The Sniper's Kiss

Chapter Sixteen

May 1944

Silence came with nightfall, and only a few kerosene field lanterns illuminated the cavernous workshop. Sasha and Mia moved cautiously down the center of the hall, stepping over feet and equipment while they looked for familiar faces. Finally they spotted Klavdia and Fatima, and threaded their way through the resting soldiers to join them.

Fatima glanced up and smiled. “My, my. Last time we saw you, you were bandaged and blind. You’ve changed, my friend.” She tugged on the side of Mia’s uniform pants.

Mia let her pack fall, savoring the relief to her back. Now the damned thing could serve as a cushion. With her feet, her neck, and every muscle in her back aching, she dropped onto her knees and found a tolerable position on her side. “Long story,” she said, punching a groove in her pack for her shoulder. “I’ll tell it later.” With a quiet sigh, she laid her head on the pack and started to doze.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she sat up. “Alexia! Kalya! I’m so glad to see you two.”

Alexia laid down her rifle and settled in beside her, making a backrest from her own pack. “I’m glad to see you, too, but a little confused. Sasha said you managed to come back, that you could see again, and that you wanted to stay with us. I’m sure there’s a lot more to the story.”

Kalya slid in closer to listen. “I want to hear this, too. Why the new outfit? And the gun?”

Mia rubbed her face, wondering whether to jeopardize her new friends. “Look, it’s a complicated story but also dangerous. If I tell you, you might get in trouble for not reporting me.”

Kalya beamed. “Oh, that sounds much too interesting to resist. I’ll take my chances. Talk.”

“Well, you’ll have to slide over closer where no one can hear us. And you must swear not to betray me. It could cost me my life.”

All four of the snipers nodded energetically and slid some distance away from the others to make a rough circle around Mia.

She leaned forward and began her narrative in a whisper. “You know that the plane I was on was shot down, but you don’t know that I was a prisoner. I was guarded by two NKVD men who were about to dump me out over German territory. Only the attack by the fighter planes saved me, although the crash gave me a concussion.”

Fatima scowled. “Dump you out? That can’t be true.”

“It is true. One of the NKVD men even admitted they were ordered to. It just never got that far.”

The explanation was met with incredulous silence.

“Look, I don’t care whether you believe me. Just know I’m here to fight with you against the fascists and take the same risks. Can we leave it at that?”

Fatima shrugged. “I suppose if she’s willing to dodge bullets the same as us, she’s not a spy, eh?”

“Fair enough,” Kalya said. “So, how’s your poor head, anyhow?” She touched Mia’s forehead lightly.

“Much better, thanks. The crash jarred my vision, but by the next day, it began to improve. I still have trouble focusing, but I can manage.”

Klavdia persisted. “That still doesn’t explain why you decided to join up with us.”

“It ought to be obvious. There I was, in your medical station. Major Bershansky notified STAVKA that I was here and then wanted to ship me back with the other wounded. But sending me to Moscow would put me back at the mercy of Molotov. He’d just find another way to kill me.”

Fatima scratched the back of her neck. “I still don’t understand. Why would Molotov want to kill you?”

“Because I uncovered something that may incriminate him. When he found out I knew, he had me kidnapped and ordered his men to kill me.”

Alexia nodded, as if slowly accepting the possibility.

“Anyhow, as it happened, one of the wounded on the ambulance the Germans hit was Sergeant Marina Zhurova. Just before she died, she offered me her identification.” Mia reached inside her tunic and held up the pay book. “And then Sasha helped me get a uniform and a gun. So, here I am.”

Kalya brushed dirt from the sleeve of Mia’s tunic. “This is all much too complicated for me, and anyhow, what our leaders do doesn’t concern me. Just one question.” She nodded toward the rifle. “Can you shoot that thing?”

“Uh, no. I was hoping one of you could teach me. You don’t have to make me an expert marksman. Just tell me how to load and fire the damned thing. But you’ll have to wait until it’s light. I still can’t see very well.”

