CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Bridge to Holy Cross, July 1944
INLUBLIN, ALEXANDER'S TROOPSrested and liked it so much they unilaterally decided to stay. Lublin, unlike the scorched and burned and plundered villages they had found in Byelorussia, remained nearly intact. Except for a few bombed and burned houses, Lublin was whitewashed and clean and hot with narrow streets and yellow stucco squares, which on Sundays had markets which sold--! things! Fruits, and ham, and cheese, and sour cream! And cabbage (Alexander's men stayed away from the cabbage). In Byelorussia they encountered maybe a handful of livestock; here, succulent, already basted and smoked pigs were being sold for zlotys. And fresh milk and cheese and butter implied the presence of enough cows to milk, not to eat. Eggs were sold, and chickens, too. "If this is what it means to be German-occupied, I'll take Hitler any day over Stalin," whispered Ouspensky. "In my village, my wife can't pull the f*cking onions out of the ground without thekolkhoz coming to take them away. And onions are the only thing she grows."
"You should have told her to grow potatoes," said Alexander. "Look at the potatoes here." The vendors sold watches, and they sold dresses for women, and they sold knives. Alexander tried to buy three knives, but no one wanted Russian rubles. The Polish people hated the Germans, and they liked the Russians only marginally more. They would lie down with anyone to get the Germans out of their country, but they wished it weren't the Russians they were lying down with. After all, the Soviets had carved up Poland alongside Germany in 1939, and it looked as if they had no intention of giving their half back. So the people were skeptical and wary. The troops couldn't buy anything unless they had barter goods. No matter which way they turned, no one would accept their worthless Russian money. The Moscow treasury needed to stop printing meaningless paper. Alexander finally managed to sweet talk an old lady out of three knives and a pair of glasses for his near-blind Sergeant Verenkov for two hundred rubles.
After a dinner of ham and eggs and potatoes and onions, and much vodka, Ouspensky came to Alexander and whispered excitedly that they had found a "whore's mess tent" and were all going; would Alexander like to come, too?
Alexander said no.
"Oh, come on, sir. After what we saw at Majdanek we need something to reaffirm life. Come. Have a good bang."
"No. I'll be sleeping. We are forcing the bridgeheads at the Vistula in a few days. We're going to need our strength for that." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"Never heard of the Vistula."
"F*ck off."
"Let me understand--because of a river in some nebulous future, you're not going to get some cully-shangy today?"
"No. I'm going to sleep because that is what I need."
"With all due respect, Captain, as your drudge, I am with you every minute of every day, and I know what you need. You need Sir Berkeley as badly as the rest of us. Come with me. Those girlswant to take our money."
Smiling, Alexander said, "Oh, because you've had so much luck unloading your rubles earlier. Ouspensky, you couldn't buy a damn watch. What makes you think you're going to buy a whole woman? She is going to spit at your rubles." Alexander was polishing his new knives in front of the tent.
"Come with us."
"No. You go ahead. Maybe when you come back you can tell me all about it."
"Captain, you are like my brother, but I will not let you live vicariously through me. Now come on. I heard there are five lovely Polish girls, and for thirty zlotys they will have each and every one of us."
Alexander laughed. "You don't have thirty zlotys!"
"But you do. Come on."
"No. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I'm exhausted."
Nothing inside Alexander lifted when he was alone. When he was in the midst of battle, when he was commanding the tank, or waiting to attack, or killing other human beings, he could will his heart to forget.
He wet a towel in a bucket of water and lay down on his makeshift bed, covering his head and face with the sopping cotton. There, there. The cold water ran down his neck, his cheeks, his scalp. His eyes were closed. There, there.
"Shura, lie down, right here on the blanket."
Alexander obeys gladly. It is a warm, sunny, quiet afternoon. He has been chopping wood, and she has been reading. He wants to go for a swim.
"All that wood chopping, has it tired you out?"
"No, I'm all right."
"Are you a little tired?"
He doesn't know what answer she wants. "Uh--yes. I'm a little tired."
Smiling, Tatiana plops down on top of him and pins his arms above his head. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
Her scent meanders into his insides. Alexander fights the impulse to kiss her collarbone. "OK, now what?" he says.
"Now you have to try to get away."
