Chapter 26

Author’s note: General Chekurda is fictional – however, the Cossack (Kazakh) regiments are not. The Kuban Cossacks came from the Trans-Caucasus, and were feared cavalrymen. Traditional cavalry played a successful part in the battles over the steppes in remote areas like Kirghizia. The papashka is a black fur cap with the regulation red enamel star, and the shaksa sabre would be worn with the elegant but deadly nagaika dagger. The Cossacks were feared soldiers, tough, deadly and extremely efficient and tenacious.

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Nikolai awoke to pale, early-morning sunshine streaming in through a window and a fire glowing warmly in the hearth. He wondered why he could hear men’s voices raised in cheerful banter and the movement of bodies on the landing outside, and disorientated for a moment, he thought he was back in the billet in Gnössen, hearing his comrades dressing and getting ready for the day’s sniper training.

Yawning, he levered himself upright in bed, feeling better than he had done in days. The ache in his joints was almost gone, and although still tired, he didn’t have the all-consuming, feverish exhaustion that had marred the past few days. Rivka and Vasha were nowhere to be seen.

Slipping out of bed he put on his pants and padded to the door, noticing Rivka’s nightgown and dressing gown hanging on a hook beside it. When he opened the door onto the landing he was confronted by half-a-dozen semi-naked mechanics, wandering along the landing to the bathroom, towels over one shoulder and a bar of rough soap and shaving gear in hand. Turning at the sound of the door opening, they all stiffened to attention, but the presence of Colonel Nikolai Koulikov didn’t wipe the beaming smiles from their grubby faces.

"Comrade Colonel!" said Platov, a middle-aged scrawny wreck of a man with a tobacco-stained moustache and rheumy blue eyes. He scratched his armpit enthusiastically as he continued. "We’ve got the plumbing working properly for the Missus, and she told us we needed a bath – so here we are. But now you’re here, you should go first – you bein’ the Colonel, like ..."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow as they looked at him expectantly. He supposed he could do with a bath. He hadn’t had one since God only knew when, and he would have to present himself to his superiors later on in the day and he would like to look presentable.

Platov let his grin widen.

"S’all right comrade, sir, we can wait – anyway, you’re the cleanest of us – when you’ve finished we’ll have a wash each, cleanest first. I’m the grubbiest, so I’m last. The bloody water’ll be cold by then, but bugger it, who cares, hey? At least I won’t smell!"

The rest of the mechanics roared with laughter, and Nikolai had to grin. He studied the relaxed and happy faces, and noticed one was missing.

"Where’s Lubov?" he asked, curious.

"Gone to check on the Corp, see how he’s doing." Platov’s lined face became solemn. "We’re going to go and see him later. Hope he’s all right. Tough bugger, the Corp."

Nikolai nodded. Corporal Ivan Grigorvich Nikitin certainly was a ‘tough bugger’, and he wanted to go and check the little corporal was being well cared-for at the old, crumbling hospital. He may not like the place for the memories it stirred in him, but his responsibility for these men outweighed everything.

He nodded. "Righto. I’ll go to headquarters this morning and find out where you’re to set up and who your officer in charge is. Then I’ll go and check on Nikitin m’self." He saw the relief on the mechanics’ faces and nodded. They were happier knowing someone was in charge – they missed Nikitin. "So, hot water, hey?" he said, changing the subject. He treated them to one of his steely grins. "Well, seeing as it’s my Missus who’s demanding clean bodies about the place, I suppose I’d better make m’self presentable."

Returning to the bedroom he found a towel and some soap in his war-bag, and leaving the mechanics all sitting on the floor chatting merrily, he headed into the big old bathroom for his first bath in a long while.