Kalya threw her head back. “Oh, wonderful. You want to join a snipers’ team and you can’t shoot.”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” Alexia said. “Come sit here next to me, and I’ll explain.”

Alexia laid the rifle across Mia’s knees and placed her hand on the cartridge chamber. “This is the Mosin Nagant that we all use, and it fires five cartridges from a clip. It’s no good for rapid firing, like the machine gun, but if you’re stationary and protected, its range is pretty good. Of course, you have to be able to see your target.”

“My eyes are better than they were yesterday. Maybe they’ll keep improving.”

“Just try to stay under cover until they do. Now, your rifle is currently not loaded, in case you didn’t notice. Do you have cartridges or clips?”

“Uh, you must mean these things.” She slid a clip out of her bandolier.

“Very good. Well, you simply slide the clip into the chamber and pull out the metal strip that holds the cartridges. If you want to empty the chamber, you have to open it from the bottom, here under the trigger box.”

“What if I have only individual cartridges?”

“Simple. You press them in with your thumb. Like this. Now, show me you understood by removing the cartridges and then inserting them again.”

So it went for Mia’s crash course in the Mosin-Nagant rifle, which distilled three months’ instruction into an hour. She listened carefully, felt along the various parts of the weapon, and tried to memorize the name for each part.

By the time they all curled up to sleep next to the wall of the station, she had learned, actually, very little.

Enemy fire was sporadic the next morning, and Mia had the impression that, in spite of the damage they had done, the German forces had exhausted themselves in their attack the day before.

As word spread of the fortified position being held by the survivors of the 109th and the 145th divisions, scores of others from decimated units migrated toward the station as if to an oasis.

And while they waited for the promised reinforcements, Mia learned how to shoot her rifle. With vision that improved each day, she missed the target with ever-increasing proximity and even managed to graze it finally.

“You’re doing everything right, and you have a steady hand. You should be doing better.”

“It’s my eyes. I can see you quite well now, but I don’t have a scope, and when I stare through the rifle sight, the target gets blurry.”

“Maybe it’s just a matter of time.” Alexia encouraged her, but she didn’t sound convinced.

On the third afternoon the remnants of the 62nd Armored Division arrived, along with Colonel Borodin, its commander, and Captain Natasha Semenova, a political commissar, who immediately reminded them of Stalin’s “Not one step back” policy.

The accumulation of stray units in the Menyusha brickworks did not count as a retreat, she said, but rather as a strategic regrouping. And henceforth, there would be no retreat from any position without permission from STAVKA, and under no circumstances was surrender permitted. “We have no prisoners, only traitors,” she declared, echoing Stalin’s policy of abandonment of any captured Soviets. As word spread, everyone waiting in the brickworks knew they were now under Colonel Borodin’s command, and they would go on the offense the following morning, no matter the cost.

At five o’clock the next morning, the commissar brought the orders. Medical units would remain at the brickworks until the new base was secured, while artillery and armored units would advance, followed by infantry.

After Mia loaded her pack, hauled it up onto her back, and went to stand next to her friends, Commissar Semenova called out to her.

“You there, you’re with the 4th Rifle Platoon. Fall in over there.” She pointed toward the men gathering some distance away outside the building.

“But I’m…” She looked helplessly at Alexia and realized that saying she was “with the snipers” carried no weight. A dozen people had watched her learn to shoot the night before and knew she was no sniper. She could do nothing but obey.

She fell in with the mud-splattered riflemen of the 4th platoon and hoped for the best. The men seemed friendly enough. One or two of them nodded at her, apparently pleased to have a woman in the ranks, though most were indifferent. Her main perception, other than anxiety, was the smell of unwashed male bodies.

The march in the predawn light wasn’t long, and by full daylight they were within sight of Ostrov. The four tanks and six mobile guns assumed attack formation, and the infantrymen marched behind them in two lines. Mia’s slowly improving vision had a setback from the dust burning her eyes, though maintaining a permanent squint brought some relief.

