Blood Red Army

by David Bishop

  Brodsky looked gaunt and angrier than before, his sandy hair now heavily flecked by strands of grey. He gathered the Smert Krofpeet together and gave us a short speech, his voice bitter and gruff.

  "I have no wish to repeat myself, nor will I look kindly upon anyone who interrupts me, so listen and listen carefully. I have retaken command of this unit and Eisenstein is one of you again, without privilege or rank. I give the orders and you obey them without question and without hesitation. No doubt, you are curious about my fate these past few months. All I am permitted to say is that I was taken prisoner by the Germans after you left me to die in Ivanovskoe. Last week, together with a group of other captives, I escaped and we hid ourselves behind enemy lines. Three days ago we decided to cross no-man's-land and return to our own lines. I was the only one to make it back alive. Since then I have been extensively debriefed about German troop movements and their battle plans for the coming months. But our commanders need further evidence to support what I have told them, so I volunteered all of you to get that evidence."

  I opened my mouth to protest but a glare from Brodsky silenced me. Once he was satisfied I would not try to interrupt, he continued his speech, spitting each phrase at us like it was ammunition, revelling in his revenge.

  "You will go across no-man's-land at dusk and penetrate the German front line. From there you are ordered to seek the enemy headquarters within Ivanovskoe and steal the plans for their next attack upon our positions. The Germans know as well as us that winter will make any change of the blockade's boundaries all but impossible, so they are determined to seize Osinovets before winter comes, thus cutting off the Doroga Zhizni. If they succeed, Leningrad will fall."

  Brodsky turned to leave but paused, allowing himself a brief smile. "All of you will go on this mission. If women are deemed good enough to serve in a front line combat unit, then they are good enough to undertake covert operations. I do not wish to hear any appeals for exemption, no matter what relationships some of you may have formed in my absence. You are to maintain radio silence. No matter what happens, nobody will be sent on a rescue mission to help you back, just as nobody came back to rescue me.

  "Oh, and one other thing; anyone who refuses to go on this mission will be executed for cowardice." The captain smiled sourly. "Yatsko, I appoint you as morale officer for this unit. You will remain here, armed with a submachine gun. If you see anyone returning without the information required, you have my permission to shoot him or her for gross dereliction of duty. Is that clear? Good. Since it is doubtful all of you will return alive, I suggest you spend the few hours you have left getting your affairs in order and preparing for the mission. Yatsko, come with me. The rest of you, dismissed."

  The captain strode away with Yatsko running after him, grinning wolfishly as he departed. When both of them were beyond hearing us, Strelnikov hissed a stream of obscenities and Borodin threw up.

  Antonov shook his head, his eyes closed. "This is a suicide mission, a death sentence," he whispered. "That gaduka is sending us out there to be slaughtered, as vengeance for what he's been through. Bojemoi, we didn't leave him behind deliberately."

  "It doesn't matter," Eisenstein muttered quietly.

  "How can you say that, Grigori? We're going to be shot to pieces by the Germans. It was a miracle that we made it back from Ivanovskoe last time; we'll never manage it again. Even if we do, Brodsky's conveniently arranged us to be summarily executed by Yatsko when we get within sight of our own lines!"

  "Be that as it may, there's nothing we can do to change his mind. We have our orders, now we have to go through with them. You heard him: if one of us refuses, Brodsky has the excuse he needs to have all of us shot."

  Strelnikov was still cursing under his breath, but his anger was directed at Yatsko. "That motherless bastard," the rat-faced predator snarled. "Ivan told me he was sending reports about our two young lovers to headquarters, hoping it would get him a promotion. Now his jealousy is going to get all of us killed." Strelnikov turned his anger towards Sophia. "If you hadn't been so busy whoring yourself with the Jew boy, we could have avoided this."

  "What did you say?" she gasped.

  "You heard me," he sneered, spitting on the ground in front of her.