The bathroom was decorated throughout with huge, blue and white Dutch tiles with rustic scenes and cheerful shepherds dotted here and there. The bath was enormous – deep and sturdy, its enameled bulk took up a considerable amount of room. The sink and toilet were equally old, and the pipes lay in convoluted snakes along the wall and ceiling. The room would have looked clinical and cold if it had not been for the cheerful scenes on the tiles, and Nikolai had no doubt that if Rivka was given time she would have the bathroom homely and cozy in no time. It certainly wasn’t cold, either – the hot water running through the pipes warmed the bathroom thoroughly, and Nikolai luxuriated in the fact as he began to run hot water into the bath, the steam warming him as he stripped off, saw to his toilet and shaved as the bath filled. He was humming happily to himself by the time he lowered his naked frame into the hot water, and he let loose a groan of pleasure as the heat soaked into his stiff joints.

As he quickly soaped and washed his hair, he pondered the pleasure of being able to have a hot bath every day – a luxury by any standards, and almost unheard of for a soldier in the middle of a bloody, foul war. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to leave the army, he thought to himself as he washed the grime from his brawny body. Maybe he should have left when he could ... maybe he and Rivka should have found somewhere quiet to live with their son and he could lead an ordinary, uncomplicated life with his family ... but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered his head. How could he leave the army? Even if they would let him – and that was impossible as long as he was deemed fit to serve in some capacity – what would he do? Once more the spectre of uselessness rose before him. He had been a soldier all of his adult life ... he knew nothing else. He had no education, no skills other than knowing how to kill. What use was he, other than as a soldier?

Sighing, he decided he had soaked long enough and hauled himself out of the bath. Towelling himself vigorously dry, he wrapped the damp towel around his hips, gathered up his underwear and left the water for the next bather. By the time the mechanics had finished, he decided, the bathwater would probably resemble a mud wallow, but there was not enough water to refill the bath. Perhaps when the mechanics had found their own billets they would be able to shower regularly at one of the communal bath-houses and de-lousing stations the army set up wherever it could to combat vermin and filth.

By the time he was dry and dressed in fresh underwear and his uniform, he was feeling brighter. He almost had a spring in his step as he wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen, hearing the chatter of voices and the happy gurgle of his baby son.

On entering the kitchen he was greeted by an enthusiastic chortle from Vasha, who was sitting on the lap of a young woman in uniform he had never seen before. Rivka was busy making a big pot of tea and pouring it into army-issue mugs.

The young woman stood, trying to cradle a wriggling Vasha in her arms and straightening to attention at the same time. Nikolai’s mouth twitched in amusement as Vasha held out his pudgy hands, demanding to be held by his papa.

"My son is a bit of a bruiser, Sergeant," he said, noticing the two red stripes on the shoulders of her gymnastiorka denoting her rank as Junior Sergeant. "He’s a bit of a handful when he wants something!" Reaching out, he relieved the sergeant of her burden and cradled his delighted son to his chest, Vasha attracted as always by the three gold stars on his father’s shoulder boards. As Vasha tweaked and played with the glittery things he loved so much, Nikolai looked over at the woman who was still at attention.

"So, Sergeant … now you’ve been rescued from the clutches of my son, perhaps you can tell me who you are and why you’re here, hey?" He sat down at the huge table in the enormous kitchen and smiled at his wife as Rivka put a mug of tea beside him.

The sergeant tried to straighten even more and stared at the wall stiffly.

"Junior Sergeant Naran Ivanova, comrade Colonel Koulikov, sir! Traffic Control Division."

Nikolai glanced at Rivka who smiled back at him, her dark eyes shining in amusement.

"The sergeant is your new driver, Nikolai. Apparently Sergeant Sorokin has found other more pressing duties to occupy him." Rivka set down plates of bacon and some bread. "Sergeant, eat up. I don’t like food going to waste, so I don’t, and you’ll work better with some hot food in your stomach."

Sergeant Naran Ivanova glanced over at Rivka and was torn. Should she relax and sit down, or stay to attention? She was in awe of the man before her, this big, legendary Colonel of the elite sniper division, the man called 'The Bear' not only by his peers but by anyone who read the Red Star. But she had not expected this gentleness in him, the warmth and welcome of family and the love this tough, deadly soldier obviously had for his wife and son.

