Red Winter

by Smith, Dan

  ‘Yes,’ Oksana replied. She was still on her knees, in the gloom at the back of the barn. ‘I’m so sorry. I . . .’ She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t explain the wickedness of what they had done to us. ‘That’s why I came to warn you. I . . . Anna. The child. The children. I don’t know what I would do if someone took my children.’

  My fingers fumbled with the buckles, my hands shaking.

  Anna reached up to take the fastenings in her small hands, saying, ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘You’re lucky they haven’t taken your children,’ I said, taking my saddle and hefting it onto Kashtan’s back.

  ‘Perhaps they still will,’ Lyudmila said.

  Oksana looked over at her, and the realisation was clear in her eyes. Her children were no safer than ours were. Reporting and trapping deserters might earn her a few favours, but there was no guarantee.

  ‘What have they given you in return?’ I asked, pulling the straps tight under Kashtan’s stomach and tightening the buckles. The fixings were larger and my fingers managed them well enough. ‘The Chekists? What have they given you?’

  Oksana shrugged and shook her head.

  The saddle was secured, the bridle on, and I straightened up, running a hand along Kashtan’s smooth coat, feeling some of the anger and tension drain away. As always, there was something about her that calmed me, the sense that no one would ever be as in tune with me as she was.

  ‘Good girl,’ I whispered, patting her shoulder. ‘Good girl.’ Then I handed her reins to Anna, while Tanya helped Lyudmila to finish tacking her horse.

  ‘How many are they?’ I asked, drawing my revolver and heading towards the door. ‘The Chekists?’

  Oksana thought for a moment. ‘Five or six, but they come and go. Sometimes there are more.’

  ‘Have you seen any of them with prisoners? Women and children?’ I stopped and looked back at her. ‘Tell me the truth.’

  Oksana lowered her head again and cowered against the wall of the outbuilding as if she wished the earth would swallow her whole.

  ‘The truth.’

  Tanya and Lyudmila had finished now and were preparing to lead the horses from the barn, but they too stopped to hear Oksana’s answer.

  ‘Yesterday. There were more here yesterday.’

  ‘With prisoners?’

  ‘I think so. We didn’t see them, but—’

  ‘Didn’t see them? Then how can you be sure?’

  ‘Not close, I mean. There were people, not soldiers – I saw that, but not who they were. Not really. They stayed at the other farm. They didn’t come here.’

  ‘Are they still there?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘And you kept that from us?’ Tanya said. ‘You kept that from us and you were going to let the Chekists come and drag us out in the night?’ She looked at me. ‘You should have let me put a bullet in her.’

  ‘She’s protecting herself,’ I said, looking at Anna, knowing the depths to which people would sink in order to keep themselves and their family safe.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Tanya said. ‘She’s wrong. Nothing would make me betray someone like that.’

  ‘Not even for your own children?’ I asked her. ‘Would you not have done anything to protect them?’

  Tanya stopped and stared at me, knowing I was right. We lived in times that made people do things they would never have considered before.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, crossing the short distance to the door and looking out to check it was clear for our escape. ‘We need to leave.’

  But we were already too late.

  32

  To my right was the dark shape of the izba from which we had run a few minutes ago. To the side of that, overshadowed by the trees, only the slightest hint of light was visible, nothing more than slashes of orange round the curtained windows of the old woman’s house, as if cut into dark cloth by a sharp sword. Above, the sky was blacker than Koschei’s heart, but all around, the air was sprinkled with a gentle fall of snow, the delicate drops sinking to the shapeless dirt at our feet.

  To my left, though, looking out at what should have been a never-ending sea of night, something was moving.

  ‘They’re coming.’

  Tanya and Lyudmila released the reins of their horses and came to the door. Anna did the same, but she was a part of me now, just as Kashtan and Tuzik were, so she came closer, fitting herself under my left arm, looking for my protection.

  ‘Is it them?’ she asked. ‘Is it him?’

