by JV Love
He kept walking, letting his heart guide him, passing the grandiose Winter Palace, the Hermitage museum, and the eloquent Palace bridge until he arrived at the statue of Peter the Great on his rearing stallion. It was Peter who had carved this great city out of the woods and stone and swamp. It was he who had built the imposing Peter and Paul Fortress and the massive Kronstadt naval base. It was Peter's inspiration for a lavish capital second to none that had lived on through all the years as the city grew and matured. Saint Petersburg, as it was originally called, was his window on the West, his showcase of the mighty Russian Empire. It was regal, elaborate, stately, and even in its current crisis, Felix still believed in it. He believed in its music, its ideas, its arts, and its vision. It wasn't just the city's inhabitants the Germans were up against. It was the city itself, and it had a soul of its own.
He looked in disgust at the piles of sandbags surrounding Peter the Great's statue. He wanted to tear them off and let the "bronze horseman" ride again, to have him point the way and lead his countrymen out of the hopelessness and siege they found themselves in. They needed Peter's will of iron more than anything. To make it through this crisis, they'd have to believe in themselves unconditionally. They'd have to withstand great hardship, and only stubborn souls and firm convictions would enable them to do that. Where the spirit led, the body would follow.
Felix turned back toward Nevsky Prospekt, his beloved Kazansky Cathedral calling him. He doubted it had changed like the rest of the city. It was much too proud to compromise itself, no matter the circumstances. He saw the cathedral from afar, looking as dignified as ever. When he reached it, he walked under its immense left wing and strolled among the giant stone columns, gently touching each one as he passed by it. Kutuzov, the great field marshal who was so instrumental in the Russian victory against Napoleon, was buried on these hallowed grounds. Who would be the Kutuzov of this war, Felix wondered.
He came to the forlorn statue of Saint Andrew the Apostle and thought back to the last time he'd visited it - that fateful day, June 22nd, when the Germans had begun their invasion and irrevocably interrupted his life. Things could never be the same again, and it was time he accepted that. He pulled himself away from the cathedral and took a deep breath. He was through resisting the way things were. He had been preparing himself, mentally and physically, for the rigors of battle. He was ready.
It was time to report to the front.
Streetcar No 9 lumbered down the tracks, its front-mounted machine gun sleeping soundly, nose pointed lazily over the passing buildings. The motorman looked suspiciously at Felix and the two other men waiting to board. At first Felix thought he was going to drive right by them, but he stopped abruptly and the three of them got on. The car was nearly full, even at this early hour, mostly with soldiers, but a few civilians as well. Two officers sat in the back, eyeing everything that went on and whispering back and forth to one another.
The red trolley moved slowly down the wide expanse of Stachek Prospekt. The street was littered with cars, some simply parked along the side, some in pieces and burned out, and some still burning. Felix saw a charred corpse laying in the street, not far from an anti-tank gun.
The entire city had been transformed since the early days of the war. Sandbags lined the ground floor windows of many buildings. Windows on upper floors were boarded over or taped with large X's. Everywhere one looked were firing points and anti-aircraft guns. Huge silver balloons nested on the ground, ready to go up each night to stave off low-flying German planes.
Manholes and sewer openings had "extermination" points for firing at German tanks should they break through. Corner buildings had reinforced concrete "pillboxes" - designed to withstand the floors above them collapsing so soldiers could keep firing. Huge steel anti-tank "hedgehogs" and sandbag barricades with barbed wire blocked many streets from motorized entry. In the distance, Felix could hear the warships of the Baltic Fleet firing their tremendous guns endlessly into the German lines.
He moved down the aisle to the back of the streetcar, pleased that his injured leg felt strong and healthy once again. A 60 ton KV tank drove along the street beside them. Felix listened in as the officers near him talked about the fierce bombing of the night before. "You've no doubt heard about the Badayev warehouses?" one said to the other.
