The Scarlet Generation Page 8

  “Germans!” They had all heard how the Germans had launched parachutists against Holland and Belgium the previous year, or against Crete only a couple of months before the invasion. “They’re coming to get us,” one of the women shouted.

  “Scatter!” Shatrav bellowed.

  “Be quiet!” Tatiana snapped. “There are only two parachutes.” They stared into the sky and realised she was right. The noise of the plane engines was now fading, to the east. “Those are our own people,” Tatiana said. “Come to find us.”

  They scrambled through the bushes and the water, making for where the parachutes had disappeared in the trees. “We must call out,” Tatiana said.

  “It could be a trap,” Shatrav objected.

  “If it is a trap then we are finished anyway.” She cupped her hands about her mouth. “Who is there?” she called into the darkness. “We are Russian soldiers. Who is there?”

  There was no reply, and they went on for a while. Then Tatiana tried calling again. This time a voice came back to them, from surprisingly close at hand. “Give us your names!”

  Tatiana glanced at Shatrav, but he was too terrified to risk his name. “I am Tatiana Gosykinya,” she said.

  “Tattie!” Feodor Ligachev appeared from the bushes.

  Chapter 4 – The Partisans

  “Feodor!” Tatiana shouted, splashing through the water to embrace her stepbrother. “Oh, Feodor. It is so good to see you.”

  He kissed her, several times. “It is so good to see you too! This is Olga Kaminskaya.”

  Tatiana peered into the darkness. Like Feodor, Olga Kaminskaya wore uniform — trousers instead of a skirt — and was armed with both revolver and sub-machine-gun, as well as a long-bladed knife. They both had heavy packs on their backs. As far as Tatiana could make out Olga was handsome enough, in a coldfeatured fashion, and was tall and well built, with long tawny hair curling out from beneath her sidecap. “Greetings, Comrade Gosykinya,” she remarked.

  “Who are these people?” Shatrav demanded, endeavouring to regain control of the situation.

  “I am Captain Feodor Ligachev,” Feodor informed him. “Sent to make contact with the partisans of the Pripet.” The fugitives looked at each other. Partisans of the Pripet? “Lieutenant Kaminskaya is my aide.”

  “Have you come to lead us out of here, Comrade Captain?” Sophie asked.

  “I have come to teach you how to kill Germans and blow up their trains,” Feodor said. “Under the direction of your commissar.”

  Shatrav snorted. “I have commanded here since 22 June, Comrade Captain. Kill Germans? Blow up their trains? We have a dozen rifles between us, and not 50 rounds of ammunition. We have no explosives. This is a dream.”

  “You will have everything you require,” Feodor told him. “We were sent to make sure that you were here.” He nodded at Kaminskaya’s pack. “We have a radio set. I have but to send a message, and the necessary materiel will be dropped by parachute. How many of you are there?”

  “Sixty. But a third of us are women.”

  “Women can fight as well as men,” Feodor said, equably.

  “Comrade Kaminskaya, we need arms and munitions for 100 people in here. More will certainly join us when we are proved to exist and be successful. We also require emergency rations for that number to see us through the winter, and we will certainly need a medical team. Get that off right away.” The woman nodded, laid her pack on the ground, and took out the radio. The fugitives watched her in amazement.

  “Now, Sergeant Shatrav,” Feodor said. “There is one thing about which you, and all of your people, must be quite clear. You no longer command here. The command goes to your commissar,” Feodor went on. “Comrade Gosykinya.”

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the muttering of Kaminskaya into her mouthpiece. Shatrav found his voice. “Comrade Gosykinya is an eighteen-year-old girl.”

  “She has killed Germans, which is more than any of you have done,” Feodor pointed out. “As of this moment, she is your commanding officer, with powers of life and death over every one of you.” He looked from face to face to make sure they all understood.

  Tatiana could not believe her ears, while at the same time knowing a growing feeling of exultation. Uncle Josef had come through! Shatrav still did not look convinced, although he understood that he had to obey the captain’s directive, at least as long as the captain was present. “We await your command, Comrade Commissar,” he said, with more than a hint of mockery in his voice.