  Sophia hurled herself at Strelnikov, her fingernails gouging deep into his face, ripping the skin open and digging into the flesh beneath. Her attack caught him by surprise, and he tumbled over backwards, Sophia on top of him. But Strelnikov had not survived this long without learning how to defend himself in close quarters combat. He lashed out with his right hand, slapping the back of it hard across her face, and then clenched his hand into a fist and punched her in the mouth. She fell back, blood trailing in the air.

  Antonov and Eisenstein rushed in to separate the two, but Sophia still got in a lucky last blow, her right boot catching the rapist hard in the groin. He crumpled, a curse dying on his lips.

  "What should we do?" I asked Uralsky, but he merely shrugged.

  "Better if we stay out of it," Borodin said weakly, wiping vomit from the corners of his mouth. "This has been coming for weeks. Let them settle it now." I knew he was right, but I also suspected his answer was born more of fear than logic. Borodin was a changed man when I was reunited with the shtrafroty, bolder and braver than before I was wounded. But the old terror was evident in his eyes once more, and his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He would need to rediscover his courage to survive our suicide mission.

  By now Antonov had control of Sophia while Eisenstein had Strelnikov pinned on the ground. Our former captain leaned so close to his captive's snarling face, their noses were nearly touching.

  "Listen to me, you little gaduka. That's the last time you ever lay a finger on her, or else I'll personally castrate whatever is festering between your legs and shove it down your throat. Mention my religion again and I'll rip out your tongue. Do I make myself quite clear?"

  "You wouldn't dare," Strelnikov spat back.

  Eisenstein leaned his heavy forearm against Strelnikov's throat, slowly crushing his windpipe. "I didn't hear that, Vladimir. What did you say?"

  The smaller man coughed and choked, his hands flailing uselessly at Eisenstein's face. His features turned red, then crimson, then purple.

  "Do I make myself clear?" Eisenstein repeated, each word spat out with murderous venom.

  Strelnikov nodded, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his lips drawn back in a grotesque parody of a smile, tongue dancing inside his sickly mouth.

  "That's better," Eisenstein said, taking his weight off Strelnikov's throat. He got back to his feet, leaving the smaller man retching and gasping on the ground. "The same applies to all of you," Eisenstein added, fixing each of us in his gaze. "We have a mission in a few hours. I suggest we get ready."

  Uralsky and Borodin turned away, and Antonov released Sophia. She glared at him angrily. "You should have let me finish him!"

  "We fight the Germans and the vampyr," he replied. "If we turn on each other, all of us will be dead before dawn."

  "Yuri's right," Eisenstein added. "You shouldn't have attacked Strelnikov, no matter the provocation. If we don't function as a unit, we won't function at all."

  "If you hadn't noticed, Brodsky is captain now," Sophia snarled at her lover. "We don't have to take orders from you any more!" She stormed off, leaving Eisenstein with his eyes closed, his fists clenched at his sides.

  Antonov offered to help Strelnikov up but he refused any assistance, stalking away in a different direction from the one Sophia had taken.

  Antonov sighed as he walked past me, muttering beneath his breath. "One big happy family, that's what we are..."

  Eisenstein caught me watching him. "What are you looking at, Zunetov?"

  "Nothing," I shrugged. In fact I had been thinking about what Antonov had told me the night we spent on patrol, shortly before Sophia joined the unit. Eisenstein and I were alike in some ways, despite the differences in our upbringing and beliefs. I had been reborn
as a solider the night I first met him on the frozen lake. I realised that in some strange way this made him a father figure for me. "I wasn't looking at anything."

  "Liar. I've seen you, watching us, observing us. What were you before the war?"

  "I wanted to be a journalist." I surprised myself by admitting this; it was something I had never mentioned to another living soul. All my life I had stood apart from others, studying them, keeping everyone at arm's length. But Eisenstein had no time for such tendencies.

  "And now?" he asked derisively. "Do you still hope for a career on Pravda?"

  "Nobody will ever write the truth about this war, nor tell what truly happened here."

  "I hope not," he said quietly. "I had dreams and ambitions too, but they died when I killed my first vampyr. Now whatever time I have left is devoted to destroying those monsters."