"I heard there were some enormous fires in that sector. They bombed Badayev?"
"Yes, with incendiary bombs."
"And the food reserves? The flour, sugar, canned meat . . ."
"It's still burning now. They haven't been able to put it out."
"You mean it's all gone?"
The other officer nodded his head gravely.
At first, Felix felt furious. How could the authorities be so negligent as to put all the food for the city in one place? It was either treason or stupidity. Everyone in Leningrad knew about the Badayev food warehouses. With all the German spies in the city, no doubt the pilots knew exactly where to drop their bombs.
Felix thought of Katya and was filled with regret that he hadn't forced her to get on that train out of Leningrad. He found out later it had been the last one to leave the city. Now he reflected on the consequences. He knew she had a good supply of food, but that was before Igor started living with her. Who knew how long it would last now.
He was angry with himself. Why hadn't he been able to let go of her? Why did he have to hold on so tightly? He cursed and stamped his foot on the floor. The officers paused their conversation and looked at him. He ignored their curious stares and went on thinking.
What could he do about it now? There was no point in torturing himself about the decisions he'd made in the past. He couldn't waste his time on that. He had to put his energy into surviving. That was the main thing now, to stay alive. If he could stay alive, then he and Katya could still be together in the future. He clung to the thought that he and Katya would be together again and be able to live their lives in peace.
The Kirov works were up ahead. That meant he'd be at the front soon.
He'd been reassigned to the 2nd Regiment of the 1st Volunteers Division - or what was left of it. The 1st Volunteers had lost about two-thirds of their strength and had very little of the arms and equipment they'd started out with. Felix knew they were in rough shape.
He wasn't thrilled about the prospect of rejoining his former comrades and was particularly anxious he might be put in a platoon under Dima's command. Though Dima was probably one of the most competent commanders out there and would be more efficient than others in battling the Germans, that didn't necessarily mean his men would be safer. Dima, more than anyone Felix knew, was the most likely to sacrifice his life (and others') for a cause.
There was a steady stream of soldiers and workers walking toward the Kirov works. It was the largest engineering sector in all of Russia, with hundreds of shops and thousands of laborers. On the other side of it was the enemy - two and a half miles away. The Germans were a mere ten miles from Leningrad's Palace Square.
A steady stream also moved in the other direction from the Kirov works - women and children carrying bedding, clothes, bags, and milk tins. They were evacuating to safer parts of the city, the Petrograd and Vasilevski Island districts.
When the trolley reached the Kotlyarov streetcar barns, the motorman announced to everyone onboard, "Last stop. Everyone off. This is the front." Felix jumped down with the others and followed them. He wasn't sure where to go. The officer who'd given him his orders didn't know where the 2nd Regiment was. The 1st Volunteers had been in Pushkin a week ago. His best guess was they'd fallen back to the front just beyond the Kirov works. That was all the information Felix had.
As he walked toward the front, he asked several people along the way if they knew where the 1st Volunteers were. Most didn't answer. The ones who did simply shook their heads.
He walked for half an hour, passing by military trucks, barricades, and tank traps. Then he took a break to wipe the sweat from his face and adjust his pack, and con
tinued walking for another half hour. The sounds of the front grew nearer. He passed by dozens of dugouts and machine gun nests. A pair of stretcher bearers went by carrying the body of a badly wounded soldier. The man was moaning and thrashing his head from side to side. Lying next to him on the stretcher was his right arm - dirty and bloody, no longer attached to his shoulder. Felix asked the stretcher bearers where the trenches were. One of them motioned over his right shoulder. "Beyond that cemetery," he said.
High in the sky there was a dogfight between a Soviet and German fighter plane. Felix watched them for a minute while he took a drink of water from his canteen. The Soviet plane was being chased and made a sharp turn to the left and dove toward the ground in an attempt to escape. At the last second, it pulled up and barely avoided crashing into the earth. It was a desperate attempt, Felix thought, but that was what it would take to defeat the Germans.