  Everyone was looking at her, including Feodor. He had given her power. Now she had to exercise it. “How soon will our guns and munitions reach us?” she asked.

  Feodor turned to Kaminskaya, who put away her earphones. “Immediately following the next heavy rainstorm, which will keep German fighters out of the sky. This is forecast for the night after tomorrow.”

  “Right,” Tatiana said. “Then we return to the camp. Walk with me, Comrade Captain.”

  He fell in beside her, while the rest of the fugitives followed, led by Kaminskaya. “Can you handle it?”

  “I think so. When I believe it!”

  “I’ll help you believe it.”

  She glanced at him. “You mean you’re staying?”

  He grinned. “There’s no way out of here, Tattie. We’re completely surrounded.”

  “We knew that. But why me, Feodor? As Shatrav said, I’m only eighteen years old.”

  “Propaganda value,” Feodor explained. “The Germans publicised what you did, because it gave them an excuse to execute as many people as they wanted. And they have done that.”

  “Shit!” Tatiana muttered.

  “What’s done is done. Now we have to turn that to our advantage. They reckon you’re dead by now, as they have heard nothing more of you and have not been able to find you. So you are going to rise up out of the swamp, very much alive, and carry the fight to them.”

  “Sixty people?”

  “There’ll be more. We reckon there are several thousand deserters in these swamps, or nearby. They’ll come in when they have something to come in for. This is a great opportunity for you, Tattie. They are calling you the Red Maiden. Handle it right and you’ll be a Heroine of the Soviet Union. With your connections, you’ll be big in the Party.”

  “And when the Germans come in after us?”

  “That would have to be a very large operation, Tattie. Right now, I don’t think they’re prepared to spare the men or the time. They’re hoping to capture Moscow by the first snow, which will be any day now.”

  “You mean they haven’t captured Moscow yet?”

  “We don’t intend that they should. I said that they’re hoping.”

  They splashed through the mud for some seconds. Then Tatiana asked. “Is Mother all right?”

  “Mother is fine.”

  “Well,” she said, “this is it.”

  They straggled on to the little island they used as a camp. It was just getting light. Feodor placed his hands on his hips and looked around him. Kaminskaya’s nose wrinkled in contempt. “Winter will be here in another month,” Feodor said in a low voice. “You can’t exist in the open air, in winter.”

  “I’ve always said that,” Tatiana agreed. “But they wouldn’t work.”

  “Well, you are the boss now.”

  Tatiana glanced at him, then at the fugitives, most of whom had flung themselves onto the sodden ground on reaching the camp; they considered they had had their exercise for the day.

  She drew a deep breath.

  “Right,” she said. “Everyone to work. We commence building shelters right now.” They stared at her. “I have given an order,” Tatiana said.

  Anatole and Gregory scrambled to their feet. Natasha and Sophie followed their example. No one else moved. “Up!” Tatiana said.

  Shatrav sat up. “We have been through this before, Comrade Commissar,” he said. “There are no materials. There is no way we can build any adequate shelter. There is—”

&nbs
p; “There are trees that can be cut down,” Tatiana broke in: “We have an axe.”

  “One axe,” someone grumbled.

  “It will do; you can take turns at using it. Do not cut the trees together; that may be noticed from the air. Cut them over a widely spaced area.”

  “And how to we get them here?” asked someone else. “You drag them, Comrade.”

  “That will be an immense task,” objected another one. “Nevertheless, it can and must be done. Now. Get moving!”

  Still they looked at her. No one moved. Tatiana looked at Feodor and Kaminskaya. They would back her, she knew. But they would not tell her what to do, or she would never gain authority over these people, many of whom were grinning at her. To them she was just a girl who had come to them for refuge. Well, they had given her that refuge, but they had exacted a price, certainly the men. She did not like any of them, save for the two boys, and, of course, Natasha and Sophie. In fact, she realised that she hated them. But she was being required to lead them to almost certain death for the sake of the Motherland. Well, then, she thought, let hatred feed upon hatred. But she would command.

