Dan Smith - Red Winter

‘Where are they?’ Krukov asked.

‘In the barracks.’ The commander pointed to the building closest to the camp entrance. It looked like all the others, but instead of housing prisoners, it housed the men who could identify me as Nikolai Levitsky. Something in Donskoy’s voice, though, and in the twist at the corner of his mouth suggested that he disapproved of the men who were now his guests.

‘Doing what?’ I asked, risking a quick look at the building before pulling my cap further down on my brow and allowing Kashtan to turn so that my back was to it. If any one were to look out of the window, they would see only a man on horseback.

The commander’s eyes turned down for a fraction of a second before he spoke again. ‘They’re sleeping, Comrade Commander.’

‘Sleeping?’

‘They said your orders were to rest once the prisoners were delivered, so they’ve been drinking all day. They had some of the women in the barracks too.’

‘The women?’ I tried not to clench my fists as anger began to replace fear. ‘And you disapprove?’

The camp commander looked to one side and clenched his jaw.

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘They’re not fit to be part of my unit. Have your men arrest them.’

Donskoy could not hide his surprise.

‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked him.

‘Only by reputation, Commander Ryzhkov.’

‘Good. Because those men in there,’ I said, ‘have not only brought you the wrong prisoners, but they have taken advantage of that reputation.’

‘The wrong prisoners?’

‘Have your men arrest them, Commander. They’re to be sent to Ryazan. Perhaps a few years of hard labour will remind them how to be patriots.’

‘You don’t want them shot?’

‘Let them labour for the glory of the revolution,’ I said. ‘The motherland always needs more workers.’

‘I’ll prepare the papers.’ He looked disappointed to be denied a shooting.

‘Sign them yourself,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, I want you to give me access to the prisoners. Some of them will be leaving with me today.’

‘If you give me the names of the ones you’re looking for, I’ll have my men—’

‘If I wanted to do that, I would have done it. Do you know the names of every prisoner you have here?’

‘No, but we can—’

‘Unlock the gate.’

‘Of course, Comrade Commander.’ Donskoy took a step back, saluted and turned to summon one of the guards. He issued his orders, and when the guard hurried back to the barracks, the commander went to the gate and unlocked it, pulling it wide for us to enter.

I glanced at Krukov and dismounted, feeling my heart thumping.

Closer.

Please be here.

I had to control myself, stop myself from hurrying into the compound and calling out Marianna’s name.

Krukov and the other men also dismounted, and we stepped into the compound.

The commander came in behind us and called to the prisoners, ordering them to assemble in front of us and form a line.

Please be here.

They were a ragged bunch, shivering in clothes that were dirty and torn, many of them thin, as if they hadn’t eaten properly for a long time. They were like animals kept in a cage, thrown scraps of food and forced to sleep piled on top of one another. I remembered what Anna had said about wanting to save them all, but I couldn’t do it. No matter how wrong this was, I was one man. I would struggle even to save my own; I couldn’t begin to think about taking them all with me. A child’s world is so much simpler.

Please be here.

I saw Marianna straight away. She was unmistakeable. She stared at the ground, as if afraid to look up, and she held our sons close to her, pulling them against her almost as if they had become a part of her.

My heart stopped. My eyes took in every detail.

The shabbiness of her dress, the way she shivered without her winter coat, the split boots that barely covered her feet.

She kept my sons near, both for hopeless protection and to share their warmth. Her face was thinner than I had ever seen it, engrained with dirt, and the tangle of her hair had lost its winter-wheat shine.

Misha was hunched in his coat in a way that was unnatural for one so young, and his features, too, were sharper than I remembered them. The weeks of hunger had not been kind to him. Nor had they been kind to Pavel, who looked smaller than he was in my memories, so that his winter coat swamped him, hanging off his thin shoulders. His head was lowered so that he stared at the ground, and I longed to bring him to me, to put my face to his hair.

They were alive.

The look of despair about them was almost too much for me to bear. I wanted to cry out their names and throw my arms around them. I wanted to rage against those who had harmed them. I wanted to fall on my knees and thank God they were still alive.

But I had to be calm. I had to act the part I was playing.

Marianna looked up to see who had come; at first, she just saw a soldier with his cap pulled low, so she averted her eyes, not wanting to draw attention to herself. But she had seen something she recognised. It was clear in her expression. A widening of her eyes. A loosening of her mouth.

And when she looked up again, our eyes locked.

For a second it was as if no one else were there. We were alone.

I stared into her eyes, the colour of the summer sky, and I longed to reach out and touch her. I wanted to put my hands on the pale skin of her cheeks just to be sure it was her, that she was really alive. It took all my strength and reserve to hide my emotions as I looked at my sons, desperate to put my arms around them, hold them tight. I yearned to press my face against Misha’s, to kiss the top of Pavel’s head and breathe the scent of his hair I remembered so well.

‘Comrade Commander?’ Donskoy asked. ‘Is everything all right?’

Then the spell broke. My heart lurched and Marianna began to open her mouth, as if to speak, but I shook my head in warning, sharp and quick.

I turned away, hoping she had seen the message I was trying to send.

It took all of my strength to look away from her. Every fibre in my body ached. When I went to the first man in the line of prisoners, I risked a glance back at her, seeing her whisper to Misha and Pavel. The boys lifted their faces to look at me, but Marianna put a hand on each of their heads and turned them with a quick jerk. Even so, their eyes slid to watch me and I prayed they would say nothing.

So I fought my yearning and began to walk along the line of prisoners, looking at the face of each person I would not save. I could hardly concentrate on anything. The prisoners in front of me were a blur and I had to stop my eyes from wandering, shaking my head each time.

When I came to Marianna and the children, my mouth was dry and my hands were shaking. I had to lace my fingers together to hide their trembling as I nodded and spoke to Krukov. ‘These ones,’ I said.

‘Come forward,’ Krukov ordered, and when they stepped from the line, he ushered them out of the compound before my sons could say anything.

‘That’s all?’ Commander Donskoy said, and I could see that he wanted to ask. He wanted to know why I was taking these prisoners away.

‘Secret business,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Orders from Moscow.’ I looked along the line of other prisoners, thinking again about what Anna had said, but I could not help them. I had to leave them to their fate.

Donskoy straightened and stiffened his back. He put his feet together, throwing his chest out like a peacock. ‘From Moscow. Of course, Comrade Commander. I understand.’

I let him have his moment of pride, then turned to watch Krukov leading my family away. As I did, I noticed soldiers coming out of the barracks in the outer compound. They were armed with rifles, five men, and heading towards the other barracks building where Ryzhkov’s remaining men lay sleeping.