Too overwhelmed to make a decent reply, Yuri could only say ‘Oh’.
Peter was determined not to move until he really, really had to. He could win this game, he was sure he could, the game of who could stay still the longest. The two soldiers hushed the others and stood firmly side by side with their rifles propped against their shoulders. Peter fancied they looked a little scared too, perhaps they thought he was a ghost. His head was itchy though, getting worse and worse. The only thing he wanted more than anything else in the world was to scratch it, just one quick, hard scratch, that’s all. His fingers ached to do their business. Surely it would be okay. Closing his eyes, blocking out the Germans, he finally gave in, sliding his right hand up to the crown of his head and tearing at it as fast as he could. At the sound of shouting, he opened his eyes again.
Two shots rang out.
Yuri jumped up while the sergeant lowered his head. An expression of genuine surprise flitted across the corporal’s face as he looked over at the pipe’s opening, hoping for an answer.
‘Is that them, the Germans next door?’ Yuri asked, desperately wanting someone to contradict him.
Rodimtsev walked over to the pipe, poked his head inside and listened for anything at all. His sergeant lit another cigarette and studied his boots.
Yuri stood, petrified, waiting for someone to say something. He couldn’t understand the two men; they didn’t seem to appreciate that Peter could be hurt, that those bullets could have been fired at him. ‘Sir,’ he asked, ‘what are we going to do?’
The sergeant decided that now was as good a time as any to tell a simple truth, ‘Nothing. We can do nothing.’
Peter was trembling all over, and much too shocked to cry for the rat that had been splattered all over the floor. The two soldiers laughed and shook hands while the boy above them had had enough, he crawled backwards, able to ignore the lice and his dribbling nose thanks to the killing he had just witnessed. One day he might realise that the rat had saved him from a similar fate. He edged himself back, looking forward to seeing Yuri again and to receiving his prize of more food.
‘Listen!’ said Rodimtsev. ‘Someone is coming.’
Taking comfort in the fact that there was no way for a man to fit in the pipe, Yuri stood beside the corporal, straining his ears for a hint that the sound of shuffling was definitely Peter. He leant forward and was rewarded with the sound of a familiar little sniff. That nose could be completely dry of anything and he’d still have to sniff as if he had a bad cold. Sure enough, Peter’s feet gradually appeared in view. Yuri waited, dazed, fighting the urge to cry out in relief. Muscling Rodimtsev out of the way, he made sure that he was the one to pull Peter out of the pipe. Peter was triumphant in his return, though innocent of how narrow his chances had been just a few minutes earlier. He smiled at the three of them in turn.
‘Well?’ said the corporal, impatiently.
‘I saw them!’ was all that Peter would say.
‘Did someone shoot you?’ asked Yuri.
‘No,’ sniffed Peter, ‘it was a rat, but I saw him first!’
‘C’mon, boys,’ said the sergeant, ‘Let’s go back downstairs for some more grub and Peter can tell us everything then.’
Yuri trailed after Peter as he happily walked ahead of him, his hand in the sergeant’s instead of his own. Rodimtsev was behind him, Yuri imagined the corporal smirking at his back as he watched Peter ignore him for the more exciting figure of the sergeant.
Downstairs, they went to a quiet corner, away from the rest of the men. Sausage was duly presented to the boys, the sergeant making a face at Rodimtsev to let him know that he would be conducting the enquiry. ‘Well, young man, you deserve this. So, what did you see? Do your best to remember everything.’
Peter nodded as he gulped down the meat. ‘I saw soldiers, and I wasn’t scared!’
‘Of course you weren’t,’ said the sergeant. ‘And how many soldiers were there?’
Peter took a moment to think before saying, in a worried voice, ‘I forget.’
Rodimtsev exploded with a curse, making the boys jump. His sergeant immediately asked him to fetch him some water. The corporal marched off, looking disgusted with all of them.
‘Okay, now, Peter. It’s just the three of us,’ said the sergeant, ‘Take your time and don’t worry if you can’t remember everything. Can you tell me what the soldiers were doing?’
Peter put on a very proper thinking expression, screwing up his forehead and squeezing his eyes closed. ‘Mmmm. One was talking on a telephone, his friend was holding it for him, it was in a black box. One man was writing in a notebook, he looked sad.’
‘Good boy!’ said the sergeant, ‘Was there anyone else there with them?’
Scrunching up his face again, Peter suddenly remembered, ‘One man had a big, long gun; he was hiding behind the window.’
‘Right, lad,’ nodded the sergeant, ‘So that’s three soldiers altogether. Were there more than that?’
Peter looked at Yuri for help, his face a picture of remorse. ‘I don’t know!’
Yuri had an idea. ‘Peter, look at the men over there.’
Peter did as he was told.
‘Now, were there more men than that?’
There was a pause before the small boy shrugged and said, ‘The same. I think.’
It was enough for the sergeant, ‘Well done, boys, well done!’
Rodimtsev rejoined the group, presenting the water to his boss, who told him, ‘There’s about the same amount of Germans as us, Rodimtsev, according to young Peter here. They have a phone, so they’re in communication, and one of them was writing. Isn’t that right, Peter?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘That means they’re receiving orders of some kind.’
‘The man looked sad, the one who was writing.’ Peter wanted the corporal to know this, and received a brief nod as thanks.
The sergeant grew brisk; it was time for the boys to leave. ‘Right, off with the pair of you! You’ve both been a great help to us and your country. And you never know, perhaps we’ll run into one another again.’ He strode towards his men, leaving Rodimtsev to escort the boys back through the gap that was the front door. As he scanned the area the grumpy corporal whispered, ‘As quick as you can, back down the street. Don’t waste any time looking back, just keep going.’
Neither Peter nor Yuri bothered to say goodbye to him.
THE SMELL OF STALINGRAD
The train journey was rudely and brutally interrupted by one solitary German plane. Vlad and his classmates stood together in awe as the sound of the engine grew louder, deafening them just before their carriage was sprayed with machine-gun fire. Anton instinctively leapt from his seat just as the old man was knocked sideways by bullets that left hundreds of tiny holes in the roof above them – he was dead before his riddled head hit the warm spot left by Anton’s behind. The brakes shrieked in protest as the driver pulled hard and fast, dragging the battered train to a stop while any number of men were bellowing to one another, ‘Get outside, quick as you can!’ All the boys could do was follow everyone else.
It must have made an impressive sight, the train vomiting its hordes of passengers out on to the side of the track. Leo instantly assessing the wisest course of action, grabbed Vlad and Misha, assuming Anton to be close by, and made for the ditch, alongside everyone else. The ditch was the only cover around, the landscape doing what it could to provide some sort of shelter.