“To prevent anyone from leaving the city.” Karen pointed out the surrounding hills. “They have spotters there, there, and there. If you cross during the day, they call in artillery. It’s a death trap.”
“Why doesn’t the Leningrad Army shell those hills and kill the forward observers?”
Karen shrugged. “I am not in command of the Leningrad Army.”
Petr took a deep breath and looked out on no-man’s-land. “We will have to wait until dark.”
“If they hear anything, if they suspect anything, they will fire flares. And then they will shell you.”
“Then how did you get out?”
“I had the cooperation of the Leningrad Army. The first time, Inna’s sister let us through. The second time, the NKVD man’s badge let us through. We didn’t make any noise, so the Germans didn’t hear us and didn’t shell us.”
“Then we won’t make any noise, either.”
“Yes, we will. We don’t have the cooperation of the Leningrad Army.”
“So?”
“So, when we get close to the defensive trenches, they will challenge us. The Germans will hear, and they will fire their artillery.”
“How did you intend to get back into the city, then?”
“I told you, I never had any intention of returning to Leningrad.”
“But the NKVD man must have. How did he intend to get back?”
“I don’t know. You could ask him, but he’s dead.”
“Get down!” Petr dove to his stomach, and the dog followed. Karen looked around, confused for a moment, until she saw a group of people climbing out of the trenches into no-man’s-land. She dropped down. “What are they doing?” Petr asked.
“Trying to escape.” Karen watched as the distant crowd, probably a dozen or so individuals, picked their way over the broken ground of craters and splintered trees that formed no-man’s-land.
“They’re not soldiers.”
Karen shook her head. “They’re refugees.”
“Why did the army let them pass?”
“They must have given them money or food.”
Karen watched with dread as the refugees moved farther across no-man’s-land. They appeared to be coming right toward them, hoping to reach the shelter of the trees. They hadn’t quite made it halfway.
The soldier shaded his eyes from the sun and looked to the hills Karen had pointed out. “Nothing’s happening. There must be no one there.”
“They’re there.”
“Then why haven’t they called in the artillery?”
“They’re waiting. They want to make sure the refugees can’t escape.
“We should cross now, while we have the chance.” Petr tried to climb to his knees, but Karen grabbed him and pulled him back down. Surprisingly, the dog let her. He didn’t even growl. An instant later, the sky began to whistle. Karen and Petr buried their heads in their arms. The explosions deafened them, and shock waves blew over them like a hurricane.
Karen’s ears were still ringing when she looked up. The landscape had changed, but the new craters, fresh splinters, and scorched earth only looked like the old craters, dead splinters, and scorched earth. Smoke curled upward into the sunlight. The rotten smell of gunpowder choked the air. The refugees had vanished. Their body parts were somewhere, perhaps buried in newly turned earth. But there was no obvious sign of them. The heavy artillery had erased them from the face of the earth.
“Perhaps we should try Tikhvin, after all,” Petr remarked.
Tears of relief welled in Karen’s eyes. “Yes. Thank God.”
CHAPTER 17
THE CHOIRBOY
Bobby stared at the blank page. Writing love letters was so difficult. Everything was a cliché. What hadn’t been said before, by countless authors, all far greater writers than he? Nothing. “Dear Karen” was as far as he’d gotten. The rest of the page remained blank.
Suddenly his unfinished letter was snatched away, and Bobby looked up to see Jack Wright with the piece of paper in his hand.
“What are you wasting your time on this for?” Jack asked, holding the paper out of reach. “We got business tonight.”
In Palm Beach, Jack and Bobby had just survived flight school together. They’d both just made lieutenant and graduated at the top of their cadet class. Bobby had always been a quick study, and the flight lessons came as easily as anything else he put his mind to. As for Jack, at first Bobby thought he was just naturally gifted. He was also a few years older than Bobby. But Bobby began to realize that Jack’s ability was more than raw talent. It was skill. Somehow, somewhere, Jack had already learned to fly. The first time Jack climbed into his training aircraft’s cockpit, he’d already known far more about airplanes than the other cadets and was even able to give his instructor a few tips.
Bobby eyed Jack warily. The older boy was taller, so it was no use trying to grab back the letter. “What are you talking about? What business?”
Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the Quonset hut door and propped it open with his foot. A warm, humid breeze carried into the barracks, bringing with it the sweet scent of the ocean. “See that?” Jack asked, pointing at the huge and bright full moon. “You know what that is?”
“It’s the moon.”
“No, it’s not. It’s an opportunity.”
“What do you mean—”
Jack put his finger to his lips, shushing Bobby. “Listen.”
Another warm breeze rustled through the Quonset hut, and Bobby detected another sound. Music.
Jack saw Bobby strain to hear the notes, and he broke into a smile. “A big band’s playing at the Everglades Club.”
The Everglades Club was the most exclusive seaside resort in Palm Beach, a winter playground for the New York and Philadelphia social set. “We’re not allowed at the Everglades Club,” Bobby said.
“Yes, we are. We’re officers now.”
Jack was right. Technically, the Everglades Club was members only. But after Pearl Harbor, a patriotic fervor gripped the nation to which not even the wealthy were immune. Overnight they’d become fascinated with their boys in uniform, and especially the local boys at Morrison Army Air Field. Common soldiers were still deemed unfit for polite conversation, but officers weren’t common soldiers. Officers were mostly college educated, after all, and were gentlemen. So every Saturday night the Everglades Club opened its doors to these dashing defenders of freedom, hosting so-called at-homes for the flight commanders and newly promoted aviators. And every Saturday night young men met young women and danced to big-band rhythms until the Everglades Club closed its Spanish revival doors and everyone was forced to go home, nurse hangovers, and dream of the following Saturday.
Neither Bobby nor Jack had ever been, of course, because until now they had been mere cadets. But as of the previous day, they were full-blown lieutenants.
Bobby should have known that Jack would immediately want to take advantage of their new status. “Why do you like rich girls so much, anyway?” he asked.
Jack’s smile broadened. “What’s not to like? They’re girls. And they’re rich.”
Bobby decided not to tell Jack about his own disappointing experiences with the rich girls of Barnard College. Instead, he just said, “You should just go along without me.”
Jack wasn’t having it. “I wish it was that easy. But I need you.”
“How come?”
“If you wanna catch babes, you need candy. And believe me, nothing’s sweeter to a babe than a guy like you. Look at yourself. You’re a kid Jimmy Stewart.”
Bobby blushed. He knew he was being swindled. But he also knew that no one, not even him, was immune to flattery like Jack’s. Better just to give in now than drag this out. “Fine. I’ll get dressed.”
“Don’t forget to wear your wings. The girls love a pilot.”