A screaming came across the sky.
It was a chorus of banshees or other dead creatures or ghastly apparitions: high-pitched, full of vibration, a howl, the yell of death, the fall of civilization, the hungry screaming of the harpies as they tore something into shreds. Then the high pitch went away, buried in a lower, more sibilant roar that spoke of fire and death.
The Teacher recognized it. It was the sound of a battery of seventy-two Katyusha rockets blasting from their truck-borne carriers to obliterate whatever resided in their scatter of random hits. The shriek was so intense it traveled for miles, a pronunciamento for the Red Army, a signifier of battle for the German. To the dogs, with their more refined hearing, it would be hideously loud.
The Red offensive had begun.
If the Teacher knew, the dogs did not. To them it signaled the approach of another predator, a mythic predator; it meant they were to be swept up in dinosaur jaws, crushed, ripped, gobbled. Their brains could not handle the fear.
Thirty meters shy of the quarry, they hit a wall. It seemed to be made of glass, but it was made of terror. They lost their grace and focus, they slid, slithered, slipped, rolled, each pounding into the other, each in the abyss of pure animal panic. And just that fast, they were gone, seeking survival in the cover of the deep woods.
Meanwhile the artillery, a thousand guns at least, maybe two thousand, commenced, a rush of noise swallowed in detonation, a whistle of shells obeying the laws of gravity and descending from their rainbow arcs to vaporize all that lay within their blast zones. It was so loud that the dust fell from the trees, the ground shivered, and the world seemed on the tippy-tippy edge of destruction.
But the Teacher understood it was still miles away to the south, as far as Kosiv, which had been the closest Russian strong point and clearly would be the offensive step-off site; it simply proved an old point — destruction is loud. He turned, hoping to see something through the screen of trees that stood between him and the valley four thousand feet beneath, but he could see nothing.
He turned and headed up the path. Without dogs, the Germans would be helpless. He would catch up with the woman, and the two of them would diverge from this path to the brush, where tracking them by eye would be impossible. Maybe in time the Germans would round up the dogs, get them calmed down, but it would be hours before they found the scent again.
He rounded a slight turn and saw the sniper walking ahead. She turned, feeling his eyes on her, and waved. He raced to her, breathing hard in the thinner air.
“You’re alive!” she said.
“Scoundrel’s luck once again. The noise of the Katyushas. It terrified the dogs.”
“It scared the hell out of me,” she said.
“Come on, this is our golden opportunity. We must get off the path, we must progress overland, through the brush and trees. It’ll take hours to find our trail.”
“Yes.”
“But dump that rifle. It slows us.”
“No, no. You can never tell. Come on, we’re wasting time.”
It took another two hours, but in all that time, they heard no sign of their pursuers. The journey quickly resolved itself into pure ordeal, the two fighting through thorns and bracken and the needles of the pines, some very sharp, all at an uphill angle, going primarily on faith. They were washed in sweat, which drained into their eyes, as the branches whipped backward to catch them in the faces, or roots tugged and twisted their ankles.
“I think it’s just ahead,” said the Teacher.
They reached a familiar glade.
“COMING IN!” yelled the Teacher, and he and Petrova eased ahead.
“Why can we not stay here?” asked the Peasant in Ukrainian. “Our army will arrive soon, a day or two. We can just wait and—”
“No, no,” said the Teacher in the same language. “The Germans will gather their dogs in a while. They’ll come after us. Eventually they’ll pick up the scent. They’ll find this cave. We must be long gone when they get here.”
That was true. But there was more. What the Teacher didn’t say was that he wasn’t eager to simply walk to the Red Army with hands upraised. He had no idea how good these troops would be and if they were of poor quality — many were — they might shoot anything that moved. Then there was the issue of Mili Petrova, quite possibly hunted by her own people. He had to get that settled.
“We have a long journey, at least three miles to the canyon they call Natasha’s Womb. It’s a choke point holding us in this sector. We’ll get through it and find a cave or a glade on the other side. Once the Red Army has driven the Germans out of the mountains, we’ll figure a safe way to return to our side.”
They walked, they walked, they walked. It took close to two hours to make it to site of the cave at the head of the scree field where the canister was hidden. It was not far from the Womb.
“Here, rest,” said the Mili, “but only for a moment.” She gave the Teacher her rifle. “Replace it now. Your weapon, too. I will strip off my camouflage, and from now on, we are peasants fleeing the battle.”
The Teacher took her weapon and his own and ducked into the cave, replacing the two guns and all the ammunition, then latched the container tightly.
He emerged, finding them both ready for what lay beyond. They were so close.
“Just a little farther,” she said. “Another few miles. When we get close to Natasha’s Womb, we’ll go to ground, and I’ll squirm forward and make certain we’re all right.”
“Petrova, that should be my job,” the Teacher said. “Who knows what lies ahead, better I go than you, who’ve already accomplished so much.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said.
“Certainly,” he said, “but we should take just that little precaution.”
With faith and vigor renewed, they set out along a higher trail, which seemed to take a downward track as it worked its way to the gap in the mountains at a significantly lower altitude. Still they bent against the incline and felt their thighs fight for strength as the walk became difficult with the need to defy gravity. They went down in silence, except for the sound of their labored breathing, the far-off detonation, the hum of insects attracted to the salty sweat that lubricated their skin and dampened their clothes.
As yet unseen, Natasha’s Womb came closer. So did the sense of other, larger mountains abutting them, which was why the formation afforded a gap, while the others demanded mountaineering.
At one point, Mili called a halt. “All right,” she said, “here’s where you’ll lay up. I’m going to work my way ahead and get a glimpse, just to make sure there’s no mischief up here. And—”
“Sergeant, please,” said the Teacher. “This should be my duty, and I—”
“HALTEN SIE!” came a sudden cry.
Two men stepped out of the brush ten yards away, weapons leveled.
CHAPTER 51
Okay,” said Reilly as they advanced toward Jerry Renn, “you should see this. I think it explains something.”
She handed Swagger her iPhone, which displayed a message from Will. After worrying why he hadn’t heard from her, he got to the gist: Got Krulov KGB file. Longer memo to follow, but here’s the key stuff.
Bob read it.
It laid out the life and times of one Basil Krulov, his education, his wartime experience. His upward climb in the ’40s, his domestic situation, his fate.