by Amber Lough
I shifted on my feet, and the leather in my boots squeaked. They were damp, but not soaking. Word came down the trench and it seemed my platoon had the driest bit. It was a fair trade, I thought, since so far we’d done nothing more than crouch in the dark, waiting for the call to attack.
Masha and Alsu were nearby. I made sure of it. Not only did I feel the need to keep them safe, but Masha’s skill with a rifle wasn’t something I wanted to ignore and Alsu had a sixth sense when it came to hand-to-hand combat. Yes, I favored them, but this could be our last day. I would take every moment that I could.
It was still dark, but the sun would come soon. According to Bochkareva, who had been running up and down our mile-long portion checking on us, we would attack before first light. That meant sometime within the next fifteen minutes, judging by the way the eastern sky was starting to pale.
My toes had gone numb, and I shifted my weight. Masha coughed into her sleeve.
“Any minute now,” I whispered.
Down the line, I could hear Bochkareva shouting something, but it wasn’t the call to attack. “Alsu, take a look,” I said, and Alsu climbed up the ladder, step by careful step, and peeked. “Anything up there?”
She ducked down. “Nothing. But I see lights moving. The enemy’s first line isn’t that far away.”
I nodded. “One hundred meters.”
“An easy sprint,” Masha said softly. She grinned, but it was more of a grimace. That was as it should be. Here and now, Masha was supposed to look like a killer. We all were.
Alsu peeked again, then came down the ladder with a quiet jump. Her rifle butt smacked against the last two wooden planks on the wall, and I cringed. “Lots of barbed wire, too, but some of it looks like it’s been cut.”
“Nothing we haven’t gone through before,” I said. I didn’t say that the last time was at home, in daylight, without anyone shooting at us. They didn’t need that reminder.
Masha tugged on her cap, settling it straight in the middle of her face and scratching at her shorn hair. I could feel her nerves reverberating against mine, which had been humming, louder and louder, like the rails just before a train comes screaming into the station. It was surprising that the enemy couldn’t sense us solely by this buzzing of energy thickening the trenches. It had a certain smell, sharp and metallic, mixed with urine and sweat. I wrinkled my nose.
“Pavlova!” It was Bochkareva. She ran from behind a corner, her face red and angry, and I stood up straight, ignoring the tingling in my toes. “They’ve made the call for attack.” There was a noticeable lack of yelling, shooting, and artillery barrage, and I raised my eyebrow at her. “But the men refuse to go.”
My stomach plummeted. “All of them?”
“Three regiments are ignoring the order and have convened to discuss the risks. They’ve made a committee.”
I frowned, thinking this was just as Sergei would have wanted it. But it hardly seemed practical right now.
“This is why I forbid Order Number One in my ranks. Because when it comes time to make an advance, we can’t have the troops stopping to talk about it over cups of tea!” She was spitting, and I resisted the urge to step back from the drops of anger spraying in the air. “A committee! What the hell are we doing here, if it’s not to fight? Are we supposed to just let the Germans skip into Russia?”
“Are there any regiments that will attack?” I asked, trying to calm her.
“Ours. Some men from the 525th. Also your father’s unit, so we have some artillery.” She paused. “We could still do it.”
“How long will the committee discuss this?”
She frowned and rubbed at her right hip. “Hours. I’ve heard they’ll argue until it’s too light out to make an advance.”
“They don’t want to be here,” I said. “They wouldn’t be effective anyway.”
She nodded briskly. “I’ll be back in a minute. Get your women ready.”
—
“Pavlova,” Masha asked a few minutes later, “how many are there?”
“Of us?”
“The Germans.”
“Eighteen battalions.” I checked my pouches and counted the grenades I’ve loaded onto my body. None of them were gas, but they were all from my factory. My grenades.
“Eighteen!” Alsu gasped. “How can we possibly survive?”
A handful of other women clumped around us, drawn to our section by Bochkareva’s earlier presence. They were all from my platoon. My women. My responsibility. The smell of fear was stronger now, and I blew out a quick, hard breath to get rid of it. I had to rally them.