"How far do I have to get?" Alexander asks, flipping her on the blanket and rising to his feet.
She shakes her head. "I wasn't ready. Get back here." She is trying not to smile. Failing.
He obeys gladly.
She pins his arms--her fingers unable to circle the very wrists she is so judiciously attempting to pin--back under his head. Her scent weakens Alexander's senses. He is aroused by her spirited fearless playful struggle with him, by her jumping on his back, pulling him down on the ground, by her attempts to wrestle with him, by her wild antics in the water--her shy, erotic woman-child self is an endless aphrodisiac to him, like ambrosia.
"Are you ready yet?" he asks, gazing at her determined face as she thinks of the best way to keep him in place. She moves his wrists close together and under his head. "That's good," he says. "What else?"
"I'm thinking." Tatiana's legs squeeze his ribs. She takes a deep breath. "Ready?"
Before she can finish talking, Alexander flips her over. This time he does not stand up.
Sitting up, she asks plaintively, "What am I doing wrong? Why can't I hold you in place?"
He lays her down on the blanket. "Could it be because you are one and a half meters and forty-five kilos, and I'm a meter ninety and ninety kilos?" He places his large, dark, messy hand on her alabaster throat.
Moving away, she says stubbornly, "No. First of all, I'm a meter fifty-seven, so there. And secondly, I should be able to--physics demands that I can--put enough weight on you in the right place to immobilize you."
Alexander is trying hard to remain serious. Straddling her, he pins her wrists above her head. And smiles. "Am I allowed to kiss you during this game?"
"Absolutely not," Tatiana declares.
"Hmm," he says. He stares down at her face. He really wants to kiss her. Bending his head--
"Shura, that's not part of the game."
"I don't care," he says, kissing her. "I'm making up the rules as I go."
"Like you do at poker, right?"
"Don't start with the poker thing."
She tries not to laugh. "Are you ready?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
He is looking down at her. "I'm ready."
She tries to get away but she can't move. Her ribs are between his knees. Her legs flail behind him, actually rising high enough to hit him on the back. Her head is bobbing from side to side as she tries to lift her torso and disentangle her wrists. "Wait," she pants. "I think I got it."
"I tell you what," says Alexander. "I'll hold your wrists with just one hand; will that help?" With his right hand he squeezes her wrists together above her head.
"Ready?"
He laughs. "Yes, babe." He is trying to catch her eye, but she won't have any of it. Alexander knows once their eyes meet, that will be the end for this portion of the game. Tatiana knows the look in his eyes so well, as soon as she sees it, she moans a little, even while she is still fighting with him. Especially if she is still fighting with him.
Her legs are still flailing. She can't even free her wrists. With his roaming hand, Alexander caresses her thigh under her dress.
"That's not allowed," she pants, struggling against him.
"Not allowed?" His hand becomes more insistent.
"No. I do not allow that."
"All right, tadpole, come on," says Alexander, kissing her lips, her freckles, her eyes. "Show me what you got."
Tatiana turns her cheek to him. "I think I know what I'm doing wrong," she says. "Let's try it again."
His hand tightens around her wrists. "Go ahead."
Nearly inaudibly she moans. But Alexander hears.
"Well, you have to let go of me," whispers Tatiana.
"I thought you knew what you were doing wrong."
"I do. But you have to let go of me and lie down."
Reluctantly this time, Alexander obeys her.
Tatiana kneels between his legs. She doesn't hold his hands but pulls off his trousers and climbs back astride him, lifting her dress. "Now..." she murmurs, pinning his wrists above his head and moving her lips to his face. "Go ahead, soldier."
Alexander doesn't move. Tatiana moves. Up and down.
"Go ahead," she murmurs again. "You were saying? Show me what you got. Try to get away." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
Alexander emits a low groan. Tania kisses him. "Oh, husband..." she calls melodiously, to the rhythm of her heart, to the rhythm of her motion. "You were saying..."
"Nothing." He closes his eyes. Tatiana yields herself to remind him that her submission--the source of all his strength--is his privilege and not his right. Wrapped in her, he takes it from her as though it is an elixir he needs to continue living.
Afterward she is still holding his wrists and he is still not moving, except for his heart, which is pumping 160 beats a minute of Tatiana through his body.
