Chapter 4
Vassili Zaitsev hurriedly picked his way across twisted metal and heaps of broken concrete and bricks, noting as he went the incongruity of a child’s doll lying broken amidst the destruction.
“Nikolai! NIKOLAI!” There was no answer.
Reaching the remains of the wall where only minutes before Nikolai Koulikov had sheltered from the Stuka, he was at a loss as to what to do. All he could see was a jumble of stone and brick. Nikolai had probably been blown to bits he knew, and his heart ached. He had liked the big man immensely. In only two short days the brawny sniper had become Vassili’s mentor and friend. A good friend. Nikolai had saved his life by lifting his carcass up out of the ruins and shoving him to safety.
But then his eyes narrowed, and he squinted to get a better look. He
swore vehemently. There, almost obscured by dust, was the outline of a
big hand sticking out of the pile of shattered bricks.
“Dear God … Nikolai …”
Within minutes Vassili had uncovered a left arm and a broad-shouldered torso, and then a curly head tucked into the crook of a right arm. He worked his way down the body to free the hips and legs, and then he gently caught hold of the shoulders and turned the body onto its back. He was relieved to hear a deep groan of pain as Nikolai Koulikov stirred in his arms, blue eyes flickering open to gaze unfocused on Vassili’s face.
“Nikolai, you big idiot … this time you gave me a real scare …” Vassili tried to couch his concern in humour, and failed miserably. “Where does it hurt?”
Nikolai gave a painful grin.
“All over the bloody place. Nothing broken though.” His voice was raw with pain. He shifted in Vassili’s arms and grunted in agony, but Vassili was pleased to see the big man’s limbs were intact. His jacket was shredded down the left side and he had a nasty cut in his hairline, but he seemed to be all in once piece.
“Hang on and I’ll get a couple of stretcher-bearers - ”
“No!!” Nikolai growled weakly at the young soldier. “Give me a minute then help me up. I can walk out of here.”
Vassili wasn’t convinced.
“Nikolai, you’re pretty badly knocked about, I think - ”
“I said no, boy! Just help me up and get me out of here. Then you can take me to Rivka.” Vassili noticed the softening in Nikolai’s voice as he spoke her name. “Don’t bother the doctors, it’s not that serious. Rivka will take care of me …”
Sighing, Vassili draped Nikolai’s right arm over his shoulder and braced himself as the big man gritted his teeth and got his legs under him. Once Nikolai was upright, the two soldiers began to their unsteady way back to the Russian lines and safety, the sun beginning to set on another day of death and destruction in the battle for the city of Stalingrad.
********************
It was the end of a truly miserable day for Rivka Velonina.
She worked her way through her chores like an automaton, and tried hard not to notice the rolled-up mattress in the corner and the clean tub propped against the wall. A pot of tea had been waiting for her when she arose, and a bucket of water sat beside the dirty dishes. Hanging on the back of the chair was a large army-issue winter hat, fur-lined and warm.
Dusk had finally fallen, and now she began to fidget. She had been appalling to the Major the previous night. She had risked his life and hers by going out at night, and then she had burdened him with her problems. And to cap it all, she had insulted him deeply she knew, by comparing him with her errant husband.
So she sat at the table, waiting and worrying … and hoping.
She sat for an hour and a half and was beginning to panic when she heard the slam of the trapdoor outside, and almost wept with relief. He was alive! Maybe now she would get the chance to apologise. Gathering her wits, she straightened in her chair. If she had to apologise, at least she would do it with dignity.
The hammering on the door made her jump.
“Mrs Velonina!!! It’s Vassili! I need help here!”
Shocked into action, Rivka hurried to the door and on opening it was immediately pushed aside by Vassili Zaitsev propping up a very bloody and battered Nikolai Kulikov. Within moments she had taken in the pale and cut face and the shredded jacket, the sagging, exhausted body and the lolling head. Rivka was rooted to the spot for long moments - and then her common sense kicked in.