He'd found the 2nd Regiment of the Volunteers and a young, fresh-faced officer assigned him to the 1st Platoon. Felix asked who commanded the platoon, but the officer didn't seem to know and had neither the time nor inclination to find out. After spending the rest of the morning looking for the 1st Platoon, Felix finally found it. His next task was to find its commanding officer and report for duty. He'd checked several trenches already with no luck and was now making his way to the next one.
The fighting was heavy in this area. There was a constant din of machine gun fire and exploding mortars, and occasional screams of agony. Houses stood in ruin, trees burned, the stench of rotting flesh filled the air. Despite all the sounds of fighting, Felix couldn't see the enemy. They were somewhere up ahead - behind houses, or camouflage, or in trenches of their own. Every now and then, he would see a man in green run from one spot to another, crouching all the while and taking a few shots at the Russian lines as he did so.
Felix jumped into the trench he'd been directed to. He thought it would be empty since he hadn't seen anyone firing back at the Germans. But there were twelve men in there, all sitting with their backs to the incoming fire. Each man had a rifle, but it was either lying harmlessly at their feet or resting against the wall. On Felix's right, at the far end of the trench, was a dead Soviet soldier. Dark red blood covered his right side from the neck down, and his face was sunk into the orange-colored earth. A dozen tiny black ants congregated near the dried blood on the side of his neck.
Only a couple of the men turned their heads to look at the stranger who'd just dropped into their trench. The rest of them continued staring at the dirt wall in front of them. Having just arrived at the front, Felix was alert and on edge and found their detachment incomprehensible.
None of the men had showered or shaved in at least a week and a half - the strong body odor that hung in the trench and the thick stubble on their cheeks testified to that. As Felix watched their behavior, he wondered if any of them had even slept in a week and a half.
A mortar round exploded in front of the trench and dirt fell like rain on top of them. Felix was startled by the deafening sound of the blast and pulled his helmet down as low as it would go. The other men hadn't even flinched. Their reactions were identical to the man who was already dead.
Felix reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes he'd brought. He didn't smoke himself, but figured they would make a nice gift for his new comrades. He'd heard that cigarettes were sometimes hard to come by on the front. After he opened the pack, he offered one to the man nearest him, then told him to pass it down the line. Every man took at least one, looked down the trench at Felix, and nodded appreciatively. When the nearly empty pack made it back toward Felix, he waved it off.
The sun was hot. Felix wiped some sweat from his forehead, then opened his canteen and took a drink. When he finished, he noticed several of the men staring at him, an unspoken request in their eyes. Guessing they had all run out of water, Felix then passed his canteen down the line. Again, all the men took some and nodded to him appreciatively. One of the men even summoned up the strength to speak. "Thank you, comrade," he said.
Someone suddenly jumped into the trench, startling Felix. He turned his head to the new person next to him and was flabbergasted to see Dima looking back at him. "Ahh, Varilensky," Dima said, "so nice of you to finally join us."
Felix was taken aback by Dima's formality. He couldn't recall Dima ever calling him by his last name before.
"We expected you yesterday," Dima said.
Felix noticed how different Dima's demeanor was from the other men. He had the same short beard as the others, but his movements were quick and sharp. His forehead was wrinkled into a scowl as he awaited a response from Felix.
"My orders were to report today," Felix said.
Dima laughed. A sharp, derisive taunt. "That's not what I was told," he said. "I don't want to waste time arguing though. Where's the ammo? We need to get it distributed."
"Where's the what?"
"The bullets," Dima said irritably. "They said you'd be bringing a crate of ammunition with you. We're nearly out."
Another mortar exploded nearby, and again none of the men reacted. What a pitiful bunch, Felix thought. How can you fight a war like this? "I had no such orders," he said to Dima. "And I have no ammunition to give you."
"Devil take it!" Dima muttered. "Do you even have a rifle?"