"I knew I wasn't doing it right before," Tatiana says, grinning and licking his cheek. "I knew there had to be a way to beat you."
"You should have just asked me. I would have told you what it was."
"Why would I want to ask you? I had to figure it out for myself."
"Good job, Tatiasha," murmurs Alexander. "You onlyjustfigured it out?"
In the middle of the night, Alexander--with the moist towel still on his face--was startled out of sleep by the cheerful drunken whisper of Ouspensky, who was shaking him awake, while taking his hand and placing into it something soft and warm. It took Alexander a moment to recognize the softness and warmness as a large human breast, a breast still attached to a human female, albeit a not entirely sober human female, who breathed fire on him, kneeled near his bed and said something in Polish that sounded like, "Wake up, cowboy, paradise is here."
"Lieutenant," said Alexander in Russian, "you're going on the rack tomorrow."
"You will pray to me as if I'm your god tomorrow. She is bought and paid for. Have a good one." Ouspensky lowered the flaps on the tent and disappeared.
Sitting up and turning on his kerosene lamp, Alexander was faced with a young, boozy, not unattractive Polish face. For a minute as he sat up, they watched each other, he with weariness, she with drunken friendliness. "I speak Russian," she said in Russian. "I'm going to get into trouble being here?"
"Yes," said Alexander. "You better go back."
"Oh, but your friend..."
"He is not my friend. He is my sworn enemy. He has brought you here to poison you. You need to go back quickly."
He helped her sit up. Her swinging breasts were exposed through her open dress. Alexander was naked except for his BVDs. He watched her appraise him. "Captain," she said, "you're not telling me you are poison? You don't look like poison." She reached out for him. "You don't feel like poison." She paused, whispering, "At ease, soldier."
Moving away from her slightly--only slightly--Alexander started to put on his trousers. She stopped him by rubbing him. He sighed, moving her hand away. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"You left a sweetheart behind? I can tell. You're missing her. I see many men like you."
"I bet you do."
"They always feel better after they're with me. So relieved. Come on. What's the worst that can happen? You will enjoy yourself?"
"Yes," said Alexander. "That's the worst that can happen."
She stuck out her hand holding a French letter. "Come on. Nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not afraid," said Alexander.
"Oh, come on."
He buckled his belt. "Let's go. I'll walk you back."
"You have some chocolate?" she said, smiling. "I'll suck you off for some chocolate."
Alexander wavered, lingering on her bare breasts. "As it turns out, I do have some chocolate," he said, throbbing everywhere, including his heart. "You can have it all." He paused. "And you don't even have to suck me off."
The Polish girl's eyes cleared for a moment. "Really?"
"Really." He reached into his bag and handed her some small pieces of chocolate wrapped in foil.
Hungrily she shoved the bars into her mouth and swallowed them whole. Alexander raised his eyebrows. "Better the chocolate than me," he said.
The girl laughed. "Will you really walk me back?" she said. "Because the streets are not safe for a girl like me."
Alexander took his machine gun. "Let's go."
They walked through the subdued night-time streets of Lublin. Far away there was the distant sound of men laughing in a crowd, of breaking glass, of revelry. The girl took his arm. She was a tall girl, but the feel of soft female flesh pressing on him was a bittersweet waterfall to Alexander.
He felt a tightening in his abdomen, he felt his pulsing heart, his pulsing everything. He held her arm to him, and as they walked he closed his eyes for a second and imagined the relief and the comfort. He opened his eyes, shuddered slightly and sighed.
"You're headed over to the Vistula, aren't you? To Pulawy?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
"I know you are, you know how? Two of your Soviet divisions, one armored, one infantry, a thousand men in all, went that way. No one came back." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"They're not supposed to come back."
"You're not listening. They're not moving forward either. They're all in the river. Every one of your Soviet men."
Alexander looked at her thoughtfully.
"I don't care a whit about them, no more than I do about the Germans. But you treated me with a bit of respect. I'm going to tell you a better way," she said.
Alexander was listening.
"You're going too far north. You're headed straight into the German defense. There are hundreds of thousands of them. They're lying in wait for you across the Vistula. They kill you all and they will killyou . Remember, it was a walkover in Byelorussia because they didn't give a shit about Byelorussia."
Alexander wanted to beg to differ that it was a walkover in Byelorussia but kept quiet.
