![War of The Rats - A Novel of Stalingrad - [World War II 01]](/res/aob/book1.jpg)
War of The Rats - A Novel of Stalingrad - [World War II 01] by David Robbins
Book: War of The Rats - A Novel of Stalingrad - [World War II 01] by David Robbins
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Authors: David Robbins
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grabbed her hand. “No, Tania. You’re kidding.” She shook loose his grip. “Tania,” he pleaded, “nobody is that crazy.”
She scrabbled down the mound, raising a dust cloud. At the bottom she called up to Fedya, frozen with his hands out from his sides, “Come on!” She waved him down with big gestures. “We’ve got to eat. I’m exhausted. I’m starving. This could be our last chance for the next twenty-four hours.”
Fedya held his ground on the rubble heap.
“They won’t know we’re in the Russian army,” she called. “We’re not carrying weapons. We’re walking around in the open. They’ll just think you’re some poor local worker who got latrine duty today and is taking a break for lunch.”
“What about you?” he asked down to her.
“Me?” Tania shrugged. “I guess they’ll figure I’m some whore who’s working with you for food. Who cares? They’ll make up their own stories so long as we keep our mouths shut.”
Fedya slapped his hands on his hips in resignation. He picked his way down with measured strides. Such a large man, she thought, covered in crap and taking such small steps.
Fedya landed at her side. He frowned.
“You’re the devil. Do you know that?”
“I can be. Come on. Say nothing.”
They walked across open ground and took places at the end of the mess line. Impatient soldiers tapped their knives and forks on their plates.
For these sticks to be standing about waiting for mess like this, she thought, we’re far behind their lines. They’re acting like they’re very safe here.
The line moved a few paces. Tania looked into Fedya’s face. He stared at his boots, still caked but now covered in dust. He looked like a peasant from the villages, not a poet from Moscow. “Was im Himmel?”
A Nazi pinched his nose in disgust. He stomped to Fedya and pushed him out of line, pointing for Tania to move also.
The two stood several paces back. They waited for the last soldier to disappear into the tent. They crept forward, obedient looks on their faces. Once inside, the cook tossed them plates and hurriedly scooped up knockwurst and kraut.
Fedya whispered while they walked into the tent, “Let’s eat outside.”
“No, I don’t want to draw attention.”
“Attention?” he said in quiet amazement. “Tania, we smell like camels. What more attention could we get?”
She shushed him and moved ahead. Around them a hundred Nazis sat eating. At each table, heads spun about when they passed. Fingers hurried to noses on appalled faces.
They found an open table and sat quickly. They shoveled the food into their mouths, afraid they would be thrown out before they could slake their hungers.
Midway through their plates, an officer approached. He held a kerchief daintily over his nose and spoke to them through the cloth. His voice became shrill. Tania and Fedya got up slowly.
They did not seem to move fast enough for the officer. The man lowered the kerchief and pulled a leather crop from his belt. He swung the crop across Fedya’s back. Soldiers at neighboring tables applauded and laughed.
The German, his face growing crimson, struck Fedya again, then leaned across the table and hit Tania on top of her head.
Fedya leaped to his feet and shoved him back. “Leave her alone, prostitute!”
The officer regained his balance and looked deep into Fedya’s eyes. He slid the crop slowly into his belt. He unbuttoned the holster for his pistol.
“Ah.” He smiled thinly.
The officer stepped back and drew his sidearm with a dramatic, sweeping motion. He glanced around the silent tent. He raised the pistol to Fedya’s heart and looked around the room again. The hundred faces were still.
The grinning Nazi interpreted the silence of his fellows as their tacit permission. He was justified in the execution of these two incredibly odious Russians.
Tania stepped
She scrabbled down the mound, raising a dust cloud. At the bottom she called up to Fedya, frozen with his hands out from his sides, “Come on!” She waved him down with big gestures. “We’ve got to eat. I’m exhausted. I’m starving. This could be our last chance for the next twenty-four hours.”
Fedya held his ground on the rubble heap.
“They won’t know we’re in the Russian army,” she called. “We’re not carrying weapons. We’re walking around in the open. They’ll just think you’re some poor local worker who got latrine duty today and is taking a break for lunch.”
“What about you?” he asked down to her.
“Me?” Tania shrugged. “I guess they’ll figure I’m some whore who’s working with you for food. Who cares? They’ll make up their own stories so long as we keep our mouths shut.”
Fedya slapped his hands on his hips in resignation. He picked his way down with measured strides. Such a large man, she thought, covered in crap and taking such small steps.
Fedya landed at her side. He frowned.
“You’re the devil. Do you know that?”
“I can be. Come on. Say nothing.”
They walked across open ground and took places at the end of the mess line. Impatient soldiers tapped their knives and forks on their plates.
For these sticks to be standing about waiting for mess like this, she thought, we’re far behind their lines. They’re acting like they’re very safe here.
The line moved a few paces. Tania looked into Fedya’s face. He stared at his boots, still caked but now covered in dust. He looked like a peasant from the villages, not a poet from Moscow. “Was im Himmel?”
A Nazi pinched his nose in disgust. He stomped to Fedya and pushed him out of line, pointing for Tania to move also.
The two stood several paces back. They waited for the last soldier to disappear into the tent. They crept forward, obedient looks on their faces. Once inside, the cook tossed them plates and hurriedly scooped up knockwurst and kraut.
Fedya whispered while they walked into the tent, “Let’s eat outside.”
“No, I don’t want to draw attention.”
“Attention?” he said in quiet amazement. “Tania, we smell like camels. What more attention could we get?”
She shushed him and moved ahead. Around them a hundred Nazis sat eating. At each table, heads spun about when they passed. Fingers hurried to noses on appalled faces.
They found an open table and sat quickly. They shoveled the food into their mouths, afraid they would be thrown out before they could slake their hungers.
Midway through their plates, an officer approached. He held a kerchief daintily over his nose and spoke to them through the cloth. His voice became shrill. Tania and Fedya got up slowly.
They did not seem to move fast enough for the officer. The man lowered the kerchief and pulled a leather crop from his belt. He swung the crop across Fedya’s back. Soldiers at neighboring tables applauded and laughed.
The German, his face growing crimson, struck Fedya again, then leaned across the table and hit Tania on top of her head.
Fedya leaped to his feet and shoved him back. “Leave her alone, prostitute!”
The officer regained his balance and looked deep into Fedya’s eyes. He slid the crop slowly into his belt. He unbuttoned the holster for his pistol.
“Ah.” He smiled thinly.
The officer stepped back and drew his sidearm with a dramatic, sweeping motion. He glanced around the silent tent. He raised the pistol to Fedya’s heart and looked around the room again. The hundred faces were still.
The grinning Nazi interpreted the silence of his fellows as their tacit permission. He was justified in the execution of these two incredibly odious Russians.
Tania stepped
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