Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics

by Jacklyn A. Lo

  Elena realizes that they have stopped walking, both of them consumed with the horror of Hans’ story. She places a hand on his, hoping to bring some sort of comfort.

  “Eventually that barn door burned through and collapsed in a heap of smoldering embers. Two figures ran out from the inferno, both of them already on fire and so badly burned that I couldn’t tell if they were men or women. But there was no escape. The gruppenführer gave an order to mow them down with automatic guns before they got ten paces from the barn. I couldn’t do it, and had to run and throw up in the bushes. Then we gathered up the farm animals, food and the very few valuables they had before burning the whole village to the ground.” He sighs, and starts walking again, heading towards the light of the café at the end of the street. “Slavic blood may not be as good or as acceptable as that of us Germans, but they are still humans all the same. They still bleed like us, feel pain like us and die like us. And sometimes, because of us, they die screaming like the people of Bolotino. And only vodka can silence them in my head. That’s why I drink!”

  He pulls open the door to the café, holding it for Elena to enter first. The room inside is filled with smoke, lit by the warm glow of paraffin lamps. A handful of soldiers sit in a huddle near the window, sipping tea or beer and talking in hushed voices.

  “Your usual table?” says a voice through the haze, and Elena spots a short man looking up at them from behind his enormous gray moustache.

  Hans nods. “Thank you, Tolya.” The little man leads them through to the back of the café, which Elena is pleased to see is almost entirely deserted. One old lady, whom Elena assumes is Tolya’s wife, sits at a table by the kitchen, sifting through a pile of papers. This is the perfect place, thinks Elena, as she takes her seat at a table against the opposite wall. And I reckon poor Hans is ripe for signing up. I’ve never seen anyone so disillusioned.

  “Two teas and two cakes, please,” says Hans and, as Tolya hurries off back to his counter, he leans forward in his chair, and continues in a low whisper. “I don’t know about you, Elena, but I just want this war to be over, so I can go home to my wife and children and try to forget about the screams of those wretched families we butchered in Bolotino.”

  “So would I, Hans,” says Elena, leaning forward and keeping her voice low as well. “Wouldn’t you like to play your part in doing that?”

  Hans frowns. “Doing what?”

  “Speeding up the end of this horror.”

  “How?” says Hans, looking back towards the front of the café to make sure no one can hear them. “What do you mean, Elena?”

  “It may come as a surprise, Hans, but I am not really a waitress. Well, I am… but I’m more than that. I play an important role in helping to stop this nightmare that Hitler started. But I can’t do it alone. I need other people, people like you, to help me bring about an end to this inhuman war.”

  Hans takes off his hat, holding it in both of his hands, his fingers running over the insignia as he considers Elena’s words. She holds her breath, suddenly anxious about her decision to approach him. With a word he could unmask her, destroying her work and putting her contacts at risk. She clenches her fists, praying silently under her breath.

  At last, Hans looks up at her and nods. “Yes, Elena. Please tell me more.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Dammit!” says Elena, leaning over the small sink and gripping the edge with white knuckles. “It’s been sixteen weeks and I just can’t shake off this morning sickness.” She retches again, but brings nothing up.

  “It will be over soon,” says Missus Petrenko. In one hand she holds Elena’s hair back from her face, while the other gently rubs her back. “It was just the same for me, my dear. I was sick with every one of my six children, sometimes up to the twentieth week.”

  Elena straightens up and wipes a flannel across her face. “That’s not very reassuring, but thanks all the same.”

  “Well, if you’re done, I’ll go and make you up some breakfast.” And with that the old lady shuffles out, leaving Elena with another wave of nausea to cope with.

  Thank goodness I’m here with Missus Petrenko and not out on the front lines, she thinks, as she heads to her room to get dressed. I doubt there’d be anyone there to hold my hair for me or offer me salted cucumber to get rid of this awful nausea. And this little fellow is really starting to show. She pulls a night dress on and looks down at her naked belly. It’s not large, but the baby bump is clearly noticeable and Elena smiles as she runs a hand over the unfamiliar bulge. If only I had some way of getting a message to Kostya. He has no idea that he is going to be a father! But what can I do? The Germans have this place sewn up; no messages get in, no messages get out. Except for my coded messages of course!

  She climbs into the usual working clothes and, pausing briefly to make sure that her blond roots aren’t growing through, heads down to the restaurant. The thought of the cipher machine, which is currently hidden in a house on the other side of the city, reminds her that Hans is supposed to be dropping in soon. In the weeks since he agreed to work with her as her agent, he has provided invaluable information about the German strategic and tactical decisions. Her mission as a double-agent, serving both the Russians and the U.S., is working exactly as planned. I just wish he didn’t always have that haunted look, she thinks as she begins the daily job of setting out the chairs and preparing for the day’s business. I’m always worried he’s about to burst into tears at any moment. After what he went through in that village, I’m not surprised he finds it hard, but he just seems a little… unstable.