  Nothing could have prepared me for the shocking beauty of the approaching evil.

  Lamps danced in the gloom like fallen stars, floating first this way, then that. Stopping, starting, raising and lowering. Small patches of the field were brightened as they came, revealing snatches of hedgerow, casting shadows in the furrows and making giants of even the smallest thistles.

  ‘Looks like we fight,’ Lyudmila said, working the bolt on her rifle, then pushing past me for a better look.

  ‘I count five,’ I said, watching the mesmerising motion of the lights, slow and illusory, moving like spirits coming at us across the field. Demons risen from the broken, frozen soil, spilling from the forest to come and claim us. But these were not the demons Marianna told about. They were not the kind that inhabited the stories Babushka used to spin. These devils were real.

  ‘Shoot at the lights.’ Lyudmila pulled the rifle butt into her shoulder and aimed into the night.

  ‘No.’ I put my hand on the barrel and pushed it down. ‘We have to get away. Save it for when we need it.’

  ‘What?’ Lyudmila snatched the weapon away.

  ‘They don’t know we’re here. They think we’re in the house, asleep. They can’t see us—’

  ‘So we shoot . . .’

  ‘No. So we head into the forest. We disappear where they won’t follow, and then we come back. When it suits us. When we have a plan.’

  ‘Don’t need a plan.’ Lyudmila raised the rifle once more. ‘We shoot.’

  ‘No, we have to leave,’ Tanya said. ‘Come on, get the horses.’

  ‘Don’t lose your nerve,’ Lyudmila argued.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Tanya replied. ‘There might be two men for every lamp. Three men. Five. As soon as we fire the first shot, they’ll put the lamps out and we’ll have no idea where they are or how many they are. If we let them trap us in here . . .’

  ‘No windows, only one way out,’ I said. ‘We’ll be blind in here and they’ll burn us alive. At the moment, as far as they know, we’re fast asleep. It’s better to keep it that way, keep them slow and quiet.’

  Lyudmila hesitated. She knew we were right. We weren’t running to escape but to fight better and on our own terms.

  ‘Horses,’ Tanya ordered, and Lyudmila lowered her rifle, shaking her head. Her face was a picture of frustration.

  I glanced down at Anna. ‘Bring Kashtan. I’ll watch.’

  But even as she turned to go, the front door to the izba opened, light spilled into the yard, and the old woman came out onto the step.

  ‘They’re getting away!’ she shouted. ‘Hurry! They’re getting away.’

  For a heartbeat, the lights stopped. They hung in the air amid the snowflakes falling around them as if through a dream.

  ‘Hurry!’ the old woman shouted, and her voice broke the trance.

  The lights began to move again, faster now, the men running.

  I looked from the old woman to the lights and back again, knowing they would be here in just a few seconds. Those once-mesmerising lights were now frantic in their movement, jerking from side to side, accompanied by the swish of material in the grass and the thump of boots on the ground.

  In the darkness, where the trees stood tall and thick, it would be safe, but we didn’t have time to reach them. We probably wouldn’t even clear the fence before the men were on us.

  There was only once choice for us now.

  ‘Into the house,’ I shouted, grabbing the sleeve of Anna’s c
oat and pulling her backwards, spinning her round. ‘Everybody get into the house.’ It was the most secure place for us, with its thick walls, sturdy roof and front-facing windows.

  I pushed Anna into the yard, yelling at her to run, Tanya and Lyudmila spilling out after her. Kashtan snorted in confusion, the other two horses shying backwards, stamping their feet, beginning to rear, spooking her further. Tuzik, too, was troubled by the commotion and he brushed past my legs, slipping out into the yard ahead of me. Oksana remained at the back of the barn, cowering in fear, blocked by the horses.

  ‘Come on,’ I shouted to her. ‘Run!’

  She hunched her shoulders as if she was trying to make herself small enough to disappear. The horses moved backwards and forwards in front of her.

  ‘Now!’