Still, she thought, legends are human too …

She decided to sit down and to hell with the demands of army protocol. Seating herself back at the old, huge table she sipped tentatively at her mug of tea, and began to hesitantly eat the hot food before her, eyes still on Colonel Nikolai Koulikov.

Nikolai tucked into his breakfast with gusto, much to Rivka’s relief. He was still suffering from the after-effects of the fever that had struck him down on the road to Kiev, but now she was pleased to see the sparkle in his eyes and the hunger that had him clearing the plate of food with relish. Vasha babbled happily to himself as he sat on his papa’s lap and played with the buttons of Nikolai’s gymnastiorka.

"Sergeant Ivanova is from the Altai, Niko," Rivka said as she sat down and began eating her own breakfast.

Nikolai studied the sergeant. Her hair was straight and blue-black, dark as a raven’s wing and tied back in a neat bun under her khaki beret, the enamel red star winking in the morning light streaming in through the window. Her eyes too were a fathomless black, and were an elegant almond shape, showing just a hint of an epicanthic fold. High cheekbones were the final tell-tale evidence of the heritage of her people, the native clans of the high Altai on the borders of Mongolia. She was not tall and her body was stocky but trim and capable.

Sergeant Naran Ivanova swallowed a mouthful of bread and smiled softly.

"My father is an engineer from Chelyabinsk – he met my mother when he was sent to the Altai to build a bridge. She is of the Kumandin people … a proud people," she added. "I was born in the summer camp in the meadows on the bank of the Biya river." Her chin tilted, her pride unable to be contained. "I could ride a horse before I could walk … my grandfather saw to that." Then she blushed, thinking she had said too much.

But Rivka was entranced. Her fascination with far-off places was unquenchable, and eagerness glowed in her dark eyes.

"It sounds wonderful, sergeant! Please, tell us more! Is it as beautiful as it sounds?"

Nikolai smiled to himself at the girlish delight in Rivka’s voice, and winked at her as she caught his eye, her face animated and eager.

"I’m sure we have time, Niko?"

He nodded.

"Don’t worry, woman – I don’t have to be at headquarters for an hour or so yet, so the sergeant can relax and have her breakfast. Oh, and tell you all about the mountains, if she feels so inclined. Is that all right with you, sergeant?"

Naran Ivanova let her mobile mouth twitch into a smile and she began to relax. She had dreaded meeting the Colonel, but he was not at all what she had expected, although she was fully aware of the caché the position of driver to Colonel Nikolai Koulikov, Noble Sniper and Hero of the Soviet Union imparted to her. She was very proud to have been chosen.

"The Altai …" she began, not sure where to start. "It … it is very, very beautiful. Maybe not to people from the Ukraine or the lowlands – it is very lonely. But …" she added, her face bright with pleasure, "I was born there … it is my home. If you could see the sun rise over the mountains, comrade Koulikova, you would never leave. The light and shadow of the clouds … the wind over the high places, the sound of the eagle as she flies high over the gorges …" Naran’s voice softened in wonder, her gaze settling on something she saw in the realms of her memory as she continued. "You should see the lakes, comrade colonel – beautiful, and so pure … and the glaciers! Oh, you should see the glaciers, and the waterfalls! A beautiful country, comrade, and there is nothing like riding on the steppes with an eagle on your wrist looking for mountain hare. There, on the Altai … there, you are free …" She was lost in thought for a moment, then her eyes dropped shyly, although the colour in her dusky cheeks lent her face a rare beauty. "My children are there. They live with my parents … they will see they are raised well and in the ways of my mother’s clan."

Rivka was enchanted.

"You have children? Oh, sergeant, tell me about them, please! If you don’t mind, that is …" she added, suddenly aware that the sergeant might not wish to speak of them to strangers.

