War of The Rats - A Novel of Stalingrad - [World War II 01] by David Robbins Page A

to stand beside Fedya.
     
    “Da svidanya, Russ,” the German said.
     
    A commotion erupted in the kitchen. The din of pots and pans banging on the floor spilled into the mess tent. The officer turned from Fedya.
     
    A short, chubby man in a greasy apron burst into the mess hall. “Halt! Halten Sie, bitte!” he shouted. The man rumbled through the seated soldiers to jump in front of Fedya and Tania, his arms outstretched. In one hand he held high a wooden serving spoon.
     
    The cook pleaded with the officer in stammering German. He pointed to Fedya and Tania, then to himself, and hung his head. The Nazi lowered the pistol and shouted at the cook. The round little man cringed, wrinkling his dirty apron. Then he snapped upright and clubbed Fedya’s chest with the spoon. With his other hand he twisted Tania’s ear, turning her around. He kicked her in the rear and shoved Fedya in the chest again with the spoon to herd them toward the kitchen, hollering in Russian. Over his shoulder, the cook called in an appeasing tone, “Danke. Danke schön, mein Herr. Danke.”
     
    The cook shoved Fedya through the kitchen door and pushed Tania behind him. Still shouting and cursing, he marched them out of the kitchen to a small, garbage-filled courtyard.
     
    Once outside, the cook quieted. He whispered urgently in Russian, “Who are you? What are you doing in my mess hall?”
     
    Tania shoved the cook in his meaty chest. “What are you doing serving food to Nazis? You’re a fucking hiwi!”
     
    Fedya stepped between them. “Tania! The man just saved your life. And mine, too. Be quiet, show some gratitude.”
     
    “Gratitude? This pig cooks for those bastards. He’s worse than they are! He’s a traitor, Fedya! A collaborator!”
     
    “Tania.” Fedya put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll take the lead now. You will follow me. Understand? I’ll get us out of here. You’ll get us killed. Now be quiet.”
     
    Tania inhaled to say more, to tell Fedya about the hiwis her partisans had caught and shot, about the placards they’d nailed to the traitors’ heads to warn others not to cooperate with the invaders. Fedya shook her shoulders hard. Tania jammed her fists into her pockets, glowering at the fat traitor.
     
    Fedya reached his hand to the cook. “Thank you. You saved our lives. What did you say to that German?”
     
    “That you are two Russian peasants working for me. I told him I sent you to clean out the shithouse and you must have fallen in.”
     
    “Really? Just like that?” Fedya turned to Tania. “A good story. A quick thinker, isn’t he?”
     
    Tania spat. “Fucking hiwi.”
     
    Fedya turned back to the cook. “Right. Let’s just keep this between you and me, shall we? Can you get us some clean clothes?”
     
    “No,” said the cook. “Who are you? How did you get here?”
     
    “We’re with the 284th Division. Our transport was sunk. Once we got ashore, this girl led us through the sewer.”
     
    “You followed her?” The cook pointed with his spoon.
     
    Tania leaned forward. Fedya kept her back with his girth.
     
    “I wouldn’t do that,” he warned the man quietly.
     
    The cook lowered the spoon.
     
    Fedya continued, his manner still friendly. “Can you give us more food?”
     
    “Of course.” The cook went back to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway. “I’ll bring it out.”
     
    Fedya spun on Tania. “What’s wrong with you? How can you treat a man that way who’s saved your life?”
     
    “He’s helping the Germans!”
     
    “He’s a nothing little cook. How do you know his story? He might have a wife and children they’re holding. He might be just a simple scared fat man who got caught up in all this and only wants to live through it.”
     
    Tania leaned against the top of a metal trash can. “If he’s a coward,” she said, “then he should be shot.”
     
    Fedya folded his arms. She looked into his blue eyes and took in his powerful figure. I want to