The girl smiled her thanks at him and smiled again as she watched the American pack her loot into the boxes, neatly and efficiently. It never occurred to Evans that decades of packing his possessions for transfers and assignments had made him an expert luggage handler. Once he'd finished, they carried the boxes over to the mail truck. Evans looked at the boxes, the address was Petrograd, the name that of a woman.
“Your mother?” he asked.
“My aunt. My mother and sisters died in the siege of the city. They were starving so they tried to make soup out of engine oil. It killed them of course but perhaps it was a quicker death than starvation. Allow me to introduce myself, Gospodin Colonel. My name is Klavdia Efremovna Kalugina, 69th infantry. I forget which part of that unit I am from now, we have been merged and reformed so often since the offensive began.
Evans whistled to himself. He was speaking to a legend. “I have heard much of your skills Klavdia Efremovna. It is an honor to meet you. My name is Tony Evans. I am a pilot with a Sturmovik regiment on exchange from the US Marines. I was shot down a few days ago and, until my new aircraft comes, I am a forward air controller. Now I call in airstrikes. Pilots serve in this role because we understand what our comrades in the air need to know if they are to hit the right targets.”
“Gospodin Tony, you are Sturmoviki? Did you drop napalm on the fascists?”
Odd, thought Tony, that was the question all the Frontniki asked him. And they all glowed with satisfaction when he said that it was his favorite. “Klavdia Efremovna, I just love the smell of napalm in the morning.” It was a corny line, one all the Marine pilots had used for years, but it worked. Sure enough, the girl laughed and looked at him admiringly.
“Gospodin Tony, perhaps you would like to share my lunch?”
Whoa, thought Tony this could get complicated. Still, it was a unselfish offer, Russian rations were adequate rather than generous and it was a real sacrifice to offer somebody else a portion. He had food of his own in his jeep he could offer but he'd have to be careful, if he produced too much, he'd belittle her own offer and cause offense. He did not want to offend anybody who could blow his head off at 1200 meters. They'd reached his jeep now and Klavdia Efremovna produced some black bread, cheese and some canned meat. Spam, Tony noticed.
“Perhaps I can add to our meal?” he asked. He reached into his own pack and got out more black bread, 600 grams as opposed to Klavdia's 900 and that made her beam with pride. She might be only a Sergeant but she got the Frontniki ration of 900 grams whereas the Colonel only got 600. He also produced an onion, some tomato sauce and a field heater so they could make some tea.
That's when inspiration struck “Would you like to try an American dish Klavdia Efremovna?” The girl nodded. Evans slid a metal plate onto the other burner of the field cooker. While it was heating, he cut a thin slice of bread, coated it with the tomato sauce then layered it with some slices of cheese. Finally, he topped it with some thinly-sliced spam and onion and put it on the plate. Then, he put his metal field cup over it to hold the heat in. A couple of minutes later, the cheese had melted and the bread hardened enough to form a soft but firm crust. “Klavdia Efremovna, I present you with - Pizza.”
She took it and tried a tentative bite. Then a startled grin spread over her face and she wolfed down the field-substitute pizza. She licked the grease off her fingers while Evans made more slices. He kept going until all the bread and toppings had gone.
“Pizza is good, Grazhdanin Tony. Thank you for showing me.”
The water was boiling and she started to make the tea. To have hot tea was a real treat. In the field, so often they had to make do with cold tea that had been in the canteens too long. They chatted on over their tea, comparing notes about the fighting and telling gallows-humor jokes. Evans showed Klavdia Efremovna pictures of his old aircraft, “For Maria Chermatova” then had to explain who the old lady was and why he'd named his aircraft for her.
As they talked, he couldn't help thinking that staying on in Russia might not be such a bad idea. After a twenty year hitch in the Marines, he had few ties in America, nobody to go back to and nothing much to do there. But Russia was a wrecked and smashed society that badly needed expert help if it was going to recover. With his pension for capital and a world of opportunities to pick from, he could build a good life here.
There was no need to sever ties with America, the rule was that if he started a relationship with a Russian girl, he would be expected to stay with her and make his home here. There would be no restriction against traveling back to America as often as they wished or having their children in the US, so the kids would benefit from dual American-Russian citizenship. And, he suddenly realized, even without makeup and in the baggy Russian uniform, Klavdia was a very attractive woman.
War had a beautiful symmetry to it, thought Nikolai Fedorovich Lukinov. He'd started this offensive in command of a platoon of around 50 soldiers. Then, he'd made a Captain in command of a composite company of around 50 soldiers. Now, he was a major in command of a composite battalion - of around 50 soldiers. He got a grim feeling that when he finally made President, it would be of a country with around 50 citizens. If that wasn't worrying enough, his best sniper, the legendary Klavdia Efremovna Kalugina was making eyes at an American pilot. Well, if anybody deserved a chance to snag an American, it was her. Lukinov decided it was time to give the gods of love a little helping hand. He went over to the American's jeep and saluted
“Gospodin Colonel Evans, welcome to the 69th. I understand you will be our forward air controller for a week or two. I am required to assign a soldier to you as an escort and bodyguard. Heroic Sniper Klavdia Efremovna Kalugina, I understand that your spotter, Marusia Chikhvintseva, is seriously injured and will not be returning to us for some time. You are therefore assigned to escort Colonel Evans for as long as he is with us. Any questions?”
She snapped to attention and saluted, spilling her tea as she did so. “No, Tovarish Major. And thank you.”
Lukinov returned the salute and stalked off in a good imitation of an officer who'd just had to part with a valuable unit asset for no very good reason. As he went he sneaked a look backwards. Evans and Klavdia Efremovna were grinning broadly at each other. Well, he'd done a good thing today, a selfless thing. He'd given two people a chance to be happy. Doubtless, God would recognize that and reward him. And even if he didn't, Klavdia still deserved her chance. Now he had more important things to organize.
The German men were to be handed over to the security police, SMERSH, for interrogation before being put on trial for war crimes and executed. The women were to be sent to a detention camp where they would kept until their fate was decided. It was being rumored they were being held as hostages against something. Well, that was somebody else's problem. Trucks would be arriving in a few hours to take the women away. Then R&R would be over. His “battalion” would be moving out, keeping up the pursuit of the retreating Germans. The work of the Frontniki was never done.
German Forward Headquarters, Elista, New Schwabia
He'd heard that some animals, once they realized that the trap was sprung and escape impossible, would lie down and die. Baron Walther Model had never thought that was a particularly good or useful idea. Now, he was beginning to understand what might lead to it. The situation facing him was worse than any he had ever handled. All three of his fronts had caved in. In the east, SS-Wiking was dead. It had taken the Russians less than six hours to break through its defense position, their heavy tanks grinding the world's last SS division into history.