“Put him on the bed … quickly now!!” Her voice was shaking, but her mind was clear. She had to take care of him because he needed her.
As Vassili eased Nikolai’s long body onto the bed he filled her in on how the big man had come by his injuries.
“ … and I think he’s bleeding!” Vassili held up a bloody hand. “He said he was all right, but his side felt sticky as I brought him up the street.”
Rivka unbuttoned the shredded jacket and eased it to one side. Nikolai’s shirt was soaked with blood. She looked up at Vassili, pale with shock.
“He needs a doctor. You should have taken him to the field hospital - ”
“No.” A weak voice interrupted her and a big hand clutched at her sleeve. “No doctors. Don’t like doctors. Don’t like ‘em, don’t trust ‘em.” Rivka looked down at Nikolai, his face gaunt and grey against the pillow. The right sides of his cheek and temple were covered in dry blood from the cut on his head. “You’ll do, Missus. I trust you. I’ll be right as rain, you’ll see. I’ve had worse …”
Rivka glanced at Vassili who just shrugged in bewilderment. The big hand tightened on her arm and she returned to Nikolai Koulikov’s battered face, and was moved by the trust in the azure eyes.
“Rivka … please.” The baritone was roughened by pain.
The decision was made for her then and there. If he needed her she would move heaven and earth to be there for him, that she knew above all else. And for the life of her she couldn’t think why. She threw her hand up in exasperation.
“Ach … you, you … meshugener!!! Crazy man!!” She placed her hand over his and squeezed gently. “I’ll do what I can, Major. Now just you be still, and I’ll take a good look at your side. Vassili … put on some water to boil and look in the top drawer of the dresser. That’s it … now pass me those towels …”
Once the water was set on the stove, Rivka and Vassili lifted Nikolai so they could remove the battered jacket, Nikolai biting back a groan as the movement jarred his side. Next came the suspenders and finally Rivka unbuttoned the torn and bloody shirt. Easing it from the broad shoulders she discovered the reason for the blood.
His whole left side had been peppered with shrapnel. The wounds were mostly minor, Nikolai’s heavy jacket having absorbed most of the impact. But Rivka was horrified to find a fragment of metal embedded in the skin between two of Nikolai’s ribs, along with pieces of material from his old undershirt.
“Vassili, lie him down will you? I’m going to have to cut that undershirt off.”
Between them they eased Nikolai back onto the bed, the big sniper unable
to hold back a deep moan of pain. Rivka retrieved 
her
dressmaker’s scissors from her sewing box and carefully removed the undershirt
in pieces from Nikolai’s battered frame, wincing as she saw the heavy bruising
on the broad torso. She guessed his back was probably in the same state.
She was especially careful around the piece of shrapnel, and Nikolai flinched
as she pulled against it by mistake.
“I’m sorry, Major …”
“It’s all right Missus.” Nikolai grinned weakly at her. “Now, you just pull that bit of junk out of my side, clean it up and pop in a couple of stitches and I’ll up on my feet before you know it.”
Rivka’s eyebrows hit her hairline.
“Stitches??”
Nikolai nodded.
“Won’t need many I shouldn’t think. If I could reach I would do it myself, but …”
Rivka looked at the piece of shrapnel, a small trickle of blood meandering down Nikolai’s side.
“But - ”
Nikolai’s hand touched hers where it lay resting on her lap.
“You are a capable woman, my lady Rivka.” Nikolai looked up into huge dark eyes. Yes, he thought. They are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen … they truly are the colour of velvet-dark sloes on a sunny autumn day …
Rivka made a decision. She turned to an agitated and deeply worried Vassili Zaitsev.
“I need gauze, tape, bandages, and anything else you can get. I have a little carbolic here and some dressings, but not much.” Vassili nodded, glad to have something to do. He was on the point of heading out of the door when Rivka called after him. “Oh, and if you can beg borrow or steal a little morphine- ”
“No morphine.”
Rivka turned at the vehemence in Nikolai’s pain-filled voice.
No morphine? No doctors, and now no morphine? What was wrong with the man?
