The woman got to her feet and strode towards the officer. Everyone was struck by the way she kept her eyes fixed on him and yet at the same time managed to find a brick that wasn't part of a great frozen heap – a brick that even her poor hand could pick up, her poor weak hand that had been deformed by years of labour, that had been scalded by boiling water, icy water and lye.
The guard sensed what was about to happen and knew there was nothing he could do to stop the woman; she was stronger than his tommy-gun. The prisoners couldn't take their eyes off her; the children watched her avidly and impatiently.
The woman could no longer see anything at all except the face of the German with the handkerchief round his mouth. Not understanding what was happening to her, governed by a power she had just now seemed to control, she felt in the pocket of her jacket for a piece of bread that had been given to her the evening before by a soldier. She held it out to the German officer and said: 'There, have something to eat.'
Afterwards, she was unable to understand what had happened to her, why she had done this. Her life was to be full of moments of humiliation, helplessness and anger, full of petty cruelties that made her lie awake at night, full of brooding resentment. There was the time she quarrelled with her neighbour who had accused her of stealing a bottle of oil; the time the chairman of the district soviet, not interested in her complaints about life in a communal flat, had her thrown out of his office; the time when her son began manoeuvring to get her out of the room they shared, when his pregnant wife called her an old whore… At one such moment, lying on her bed, full of bitterness, she was to remember that winter morning outside the cellar and think: T was a fool then, and I'm still a fool now.'
49
Alarming reports were reaching Novikov's headquarters from his brigade commanders. Their scouts had located German tank and artillery units that hadn't yet taken part in the fighting. The enemy was evidently bringing up his reserves.
Novikov found this information very disturbing: his forward units were advancing without securing their flanks; if the enemy should succeed in cutting the small number of passable roads, his tanks would be left with no infantry support and no fuel.
Novikov discussed the situation with Getmanov; he considered it essential to call a temporary halt to the tanks' advance and allow the forces in the rear to catch up. Getmanov was still obsessed by the idea that their corps must be the first to enter the Ukraine. In the end they agreed that Getmanov should bring up the rear while Novikov investigated the situation to the west.
Before setting off for the brigades, Novikov phoned Yeremenko's second-in-command and informed him of the situation. He knew in advance what answer he would receive; the second-in-command would never take the responsibility either of calling a halt to their advance, or of ordering them to continue.
The second-in-command said that he would alert Yeremenko and that he would request information from the intelligence service at Front HQ.
Novikov then phoned Molokov, the commander of the infantry corps next door. Molokov was a difficult, bad-tempered man who constantly suspected his neighbours of making unfavourable reports about him to Yeremenko. He and Novikov ended up arguing and even exchanging curses – not, admittedly, directed at each other, but at the widening gap opening up between the tanks and the infantry.
After that, Novikov phoned his neighbour on the left, the commander of an artillery division. He said he didn't intend to advance any further unless he received orders from Front Headquarters. Novikov could understand his point of view: he didn't want merely to play a supporting role to the tanks.
As Novikov was hanging up, Nyeudobnov came in. Novikov had never seen him looking so flustered and anxious.
'Comrade Colonel,' he said, 'I've just had a call from the chief of staff of the air army. They're about to transfer our support aircraft to the left flank.'
'What do you mean?' shouted Novikov. 'They must be out of their minds!'
'There's no mystery about it,' said Nyeudobnov. 'Some people would prefer us not to be the first to enter the Ukraine. There are more than enough men who've got their eyes on the Orders of Suvorov and Bogdan Khmelnitsky. Without air support we have no choice but to call a halt.'
'I'll phone Yeremenko straight away.'
Yeremenko, however, had left for Tolbukhin 's army. His second-in-command, whom Novikov had only just phoned, again preferred not to take any decision. He merely expressed surprise that Novikov hadn't yet moved up to his brigades.
'Comrade Lieutenant-General,' said Novikov, 'I fail to understand how you can possibly, without warning, remove all air cover from the corps that has advanced furthest towards the West.'
'Your superiors are better placed than you to decide how best to make use of the support aircraft,' came the angry reply. 'Yours isn't the only corps taking part in this offensive.'
'What am I going to say to my soldiers when the Germans start pounding them?' demanded Novikov. 'How am I going to cover them? With your instructions?'
Instead of losing his temper, the second-in-command adopted a conciliatory tone.
'I'll report the situation to the commander. You set off for your brigades.'
Then Getmanov came in; he had already put on his cap and overcoat. When he saw Novikov, he threw up his hands in astonishment. 'Pyotr Pavlovich, I thought you'd already left.'
His next words were more gentle. 'You say the rear's lagging behind. Well, the officer responsible says we shouldn't be wasting trucks and precious petrol on wounded Germans.' He gave Novikov a meaningful look. 'After all, we're not a section of the Comintern. We're a fighting unit.'
'What on earth's the Comintern got to do with it?'
'Comrade Colonel,' said Nyeudobnov entreatingly, 'it's time you left. Every moment's precious. I'll do everything in my power to sort things out with Headquarters.'
Since his conversation with Darensky, Novikov had been watching Nyeudobnov constantly, following his every movement. 'Not with that very hand? I can't believe it!' he would think to himself as Nyeudobnov took hold of a spoon, speared a piece of pickled cucumber on a fork or picked up the telephone.
Now, though, Novikov had forgotten about all that. He had never seen Nyeudobnov so friendly, so concerned – so likeable even.
Getmanov and Nyeudobnov were ready to sell their souls to the devil if only they could be the first to enter the Ukraine, if only the brigades could continue their advance without delay. But there was one risk they wouldn't run: that of taking responsibility themselves for an action that might lead to a setback.
In spite of himself, Novikov had succumbed to this fever. He too wanted to be able to radio to HQ that his advance units had been the first to cross the frontier. In military terms this meant very little and certainly would not occasion the enemy any particular harm. But Novikov wanted it none the less – for the glory of it, for the Order of Suvorov, for the rank of general it would certainly assure him. He wanted to be thanked by Yeremenko, to be praised by Vasilevsky, to hear his name over the radio on Stalin's order of the day. He even wanted his neighbours to be jealous of him. Such thoughts and feelings had never governed his acts before; it was perhaps for this very reason that they were now so intense.
There was nothing reprehensible in this ambition of his… Everything was the same as in Stalingrad and during 1941: the cold was just as pitiless, the soldiers were still half-dead with exhaustion, death was still as terrifying. And yet the whole spirit of the war was changing.