The Vistula is the last large river before the Oder on the border of Poland and Germany and the Oder flows practically through Berlin. Across the river and north to Warsaw, you will never get through, I don't care how many tanks and planes you have."
"I don't have any planes," said Alexander. "And only one tank."
"You need to move fifty kilometers south and cross the river at its narrowest point. There is a bridge there, though I'm sure it's been mined--"
"How do you know this?"
She smiled. "First of all, I used to live in Tarnow, not too far from there. And second, the f*cking Fritzes when they went out of here a month ago talked German as if I didn't understand. They think we're all idiots. I'm sure the short white-and-blue bridge there has been mined. Don't take the bridge. But the river is shallow. You can build pontoons for the deepest point, but I bet all of you can swim. You'll even get your tank across. The forest is not well defended: it's too thick and mountainous. I'm not guaranteeing it's undefended. Just not well defended. It's mostly partisan groups over there--both German and Soviet. If you can get across, you'll get right into the woods and past those woods is almost Germany! At least you'll have a chance. But if you cross the Vistula at Pulawy or Dolny, you're all dead."
She stopped. "Well, here we are." She pointed to a small residential house. The lights were all on. She smiled. "That's how you know us sinners. Any time of night, the lights are always on."
He smiled back.
"Thank you," she said. "I'm glad I didn't have to do one more tonight. I'm exhausted." She touched his chest. "Though I wouldn't have minded one more with you."
Alexander adjusted her dress. "What's your name?"
She smiled. "Vera," she replied. "Means faith in Russian, right? And you?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"I'm Alexander," he said. "The white-and-blue bridge down near Tarnow...does it have a name?"
Vera kissed him lightly on the lips. "Most do Swietokryzst.The bridge to Holy Cross."
The next morning Alexander sent five men north to Pulawy on a reconnaissance trip to the Vistula. The men did not come back. He sent another five men straight across to Dolny. The men did not come back.
It was the start of August and the reports coming from Warsaw were slow and grim. Despite much talk of pushing the Germans out of Warsaw, the Germans remained exactly as they were, reports of Soviet casualties were monumental and Poles, incited by the Soviets and spurred on by false promises of Soviet help had risen against the Germans by themselves and were now being massacred.
Alexander waited a few more days, but in the absence of good news, he took Ouspensky and they walked through the forest to the Vistula where they hid in the banks and watched the silent bulrushes on the other side. They were almost alone--if they looked straight ahead. Behind them were two NKGB troops, with slung rifles. No penal battalion officers were allowed to wander through Poland on their own even if it was ostensibly for a recon mission. The NKGB was the omnipresent police. They didn't fight the Germans, they just guarded the Gulag prisoners. There had not been a single day during the past year when they were not in Alexander's eyesight.
"I hate those bastards," muttered Ouspensky.
"I don't think about them." Alexander ground his teeth. He did not stop thinking about them.
"You should. They want harm to come to you."
"I don't take it personally." He took it personally.
They smoked. The morning was sunny and clear. The river reminded Alexander...He smoked, and lit up another and another--to poison his memory with nicotine. "Ouspensky, I need your advice."
"Honored, sir."
"I have been ordered to force the bridgehead at Dolny at sunrise tomorrow."
"Looks quiet," said Ouspensky.
"It looks it, doesn't it? But what if"--he inhaled--"what if I told you that you were going to die tomorrow?"
"Captain, you're describing to me my life for the last three years."
Alexander continued. "What if I told you we could go downriver where the German defenses aren't as heavy, and live? I don't know for how long, and I don't know if in the end it would make a bit of difference, but it certainly feels that the winds of destiny are at our heels this summer morning. Live or die, they whisper."
"Commander, may I just ask what in f*ck's name you're talking about?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"I'm talking about your path in life, Ouspensky. One way lies the rest of it. The other way the rest of it too--but shorter."
"What makes you think we'll do better downriver?"
Alexander shrugged. He didn't want to tell him about a soft-fleshed girl named Faith. "I know that Dolny is deceptively quiet."
"Commander, you have a commander too, don't you? I heard you on the horn this morning. General Konev was clearly giving you orders to take Dolny."