“What the hell do you mean, ‘no morphine’? Are you insane, Major??” Rivka’s fear was replaced by anger, her temper roused. “Just how do you think you’ll cope with the pain? Now listen to me, you big oaf - ”
Nikolai watched her rant, one hand gesticulating with anger, the other placed flat on his bare chest, gently reassuring him that he was safe. He relaxed back into the pillows, suddenly very tired. He had come home to Rivka and she would take care of him.
“Rivka Velonina …” The soft voice stopped her in mid-rant.
“WHAT?” Her face was set with ire.
“Did you know you’re magnificent when you’re angry?”
He gave her a guileless grin that knocked the anger right out of her. She looked down at him, lying quietly with her hand on his chest, his big frame bloody and hurt.
“Major Nikolai Koulikov … you are nothing but a pain in the toches.”
His grin widened, tempered only by the sharp ache in his side.
“So I’ve been told, Missus …”
Rivka smiled in return and stood up, preparing to clean up the blood and see how badly he was hurt.
“Mrs Velonina?” She had forgotten Vassili. “Do I get the morphine?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded her assent. Whether Nikolai Koulikov liked it or not, he might find he needed the pain relief. Vassili smiled in return, and headed off to see what he could purloin.
After washing her hands Rivka gathered up towels and dug out the dressings and carbolic from a small box she kept for emergencies such as cut fingers, injuries that could fester easily in the filth of a war-zone. She filled a bowl with hot water and put the lot on her small bedside table.
For the next fifteen minutes Rivka gently but thoroughly washed away blood and dirt, taking special care around the thin metal fragment lodged in his side. Nikolai lay still under her ministrations, only letting slip the occasional hiss of pain as the carbolic solution stung one of the many nicks and cuts in his side. Rivka alternated between abject apologies when she hurt him and soft but vehement curses while she struggled to clean a particularly stubborn cut in his flesh. Nikolai listened contentedly to the cursing. What ‘dumkop’ and ‘klotz’ meant he had no idea, but he could make a reasonable guess. But he did know she cursed at him because she cared about him, and that was all that mattered.
Then it was time to remove the shrapnel fragment. She rinsed her hands in carbolic and prepared to pull it out, wishing desperately she had some forceps like the doctor had used in the village all those years ago. But she didn’t, and that was that. Putting a towel under his side she touched Nikolai’s exhausted face.
“Are you ready, Major?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, Missus.” Nikolai lifted his right hand and wrapped it firmly around the railing of the bedstead behind his head. He waited.
The agony tore through him like a razor. Rivka’s lips set grimly as she slowly but surely eased the metal fragment from his swollen and bruised flesh, hardly noticing the bunched muscles of his arm as he hung on to the rail as though his life depended on it. He didn’t make a sound. With a final pull the fragment came free, and Rivka dropped it on the table and quickly pressed the towel against the now freely bleeding wound.
She could feel the fear beginning deep inside her, but she marshalled her nerves and washed out fragments of shirt from the wound. Lifting the needle and thread – already doused with yet more carbolic – she swiftly drew together the edges of the gaping wound and put in seven stitches, making sure they weren’t too tight so that they wouldn’t tear when Nikolai moved. There. It was done.
She cleaned off the remaining blood, noticing Nikolai’s body relax from its strained stillness, sweat sheening his skin. Rivka knew the pain had been bad. Minutes later the wound was clean and dressed, and she started the final chore of wiping the dried blood from his face and taping up the cut in his brow.
His eyes were drooping with tiredness and stress, but he looked … well, almost serene, she thought. She taped a piece of gauze over the cut and sat back. Now all he needed to do was get well, and she had every intention of making sure he behaved himself so that his body could take time to heal properly.
“That’s it. Finished, Major.” Rivka pitched her voice low so as not to disturb him too much. “If you can stay awake until Vassili comes back, we’ll get you into bed and then you can sleep. Is that all right?”
Weary blue eyes smiled up at her.