“It sounds as though they have the advantage, but they do not.” I paused and waited until they settled, then raised my voice. “We have several advantages, actually. One, we have the element of surprise. Sure, they expect an attack any day now, but they don’t know for sure it’s today. And they don’t know that three hundred Amazons will be descending upon them before the sun rises.”
This garnered a few nervous smiles.
“Second, we have them outnumbered. Yes, some of the men have refused. They’re scared and they’re tired. They’ve been doing this far longer than we have. But I don’t think they’ll abandon us. If we go forth, they will follow. It’s what we came here for, isn’t it? Sometimes all it takes is one woman. Did Saint Olga turn Russia over to her enemies? No! She fought. She burned them to the ground.”
Several women silently raised their fists in the air. Their faces were shining, full of power. My voice grew stronger.
“And third, when has a European army ever succeeded in an invasion of Russia? Never! Those men on the other side of the wire know this. They know they’re fighting a useless war. They know history is on our side. Because Russian men—and women—never give up. Our men may get a little scared once in a while,” and I flashed the brightest smile left in my arsenal, “but they’re proud. And they sure as hell aren’t going to let us show the world that we’re stronger, braver, and better trained than they are. They’ll follow us into that forest, and then after we’re done with this war, they’ll say it was their idea all along.”
Alsu laughed, agreeing.
“So we have the advantage. Just think of the Germans’ faces when they realize they’ve lost to women!”
My heart was beating so hard it nearly made its way up my throat. The tension was a little looser, but I could still sense the humming, that train that’s coming in full speed.
Suddenly Bochkareva was back, running along the line. “Five minutes!” she shouted at us. “Remember: don’t be cowards! You are soldier women!” Then she was past me and running down the trench to Avilova’s platoon.
A few minutes later, a whistling sound jolted us to attention. A mortar, flying over our heads toward the enemy trenches, joined a moment later by a dozen or so more. My father’s unit was pounding the enemy.
It was time.
“Go!” I shouted. We climbed up out of the ground like angry ants, and by the light of artillery explosions raced across the open land, screaming at the top of our lungs.
“Ooh-rahhhhhhhh!”
Masha was to my left and Alsu to my right. We sprinted together, our rifles out front and ready, nearly as long as we were. Exploding dirt and sand shot into the air like geysers, spraying the field with rocks and debris, and still we ran on.
There was a flash of white to the west, and I saw our standard bearer, Dubrovskaya, running along with the flag of our battalion. It whipped in the air, backlit by the orange glow of fire and the white flash of explosion.
The barbed wire had been cut, so we didn’t have to crawl under it. I jumped over the remnants on the ground, scraped my knee, and kept running. We were halfway to the first line when the enemy poured out of their trench. They were giants. Armed giants with rounded metal helmets. There was no cover, so I took aim.
Three of them fell backwards into the trench before I’d even taken my first shot. Masha pulled her bolt back and forth, shooting as she ran, and even
though the air around me erupted in pops and spraying earth, for a split second I saw her like I’d never seen her before. She was too quick with her rifle to be human. Her cheeks were glowing in the unnatural light and her eyes were focused and deadly. She was an angel of death, a Valkyrie, and I realized she could truly hold her own. She was carrying the blood of Russia in her veins; she wasn’t going to lie down and let these men walk over her.
There was another pop beside me and the moment disappeared. A man ran at me, and my chest beat in panic before I took aim and pulled the trigger. He stumbled, but he wasn’t down. I hit him in the shoulder. His eyes were a light blue, so pale they were almost white, and time seemed to both slow down and speed up. He rushed at me, his irises shrinking to little points, and raised his weapon. Two thoughts crossed my mind in the five steps he took. One, I didn’t have time to put another bullet in the chamber, and two, he wasn’t going to shoot me. He was going to stab. His jaw clenched, and his teeth shone bright, but it wasn’t a sneer.