  They usually meet at the restaurant early in the day, and today, when Hans arrives an hour after opening, he is almost glowing with eagerness to share his news.

  “What is it, Hans?” asks Elena, having made sure that there are no other customers in. “You look like you’re going to burst!”

  “I have information about Operation Citadel,” he says, his voice an excited whisper. “Information and an idea!”

  “The forthcoming invasion of Kursk? What’s happened? Hitler hasn’t decided to change the date again has he?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” Hans leans forward over his cup of tea. “We received word today of an airstrike to prepare the way for the invasion. In two weeks’ time, the Luftwaffe will carry out a series of bombing raids to destroy as many of the Soviet tanks as possible, paving the way for our new, improved Panzer forces.”

  “Improved?” Elena raises her eyebrows in surprise and concern. “What do you mean? How have they been improved?”

  “After the devastating effect of the T34s, our mechanic and designers have been working to make something better. The latest intel is that the new Panzers have much thicker armor. They are almost impenetrable, apparently. And their guns have been upgraded so they’re accurate to six thousand feet, far further than the range of the T34s.”

  Elena breathes in sharply, her thoughts immediately turning to Konstantin. “Are you sure, Hans? The improved Panzers and the airstrike?”

  “Absolutely. The Gestapo is always kept informed of the latest directives. The airstrike’s definitely going to happen, Elena. In two weeks.”

  As she considers the implications of this news, Elena slumps down in the opposite seat, a hand on her forehead, her hair falling across her face. “Is the date already fixed?”

  “Yes. It’s going to start on July fifth,” says Hans, still wearing his eager expression. “And remember I said I had a suggestion?”

  “Yes?” Elena looks up at him, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

  “Well, our intel on the Kursk region is scant at best. As far as I can tell we have no detailed maps or descriptions of the area, which means we don’t know where the Soviet tanks are based.”

  “Okay. But I don’t see what difference that makes. Once your planes are over Kursk, they’ll soon spot the tanks. Those T34s aren’t small!”

  “They may not be small, but they can be camouflaged to hide them from the
Luftwaffe.” Hans looks over his shoulder to make sure it is still safe to talk before continuing. “Once that’s done, the Soviets can create dummy tanks elsewhere to draw away the bombers. Simple.”

  “It doesn’t sound that simple,” says Elena, as she considers this plan. “But I’ll definitely pass it to my contacts. Thank you, Hans.” She places a hand on his for just the briefest of moments. Then, noticing some customers entering the restaurant, she gets quickly to her feet and, speaking in a louder voice, says, “More tea, Herr Officer?”

  Hans sits back and looks up at her, matching her tone for the benefit of the restaurant’s other customers. “Thank you, fraulein. And maybe one of your delicious pastries?”

  Twenty minutes later, leaving the restaurant in the care of Missus Petrenko, Elena slips through the front door and heads to a building across the square, where her cipher machine is currently located. She turns the rotors to the setting that ensures only her U.S. military contacts near Moscow can decrypt her message and begins to type, sharing this latest intelligence from Hans; both his information and his suggestion.

  She waits to hear confirmation that her message has arrived, expecting the door to burst open at any moment as the Germans trace her signal. Eventually the confirmation arrives, only this time it comes with a reply.

  Using her codebook, as she has been trained to do, she painstakingly pieces together the message, which reads, “Extraction plan in progress. Return to Eagle in two months. Await instructions.”

  Extraction plan? She frowns at the message. They’re pulling me out? But I’ve only just got everything set up here. It’s all working so perfectly. She runs a hand across her belly. It’s the baby. Wouldn’t look good back home to let an American women give birth out here. Elena switches off the cipher machine, pulls the cover back over it and heads back to the restaurant in a daze. Home. I’m going home. Back to the States, back to my family and my friends! I can’t believe it!

  ~

  “I can’t believe it!” says Hans as he sits in the restaurant late one evening. “The plan worked even better than I expected.”

  Having slipped the lock on the door, Elena brings over a single candle to the table and joins Hans. “Tell me,” she says. “What’s happened?”

  “As we anticipated, the invasion began on July fifth, five days ago. But when our new Panzers came rolling in, certain of finding the Soviet tanks all but wiped out by the Luftwaffe over the last few weeks, they were surprised to find the T34s in full force. Your guys have more than double the number of tanks we have, if not more! Those dummies worked perfectly!”

  Elena breathes a sigh of relief. Over the last few weeks, reports of the devastation wreaked by the German bombers and the destructive power of the upgraded Panzers have made her increasingly concerned for Konstantin, her beloved man and the father of the coming child. To hear that the ruse with the fake tanks paid off almost overwhelms her. “That’s wonderful news, Hans! Does this mean the battle will be over swiftly?”

  Hans shrugs. “Not necessarily, I’m afraid. It could still be a number of days or, who knows? Maybe even weeks yet before the Soviet tanks really start to make their presence felt. After all, those upgraded Panzers are real heavyweights. They’re going to make life very hard for the T34s. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. This could be one of the key battles that brings this war to an end, thanks to—”

  He stops at the sound of footsteps approaching and they turn to see Missus Petrenko shuffling in from the kitchen.