But Naran gave Rivka a smile of such sweetness that Rivka’s reservations melted away.

"I have a son and a daughter, comrade. My son is seven, my daughter is nearly five. They love the Altai too, although they were born in Minsk. My husband … he was a welder who came out to one of the Altai mines to work. We moved to Minsk after a year, and my children were born, and then ..." Her face fell. "The war came. My husband fell at Stalingrad, comrade colonel, eighteen months ago. I sent my children home to my parents and joined up. I haven’t seen them in over a year."

Rivka and Nikolai looked at one another, the distress plain on their faces, but there was nothing they could say. Junior Sergeant Naran Ivanova was one of hundreds of thousands of women whose men had lost their lives in this bloody and deadly war … and Rivka thought of the time she almost lost her beloved Niko. So instead of speaking, she touched Naran’s wrist and smiled into those black eyes, her own warm with compassion.

"I hope you see them soon, sergeant. I truly hope so."

Naran nodded, knowing somehow that this lean, angular woman with the kind eyes understood, and it eased the ache in her heart.

"I’m sure I will, comrade. And I hope one day that you will get to see the Altai … and your son will love it, I’m sure."

Nikolai held up his wriggling son and grinned into his round, laughing features.

"Well, my lad! Would you like that? Learning to ride a horse and to hunt wild hare with an eagle? Yes, I really think you would! Perhaps after the war, sergeant, we will come and see your beloved Altai. I know my wife would go right now if she could, hey, Rivka?"

Rivka’s eyes sparkled with pleasure.

"Yes, Niko, I would if I could – as long as I was with you and Vasha! Just think! All those mountains …"

And Nikolai could swear she was already there in her mind’s eye, the wind ruffling her dark hair and her gaze lost in the lonely, snow-capped peaks and endless windswept sky.

"Righto, sergeant! We’ll be off I think – I want to go by the hospital and see one of my men, and then on to headquarters. I suppose it’s about time I did some work." Nikolai had finished his breakfast, so hauled himself to his feet and passed his cheerful son to Rivka, who settled him astride her hip.

A gaggle of noisy but clean mechanics drifted chattering into the kitchen and Vasha shrieked with delight. Bouncing up and down on Rivka’s hip, she finally had to acquiesce and handed the boy to Platov, who swung the child high above his head and made airplane noises. Vasha dissolved into helpless giggles as he was passed from soldier to soldier, who swept him around the kitchen with an exuberance that was not really becoming of the mechanics of Number 7 Motor Pool attached to the Engineers. But Vasha didn’t care – as long as his ‘uncles’ played with him he was happy.

Nikolai shook his head, amused.

Lunatics. Nothing but bloody lunatics, that’s what they are …

But he was glad they were here, and that they had survived … and he thought of Boris Turgenev’s smiling, round face and his plaintive music, his harmonica setting lonely hearts yearning and longing for home. Nikolai knew one of his chores for today would be to sit down and write to Turgenev’s wife and three young daughters, informing them that he had died serving the Motherland.

Small consolation when you have mouths to feed and no one to help you, he thought, although she would get a small pension from the state. But still, that was no recompense for the loss of a loved one.

He was disturbed from his reverie by a touch on his arm, and he looked down to see Rivka holding out his greatcoat.

"Put it on, Niko – it’s cold outside and you’re still not well." She sighed with irritation when she saw him hesitate. "Now don’t you argue with me, my lad! If you think I’m going to spend more nights nursing you though a dose of fever, then you’re very much mistaken, so don’t be a klotz and put on the coat!"

Sergeant Naran Ivanova stood with her eyes wide with amazement as this big, tough soldier stood meekly as his wife helped him on with his greatcoat, then buttoned it up, finally patting him on the chest as she tucked the collar around him. Nikolai caught Naran’s eye and winked at her, then leaned down and kissed his wife on the end of her nose.

"Rivka Koulikova, you are a pain in the toches and a nag … but I love you very much. Now then woman, don’t work too hard – leave all the heavy stuff until I get home, all right?"

