a set of binoculars would be passed around and they’d watch the cubs playing with each other, wrestling and leaping—enchanted by the distinct character of each animal—until their rations wore thin and they set out snares and caught and skinned them for food.
At night, they wore white sheets around their greatcoats, taken from a nearby village, for camouflage, and smoked in their foxholes and talked in hushed tones and improvised chess sets from cigarette packets and rationing tins and pebbles.
The lieutenant sent out regular patrols in anticipation of the progress of their rivals. Grigory and Vasily operated on different shifts, but one night Vasily’s partner was struck down with bronchial coughing, and the lieutenant told Vasily to choose his partner, and he did, and the two men walked uphill through the trees, rifles ready, crunching gently through fresh snow. It took only five minutes of walking for the men to feel abandoned. Looking back to their encampment, there were no traces of life: even their footprints had lost definition and softened into a series of small, almost unrelated, indentations. They checked their maps once more and made certain of their grid references. Getting lost wouldn’t be a total disaster as they knew the area well enough to find their bearings by daylight, but the embarrassment would follow them for the rest of their training: every comment from rifleman to cook would contain some kind of reference to their ineptitude. So they agreed on their position and buttoned their compasses into their breast pockets. Then, as instructed, they split up, approaching the crest of the hill from opposite sides, maximizing the range of their watch.
Grigory walked alone, peering into the night. A concentrated stillness all around. When he paused and listened, he could hear only the boughs of the pine trees adjusting themselves, nodding in repose.
He put some more distance between himself and the camp, then pulled out a cigarette and stepped out of the moonlight and lit up. He was careful to cup his hands around the tip, shielding what little light it gave off, and held the butt between his index finger and thumb. Bringing it deftly to his lips, he dragged deeply at the tobacco. It was good to be out here, to feel the sharp night air and stretch his legs, to do anything other than wait in a hole in the ground. He knew they were almost at the end. Lieutenant Bykov was beginning to get edgy, he couldn’t justify staying put much longer, no matter how strategically smart their position. It was, after all, a training manoeuvre and perhaps the opposing side had already achieved their objective. Maybe they were all freezing their arses off while their comrades were partying a few kilometres away, drinking and packing their cases for home.
Grigory finished his smoke and started up again, walking through the trees, zigzagging his way uphill. It took longer than he expected, almost three quarters of an hour. At the top he heard a movement to his left, and saw a swooping form, flowing close to the ground. Instinctively he raised his gun.
A whispered shout. “Don’t shoot, you bastard.”
“Vasily?”
“Yes.”
Vasily drew closer, the white sheet sweeping behind him like a cape. He held his hands up, mocking his friend.
“Where do you think we are, in a war?”
“You took me by surprise.”
Vasily laughed, a different kind of alertness about him, playful, overcoming his fatigue.
“I found something,” he said.
Grigory stood up, interested now.
“Really? What?”
“Come on, it’s worth it.”
They descended the other side of the slope and passed through a valley, taking turns to lead the way through the trees, bending branches for the other, Vasily stopping occasionally to take out his map and torch and find their bearings.
Grigory wondered if they would be reprimanded when they returned, for taking too long on their watch, but they could make some excuse, say they were following some
At night, they wore white sheets around their greatcoats, taken from a nearby village, for camouflage, and smoked in their foxholes and talked in hushed tones and improvised chess sets from cigarette packets and rationing tins and pebbles.
The lieutenant sent out regular patrols in anticipation of the progress of their rivals. Grigory and Vasily operated on different shifts, but one night Vasily’s partner was struck down with bronchial coughing, and the lieutenant told Vasily to choose his partner, and he did, and the two men walked uphill through the trees, rifles ready, crunching gently through fresh snow. It took only five minutes of walking for the men to feel abandoned. Looking back to their encampment, there were no traces of life: even their footprints had lost definition and softened into a series of small, almost unrelated, indentations. They checked their maps once more and made certain of their grid references. Getting lost wouldn’t be a total disaster as they knew the area well enough to find their bearings by daylight, but the embarrassment would follow them for the rest of their training: every comment from rifleman to cook would contain some kind of reference to their ineptitude. So they agreed on their position and buttoned their compasses into their breast pockets. Then, as instructed, they split up, approaching the crest of the hill from opposite sides, maximizing the range of their watch.
Grigory walked alone, peering into the night. A concentrated stillness all around. When he paused and listened, he could hear only the boughs of the pine trees adjusting themselves, nodding in repose.
He put some more distance between himself and the camp, then pulled out a cigarette and stepped out of the moonlight and lit up. He was careful to cup his hands around the tip, shielding what little light it gave off, and held the butt between his index finger and thumb. Bringing it deftly to his lips, he dragged deeply at the tobacco. It was good to be out here, to feel the sharp night air and stretch his legs, to do anything other than wait in a hole in the ground. He knew they were almost at the end. Lieutenant Bykov was beginning to get edgy, he couldn’t justify staying put much longer, no matter how strategically smart their position. It was, after all, a training manoeuvre and perhaps the opposing side had already achieved their objective. Maybe they were all freezing their arses off while their comrades were partying a few kilometres away, drinking and packing their cases for home.
Grigory finished his smoke and started up again, walking through the trees, zigzagging his way uphill. It took longer than he expected, almost three quarters of an hour. At the top he heard a movement to his left, and saw a swooping form, flowing close to the ground. Instinctively he raised his gun.
A whispered shout. “Don’t shoot, you bastard.”
“Vasily?”
“Yes.”
Vasily drew closer, the white sheet sweeping behind him like a cape. He held his hands up, mocking his friend.
“Where do you think we are, in a war?”
“You took me by surprise.”
Vasily laughed, a different kind of alertness about him, playful, overcoming his fatigue.
“I found something,” he said.
Grigory stood up, interested now.
“Really? What?”
“Come on, it’s worth it.”
They descended the other side of the slope and passed through a valley, taking turns to lead the way through the trees, bending branches for the other, Vasily stopping occasionally to take out his map and torch and find their bearings.
Grigory wondered if they would be reprimanded when they returned, for taking too long on their watch, but they could make some excuse, say they were following some
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