“That’s fine, Missus. I’ll be as fit as a flea in a couple of days … sorry for all the trouble …”
Rivka smiled warmly and patted him on the shoulder reassuringly.
“It’s no trouble, I can assure you.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Major. I just wish you had seen a proper doctor that’s all. I’m not skilled - ”
“No. No doctors. Don’t like ‘em.”
Rivka was surprised once more at the anger in the tired baritone.
“But why?”
Nikolai turned his face away from her, unwilling to let her see the fear in his eyes.
“Butchers. That’s all they are. Nothing but butchers …”
She saw his body tense with stress and, worried, touched his hand to stop him becoming more agitated.
“It’s all right, Major, I’m glad you came back, that’s all. I was just worried that you had managed to get yourself killed out there - ” Rivka stopped as she suddenly realised what she had said. She had admitted to her concern for him. Out loud. But she realised she was too late to do anything about it when a big hand curled around her fingers and squeezed gently in gratitude. Looking down she noticed the swollen, bruised knuckles, remembering the solid punch to the jaw he had delivered to her attacker the previous night. For some unfathomable reason she found she was unable to speak, knowing her voice would have broken at the words. So she contented herself with returning the gentle squeeze of his hand, and was relieved to see the tension leave his wounded frame.
There was a firm knocking at the door, and before she could rouse herself from Nikolai’s side Vassili Zaitsev opened the door and poked his head into the room.
“Mrs Velonina? I got the stuff you wanted.”
Rivka became business-like in a second.
“Come in, lad – let’s see what you managed to steal …”
For the next few minutes Rivka packed away the gauze, bandages and large bottle of carbolic that Vassili had wheedled out of one of the orderlies at the nearest field hospital – a man he knew sold medicine on the black market. Vassili had threatened him with exposure if the terrified man didn’t get him some medical supplies, and the orderly had gladly complied. He had even managed to get Vassili three precious ampoules of morphine.
“He said he’ll try and get some sulpha powder too, if I give him twelve hours or so.” Vassili’s expressive eyes glanced at Nikolai, now almost asleep on the big bed. “Is he going to be all right? I told Danilov he was hurt, and he says Nikolai should take as much time as he needs to recover – and that’s official. Nikolai will be really annoyed when I tell him he’s going to be heralded a Hero of the Soviet Republic for getting Koenig.” Vassili grinned at the very idea.
Rivka looked at the young soldier with compassion. Nikolai probably didn’t realise how much this young man admired and liked him.
“He’ll be fine, I should think. Just give him time and plenty of rest. Now then, while you’re here you can help me get him into bed.”
With Vassili’s help Rivka removed Nikolai’s boots and battered pants, leaving him in only his old longjohns. They managed to ease him upright and Vassili lifted him as Rivka attended to the bed, fluffing pillows and turning down the sheets – Nikolai cursing at the pain and trying to help, and Rivka cursing in turn at Nikolai for being big, wounded, and very stubborn, in that order. Vassili just held his tongue and smiled at the pair of them. They liked each other, that was obvious – except to Rivka and Nikolai, of course.
Major Nikolai Koulikov was finally put to bed, Rivka lifting his long legs into the warmth under the blankets. She draped the bedding carefully over his bruised and sore body and stood back to survey her handiwork. Yes, she thought, that would do.
Vassili watched as Nikolai fought to stay awake, the pain and exhaustion finally taking its toll, and he touched his friend’s shoulder.
“I’ll be off now, Nikolai. You rest and take it easy – I’ll be by tomorrow evening to see how you are.”
Nikolai smiled, barely awake.
“You be careful now, lad. Don’t start letting Fritz take any more pot-shots at you without old ‘Papa’ Koulikov there to watch your back.”
Vassili gave a shy grin.
“I won’t, I promise.” He sat for a moment, thinking about the day’s events. “Nikolai …”
“Mmmm?”
“Thank you.”
Nikolai’s blue eyes fluttered open at the compassion in his young friend’s voice.
“For what?” The words were a mere whisper.