Nodding, Alexander said, "Yes. He is sending us to our death. The river is too deep and wide, the bridge is exposed. The Germans don't even mine the bridge, I bet. They just shoot us from Dolny across the Vistula."
Ouspensky backed off into the woods and said, "I don't think we have much choice, Captain. You are not General Konev. You have to go where he tells you. And even he has to go where Comrade Stalin tells him."
Alexander was thoughtful. He did not move from the bank. "Look at that bridge. Look at that river. It's carrying the bodies of thousands of Soviet men." Alexander paused. "Tomorrow it'll be carrying you and me."
"I don't see them," Ouspensky said casually, squinting. "And someone must make it through." That was less casual.
Alexander shook his head. "No. No one. All dead. Like us. Tomorrow." He smiled. "Look at the Vistula carefully, Lieutenant. Come sunrise, this will be your grave. Enjoy your last day on this earth. God has made it a particularly beautiful one."
Ouspensky chuckled. "Good thing then you had it off with that girl, isn't it?"
Alexander got up and as they were walking ten kilometers back to Lublin, said, "I am going to call General Konev about changing our mission. But I need your full support, Lieutenant."
"I'm with you till the day you die, sir, much to my infernal dismay."
Alexander managed to convince Konev to let them travel fifty kilometers south down the Vistula. It wasn't as difficult as he had anticipated. Konev was well aware of what was happening to the Soviets at Dolny, and the main divisions of the Ukrainian front were not at the Vistula yet. He was not averse to trying a new position.
As Alexander's battalion set off for the woods, Ouspensky complained and whined the entire time he was breaking down Alexander's tent and getting their gear together. He complained up until the time he hopped into the open tank and told Telikov to step on it. He complained when he saw that Alexander was walking behind the tank and not getting on.
Alexander walked behind, through the narrow trampled path that led through the summer fields to the forest stretching for fifty hilly kilometers along the Vistula. He turned around. A squadron of NKGB Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
troops armed to their miserable gills marched doggedly behind him.
They broke camp three times, and fished in the river, and carried carrots and potatoes with them from Lublin and stories of warm potatoes and warmer Polish girls, they sang songs and shaved until no hair was left on their bodies and behaved like Cub Scouts, not like convicted felons on the way to a road with no hope. Alexander sang louder than most and was more cheerful than all and walked faster than his men with the wind at his back.
Ouspensky, however, continued to grumble each and every kilometer. At one point during a late afternoon, he jumped down from the tank and walked next to Alexander for a bit.
"Only if I don't hear a breath of complaint from you."
"I am allowed to use my soldier's privilege," Ouspensky said grumpily.
"Yes, but why do you have to use it so much?" Alexander was thinking of the river and listening with only one ear to Ouspensky. "Walk faster, you one-lunged malingerer."
"Sir, the girl back in Lublin...Why didn't you avail yourself of her kindness?"
Alexander did not reply.
"You know, sir," said Ouspensky, "I had to pay for her regardless. The least you could have done was have her. Just as a courtesy to me, dammit."
"Next time I'll remember to be more considerate."
Ouspensky marched closer. "Captain, what is wrong with you? Didn't you see her? Did you not see her tit-for-tats? The rest of her was just as succulent."
"Oh?"
"Didn't you find her--"
"She wasn't my type."
"What is your type, sir? If you don't mind my asking. The canteen had all kinds--"
"I like the kind that haven't been to a canteen."
"Oh, dear God. It's war!"
"I have plenty to keep my mind occupied, Lieutenant."
"Do you want me to tell you about the Polish girl?" Ouspensky cleared his throat.
Smiling and looking straight ahead, Alexander said, "Tell me, Lieutenant. And you may not leave out any details. That's an order."
Ouspensky spoke for five minutes. When he was finished, Alexander was silent for a moment, taking in what he just heard, and then said, "That's thebest you can do?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"The story took longer than the actual knock!" Ouspensky exclaimed. "Who am I, Cicero?"
"You're not even a very good entertainer. Surely sex can't be that boring, or have I just forgotten?"
"Have you?"
"I don't think so."
"You tell me a story then."