  "Yes, I know." I thought about my own father, back in Moscow. We had never been close when I was growing up. My mother had died giving birth to me, so I spent my early years being passed from relative to relative. Somehow Eisenstein had become the father I always wanted. At that moment I knew I would follow him into hell itself if necessary. But I did not tell him, since my natural reticence held me back. I still wish I had spoken what was in my heart and mind then. If I had known what would happen to us on that mission behind enemy lines, the horrific consequences of our journey, I like to think that I would have professed my utter loyalty to Eisenstein. After that night, nothing was ever the same again.

  He glared at me, unaware of my inner turmoil. "Go and get ready, and make sure the others do the same. I'll be damned before I give Brodsky the satisfaction of dying for him."

  Most of the Smert Krofpeet gathered shortly before sundown, the seven of us assigned to infiltrate the enemy position. As dusk approached I felt the first chill of autumn and pulled my greatcoat closer around me. I could also smell winter in the air, crisp and cold and quietly terrifying. The days had been getting noticeably shorter, and soon the early morning dew would become freezing frosts. Despite Sophia's harsh words, Eisenstein resumed his self-appointed role as our combat leader. Even if he lacked the rank of an officer, he had the skills and experience of one. Besides, with Yatsko staying behind, nobody else wanted to take charge.

  Eisenstein marked out a crude map in the dirt, showing our front line positions, where the Germans were stationed and a weakness in their front line. Fortunately, we were west of the bend in the Neva where it curved towards Leningrad, so our journey over no-man's-land would not require a river crossing.

  "We should be able to slip through them by following the railway line leading south into the centre of Ivanovskoe. Either side of the tracks is laid with mines, but the charges beneath the line should only explode if a train passes over them. If we crawl along it, spreading our weight, we should be safe."

  "How do you know they haven't swapped mines?" Borodin asked fearfully.

  "I don't," Eisenstein admitted, "but that's a risk we'll have to take. Because the railway is mined, the Germans don't often patrol it. However, they have put barbed wire barricades across the tracks and the line is still overlooked by two vantage points. There's a crossing two hundred metres beyond the barricade where we can safely leave the tracks. Anywhere else and we risk getting blown sky high. There isn't much moonlight, but we'll still have to move fast. If we take too long and attempt to come back in daylight, we'll be target practice for the enemy."

  "As we will be for Yatsko when we try to cross back over no-man's-land," Sophia said.

  "If we get that far," Strelnikov added sourly.

  Antonov shook his head slowly. "So many ways this can go wrong."

  Eisenstein shrugged helplessly, but continued his briefing. "Once we get past the German front line, their headquarters is inside what's left of the local cooperative store. The Univermag was one of the few multi-storey structures in Ivanovskoe before the war, so it shouldn't be hard to find. We get in as quietly as we can, secure any relevant documents, and get out again. Zunetov, you stick close to me inside that building, I'll need you to translate. Any questions?"

  "How many?" Uralsky asked, ever a man of few words.

  "Sentries round the Univermag?" Eisenstein replied, getting a nod from Uralsky in return. "Unknown. But we must expect a dozen, if not more. Each of us will have to kill at least two of them."

  "But there are seven of us going on the mission," I pointed out.

  "Gomorova will stay outside," Eisenstein said, not looking at his lover.

  "Why?" she demanded angrily. "I'm risking my life like the rest of you. I deserve the chance to take a few of the fascists-"

  "I want you outside with the radio, scanning all enemy frequencies," Eisenstein said quietly. "If they realise what we're doing and send for reinforcements, I want some warning. That's your job." Sophia scowled but did not object any further. Eisenstein glanced at the rest of us. "Any more questions?"

  "Yes. When do we leave on this fool's errand?" Antonov asked wearily.

  Within an hour all seven of us were crawling along the railway line through no-man's-land on our bellies, Eisenstein and Uralsky at the front while Borodin and Strelnikov brought up the rear. I was in the middle, behind Antonov and Sophia. As we approached the German lines, a sudden flurry of activity exploded to our left. A unit of Red Army riflemen opened fire on the enemy without provocation, raining grenades and mortars upon the fascists. The Germans responded in kind, all their attention focussed on that part of the front line. Amid the cacophony coming from the east I heard a low whistle from Eisenstein, signalling for us to increase our pace. He was up on his feet, running towards the enemy position in a low crouch, Uralsky close behind. The rest of us followed their example, slipping unnoticed past the German sentries.