  “Give me your pistol, Comrade Ligachev,” she said.

  Feodor drew his pistol, and presented it to her, butt first. She wrapped her fingers round it and faced the reclining people. “What do you think you are going to do with that, Tatiana?” asked one of the men with a grin.

  “Make an example of you, Comrade!” she said, levelling the revolver and squeezing the trigger. The sound echoed through the trees. The man had only been 20ft away from Tatiana, and the bullet had struck him in the face. Blood, flesh and bone exploded from his head. His shocked companions scrambled to their feet and found themselves looking not only at Tatiana’s pistol, but at the levelled guns of Feodor and Kaminskaya. “Now,” Tatiana said. “Get to work.”

  *

  The swamp became a hive of activity as the fugitives got busy. Within a week four substantial huts had been built, two on the main island, and two on neighbouring hummocks. They were the most primitive constructions, no more than logs of wood bond together, their interstices packed with mud which constantly had to be renewed as it continued to rain every day. “They’re not going to keep out much,” Tatiana said.

  “Yes they will,” Feodor insisted. “When it starts to freeze, that mud will freeze too. Those huts will be like igloos.”

  “But we won’t be able to light any fires.”

  “They don’t have fires in igloos. They rely on body warmth.”

  “How does that fit in with our instructions?” she asked. For Feodor had brought with him a booklet of more than 400 pages, entitled “The Partisan’s Guide”. It had been hurriedly and badly printed, but contained a list of instructions for the partisans to follow in their daily lives. There were instructions on how to attack and destroy the enemy, blow up his trains, disrupt his life. There were lists of very sensible precautions they were required to take. There was first-aid information and emergency advice, such as how to exist in the snow and which species of moss and bark were edible should they run out of food. Someone had obviously thought the whole thing through very carefully.

  There was also a command that there were to be no pregnancies. Pregnant women were a liability, and were to be shot. Tatiana hadn’t felt she could accept that, and could only pray the question would never arise. But for all she knew any or all of the women, herself included, could be pregnant right then; the uncivilised life and poor diets had made them all irregular, and as they had only been in the swamp four months and hardly taken off all their clothes at any time during that period, no one would have had the time to swell as yet, at least obviously. “Do not Eskimoes in igloos sleep naked?”

  “That doesn’t mean they spend all their time fucking,” Feodor pointed out.

  After Feodor and Kaminskaya’s arrival the rain fell heavily the next day and into the night, and there were no German aircraft. Then, as had been promised, the rain stopped soon after midnight, and an hour later the Russian planes were overhead, and parachutes came drifting down to festoon the trees. The fugitives — they were now almost prepared to call themselves partisans — revelled in the guns and pistols, the ammunition and grenades, the blankets, but above all in the food, the bars of chocolate and the tins of cured meat, tea and, even more, the casks of vodka: Tatiana, Feodor and Kaminskaya had a difficult task in stopping them drinking themselves silly there and then. Only the medical team did not arrive, although there was a message promising that it would not be long delayed; meanwhile there was medical equipment for them to use as necessary.

  Some of the equipment was lost in the swamp, some smashed on landing, but enough was recovered intact to give Tatiana a well-armed fighting force — although she did not as yet know if they would fight. But now they were to be trained to do so. Feodor made them take two hours off every day from their building and food-gathering labours to drill and learn words of command. Even the women were drilled, and gradually some sense of unity, even of esprit de corps, began to creep into their ranks. “Now we need to do something to make us truly comrades,” he said.

  “You will have to instruct me, Comrade Captain.”

  “The Comrade Captain and I are leaving the camp for a few days,” Tatiana told the group. “We are making a reconnaissance before we undertake any offensive action.”

  “If the Germans find out we are here,” Gregory said, “will they not come into the swamp after us?”

  “That will make them easier to kill,” Feodor pointed out.

  “In our absence,” Tatiana told them, “Lieutenant Kaminskaya will command.” There was no argument about that; Tatiana reckoned that everyone was afraid of Olga Kaminskaya, with her cold looks and precise actions. Certainly none of the men had attempted advances.

