“And even with industry and resources,” the general conceded, “even with commitment, it takes something else to win a war.”
Karen looked at him with despair. “What?”
“Leadership.”
Karen knew instinctively that he was right. He was a leader, a great leader. That was obvious from only a ten-minute conversation. Russia didn’t have leaders. It had dictators.
The general leaned back in his chair. “Sometimes you have to be practical. And practicality demands that you make sacrifices, however distasteful, to survive.”
This was not what Karen wanted to hear. She’d been practical, and she’d already made so many sacrifices to survive. It was what she hated about herself. But her sacrifices until now had been insignificant compared to the sacrifice she had unwittingly engineered. She was about to sacrifice a whole country. Chelyabinsk would be bombed. Russia would be conquered, its entire population enslaved or starved to death.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not really hungry.”
“I guess you’re not a fan of army slop, after all,” the general replied, trying to lighten her mood.
“That’s not it,” Karen said. “It’s the flight,” she lied. “My stomach hasn’t recovered.”
General Marshall nodded with a smile. “Teach your boyfriend to show off, won’t it?”
“Can I take it with me? In case I get hungry later?”
“Of course,” the general replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“On the C-47. I’ll save you a seat.”
“Yes, thank you.” Karen grabbed her plate and retreated from the room.
Bobby hurried after her. He caught up to her on the airfield. She’d stopped to stare at the aspen-ringed mountains rising above Krasnoyarsk’s shingle rooftops. “Are you OK?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Karen replied.
Bobby sighed and put his arm around her shoulder. “It’s going to be OK.”
“For you, maybe. For me. But what about them?” Karen lifted her chin toward the city.
“We can’t save the whole world.”
“I want to see Petr.”
“It would be safer if you didn’t.”
“I don’t care. He’s been cooped up in that thing for almost twelve hours!”
Bobby took a deep breath and placed his hands on Karen’s shoulders. “I know you’re upset, but you’ve got to understand… the world’s different now.”
Karen stared at him with disbelief. “You don’t think I know that?”
“Of course. It’s just, you’ve been trapped here. You haven’t been able to see beyond Russia’s borders. In order to understand, you’ve got to see the big picture.”
Karen stepped back and angrily pushed Bobby’s hands off her shoulders. “I want to see Petr.”
Bobby stared at her. “OK, I’ll take you to him. But you can’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you think? He’s Russian.”
“Don’t be such an idiot.”
Bobby sighed. Karen could tell he’d be rolling his eyes if she hadn’t been looking right at him. “He’s over here,” he said simply.
Bobby led Karen to the airplane hangar sheltering the enormous C-47 Skytrain. Before he unlocked the door, he paused. “I already promised to take him home,” he cautioned. “It may not be comfortable, but you can trust me. He’ll make it to America.”
“I know.”
“If you tell him about the mission, I won’t be able to protect him.”
Karen was surprised, but she shouldn’t have been. Bobby was smart. Of course he would have anticipated what she was considering. If she told Petr everything, it might force General Marshall to help Petr emigrate or even seek asylum. The general couldn’t afford to leave behind a Russian who knew what the US War Department had in mind. But that wasn’t the general’s only option.
“If General Marshall finds out,” Bobby continued, echoing Karen’s thoughts, “he’ll have Petr killed.”
For a moment Karen had a hard time believing Bobby. The general didn’t look like a killer. But, of course, neither did she or Petr or even Duck. They were all killers. And you didn’t get to be a top general by being kind and gentle. “You made your point,” she said. “Now let me see him.”
Bobby nodded, and unlocked the hangar door.
CHAPTER 45
THE CELLIST AND THE ORGAN-GRINDER
The C-47 Skytrain was quickly becoming the workhorse of the US Army Air Forces. The large side-facing cargo doors provided access to a spacious main compartment once designed for civilian passengers, but now stripped of its comfortable seating. Barely padded benches lined the cylindrical walls, with seat belts and harnesses riveted into the bulkhead so soldiers wouldn’t be injured during evasive maneuvers. The middle aisle was empty so that cargo—including anything up to the size of a three-quarter-ton truck—could be strapped down for fast air transport.
To the rear of the main compartment was a toilet cabin that did double duty as a storage closet. Farther back, between the toilet and the tail cone, was a small maintenance duct. Mechanics used the duct to service the rudder controls and tail air flaps. The tight space was used as a hiding place.
Petr was folded up there, knees against his chest.
Finally, Bobby came to release him from the boxlike prison. The first thing Petr did was stretch his legs and crack his spine. The next thing he did was eye Bobby warily. Bobby eyed him right back. They exited the plane and faced each other with their feet planted far apart on the hangar floor. It seemed for a moment that the two of them might launch into another fistfight.
But Karen was there. “Can you leave us alone for a minute?” she asked Bobby.
“I don’t know, can I?” Bobby replied.
“If I wanted to tell him anything in secret, I’d just say it in Russian.”
Bobby nodded at that. “All right. Just remember what I told you,” he warned.
And he left Karen and Petr alone in the hangar.
“I brought you some food.” Karen held out the plate of army slop for Peter.
“Thanks.” Petr took it, leaned against the C-47’s tail cone, and began to eat. “What was that all about?” he asked between bites.
“If I tell you, they’ll kill you,” Karen confessed.
Petr laughed. “Just like the NKVD.”
“No. Not exactly.”
“But close enough.”
“Close enough,” Karen conceded.
“So why don’t you tell me?”
“Because the whole reason I’m doing this is to protect you!” Karen blurted out in frustration.
Petr paused and looked at her. “I had hoped you were doing this because you love me.”
Karen didn’t know what to say. She thought she loved him. What she felt seemed like love. What else could it be?
But it couldn’t be love, because she felt the same way about Bobby. It wasn’t possible to love two people at once, was it? Not true, real love.
There had to be something wrong with her, something wrong with her emotions. She’d told Petr she loved him. And she’d told Bobby the same. Had she lied about that? Had she lied to them both and lied to herself? She couldn’t be sure anymore. And if it was a lie, Petr at least deserved some form of truth, even if it was a different truth. “They don’t think you can win the war,” she said finally.
“They’re not the only ones,” Petr replied bitterly.
“What do you think?”
Petr considered the question. He’d seen precious little during his time with the Red Army to put much faith in victory. But he’d also seen chinks in the Germans’ armor. He’d seen despair in the faces of the Wehrmacht soldiers. He’d seen them living in squalor; he’d seen them cold and hungry. He’d seen them building barbed-wire fences and digging antitank ditches instead of capitalizing on their victories with new attacks. The Wehrmacht had hesitated; for the first time the Germans seemed uncertain. But most of all, Petr had seen how he and Karen were treated during their travels to Moscow, how they were seen as heroes just because they wore military uniforms.