“For saving my arse, you big idiot.” Vassili grinned, but his voice was soft with gratitude. “I’ve lost too many friends, Nikolai. I couldn’t bear it if I lost another. Especially ‘old Papa Koulikov’ … so, you let Mrs Velonina take care of you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But there was no answer – Major Nikolai Koulikov, Hero of the Soviet Republic, had finally succumbed to exhaustion and was sound asleep.
Vassili stood for long moments watching his friend and thought about the others he had lost – including Volodya, dead at Nikolai’s hand. How the big sniper would deal with the guilt he didn’t know, but they would both face that when Nikolai was well again.
“Well, Vassili Zaitsev – why don’t you go and see that girl of yours and get something to eat?” Rivka touched Vassili’s arm and the young soldier turned a tired face to the woman in whose capable hands he left his friend. He smiled shyly.
“Yes … yes, I’ll go and see Tania and tell her Nikolai’s going to make it. I spoke to her just before I came back with the supplies, and I thought she was going to burst into tears – it seems she rather likes our big fool of a Koulikov. He makes her smile, she says.”
Yes, thought Rivka. He does seem to have a talent for making women smile … and her lips twitched. She shooed Vassili out of the door, the lad telling her he would return the next evening with some rations and whatever he could purloin from his black-marketeering hospital orderly. Oh, and he would tell Comrade Commissar Danilov that Nikolai was getting the very best of care, and -
He was still talking as Rivka shoved him out of the door and closed it firmly behind him.
Returning to Nikolai’s side she noticed his left arm had strayed from the covers, and without thinking she eased it back under the bedclothes and tucked the blankets around him. He murmured softly and stirred a little, but didn’t waken.
She shivered. The temperature was dropping – it was often well below freezing at night now, and Rivka pondered for a moment, wondering if it would make more sense to sleep in her clothes. But she rejected the idea. Her clothes were grubby after a day’s work, and Nikolai’s unheralded arrival had made her perspire with effort and shock, so she decided to change into her night-gown for comfort. Afterwards she slipped her arms into Nikolai’s old greatcoat to keep warm, and she had to smile at the size of it. She was swamped by the heavy coat, her hands lost in the long sleeves, the hem almost trailing on the ground. But it was cosy, and there was an unmistakable masculine scent clinging to the fibre, which she found unaccountably comforting.
Stoking up the brazier, she pulled up her chair beside the bed and curled up in its tattered depths, wrapping the greatcoat around her. Blankets were not an option – Nikolai had every blanket she owned covering his battered frame.
Sleep beckoned, despite the cold, and she watched Nikolai as he slept. She was struck once more by the strength and intelligence in his rugged face, but he frowned in his sleep, lines etching his features as pain made him shift uneasily. Rivka touched his bare shoulder and she was surprised to see him instantly quieten, his face relaxing once more into dreamless slumber.
Heartened, she settled back in her chair and let the flickering shadows from the fire soothe her swiftly into gentle sleep.
*****************
He awoke to terrible, nagging pain.
Nikolai had been swamped with dreams of explosions, images of the world erupting around him and the tearing, sudden agony in his side. Then a rumbling, suffocating darkness encompassed his mind and what felt like a whole building landed on his damaged body, sending him yelling into consciousness.
The yell turned to a yelp as his wounds protested, but he felt a cool
hand touch his shoulder and Rivka’s voice crooned softly, her soothing
tones easing him into wakefulness.
“Shhh, Major … it’s all right. You’re safe now ….”
Nikolai opened his eyes and gazed into liquid brown pools that watched him with concern. Rivka’s angular face was smoothed by compassion and surrounded by a wealth of thick black hair cascading over her shoulders. His breath caught in his throat at the very sight of her.
“Missus …”
Rivka’s wide, mobile mouth dimpled at the word.
“Yes, Major?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you …”
Rivka let the dimples turn into a smile, but the smile just as quickly turned into a frown as Nikolai grunted, the agony coursing through his battered frame.