The armored vehicles began to fire shells at the enemy positions, and Mia realized she was about to experience her first battle. Curiously, she wasn’t afraid, though perhaps it was because they were on the attack. If any men fell, their cries of pain, if they uttered them, were drowned out by the sounds of the shelling and the “uuurrrahh” that swelled up from the charging soldiers.

It was a heady experience running amidst the charging soldiers, and for a moment she felt invincible. It almost seemed the Germans were holding fire.

When tanks came within a few hundred yards of the first houses, she saw she was right. The Germans had simply waited until they were within range. Now they opened fire and men fell on all sides of her. Fear invaded her, and she tried to stay behind the tank. But others had the same idea, and as they pressed in for cover, they nudged her sideways into the open again. She fired wildly as she ran, with no idea of whether she hit anything useful.

Then they reached the first houses, and the tanks pushed into the streets. One of the men threw a hand grenade and blasted the interior of the first building. She was jogging now, as close behind the tank as possible.

A figure in green in a doorway shot at them, hitting the man next to her. In spontaneous fury, she fired back and the German collapsed. She hardly had time to grasp she’d killed a man when the comrades behind her lobbed grenades into each of the houses they passed, eliminating fire on their flank.

The rest of the battle was a blur. She shot at anything green that moved and at least twice managed to insert a new clip on the run and carry on. The detonation of the tank shells, the popping of rifle fire, the shouts and screams of the men all became a sort of white noise, and her mind focused on a single task, to run and shoot until someone ordered her to stop.

The order came late in the afternoon, when the return fire ceased and the captain reappeared, ordering them to the town square.

With men and light artillery guarding all the entrances to the square, Mia’s platoon and several others lined up. A lieutenant appeared, who sent scouting teams and sappers to examine all the buildings around the square, and by nightfall, they were cleared of mines. It was now safe to allocate quarters for the night.

Mia found herself in one of the grenade-blasted shops, a bakery, it seemed, though the few bits of bread they found were all charred. She dropped down alongside a group of men she didn’t know, took a long pull from her canteen, and opened her provender sack to eat the field rations she’d been issued the night before.

She was spent, but as Commissar Semenova passed by she struggled to her feet. “Comrade Captain, how can I find the snipers of the 109th,” she asked.

“You mean the women? They’re across the square.”

“Request permission to leave and speak to them, Comrade Captain.”

The commissar screwed up her face, as if searching for a reason to refuse and finding none. “All right, but report back before dawn when the new orders come. If you’re not here, you’ll be charged with desertion.”

She spotted them in a corner, by the light of an artillery shell hammered together at the top and with a wick protruding from a pool of kerosene. They nodded greeting as she sat down quietly next to them.

“So, how was your first day on the job?” Kalya asked, play-punching her shoulder.

“It went pretty well. I ran and shot, and didn’t fall down or die. Considering my level of expertise, I think that counts as damned near miraculous.”

“How are your eyes?” Sasha asked her in a more serious tone. “Can you actually shoot at anything yet?”

“Yes, in fact. As long as it’s big and standing right in front of me.”

“What about the headache?” Sasha asked again, with the same sincerity.

“Gosh. I hadn’t thought about that. With bullets and shrapnel flying all around killing people, you never think about a headache. But much better, thanks.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Alexia said softly. “I was worried about you.”

Mia looked, perhaps a moment too long, at Alexia’s red-rimmed eyes. “Were you? That’s nice to know.”

They fell silent then, and Mia knew they were as exhausted as she was. For her it had been a baptism of fire, but for them, it was just another grueling day, and she was grateful to be among them. She leaned back on her elbow and studied them.