Shaking his head, Alexander said, "The stories I can tell you, I've forgotten. The stories I remember, I can't tell you." Alexander felt Nikolai staring at him. "What?" He walked a little faster. "Go ahead, men!" he called to his formation. "Don't f*cking die right in front of me. Faster! Hip hop! We've got another twenty kilometers before our destination. Don't dilly dally." He glanced at Ouspensky. "What?" Alexander barked at his lieutenant who was still staring at him.
"Captain, who did you leave behind?"
"It's not whoI left behind," replied Alexander, marching faster, holding his machine gun tighter. "It's who left me behind."
They got to the bridge by the third nightfall. Immediately the telephone stringer left to find an Army Group Ukraine division to run a wire from the high command to Alexander.
At pre-dawn, Alexander was up. He sat by the banks of the river, it was no more than 200 feet wide and looked onto the small innocuous bridge, an old, wooden, once-white bridge. "Most do Swietokryzst ," Alexander whispered. It was very early Sunday morning and there was no one on it, but beyond the bridge in the distance, across the river, were the church spires of the town of Swietokryzst and beyond them were the dense oaks of the Holy Cross mountains.
Alexander was going to wait for a division of Army Group Ukraine to catch up with him, but he reconsidered. He was going to stop at nothing to cross the river first.
It was peaceful. It was hard to believe that in one day, the next morning, the sky, the earth, the water was going to be filled with the blood of his men. Maybe there are no Germans on the other side at all, he thought, and then we can cross and then somehow hide in the woods. The Americans entered Europe two months ago. Eventually they will be in Germany. All I have to do is live long enough to fall into American hands...
At one of these bridges, a painter would sit and on another Sunday would perhaps paint families rowing down the river in little boats, the women in white hats, the men with oars, the young children in white dresses. In his painting perhaps the woman is wearing a blue hat. Perhaps the child is about one. She holds the child in her arms, and smiles, and the man smiles back and rows a little faster, as the wake behind him increases, the goldenrod hue gleams, and the painter catches it all.
What Alexander wanted this morning was his childhood back. He felt as if he were eighty. When was the last time he ran with a smile to anything? When was the last time he ran to something without a gun in his hand? When was the last time he crossed the street in stride? Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
He didn't want to answer those questions, not before he crossed the bridge to Swietokryzst.
"OPEN FIRE! OPEN FIRE!"
The next day in the river they were dying under the oppressive popping din of enemy fire, and not slowly dying, either. His infantry ran in first, but they needed immediate help.
Their tank was stuck in the rocky bottom, immersed up to the treads in the water. Verenkov loaded a 100-millimeter shell into the cannon and fired. The explosion and resounding screams told Alexander that Verenkov did not miss. He reloaded with smaller ammunition, but didn't have enough time to open fire.
The tank was a large target. Alexander knew that it was about to be blown apart. He didn't want to lose his tank and his weapons, but he needed his men more. "Jump!" he shouted to his crew. "Live one coming!"
They all jumped--rather, they were thrown as the shell hit the tank nose and exploded on impact. With regret for his only piece of motorized artillery, Alexander began to wade through the water holding his machine gun above his head and shooting in short bursts at the small beachhead in front of him on the other side of the river. Ouspensky covered him from behind and to the side. Alexander heard Ouspensky yelling at him to MOVE BACK, to STEP BACK, to GET BEHIND, to HOLD, to DROP BACK, FIND COVER! FIND COVER! motioning at him, pulling him down, cursing, but all Alexander did was push Ouspensky off him, ignore him and continue forward. Telikov and Verenkov grabbed each other as they swam. Only Alexander was tall enough to wade through, water up to his neck. He was able to aim better than his men; swimming and shooting at the same time was inefficient at best.
All around him was machine-gun fire. He couldn't tell where it was coming from. Every round felt as though it were hitting his helmet.
His men were floating.
The Vistula was turning red. Alexander had to get to the other side. Once they were on dry land anything was possible. Andthis is better than Dolny, better than Pulawy? he thought.Here the German defenses are down?
In the water nothing seemed possible.
Ouspensky continued to shout, as always. This time it wasn't directed at Alexander. "Look at them all screaming like a bunch of pussies! Who are we fighting? Men or girls?"
Alexander spotted one of his own men clutching a corpse. It was Yermenko.
"Corporal!" Alexander yelled. "Where is your battle partner?"
Yermenko lifted the dead body. "Right here, sir!"