“I think it’s time for some of that morphine, Major, don’t you?” She leaned forward, her hand returning once more to rest on his bare chest, this time the fingers rubbing his skin to gentle him through the pain.
“No.” he rasped, the finality of the word making Rivka’s lips set in a determined line. Now this was just too much!
“For goodness sake, Major – why ever not? You need the pain relief!” Rivka touched his brow, feeling the heat. “You’re a little hot, but that is to be expected. Temperatures tend to rise at night. But you’re doing yourself no favours by refusing the morphine, Major – you have to rest!”
Nikolai raised an eyebrow at her exasperation, and finally decided an explanation was in order.
“Morphine. It doesn’t agree with me. Makes me sick.”
Rivka looked at him in disbelief.
“So you vomit. So what? I’ve dealt with that before, there’s no shame in it!”
Nikolai sighed, wincing at the pain it caused him.
“Maybe, Missus, maybe. But I can tell you now I’d much rather deal with the pain, thank you very much.” His jaw set stubbornly. “If it’s one thing I can’t stand it’s being sick. I hate it. I really, really hate it.”
Rivka looked at him in disbelief. He was coping with the discomfort of his wounds just because he had a stomach that became a little queasy when he took morphine. She finally threw up her hands in irritation.
“Ach! Nothing but a stubborn big ox! A … a … fool, an idiot, a real pain in the - ”
“Yes, Missus – what’s the word? A real pain in the toches, I think it was …”
Rivka couldn’t control the smile this time.
“Yes, Major. A great big, stubborn, pain in the arse, I think you would say.” Rivka’s smile softened at Nikolai’s warm chuckle. She sat beside him for long moments, watching as the pain slowly subsided, then she saw him swallow dryly. “Would you like some water. A little broth? I have some keeping warm on the stove.”
Blue eyes eagerly turned to catch her gaze as he nodded.
For the next few minutes she gave him small sips of cool water, cradling his head as he swallowed the precious liquid, and then she fed him several mouthfuls of rich broth, his head and shoulders raised by an extra pillow as Rivka let him sip the fragrant soup. He tried to feed himself but the muscles pulled in his wounded left side, so he meekly allowed her to spoon-feed the rich liquid into his mouth.
When he was finished he studied her as she placed to bowl on the bedside table and returned to her chair, satisfied he was settled and comfortable. It was then Nikolai noticed the pinched, cold lips and the slight shiver as she curled up in the old chair.
“You’re cold.” Nikolai couldn’t keep the concern from his voice. “Why don’t you wrap yourself in a couple of blankets?”
Rivka tugged the greatcoat further around her shivering body and smiled.
“Because you need them, Major. It’s as simple as that.”
Nikolai thought for a moment, then rolled his head so he could study the bed in which he lay.
“So get into bed.”
Riva’s mouth dropped open.
“I … I beg your pardon?”
Nikolai snorted, his wounds objecting.
“For God’s sake, woman – look at me! Do I look as though I’m going to accost you in the night? Hell’s teeth, I can’t even move, let alone get romantic!”
Rivka for once was completely nonplussed.
“But … but …”
Nikolai sensed victory.
“Just get your toches into bed, Missus – no use both of us being sick, and if you stay out in this cold you’ll catch your death of pneumonia. So get in!!”
To his utter surprise, Rivka obeyed. Slipping off the greatcoat, she hesitantly crept under the blankets, positioning her body as far away from his as she could, her back purposefully set against him.
For long moments they lay still. Then Nikolai spoke, his voice now reamed with tiredness.
“There you go Missus – I bet you’re a lot warmer, hey?”
Rivka’s small voice crept out from beneath the bedclothes.
“Yes thank you, Major. Much warmer.”
Major Nikolai Koulikov grinned wearily to himself, his steel teeth glittering in the firelight. A small victory, but a victory none the less. She understood he cared about her.
Quietly and in the dark of a snow-ridden night, Rivka Velonina and Major Nikolai Koulikov both slipped into a warm and dreamless sleep.
****************