Rivka hit him lightly on the arm dismissively.

"Ach, away with you, Niko! I have our new home to sort out, and I’ll be as happy as a cow in clover, so stop worrying. Anyway, if I didn’t fuss over you, you would think I’d gone meshugeh and didn’t love you any more!" She leaned over and lifted his ushanka from the back of the chair as the mechanics all began to settle around the stove, squabbling amongst themselves as they sliced bacon and tried to amuse Vasha at the same time. Rivka scowled at them. "Go to work Niko, while I go and find a skillet to batter these men into some sort of order! I mean, look at them! Nothing but an unsightly rabble …"

Nikolai grinned, his steel teeth glittering in the sunlight, and turned to an astounded Naran Ivanova.

"Let’s be off before she tries to wrap a skillet around my head too … it’s a joy to be a married man, so it is … so nice to have a woman who loves you and obeys your every whim … bloody lovely!"

"Why, Nikolai Koulikov, you … you …" Rivka’s voice was acid.

He just made it out of the kitchen door as a ladle bounced off the wall beside him.

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The drive to headquarters in the cool light of day made Nikolai realize how little he knew of Kiev, even though he had spent perhaps the longest months of his life in the city. But, he mused as Naran drove the jeep through the winding streets, in the wet spring of 1939 he had arrived in the dead of night by train, in the depths of a filthy cattle car. From there he had been thrown, bound, into the back of a covered truck and driven to NKVD Forced Labour Camp Number 7 on Krasnykh Komandirov Street. There he had been hauled into the stark rooms and interrogated. The following months had been a blur of starvation, beatings, mind-numbing, back-breaking work … and torture.

Sitting silently, gazing out of the jeep at the ruined city, he swallowed, trying to stop the bile rising in his throat as the fear took him. He did not want to be here – and he definitely did not want Rivka and Vasha here in Kiev. It could bring nothing but pain and terror, he was sure of it … he could feel it in his bones.

"There’s the hospital, comrade Colonel!" said Naran, shifting down through the gears and bringing the jeep to a halt beside what was left of the wide sidewalk.

Nikolai took a deep breath, showing no sign of his distress, then briskly stepped from the jeep and with Naran in tow mounted the shattered steps two at a time. It took him ten minutes to find Nikitin. The little corporal had been moved to a general ward now he was out of danger, and was busy complaining to all and sundry that the food was bloody awful, the nurses were worse than Hitler, and the doctors were all sadists of the worst kind. Lubov was sitting beside him, his boyish face wreathed in smiles now that he knew the bad-tempered mechanic was on the road to recovery.

Both Nikitin and Lubov were pleasantly surprised when they met Naran Ivanova, and the fact that she outranked both of them bothered the mechanics not one whit. Naran smiled in amusement at their banter but said little, happy to stay in the background as Nikolai told Nikitin that yes, the Missus and the little’un were both well, and yes, the motor pool lads were fine even though the Missus had made them have a bath, and they were having breakfast even as they spoke. Nikolai checked with the doctor on duty – a middle-aged veteran of the war, balding and weary – and was reassured that Nikitin would mend well, and then he quietly slipped away as he noticed Nikitin’s eyes closing despite his battle to stay awake. Lubov accompanied them, and bounced into the back of the jeep, settling himself down in his old greatcoat and his ushanka set on his blond head, flaps down and blowing in the breeze as Naran drove away from the hospital towards headquarters.

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"So … you’re Koulikov, hey? Hmmm … ‘The Bear’. I see now where they got that from."

General Alexandr Pyotrvich Chekurda gazed with keen dark eyes at Colonel Nikolai Koulikov, who stood before him feeling like a bug under a microscope. Chekurda’s handsome, greying moustache was swept up at the ends, as befitted his obvious Cossack heritage, and Nikolai noticed the black fur papashka hanging on the coat rack in the corner of the cluttered room. On the wall behind the general’s desk hung a sabre and a highly decorated dagger, and alongside them were photographs of tough little horses and even tougher looking soldiers, all grinning into the camera like idiots. They were apparently somewhere in the wilds, as Nikolai could see nothing but sparse grass and endless vistas in the background of the grainy pictures.