  But she stayed as she was, giving me no choice. The thought of abandoning her passed through my mind, but I couldn’t leave her alone at the mercy of the approaching devils. If they were the men we had been following, they would show her no compassion. They would use her against us, leaving her with a red star of her own. And her children were in that house. Two more children who would be left without a mother.

  With time running out, I dashed across the barn and took hold of her wrist, dragging her to the door, dodging the movements of the horses. Kashtan was the calmest of the three, but the actions of the other two had troubled her and she turned and turned, moving from one side of the barn to the other, needing my calm words. There was no time for words, though, and as we came to the half-open door, Lyudmila’s horse bolted, heading for the opening, its hooves skidding on the cold ground. It lost its footing, striking its shoulder on the wall and bouncing off as it found its balance and forced its way outside. Tanya’s horse followed, eyes wide and rolling with fear as it thundered past, bursting into the night and rearing onto its hind legs.

  ‘Faster!’ I pulled Oksana hard now, not caring that my fingers were crushing her wrist. Almost wanting to hurt her, to punish her for betraying us.

  I pushed her out in front of me, sending her stumbling into the yard, where Tanya and Lyudmila’s horses ran round in circles, following the line of the fence. As soon as Oksana was clear, I placed both hands against the door and used all my weight to swing it shut, keeping Kashtan inside. It cost precious seconds to drop the latch and secure it, but I wanted to keep her safe.

  When I turned, Oksana was already rushing through the gentle snowfall towards the izba. Out in the field, the lights were coming closer, swinging and lurching like demons in the darkness. The devils were cutting through the night towards us, but I didn’t stop to watch them. I bent low, bracing for the incoming volley of shots, and sprinted for the protection of the izba.

  Lyudmila had already reached the house, the old woman backing away from the door when she saw us coming, wanting to slam it shut, not even caring that Oksana was out here, vulnerable, but the old woman was slow and Lyudmila’s foot was in the door before she could retreat.

  Tanya followed on her heels, holding Anna’s hand in one of her own and her rifle in the other. Oksana went into the house just a few seconds behind her, and I was last, slamming the door shut behind me and throwing the bolts across.

  33

  So it had come to this.

  After countless hours on horseback, innumerable desperate nights in the forest and more red stars than I wanted to remember, it had come to this.

  I had achieved nothing more than ground. I had moved from one place to another, collected a ragged group of people with either vengeance or grief in their hearts, but I was still as far away from what I wanted as I had ever been. When Alek and I had left our unit, all we wanted was to find some normality, to enjoy the peace of our families and escape the fire and blood of war, but perhaps that was my destiny. Fire and blood. To be a soldier first and a father second.

  I went to the window and lifted the corner of the curtain to look out.

  Tuzik was nowhere to be seen. Not even a hint of his lithe shape skulking in the yard. He had disappeared in the commotion, probably slipping through the fence and heading for the trees to find safety. He was a strange mix of wild and tame, but he was a hunter and he would survive. I wished him luck, wherever he went.

  Tanya and Lyudmila’s horses weren’t easy to make out, but there was a dark form at the far right corner of the yard that moved in a manner I recognised. They had become calmer now and I suspected they were standing together, keeping close to one another for comfort and warmth, facing out into the field as if trying to ignore the men who occupied the yard with them.

  It was those men who now demanded my attention.

  Almost invisible in the night, there were two soldiers behind the cart, no doubt with rifles resting across the back of it; another two crouched behind the far fence. One more stood at the corner of the outbuilding, and his weapon would be pointed in our direction, but the expected attack did not come.

  Not a shot. Not a word.

  An eerie silence fell over the scene.

  Inside, it was the same.

  Sergei had returned home before the soldiers set out for the farm. He and his wife had now retreated with Oksana and her children to the back of the izba, close to the pich. Anna lay on the floor behind the overturned table, just as I had instructed her to do. Tanya crouched beside me at the window, rifle ready; Lyudmila watched from the other.

