“Troops?” I asked.
“The usual gray-green uniforms.” The ranger hunkered on his heels in one of our watch trenches, shoveling down a dish of hot barley porridge. “Others in short black jackets, berets.”
“Tank crew.” I made a note. “Who’s giving the orders overall?”
“Big officer, about forty, pale eyes. Parade tunic, braided silver epaulets, black-and-white cross under the collar. Every morning he comes out to wash at the pump and go through his calisthenics. They have everything at their pleasure, those Krauts.” Vartanov’s face rippled, hatred passing deep under the surface. “But they’re afraid of Russians.”
“Why?”
Vartanov’s eyes went to my weapon, never more than an arm’s length away. “I’m told there are rifles with special sights.”
“That’s true,” I said, neutral.
“Then use them.” He scraped up the dregs of the porridge from his mess tin. “It’s not far from here—through the forest, about five kilometers using a shortcut. I’ll show you.”
I exchanged glances with Kostia. He drew me aside with a flick of his eyes.
“Trap?” He put the question bluntly, and it was a distinct possibility. Not all the local populace here was loyal to the motherland; even with news spreading of how Germans treated our civilians and captured soldiers, some rural idiots saw the Hitlerites as liberators who might save them from Comrade Stalin’s food shortages. I had no desire to get walked into an ambush and shot.
“We’ll take this to the head of reconnaissance,” I decided. “We get firm confirmation of this man’s allegiance and identity, I’ll risk taking him out to reconnoiter.”
Kostia’s face tightened. “Not alone.”
“We need a guide,” I said. “The front lines are stabilizing; the Krauts likely won’t mount another major assault for weeks. It’s time to send the platoon out hunting.” And there was no way to start them off if I didn’t know the ground, didn’t know how to navigate this dense forest that stood like a green wall and rustled in the unruly wind from the sea.
So, two days later, approval secured and Vartanov’s identity and loyalties satisfactorily vouched for, the old ranger and I moved into the Mekenzi Hills at first light.
He passed through the trees like a ghost, following a nearly invisible hunter’s track. I wound along behind him through the bent sycamores, wondering how I was going to shoot in these trees. Good for hiding—better than the brutally wide-open steppe—but not for sharpshooting. What were my bullets supposed to do, zigzag between tree trunks?
“Pavlichenko,” Vartanov grunted, sounding out my name. “You’re Ukrainian?”
“I’m Russian,” I answered levelly. These questions of nationality always irked me. We were all Soviets, weren’t we?
Another grunt. I doubted Vartanov agreed, but at least he didn’t argue. “From the bent sycamore to the well is eighty-five meters,” he said, forking right, and as I followed, a garland thorn snagged my jacket. Yanking loose, I froze to hear a flock of tomtits take off noisily from the nearest tree. “Careful,” the ranger hissed, and moved off through the growth again like an eel. By the time the sun rose we’d reached Mekenzia, and I climbed into the nearest tree with my binoculars.
German trucks and mouse-colored uniforms moved ant-like along the road stretching between Mekenzia and the village of Zalinkoi. Among all the Teutonic gray I saw the Crimean Tartars with the white armbands of the Politsei, the pro-Hitler collaborationist force, guarding the barrier at the cordon. At noon a field kitchen appeared, and my mouth watered at the smell of potato stew and ersatz coffee.
“There,” Vartanov murmured from the ground below, and I saw the officer. I knew enemy decorations better than the old ranger—through my binoculars I saw the tabs of an artillery major and a recipient of the Knight’s Cross. I watched him light a cigar and set off by car toward Cherkez-Kermen. Main staff headquarters probably up there, I thought. Colonel General Erich von Manstein himself might be residing there, not that I’d get a shot at him. But this smug major with his morning calisthenics and his silver epaulets—yes. You are mine, I told him as his car jounced away over the road.