The corner where the five snipers squatted around the flame of their field lantern was a study in oranges and browns. Their uniforms, the wooden stocks of their rifles leaning against the grimy wall behind them, ranged from mahogany to russet to the color of dirty potato skins. Fatima, the black-eyed Kazakh, who sat directly across from her, seemed the most foreign, probably because she spoke so little. Mia knew little about her other than that she’d lived through the Leningrad siege.

Klavdia Kalugina, the youngest, had a round, sad face and a high voice, like an adolescent, and it was hard to imagine her killing even a chicken. Sasha Yekimova, one of her saviors from the German torturers, was boyishly pretty. Her brunette hair feathered around her slightly Asiatic eyes and offset the androgyny of her male uniform with femininity. With just a slight bit of makeup and slightly longer hair, she would be doll-like and adorable. She seemed a bit spoiled and would certainly lead any future husband around by the nose.

Next to her, Kalya Petrova rolled a cigarette out of the harsh mahorka tobacco provided to the troops. Her wide shoulders, haircut, and gruff manner made her seem masculine, but her expression was often soft, even as she blinked away the harsh cigarette smoke. With a plain square face and wide nose, she reminded Mia a bit of Lorena Hickok and, like Lorena, inspired trust.

The palest, even in the orange light of the flickering flame, was Alexia. She had the ice-blond hair and slightly hooded steel-gray eyes Mia had only ever seen in Russians and was almost archetypally Slavic. Even disheveled from the day’s fighting, she was stunning, or would be after a hot bath and shampoo. The only thing that diminished her power over Mia was her resemblance to Grushenka.

Alexia caught her glance and smiled. Embarrassed, Mia smiled in return, then lay back and stared at the ceiling, trying to get her mind around the events of the last few days.

It was all but unimaginable. She was an American bookkeeper, whom fate had plucked out of a banal existence and sent on a bizarre misadventure. That same capricious fate had saved her from a death sentence, but now she was in a war zone in the company of Soviet snipers.

Kalya’s lighter clicked, and a moment later she coughed.

“That stuff is going to kill you, even if a German bullet doesn’t,” Mia said amiably.

Kalya chuckled. “Na. Neither. Lungs tough as an ox and eyes like an eagle. You’ll see. One day I’ll be running a kolkhoz with ten children all just as tough as me.”

Close by, one of the infantrymen who’d overheard called out, “Not a chance, Kalya. No man’s going to have the guts to marry any of you. You’ve all been trained to kill, and the first time you have a marriage quarrel and throw a plate at him, it’ll be lethal.”

“Oh, go to sleep, old fool,” she called back at him. “No one’s going to marry you either, with that face of yours.” They both laughed, and Mia could see the easy camaraderie that existed between the men and women.

“Why did you join up, anyhow?” Mia asked her. “If that’s not too personal.”

“Not personal at all. I enrolled in a course given by my district that taught us to shoot a rifle, and I liked the way that felt. I never thought the war would actually happen. Then, suddenly, the Krauts were rampaging across the Ukraine. It turned out I was a very good shot, so when I enlisted, I was assigned here. It was an easy transition.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Sasha added. “I was a music student with dreams of singing in the opera chorus. I also enlisted when the Germans invaded but had no idea it would make me so different. And that’s even before they discovered my perfect eyesight and put me in sniper school.”

“Fighting is different for all of us, I think. No one plans to kill people.”

“Yes, but most are tougher than I was. I was a little princess. I went into the recruitment office as a girl in a pretty dress and with hair down to my hips, and came out as a boy, in pants and a field jacket. Instead of hair, I had a pilotka cap, and that night, instead of a soft bed, I was on a freight train sleeping on hay.”

“What about you, Alexia?” That was the story Mia wanted to hear most. But Alexia shook her head. “A long story, and I don’t want to tell it tonight. They’re going to wake us tomorrow at five, so I think we should all go to sleep.”

Mia nodded. “You’re right. And I have to go back to my quarters or risk being charged with desertion. Take care of yourselves, my dears. I’ll come looking for you every day.”