Alexander could see that Yermenko was struggling in the water. Quickly Alexander swam to him and yelled at him, but Yermenko was still struggling. He was using the body as a float. "What the f*ck is wrong with you?" Alexander yelled. "Drop the soldier, and swim!" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"I can't swim, sir!"
"Oh, for f*ck's sake!" Alexander got Ouspensky, Telikov and Verenkov to help Yermenko across. They were all ten meters from the shoreline when from the nearby bushes on the beach out jumped three Germans. Alexander didn't spend a second thinking. He fired; through the air they flew.
Then three more came. Then three more. He fired again and again. Four Germans jumped in the river and headed straight for Alexander, raising their weapons at him. Yermenko lunged in front of Alexander, pointed his weapon at the Germans and mowed them down. Ouspensky, Telikov, and Verenkov formed a wall in front of Alexander. Ouspensky yelled, "Back, Captain! Stand back!" He shot from above the shoulder and missed.
Alexander lifted his Shpagin above Ouspensky's head, shot from above the shoulder and did not miss. "If you miss, shoot again, Lieutenant!" he yelled.
But now five Germans were in the water, meters away, water up to their waists. Alexander kept shooting and trying to get closer to the beachhead. His men kept fighting off the Germans with the butts of their rifles and their bayonets, trying to get closer to shore, but they were having no luck. The wet band of them in the water were too exposed, and more and more Germans kept coming.
In battle, three out of Alexander's five senses were heightened. He saw danger like an owl in darkness, he smelled blood like a hyena, he heard noises like a wolf. He never got distracted, he never got confused, he never became uncertain, he saw and smelled and heard everything. He did not taste his own blood, he did not feel his own pain.
On his flank he saw a flash of light and had just enough time to lurch forward, the bullet missing him by half a meter. The German soldier was so livid at missing at point blank range, he stabbed Alexander with his bayonet. He was aiming for the neck, but Alexander's neck was too high for the German. The bayonet pierced him in the lower left shoulder, cutting into his arm. Alexander swung his weapon and nearly sliced off the German's head. The man went down, but now there were five of them on top of him, and he with his arm bleeding took out his knife and his bayonet and fought them until they went down and Ouspensky got their guns. Now that they had weapons in each hand, they became a wall of bullets moving to the shore and they weren't stopped.
There were no more Germans coming from the bushes, and there was no more firing, either. And suddenly all was quiet except for the panting of the still breathing, except for the death throes of the still dying, except for the bubbling of the river burying the dead.
Alexander's men crawled out onto the sand.
Alexander wanted a smoke, but his cigarettes were wet. He watched the NKGB troops cautiously swim across the river, holding their rifles and mortars above their heads.
"F*cking pussies," Ouspensky whispered to Alexander, who sat between him and Yermenko. Alexander didn't say anything to Ouspensky, but when the NKGB got to the beach, he stood up and without saluting said, "You should have taken the unmined bridge and walked across like the civilians you are."
The NKGB man--not a scrape on him--stared coldly at Alexander and said, "Address me properly." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"You should have taken the f*cking bridge, comrade," said Alexander, bloodied from the helmet down, holding on to his machine gun.
"I am alieutenant in the Red Army!" the man shouted. "Lieutenant Sennev. Weapons down, soldier."
"And I am a captain!" Alexander shouted back, lifting up the weapon with his good arm. "Captain Belov." One more word, and Alexander was going to see how many rounds his Shpagin still had in it.
The man stood down and motioned his men to leave the beach and follow him into the woods, cursing under his breath.
What was left of Alexander's men stayed on the beach. He wanted to assess the damage to his battalion (he was afraid it was more like a platoon now) but the medic, a Ukrainian by the name of Kremler, came to take a look at him. He washed out the arm gash with carbolic acid and poured sulfa powder right into the wound to disinfect it further. "It's deep," was the only thing Kremler said.
"You have thread for stitches?"
"I have a small spool. We have many injured men."
"Just give me three stitches. To hold it together, that's all."
Kremler sewed him, cleaned his banged-up head, and gave him a drink of vodka and a shot of morphine in the stomach. Afterward Ouspensky came and stood in front of him. "Captain, may I have a word?"
Alexander was sitting on the sand, having a smoke. The morphine was making him sleepy. He looked up. "First I'm going to have a word with you. How many men down?"