Chekurda grinned and turned, surveying the pictures. He was a small, sparely built man a little older than Nikolai, but an aura of authority surrounded him and Nikolai knew Chekurda was a very able and astute officer. He liked him instantly.

Chekurda lifted one of the photographs from the wall, and studied it a little more closely.

"My men. That was taken up in the Fergana ranges, two years ago. The bloody Fritzes shot my horse out from under me and he shattered my knee as he fell." Chekurda limped around his desk and Nikolai saw his left leg was stiff. Chekurda smiled bitterly. "Not only did it mean a desk job, but they killed my horse. He was a good horse … clever, sensible. Steady under fire and as agile as a mountain goat. A shame." Chekurda settled the picture next to a cigar box on his desk and sat down, indicating to Nikolai to do the same. "So, comrade Colonel … how do you like Kiev so far?"

Nikolai sat down in the old battered chair reserved for visitors to the General’s office and relaxed. Interviews with superiors didn’t worry him these days – his years in the army had long inured him to such things and he took them in his stride, and Chekurda leaned over and poured tea from an old brass samovar into two army mugs, pushing one at Nikolai who drank the hot liquid gratefully.

"I haven’t seen much of it General, and what I’ve seen looks battered to buggery, to be honest. Same as Stalingrad and lots of other places I’ve seen. War isn’t kind to either people or buildings. Talking of buildings, do you have somewhere for me to teach yet? I’m keen to get started."

Chekurda sat and studied the photograph of his long-gone comrades for a moment then looked up at Nikolai.

"Yes, we have somewhere for you to teach … and no, you can’t start just yet. It will be about ten days yet before the first recruits arrive, comrade Colonel. A combination of weather and the attentions of the Luftwaffe. Still," he added, "we have plenty for you to do. Oh, before I forget, I’ve been given your report on your run-in with the Panzer. Very impressive, I must say. I’ve forwarded the report with a recommendation to Moscow, Koulikov – don’t be surprised if you get a medal or some other bloody award out of it. You did a good job."

Nikolai grimaced and put down his tea.

"Not just me, General – those mechanics I was with did a remarkable job – they’re the ones that deserve recognition, not me. Brave as hell … mad, really." He loosened a steely grin on the spare little general. "You should’ve seen ‘em. Lunatics, that’s what they are."

Chekurda snorted in amusement.

"So I believe. I would think there are a few medals or some other rubbish heading their way, and as for those two … what are they called … " He leaned over his desk and studied Nikolai’s report on the incident. "Ah yes – Nikitin and Lubov. Would think there will be promotions for both of them. Corporal Nikitin was wounded, I gather – how is he?"

The big sniper shrugged.

"Healing. Causing hell at the hospital, so he’ll be well enough." He thought back to the moment when Nikitin had taken a bullet meant for Rivka. "He saved my wife’s life, you know – my wife and my baby son. He is a brave man, despite being the scruffiest little sod I’ve ever seen."

Chekurda cocked his head to one side and studied this big, broad-shouldered colonel with the metal teeth, sitting comfortably in the rickety old chair. He reached out and brought out another file … Nikolai’s army record.

"Yes, comrade – I see your wife and son have accompanied you to Kiev. Was that wise?"

Nikolai Koulikov narrowed his eyes at Chekurda, and decided he could be honest with the man.

"No, it wasn’t wise. I wanted her to stay in Stalingrad where she was with friends and she could be safe. But … well, General, you haven’t met my wife. She’s stubborn, determined and as tough as hell. She’s independent, and organised it without telling me. Still …" Nikolai smiled ruefully. "I’m glad she’s here. My son too."