It was the smile of death.
I held my rifle out and lunged to the left. He missed, but I did not. My bayonet slid in beneath his ribs but met with more resistance than I’d expected. I had to push, slamming my whole body into him. His breath was hot on my forehead and he screamed. When he fell, I landed on top of him. My rifle was stuck in the mud beneath his body, because I’d stabbed him through. I scrambled to my feet and yanked the blade out of him. He gurgled, but I didn’t look.
Kneeling, I vomited. I had to forget how it felt to push into him. I had to forget, but all I could feel was the pressure in my hands, the weight of the weapon, the heaviness of his body, and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw red coming from his mouth. It matched the tint on the end of my bayonet.
A large drop of blood slid down the sharpened edge, but I didn’t stand there to watch it fall. Wiping my mouth, I jumped back up because there were more of them and I couldn’t see Masha anywhere.
I pulled the bolt back and set the next bullet in place. I didn’t want to be caught like that again. Then I ran. The buzzing I had felt earlier was pulsing, strong as my heart, through every limb in my body. I was alive, and everything was sharper. The sounds ricocheted in my ears, the colors were as bright as midday, and I could smell all of it. The blood, the dew, the metallic tang of iron and steel. It billowed around me, and I cut through it like a knife.
The screams turned to grunts as the others slammed into the enemy. Some of the women went down, but we were fresh and well trained. More of the men fell than we did. And then we were climbing into their trench.
“Holy Mother of God!” Masha screamed in my ear. She grabbed me around the neck and I couldn’t tell if she was sobbing or laughing. I wasn’t even sure I could peel those two actions apart at this point. “We made it.”
I squeezed her, and then pulled back. She was splattered in blood.
“It’s not mine, I swear.”
I took a look at the other women. We only had a few seconds before we needed to move. I would have counted them, but there were too many. It was a good thing.
“Lomonosova, take three and head down that way.” I gestured east, down the trench. “Take out anyone you see. Muravyeva, you take three and go the opposite. Same orders.” The women nodded in agreement and ran down the enemy trench. Seconds later, there was an explosion, but someone called back that Muravyeva’s group was fine.
It took longer than it should have to clear the trench. We took no prisoners, because whoever didn’t fight us had crawled back to the second trench, closer to the trees.
The sounds of artillery continued, popping and booming in the background. They’d changed their angle and were shooting deeper into the enemy lines, almost to the forest line. They must know we’d made it this far. Alsu covered her ears with her hands, but her eyes were clear. She wasn’t as far gone to shock as some of the others.
“Anyone not make it?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Dubrovskaya.”
The standard-bearer. She’d begged to carry the colors, saying it would be her honor. And it had been her death.
“Who has it now?” I asked, meaning the standard.
“Tsvetkova.”
“All right.” I shouted at the others to get their attention. “Hey! We can’t stop now.”
The fear on their faces had evolved. Before, it had been vague, but now it held an echo of what we’d run through. This fear was specific. It was the whoosh of air as a bullet missed and the spray of dirt in your eyes. It was knowing you didn’t have time to pull back the bolt. It was the tremendous force it took to stab a man through the ribs. It was a demon on our shoulders, digging its nails through the epaulets.
“Sisters!” I shouted. “We go again!”
Then, even though I was so nervous I wasn’t sure I’d be able to aim at anything but the sun, I crawled up a ladder and hit the ground running. My platoon was strong, fearless, and persistent, and they didn’t leave me there alone for long.
This time, the enemy was ready. They lobbed grenades, which I leapt over, counting seconds and meters of effective range. They were simple explosives, not gas, and I focused on this while I ran. My lungs burned. I was still breathing.
The nearer I got to the second trench, the more focused I became. My vision was clear and bright straight ahead. A man came into view and I shot. He fell; I’d gotten him in the chest. I reached into my bag, grabbed a grenade, and pulled the pin. Then I took a balancing step back and let it fly.
