Underground Soldier by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

“If you go that way,” she said, pointing to the left, “it will take you under the path and into the woods.”
    All at once, I understood. Not all of the villagers had been killed or had escaped to the woods. Some were still here, hidden.
    Martina got into her new coat and I put the food into my knapsack. “Stay safe,” I said to the woman. “And thank you for helping us.” She nodded, then dropped the cloth back down.
    We crawled the length of the tunnel in pitch darkness, our hands on the dirt walls to keep our balance. I thought about Pecherska Lavra in Kyiv and all the tunnels under it. How many connected tunnels were hidden under this small village and other villages too? I hoped the Nazis would never find them.

Chapter Fifteen
Mushrooms
    Over the next week or so, snow alternated with winter rain and when we arrived at the foothills of the mountains, the terrain gradually became more dangerous. We no longer had a big river to follow, as it had split up into creeks and marshes and little lakes. The mountains loomed large before us.
    We needed to make the dried fish and smoked pork fat last as long as possible, because who knew how we would find food once we were up in the mountains and winter had truly set in. We kept our eyes open for edible greens — a rare find. We would see late-fall mushrooms, but I knew from Tato that most of them had to be cooked to draw out the poison, and cooking was out of the question if we wanted to stay hidden.
    One moonlit night, Martina stopped suddenly. “Look,” she said, crouching by a fallen tree. “Aren’t these oyster mushrooms?”
    I knelt beside her and took one in my hand. This mushroom had a pale, smooth cap and curled-down edges like an oyster mushroom should. I flipped it over. The gills looked firm. “They are,” I said.
    “Sometimes we ate these raw,” said Martina.
    “Mama always cooked them,” I said. “But just slightly.”
    We gathered up a dozen or so and wrapped them in a cloth, then Martina put them into her satchel and we continued on our way.
    As dawn broke, we dug a hole and lined it with fir boughs as usual. Once we were nested in and thoroughly hidden, Martina brought out two mushrooms and our flask of water. I got out a piece of dried fish for each of us.
    The mushroom was sweet and fresh and tasted so good along with the fish. I reached into Martina’s satchel and took out two more, then handed her one.
    “Not right now,” she said, putting it back. She turned on her side and within minutes was fast asleep.
    I ate my second mushroom, savouring the taste and the fact that it filled my stomach. I closed my eyes and was asleep before I knew it.
    Some hours later, I woke up with my stomach roiling in pain. It must have been that second mushroom. I had to relieve myself or I would burst. I pushed up one fir branch and looked outside. Bright sunlight hit my eyes but there was no one around. It was probably midday — the worst time to be out — but I had no choice. If I stayed where I was, I would foul all our gear. If I was lucky, I could get out, relieve myself and get back into our hiding place without Martina waking up. She would be furious if she caught me out in the middle of the day.
    I slipped out of our hideaway and crept to a wooded gully a few metres away. I had just finished my business and was zipping up my trousers when the ground shook. I scrambled behind a thick tree and held my breath. The ground trembled again.
    Moments later a woman passed, barefoot and wild-eyed, carrying a coat and boots. What had made the earth shake? What had she run from? I had to find out if we were in immediate danger before I went back to our hideout.
    I darted from one tree to the next, keeping hidden all the way. Finally I came to an opening in the woods where I could see down to a scattering of cottages along a country road. Along the near side of the road rolled a long line of dull grey Soviet tanks, their guns aimed towards the houses. It