Felix shook his head. "I was told I'd be assigned one when I reported," he said.
Dima opened his mouth but said nothing. He turned to the rest of the men in the trench. "Comrades!" he said. "We're going on the offensive again. We're going to retake the area south of the school."
None of the men moved nor showed any sign they'd even heard him.
"Dima, I realize that I just got here," Felix said, "but it doesn't seem to me like these men are in any shape to mount an offensive."
"First of all," Dima said, scowling once again. "You will address me as Comrade Lieutenant. Secondly, if I want your opinion, I'll ask for it." Dima quickly checked his rifle to see how many rounds he had left. "My orders are to attack," he added, "and I will carry out that order. The enemy must not have a moment's rest."
"Have we any artillery?" Felix asked.
Dima didn't respond. He was peeking his head over the shallow clay ditch at the German lines.
"Have we any machine guns?" Felix asked.
Again, Dima didn't respond. He hollered to the other men in the trench, asking how many grenades they had left.
"Comrade Lieutenant," Felix yelled. "Do you have a weapon for me? Or will I be sent out with a shovel again?"
"Enough of your provocations!" Dima yelled back. "You'll get your weapon from the enemy or when one of us has fallen." He turned to the others. "Men! Be ready to move out when I give the signal. Kazinsky and I will take out the machine gun on the left flank first, and then we'll move up that side."
Felix studied the blank expressions on the men's faces, the complete lack of emotion, and wondered how far their "offensive" would make it.
"Where's Kazinsky?" Dima shouted over a series of thundering explosions.
One of the men pointed at the end of the trench. Dima turned and looked at the corpse with its face pressing against the dirt, then addressed Felix. "Grab his gun. You and I will take out the machine gun."
"He just got here," the man who'd thanked Felix earlier said. "You're trying to kill him already, lieutenant?" He said the last word contemptuously.
"Perhaps you would like to go in his place?" Dima retorted.
"It's all right," Felix said. The man looked away, and Felix made his way down the trench and slid the gun out of the dead man's hands. It was a strange rifle and had a scope on it, and Felix understood that Kazinsky must have been a sharpshooter. Dima took the rifle from Felix, quickly inspected it, then gave it back to him. Felix realized why the rifle seemed strange to him - it was German.
Felix peeked over the red dirt of the trench to get a glimpse of the target. He could barely see the machine gun off to his left. The Germans had chos
en a good spot next to the corner of a building. They had an excellent angle to fire on a wide expanse of the Russian lines, but it wasn't easy for the Russians to return fire. Felix only saw a narrow gap where the nest was vulnerable.
Dima waved his arm at Felix. "Let's go," he shouted.
They jumped out of the trench amid the angry spitting of the machine gun and the sound of bullets slicing through the air all around them. They ran to the safety of an old brick schoolhouse. There were bomb craters and unexploded shells in the playground. Two swings moved slightly from side to side in the light breeze. Through a window, Felix could see into one of the classrooms. Tiny desks were scattered about the room, most of them tipped on their sides. On the chalkboard was a crude map of the area, a swastika, and, in Latin, the words, "Veni. Vidi. Vici." In the far corner of the room, a German soldier lay sprawled on a group of desks. His head and neck were wrapped in bloody gauze, his right arm hung limply over the edge.
Felix tugged on the back of Dima's shirt and pointed to the classroom. Dima looked and nodded. "They took it last night, but we drove them back again this morning."
Dima pointed to his right. "You see that bomb crater on the side of that slope in between those small bushes?"
"Yes, I see it."
"When I run from here to that next building, you run to that crater."
Felix looked at the building Dima was referring to. "Dima, that's wide open. That machine gun will cut you down before you get three steps."
"That's the idea. I'll draw their fire so you can make it to that spot. You should be able to get off a good shot from there and take the machine gunner out. They've only got one guy manning it for some reason, so that'll make things a little easier."