Chekurda twisted the ends of his moustache thoughtfully, then smiled.

"I’m a bachelor m’self, I have to admit, and perhaps I don’t understand all of this family thing. But I think it’s a good thing, Colonel – a man needs family I suppose, and she’s quite a woman, I’m told. You must bring her to headquarters one day … and your boy too, of course. I would be interested to meet them both."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. Where Chekurda had gained information about Rivka he had no idea, but he kept his curiosity in check. Instead he offered an invitation.

"When Rivka has got our billet organised, General, you must come for supper – my wife is an excellent cook, and she would be delighted to meet you." His lips twitched. "She’ll probably interrogate you about the mountains; she has a great interest in mountains, does my lady Rivka."

"Hah!" Chekurda chuckled. "We Cossacks like women who love mountains! It’s a good trait in a woman where I come from. That would be very pleasant, Koulikov … very pleasant indeed. Now then – down to work. I have something I would like you to do."

Nikolai drained his mug of tea and sat up straight. Work at last!

Chekurda flicked through the file in front of him until he found the document he wanted, pulled it from the file and pushed it over to Nikolai, who paled when he read its contents.

It was a record of his time in the forced labour camp … and it was signed by Major Anton Krylov of the NKVD.

"Don’t worry, Colonel – that’s all long gone and over with. Whatever you were in there for doesn’t matter - you were exonerated, and that’s good enough for me. Now, the reason I’ve dredged it up from your records is this. When we came back into Kiev we found the Germans had set up a labour camp for Jews, Catholics … gypsies. I need someone there to get evidence, someone who knows where to look. You’ve been a prisoner in a place like that, Koulikov – and yes, I know it’ll be bloody uncomfortable for you, but I need someone who knows where stuff could be hidden … who knows how these places are run. I could ask the NKVD I suppose, but they’re untrustworthy bastards at the best of times, and I need an honest man. And that’s you. You’re my man, Nikolai – I need you to find out as much as you can because I want those buggers to face a judge for war crimes whenever this bloody war ends."

Nikolai realised he was sweating profusely and he took a deep, gulping breath of air. Running a big hand over his face he knew he was shaking. Yet he also knew he had to do this – he had to do it because he was a soldier of the Motherland, and he could not refuse an order – especially one like this.

"All right. When do I start?" He barely got the words out because his mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Chekurda lifted another file from a pile on his desk and handed it to Nikolai, who did not open it.

"You start now. I’ve left instructions for your driver, and she’ll take you out there. Report to me – only to me, Nikolai. You understand?"

Nikolai stood up, wondering how his legs were holding him up they were trembling so much.

"Yes, I understand." He set his ushanka on his head and turned to go, but Chekurda stopped him.

"Your new driver, Sergeant Ivanova. She suits well enough?"

Nikolai frowned.

"She’s a nice lass … she’ll do. Why?"

"That young bugger Sorokin … watch out for him, Koulikov. He has … how shall I say it … connections? Yes, he’s a slimy little prick to say the least."

Nikolai tucked the file under his arm as he replied.

"Rivka was on the point of ramming his teeth down his throat, and I would have happily have broken his pathetic little neck. My wife - "

"- is a Jew," finished Chekurda. "Yes, I know. Sorokin came back to headquarters last night spouting curses that would’ve made a whore blush. He doesn’t like Jews, Koulikov – he blames them for his father’s failure in business, when it was poor business acumen all along. Poor judgment. But … Sorokin has his own ideas on that, and with his father’s influence in the Party … well, he has fingers in pies, the lad does. Watch your back, that’s all I can say."

Nikolai stood for a moment in thought, then nodded.

"I will. Thanks for the warning. I’ll call back here later, General, and tell you my first impressions of this camp." He tried to keep the hesitation in his voice. It wouldn’t do to show fear … not now. Straightening, he gave General Alexandr Pyotrvich Chekurda a smart, crisp salute and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

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