  Within a minute we reached the barricade. Antonov produced a set of long-handled wire cutters and began snipping a path through the circles of barbed wire stretched between the wooden support beams. I lay on my back, submachine gun clutched in my hands, scanning the enemy lookouts on either side of the tracks.

  I had been slowly acquiring replacements for all the weapons I lost when taken to the evacuation hospital, but Borodin had kept my PPSh for me and I never appreciated it more. If just one of the Germans happened to glance down at us, we would be sitting targets for their machine guns. If they did open fire, we could not risk moving off the railway for fear of detonating one of the mines beside it. The blast would kill or cripple most of us, while any survivors could expect to be machine-gunned to death moments later.

  Overhead a dark cloud passed in front of the crescent moon, casting us deeper into shadow. By the time it was clear of the glowing white and grey sickle in the sky, we were through the barricade and crawling deeper into enemy territory.

  On and on we went, until I started wondering if we could have gone past the railway crossing in the dark. Two hundreds metres was no distance at all when running, but it felt like we had been crawling for two hundred kilometres. Finally, as I was about to ask the others if we had overshot our target, Uralsky scuttled off the tracks towards the building to our left, and Eisenstein followed him into the shadows. Once we were safely off the railway lines and out of sight from the German positions, Borodin muttered something about the happy coincidence of our comrades launching an attack when they had.

  Eisenstein admitted organising the diversion. "I called in a few favours," he said. "I thought a little distraction couldn't hurt our chances. Now, according to the maps at field HQ, the Univermag is two streets south and one street further east from here. Remember, no shooting and no grenades. We use knives or bayonets only, unless we're discovered."

  Uralsky pulled a loop of wire from his knapsack, each end secured to a short wooden handle, and raised an eyebrow enquiringly at our combat leader.

  Eisenstein smirked. "Garrottes are permitted too, if anyone else has got one. You all know the drill: keep to the shadows, single file, pick and move, building by building. Ready? Then let's go
!"

  We reached the Univermag within twenty minutes, our progress impeded twice by the need to avoid squads of German infantrymen being marched through the rubble-strewn streets of Ivanovskoe. Any civilian residents had long since died or fled into the countryside. The town was once a bustling settlement on a major railway line, but it had been left desolate by successive attacks. First the Luftwaffe and German artillery had bombarded it during their lightning advance towards Leningrad the previous autumn, then our own retreating forces had done much the same as part of a "scorched earth" policy instigated by Stalin to leave little of value for the invading force. The Germans were the sole occupants of Ivanovskoe now, what little was left of it.

  The Univermag was a shell, brickwork around the empty, glassless windows blackened by a recent fire. There were lights on inside the building on both floors, so the upper storey was still being actively used. Two sentries stood outside the main entrance, where residents of Ivanovskoe had once bustled in to buy goods from the cooperative store. Another pair of German soldiers was making a slow patrol around the building's perimeter, taking four minutes to complete a circuit. If there were twelve sentries all told, the other eight must be inside.

  We waited and watched from a bombed-out building on the other side of the road, noting the patterns of movement around the Univermag.

  After ten minutes, Eisenstein seemed satisfied. "Once the external patrol has been past again, Uralsky and Antonov will take care of the sentries by the front door, then put on their helmets and tunics to stand guard," he whispered quickly. "Zunetov and I will go inside while Strelnikov and Borodin deal with the pair on patrol. Once you've finished with them, join us inside. Sophia will stay here, out of sight, working the radio. Uralsky and Antonov, if you hear shooting from inside the store, don't come in to get us. Fall back to this position and provide covering fire if we make it back out of the Univermag. If we're not out within three minutes, get back to the railway lines. Chances are we're already dead or captured and it's too late to do anything for us."