  She and Feodor humped their packs and set off. Although this was intended only as a reconnaissance they both carried machine-guns as well as pistols and knives and, of course, grenades. As ammunition was not to be wasted Tatiana had allowed herself only one brief practice with the sub-machine-gun, but it was not a precision weapon. It was now the beginning of November, and the weather was very cold; indeed, they had barely lost sight of the camp when snowflakes drifted through the trees. “This swamp will be frozen within a fortnight,” Feodor remarked.

  Tatiana slapped her gloved hands together. There had been enough warm clothing dropped for the entire group, and in her quilted sheepskin jacket, known as a polushubki, and thick trousers, worn over thick thermal longjohns, her felt boots, valenki, and fur hat with ear-flaps, her fur-lined gloves, she felt warm enough even if her face was cold. But winter was always a threat. And now in more ways than one. “Will that not make it easier for the Germans to get at us?” she asked.

  “Not really. We will be more exposed to their aircraft because the trees will be stripped bare by the frosts, but there will never be ice thick enough in here to support tanks or heavy vehicles. And we will see them coming the more easily, as well. It is a pity, but I suppose only you and I know how to ski,” he remarked. They had always spent every spare winter moment in the Lenin Hills north of Moscow, with Jennie and Ligachev.

  “Do you not think any of the others will have learned?”

  “Kaminskaya, I should think.”

  “Well,” she said. “We don’t have any skis, anyway.”

  He grinned. “We can always have them dropped.”

  The next day they reached the fringe of trees marking the boundary of the marsh. By now it had stopped snowing, it was very cold, yet Feodor clambered up a tree to gain an extra few feet of visibility across the fields to the railway track; they had been moving north-west, and this was actually the position where the Marshes and the railway were closest. More important, a stream meandered out of the marsh at this point. It was not very deep, but it had created its own little gully over the centuries. This too was only a few feet deep, but it needed to be crossed by a bridge, both for the railway and, farther to the north-west, by
the road.

  “So,” Feodor said to Tatiana, waiting below. “The railway is still in constant use, as is the road. Obviously it is the railway we must aim at. The bridge is its most vulnerable place. Just to the west of it there is a siding. Yes, if we blow the bridge and immobilise the siding...”

  “How well is it guarded?” she asked.

  “That is what we have to find out tonight” He climbed down the tree.

  They sat together and ate cold canned food while they waited for sunset, which was early at this time of year, and with heavy cloud building to the west it became dark even earlier. “Are you afraid?” Feodor asked.

  “I would like a drink of vodka.”

  He shook his head. “Vodka when we come back. A moment’s carelessness could cost us both our lives.” He glanced at her. “You know what they will do to you if the catch you?”

  “No,” she said. “I do not want to know. They can surprise me — if they can catch me.”

  *

  When it was properly dark they left the shelter of the trees and moved across the fields towards the railroad. The distance was about three miles, but as it had started to snow again they were reasonably well hidden in their white jackets and trousers, especially as the corn had not been harvested, and grew in wild profusion in places 5ft high. It was still slow progress, for the ground even outside the swamp had in many places turned to bog, and it was exhausting work. At least the snow meant there were no German patrols about. But, then, the Germans had no reason to send out patrols at all, much less on such a filthy night; the front had moved on several hundred miles, and no doubt they knew there were some escaped Red soldiers hiding in the Marshes, but such fugitives had never been any kind of a threat.

  It was ten o’clock before Tatiana and Feodor reached about a quarter of a mile from the railroad. From here they could see that the Germans had constructed a guard-post just to the west of the bridge, a hut in which a lantern glowed. It was impossible to be certain how many men were inside, but two were on duty by the bridge, stamping their feet and slapping their gloved hands together. Feodor and Tatiana waited and watched, while steadily growing colder. The sentries and their companions had obviously lit a fire earlier for it still glowed to one side of the hut. At midnight the guard was changed. Tatiana was so cold she wanted to leave, but Feodor insisted on waiting another two hours, and at two the guard was changed again. By then the fire had burned out. “Eight men and a sergeant,” Feodor said.