"All of them. We have thirty-two privates left, three corporals, two sergeants, one lieutenant--that would be me--and one captain--that would be you." Ouspensky said the last grimly.
"Yermenko?"
"Yes."
"Verenkov?"
"Neck wound, shell grazing on stomach, lost the f*cking glasses you gave him, but yes."
"Telikov?"
"Broken foot, but yes."
"How in f*ck's name did he break his foot?"
"He tripped." Ouspensky was not smiling.
"What's the matter? Areyou all right?"
"I'm fine. My head has been bleeding out my brains for two hours." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"Did you start out with a significant amount, Lieutenant?"
Ouspensky crouched in front of Alexander. "Sir, I must tell you that I'm never one to second-guess my commanding officer, but I feel I'm not speaking out of turn if I say, what happened there--what you let happen there--was f*cking lunacy."
"You're second-guessing me, Lieutenant."
"Sir--"
"Lieutenant!" Alexander stood up. His wound was oozing blood out of the bandage. "We had nowhere else to go." He paused. "And we crossed the river, didn't we?"
"Sir, that's not the point. Konev's 29th armored division is supposed to be a day behind us. We could have waited. Yet we went into the water, into direct fire, we did not wait, we did not recon, we did not try to knock them out of position first, we just f*cking went! And more to the point--youjust went.You! The only thing between all of us and instant death, you led us into the mouth of the Germans and lost nearly all of our men, and now you're sitting on the ground, half dead yourself, pretending you don't know why I'm raging!"
Alexander pressed his hand into the bandage and said, "You can rage all you want, Lieutenant, but don't do it in my presence. I wasn't going to sit and wait for Konev's men. He takes days to get here, there is no element of surprise, the Germans reinforce even more, and in the end, we get sent in first anyway. Except the Germans have more time to build up their defenses. We had to move out. Now we'll regroup, but we're in the woods. And we've cleared this path for Soviet reinforcements, Soviet armies. They'll thank us in their own ungrateful, grudging way." He smiled. "I guarantee you, we're the first Soviet men across the Vistula."
Ouspensky glared at him incredulously.
"We didn't do so badly. We didn't do great. We've lost men before, Lieutenant. Do you remember last April in Minsk? We lost thirty men de-mining one f*cking field, not getting across a crucial river in Poland."
"Sir, you sent us into their rockets with nary a bullet!"
"I told you to hold your weapon above your head as you crossed."
"We have forty men left!"
"Are you counting the twenty NKGB?"
"Forty men and twenty pussies!"
"Yes, but we pushed the Germans away from the river bank. They've retreated into the woods. When we proceed into the woods, we will proceed with reinforcements."
Ouspensky shook his head. "We can't fight in the woods. I will not fight in the woods. It's completely different warfare in the woods. You can't see dick."
"No, you can't. I'm sorry I can't make war more palatable for you." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
"We lost our tank. The only thing that protectedyou. "
"Me."
"Oh, Mother of Christ!" Ouspensky exploded. "You act as if you are f*cking immortal, but you are not--"
"Do not," Alexander said loudly, "raise your voice to me, Ouspensky, do you understand? I don't give a shit what kind of liberties I allow you, I will not allow you this one. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Ouspensky said, quieter and stepping away. "You are still not f*cking immortal, sir. And your mencertainly aren't, but I don't give a shit about the men. It's you we can't replace. And I'm supposed to be here to protect you. How can you engage in hand-to-hand combat in the water when you are supposed to be in the rear? What do you think you are made of, Captain? Until just now when I saw you bleed red blood like the rest of us, I wasn't sure."
"It's not my blood," Alexander said.
"What?"
But Alexander shook his head.
"What's going to happen to us in the woods?"
"We are going to go into the mountains of Holy Cross. There's a good chance we will run out of ammunition because the Germans are better supplied. Konev will order us to fight until we die. That's what the penal battalion means. That's what being a Soviet officer means."
Ouspensky stared blankly at Alexander. "And coming here--this is your winds of f*cking destiny blowing at your back?"
"Yes. Because there is just one thing, Lieutenant, that the Red Army overlooked."
"What's that, sir?"
"I," said Alexander, "have no intention of dying."