  But all was still and quiet, as if the world had stopped moving around us. I had expected shooting, shouting, fire and blood, but there was nothing.

  Only waiting.

  It confirmed to me that these were not the men who had been following me. Men who had trailed me that hard and for that long would not have hesitated to kill everyone here. Instead the men in the yard had put out their lamps, just as we had, and they were little more than shadows in the falling snow. The soft flakes floated among them, settling on everything they touched. The gathering whiteness cast a beauty in the night. It softened and brightened everything, making the events being played out around the farm incongruous. These things should not happen amid such beauty.

  Snow does that. It covers everything, from the autumn mud and the flame-coloured leaves to the sounds of the forest and the bodies left in the wake of armies and oppressors. Marianna always told me that God sent us the snow to make our country beautiful; to hide whatever ugliness we created for ourselves. Right now, it would be falling on the dead men of Belev. Erasing them. It was as if we had an unwritten law that we should find beauty and poetry in the white landscape, but the truth was that the winters were harsh and the beauty belied its cruelty. Winter was a difficult time for everyone and we all celebrated its passing, no matter what ugliness might be revealed when spring came and melted the snow as surely as a warm heart had melted Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden.

  ‘Snegurochka’ was just another of the skazkas Marianna told our children – she was the daughter of Spring and Frost who could never love until her mother granted her the ability, but the gift was fatal, and when Snegurochka fell in love, her heart warmed and she melted into nothing, just as the spring sun took away the whiteness. For all Marianna’s talk of the snow hiding the ugliness, we had always drowned a straw figure in the river to signify the death of the Snow Maiden and to herald the spring.

  Now that image brought new connotations for me.

  He likes to drown the women.

  I saw the white face of a woman squashed into a barrel. I saw Galina breaking through the paper-thin ice, sinking beneath its water. I saw the faces of men I knew as they threw the women of Belev into the lake. They were laughing, putting their boots on their heads to keep them under, firing their rifles into the water, the surface erupting in a mosaic of splashes and ripples as the women begged and struggled and died. And I saw the men, stripped of skin, nailed, cut, beaten, shot. Branded with that terrible red star. Men who would still be there when the snows melted.

  The winter didn’t change anything; it didn’t make it go away; it preserved it.

 
; I closed my eyes and tried to see something else. I put my hand over them and rubbed, but the images remained.

  ‘You all right?’ Tanya looked away from the window and watched me.

  ‘Fine. I’m fine.’

  She studied me, perhaps wondering if I could be relied upon, if the waiting would unnerve me. The whites of her eyes were clear in the semi-darkness. ‘You think it’s him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How many do you count?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘That’s not many,’ Lyudmila said. ‘I would have expected more.’

  ‘But if we’re right, if Krukov split his unit . . . maybe this is part of it.’

  We were all thinking the same thing. Five lamps, five men. We could have made a stand at the barn.

  ‘I want him alive,’ I said.

  ‘If it’s him.’

  ‘Yes. If it’s him.’

  ‘What’s stopping them from just shooting this place apart?’ Lyudmila asked. ‘From just killing us all?’

  I glanced back at Oksana and the shadows sitting with her at the far end of the room. The iron door of the pich beside them was closed, but the glow of the fire within was visible in the cracks round it. The children were hidden above the oven now, just as they had been when we arrived.

  ‘Women and children wouldn’t stop them,’ Tanya said, as if trying to read my thoughts. ‘We know that. It must be something else. Maybe it’s not even him.’ But she shook her head and answered her own suggestion. ‘No, that wouldn’t matter. Chekists are Chekists, whatever their name is.’

  ‘So why don’t they just do something?’ There was tension in Lyudmila’s voice. ‘Why don’t they try something? I don’t like this.’

  ‘Stay calm,’ Tanya told her.

  ‘I am calm, but why—’

  ‘Something’s stopping them,’ I said.

  ‘But what? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘This is worse than fighting,’ Lyudmila said, getting to her knees and looking out of the window again. ‘We should—’