  “Don’t mind me,” says the old woman. “I just found something I think belongs to you, Elena.”

  “What did she say?” asks Hans, unable to understand Missus Petrenko. “Can she understand German?”

  Elena shakes her head. “Not even a little.” Then, speaking in Russian, she turns to Missus Petrenko. “What is it? What have you found?”

  “A letter,” says the old woman, holding out an envelope. “It was hidden in among the groceries. Thankfully they rarely ever get searched by this lot.” She jabs a finger towards Hans, dressed as always in his Gestapo uniform.

  “What was that?” he says as Missus Petrenko shuffles back into the kitchen.

  “Nothing. Don’t mind her. Look,” she says, her eyes flicking over the words on the envelope excitedly, “I’m going to have to go. This is important. Thanks again for the update. Please do keep me posted.”

  Having let Hans out and bolted the door shut again, Elena hurries back to her room, one hand clutching the large bulge of her belly as she heads up the stairs.

  Kostya! She thinks. At last! I don’t know how you managed it, but this is definitely your handwriting. Once in the seclusion of her room, she sits on the bed and tears open the envelope. She straightens it out on her lap, revealing Konstantin’s familiar handwriting across the back of a torn poster.

  “Lenochka, my darling,” she reads, her eyes hungrily devouring the words. “Here we are on the eve of battle and it’s looking like a big one! We’re ready for it though, thanks to all the information we’ve received from our agents and allies in recent months. Even the British have been helping us, the enemy of our enemy and all that! We also extracted information from the German officers we captured at Stalingrad, so we not only know the “surprise” attack is coming, but the forces we’re going to face: at least a million soldiers of the Wehrmacht and three thousand German tanks. But we’re the ones with the surprise! We’ve had months to prepare our defenses and they’re ready at last. With the help of the locals, we’ve dug enough trenches to reach from Moscow to the Far East together with thousands of tank traps. You wouldn’t believe how much hard work it’s taken, Lena, even just to shift the earth for a single tank trap! Last night, our guys caught a couple of German snipers, still busy building a nest for themselves, and we squeezed them for information on the time they were due to launch the offensive and from which direction. Not long now, and our artillery has got a nasty treat for the Nazis when they make their move. Should all be over in fairly short order.” Elena shakes her head at Konstantin’s words. It must be six days since he penned this letter, she thinks. And Hans reckons there could still be another week of fighting. Hardly what I’d call “fairly short order”! She turns her attention back to the closing lines.

  “Lenochka, my love, I am worried about you. I have not heard from you since we parted over all those months ago. I do hope the little misunderstanding of our last discussion has not played a part in your silence. I miss you and I look forward so much to seeing you again soon. Very soon! With all my love and kisses, Kostya.”

  Elena sighs as she folds up the letter. Although delighted at receiving word from Konstantin, she is disappointed that she cannot reply, cannot tell him how she feels, cannot tell him how concerned she is for him. And she cannot tell him about their baby.

  She undresses for bed and slips into the covers, but finds it impossible to sleep. Her head is buzzing with questions about the future. Is Kostya going to be alright? Is he going to survive the Germans’ attack on Kursk, what with the improvements Hans says they’ve made to their tanks? And if he does, will I be able to get word to him about the baby before I am whisked off back to America? And what happens when I get back there? Will I be able to return after I give birth? Will I even want to? Round and round her thoughts go, alternately anxious for Konstantin and for the child growing inside her. At last, Elena drifts into a fitful sleep, but even here there is no rest. Instead she finds herself caught up in a nightmare.

  In her dream, she turns and there behind her is a towering furnace, its flames fiercely licking at molten steel, casting a deep orange glow into the darkness around. She tries to back away, to escape from the searing heat of the furnace, but she cannot move.

  “Lena.” She looks up at the sound of her name and peers into the fire, shielding her eyes from the blinding light. There in the flames is Konstantin, in the helmet and uniform of the tank leader. His handsome face is its usual calm, though his eyes are sad and there are a fe
w soot marks on his cheeks. “Lena,” he says again. “You are such a wonderful woman. It has been my greatest joy to meet you and get to know you. I shall never forget those beautiful moments we’ve had together.” He pauses, as he gazes at her from the flames with sorrowful eyes. “I have come to say farewell, Lena, my darling. Please do well and remember that I love you. And I always will.”

  She reaches out to touch him, to hold him, to stop him from leaving her and finds herself lying in her bed, one arm outstretched, her body drenched in sweat.

  What was that all about, she wonders, as she gasps for breath. What can this dream mean? And then her blood runs cold as she realizes what this must have been—a final message of farewell from Konstantin. She lets her head drop back onto her pillow and, unable to get to sleep again, she lies there until morning, her arms wrapped around her swollen belly in an attempt to comfort herself.