"I don't know. More than likely Ivan has taken Krivoy Rog. It might be better if we headed northwest to where the railway crosses the Bug. If anything is still holding, it will be there at Pervomaysk. It's a long way, though, old friend."
Teacher nodded. "No further than we have already come. What's another two hundred kilometers? It means nothing, we die here or we die there. What is the difference? We have to all be somewhere, and one place is as good as another for the likes of us."
Gus set booby traps on all the hatches of the sitting Tiger. The first Ivan that peeked in should set off the remaining shells.
Each loaded up and selected what he thought would be of the most use to him on the trek. They had enough food for three days if they used their iron rations; after that it would be whatever they could come across, and that might be damned thin.
Langer ordered Gus to take the turret machine gun and distributed ten of the fifty-round belt drums among the others. Gus grumbled as usual, but he knew the choice was right; next to Langer he was the strongest. Without comment they gave Manny's gear to Yuri. He picked what would be needed; the rest would be left in the tank.
"Okay, Yuri take the lead and break ground for us. We'll switch off every fifteen minutes on the point. Move out!"
Yuri, Teacher, Gus, with Langer bringing up the drag, moved deeper into the trees, each following in the steps of the other.
Overhead the eagles of the war flew high, aloof in the clean crisp air of the sky. They flew far above the insects below, killing from the heights, never seeing the faces of their victims and seldom those of their own dead. The engines droned, who they were didn't matter, the men sweating their way through the crusty snow were alone, for now.
With the dark silence, came only the whispering of the wind, as it skimmed over the trees. Night, the kind that comes only to the cold lands, dark yet luminous. The trees, giant silent sentinels, unconcerned with the ambitions of man. Only the labored breathing of those beneath their branches disturbed the primeval serenity of this winter picture.
Before midnight, Langer called a halt. They had put enough distance between them and their stranded tank to feel safe enough to make camp. Doubling up, each joined his shelter half to that of another, strung them up between trees and piled snow up on the side to help keep the warmth in and the wind out. Gus was with Yuri, and Teacher and Langer shared the other. Inside the small havens they laid tree branches from the firs and pines to keep them off the snow floor, pulled themselves inside, and buttoned up the entrance. There would be no sentries tonight. They were too tired, far from the battle lines, and deep in the woods; it would be highly unlikely that any Russian patrol would find this one small spot before dawn.
Teacher pulled his knees up to his chest, putting his gloved hands under his armpits, hugging himself to get any extra iota of warmth. It was completely black inside; only the feel of Langer's body next to him and the man's breathing told of another presence.
"Carl, what the hell are you?"
Langer shifted, paused, and replied in a low, gentle voice that Teacher had seldom heard, "A man, nothing more. Perhaps even less."
A deep sighing exhalation told Teacher that Langer was asleep. And that was all the answer he was going to get. Nothing more, maybe less, what kind of damned answer is that? He, too, used the soldier's trick of taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Before the exhalation was completed he was asleep, the dull sleep of bone-weary fatigue that takes the soul and pulls one down into the darkness that heals.
Morning came with a light breeze whipping the flaps of the shelter halves gently, making soft flopping noises. The men crawled out of the shelters like winter bears shaking their bodies and heads to get rid of the sleep still hanging on them. One small smokeless fire for their rations and ersatz coffee. Gus complained it tasted like camel piss, and Langer thanked him for the information, saying that he had always wondered what camel piss tasted like, and now thanks to Gus's previous experiences, he knew.
Three days through the forest. Stumbling, cold, dragging, days before they reached the other side. Not once had they seen a sign of man or any large animals. Not the track of a single deer; only the small prints of squirrels and rabbits marked the purity of the winter covering. In three days they covered twenty kilometers. Only a hundred and seventy-five to go.... on empty stomachs.
Two more days found them in a great open plain with no shelter other than what they could make from their own gear. Before noon of the following day they saw waves of bombers at about 15,000 heading west. Fifteen minutes later they saw them coming back. Barely visible in the distance was a black haze rising....
"Novy Bug. We must still have people holding out there." Teacher barely nodded; it took too much effort to reply.
Langer called back to Yuri, who looked in the direction of the smoke, following Langer's pointing finger. "You've got the best eyes here, Yuri. How far?"
Yuri looked straight at the smoke then from the sides of his eyes. "Two more days the way we move now, perhaps twenty kilometers, no more."
Langer hiked his pack up a little higher, easing the straps. "All right. Let's go and take a look."
That night there would be no fires. They could hear the crumping of artillery pieces being fired; l05s and 155s. Ivan was in front of them.
That same night Langer climbed a small hillock and stood, eyes to the west, watching the flickering lights from the Russian guns, marking them in his mind. About forty-six kilometers; at their rate of march it would take them seven or eight hours to reach them and the German lines were beyond them another fifteen or so. He thought hard, trying to analyze the options.
His face was rough from an ice-crusted beard; frost spots on his cheeks gave them a higher look accenting the deep hollows of the eyes. We've got to have food. Another day and night without any and Teacher and Gus won't make it. Yuri can but he's not as civilized as they are. He could last another three or four days just by eating the leather from his boots.
He gave his head one quick jerk up and down. A decision was made. Twelve hours till dawn; if they moved now they could reach the Russian positions well before daylight. Rousting the others out he told them what was going to happen.
The Russians had food and they were going to get it tonight. Gus perked up at the idea of eating. His stomach had been trying to digest itself for the last two days and while the sounds Gus made while feeding normally were disgusting enough, the constant whining and gurgling of his gut was worse.
Indian file, as usual, they worked and labored their way through the drifts, every step taking them closer to either food or death, but either one was acceptable at this point. At least they were doing something positive, not waiting for the cold or starvation and exhaustion to take them one by one. Yuri, while able to go further than the others on an empty stomach, thought he caught a hungry look in Gus's eyes a time or two when the neanderthal had been watching him. Yuri had no doubt that before Gus succumbed to hunger he would indulge himself in a little stringy Tatar stew and there was only one Tatar in sight, HIM. He was ready to go, too.
The idea of Gus gnawing on his bones gave him a new incentive to reach the Russian lines, and he volunteered to break trail knowing he would take the best and fastest route to an alternate food source.