up the line of trucks.

 

Lubov was at Rivka’s side in a moment, only to have Vasha thrust into his arms.

 

“Take him! I need to see how badly Ivan’s hurt!” Rivka fumbled at Nikitin’s telogreika with chilled fingers, and finally she managed to ease up the heavy quilted material. Beneath it Nikitin’s undershirt was soaked with blood, and Rivka gasped. The bullet had hit Nikitin low in the back, tearing a hole through the fleshy part of his side above his bony hip and exiting at the front of his body. The hole was mushy with blood, and Rivka quickly unwound her scarf and pressed it on both wounds, wrapping it around to the smaller entrance wound in his back. She looked up as Nikolai crouched down beside her. “Niko – first aid kit, quickly! I need pressure bandages!”

 

Nikolai looked down at Nikitin. The little corporal seemed to be unconscious, but as Rivka pressed on the wounds he groaned softly and his eyes fluttered open. Nikolai snapped an order to the nearest man to bring the first-aid kit, then he turned back to Nikitin. The rat-like NCO fixed green-hazel eyes on Nikolai’s face and winced.

 

“Oh … oh bugger, that hurts …” Nikitin’s breath hitched.

 

“Shhh …” Rivka said quietly, keeping up the pressure even as Nikitin flinched away from the pain. “Be still, Ivan … I have to stop the bleeding …”

 

Nikitin’s eyes flickered to Rivka.

 

“I … I’m dyin’ Missus, aren’t I …bloody shitting German … the bastard shot me …”

 

Rivka had to smile despite her worry. She realised the blood-flow was slowing, and when Razov dropped to his knees beside her with the kit she took the stocky mechanic’s hand and pressed it over the scarf at Nikitin’s side, then she searched through the kit until she found a couple of thick field dressings. Ripping them out of their packaging she replaced the scarf with them, giving a small murmur of satisfaction as she saw that the blood did not soak through them immediately. At least Nikitin wasn’t going to die of blood loss.

 

“Well, Ivan, I don’t think you’ll be leaving us just yet. Niko love, help me get him bandaged up and then we’ll see about getting him moved. Misha …” She smiled up at Lubov. “Can you get the bed ready in the back of the truck? If we’re careful and the corporal here behaves himself, he might just live long enough to draw his pension. When will we get to Kiev?” She gazed at Nikolai expectantly.

 

He thought for a moment or two, then answered.

 

“If we get a move on, we may make it by tonight. But we’ll have to go easily … can’t have the corporal here getting jarred, now that he’s a certified hero!” He grinned down at the recumbent Nikitin, the shabby corporal sweating now with the pain and looking pale. He was slightly shocky, Rivka knew, and she needed to get him moved somewhere warm and comfortable very quickly. She felt a pang in her chest. Nikitin had saved her life.

 

But she could not spare any more time for thinking. She had work to do.

 

For the next few minutes and with Nikolai’s help, she bandaged the wounds and wrapped Nikitin in a blanket. He was then lifted very gently by his fellow soldiers and borne carefully to Lubov’s truck, where he was eased onto the mattress and covered with blankets. Rivka scrambled in beside him and dug out plasma and a tube from the kit. Nikitin’s pulse was rapid and thready, his heart having to work twice as hard to pump the reduced amount of blood in his veins around his battered body. Rigging up the plasma bag above his head with a piece of string, she chewed her lip as she tried to remember what Oleg had taught her about inserting a needle into the vein so the plasma could flow easily and safely into Nikitin's system. It took her long, nervous minutes to find a vein and get the flutter valve in working order, but with a sigh of satisfaction she sat back on her haunches. There. It was all done. Now all she had to do was keep Nikitin alive until they reached the hospital at Kiev.

 

Nikolai peered into the truck holding Vasha in his arms.

 

“All right, Rivka? We have to go – I daren’t wait any longer.” He glanced at Nikitin. “How is he? Is he going to make it? We lost four men you know …”

 

Rivka gazed at Nikitin. Four men … all of them someone’s father, brother or son. Just like the German tank crew. She had a sudden fleeting vision of Nikolai’s calm and deadly shooting, and the soldiers dropping like rag dolls, lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. No, she decided. She could not judge him for it. Nikolai was protecting not just his men, but his wife and son. And Rivka knew she would have done exactly the same if need be.

 

“With luck, he might just make it. We have to go, love.” Rivka leaned forward and kissed her husband as he stood at the tailgate of the truck.

 

“Righto, Missus. You look after that silly bastard, won’t you? He saved both of you.” Nikolai’s blue-on-blue eyes were distant. “I owe him.”

 

“Cake …” Nikitin’s voice was weak but clear. “I want a cake … fruit cake … with butter …”

 

Nikolai snorted in amusement, then he winked at his wife and was gone.

 

Rivka squeezed Nikitin’s hand and the grubby little soldier gave a weak grin.

 

“ … and jam. I love jam.” He added.

 

Within moments the trucks had roared into life, and Rivka braced Nikitin’s wounded frame as they lurched forward.

 

Making its way slowly but surely along the road and skirting the now-burning tank with its scattering of corpses, the convoy began once more to make its way to the great and ancient city of Kiev.

 

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