It arced gracefully and landed in the trench. There was a shout of alarm, then a boom. Wood splinters and dirt shot in the air but I didn’t duck, I didn’t even pause. I ran to the edge and leapt down into the trench. I took my first look after I’d already committed and landed on the body of a man. He was wet with blood so warm it felt like a bath. I rolled off just as my platoon landed down around me.
We’d taken the second trench.
—
“Here.” Masha handed me a handkerchief she’d pulled out of a hidden pocket in her tunic. “That was hell on earth.”
I snorted in response, because I couldn’t talk while wiping blood off my lips. I didn’t want to taste the blood of a German.
“I think we need you to throw more grenades next time,” she continued. “Can you get them all the way across the next field? It’d save some ammo.”
“Very funny,” I muttered. I wiped my forehead and my neck, and then tossed the handkerchief to the ground. There was no point in giving it back. One glance down at my chest and I knew there was nothing to be done for the rest of me. I’d have to wear this man’s blood until we were done.
An order came down the line from Bochkareva. We were to wait here because the men were forming up behind us. How she could possibly know this, I had no idea, but I welcomed the respite. We cleared out the rest of the trench within a few minutes, again finding very few men left. There was a shout somewhere to the east, followed by a series of pops, and then it was over. Another man down, I thought, because I wouldn’t allow it to be one of us.
One of the women—Pul’khova—crumpled against the wall with a loud sob. I ran over thinking she must be wounded, but she waved me off. She bit on her knuckles, seemingly unaware or uncaring that her hands were mottled with scrapes and dirt. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
I knelt beside her. “We’re going to rest now.”
“I did it.” Her words were almost too quiet, but I knew what she said. “I did it.”
“Yes, you did it. We all did.”
Her eyes darted around, like she’d just realized someone was talking to her and couldn’t find the source of my voice. “I sliced his throat.” That explained the red streaks across her arms.
“If you hadn’t, you’d be dead.”
Alsu came to her other side and wrapped an arm around her while taking the fist out of Pul’khova’s mouth. It was something I should have done but hadn’t thought about. “Shh, Nastya, shh. We’re here. We’re almost done.” Carefully
she pulled Pul’khova’s canteen off its strap, opened it, and held it to the woman’s mouth. Water trickled down her chin.
We were all different. A few women looked less stricken than others, but the shadows were still there.
Bochkareva arrived, dragging her leg. It was the one she’d damaged the year before. “How many casualties?” she asked.
I pulled myself onto my feet. “I’m not sure.”
“Well make sure, dammit!” Then she was gone again, leaving a line in the dirt behind her as she went.
After counting, I almost wanted to join Pul’khova. We’d lost two from the Third Platoon. “Only two,” Masha said. But they were gone forever. Their bodies were still out there behind us, breadcrumbs left behind on our trail into horror.
“Gubina,” I said to Masha, gesturing at the crates stacked up against the walls. “Go find out if there’s any ammo here we can take with us. I’m almost out of cartridges.”
—
We waited for hours. There was no sign that our men were coming, but there wasn’t any retaliation from the Germans, either. We bandaged ourselves up, took stock of ammunition, and, for those of us able to keep anything down, ate whatever food we found that the Germans had left behind. We dragged the enemy bodies to the side and piled them on top of one another. Someone found the bloody handkerchief and laid it on top of the bodies like she was marking the spot. Bright red. Dead.
“I think we’re going to make it,” Masha said. “Your speech worked.”
I blinked. “My speech?”
She bumped her shoulder into mine and a memory broke over me, one of sunshine and fountains, braids and girlish laughter. There was no laughter anymore. “Sure,” she said. “You inspired everyone. Sisters-in-arms. How we have the advantage. All of it. You were right. They weren’t ready.” Her eyes flattened. “It’s not something I want to do every day, you know. Just until it’s all over. Just until the Germans are gone.”
I suppressed a yawn and leaned back against the dirt wall of the trench. “Have you seen any of your papers yet?”