What was that?

Alexander often told her fascinating little tidbits he picked up in the army, names of generals, stories about Hitler, or Rommel, about England or Italy, about Stalingrad, about Richthoffen, von Paulus, El Alamein, Montgomery. It wasn’t unusual that he would say a word she didn’t understand. But Orbeli was a word she hadn’t heard before, and yet there was Alexander — asking her to remember it.

Tatiana nudged Dr. Sayers awake. “Dr. Sayers, what is Orbeli?” she asked. “Who is Orbeli?”

“Don’t know,” Sayers replied sleepily. “Never heard of it. Why?”

She said nothing.

Sayers began driving again.

They got to the silent, sleeping border between the Soviet Union and Finland at six in the morning.

Alexander had told Tatiana it wasn’t really a border, it was a line of defense, which meant there was anywhere from thirty to sixty meters between the Soviet and Finnish troops. Each side marked its territory and then sat and waited out the war.

To Tatiana the Finnish conifer and willow woods looked like the Soviet conifer and willow woods they had been driving through for the last long hours of the night. The headlights from their truck illuminated a narrow strip of unpaved road ahead. Sunrise was slow in coming toward the ides of March.

Dr. Sayers suggested that if everyone was sleeping, maybe they could just drive across and present their papers to the Finns instead of to the Soviets. Tatiana thought that was an excellent idea.

Suddenly someone yelled for them to halt. Three sleepy NKVD border troops came up to the doctor’s window. Sayers showed them the papers. After thoroughly looking over the documents, the NKVD soldier said to Tatiana in accented English, “A cold wind, isn’t it?”

And in clear English, she replied, “Very bitter. They say it is going to snow.”

The soldier nodded, and then all three men went around to take a look at Dimitri in the back of the truck. Tatiana waited.

Silence.

The flashlight shined.

Silence.

Then, “Wait,” Tatiana heard. “Let me see his face again.”

The flashlight shined.

Tatiana sat immobile and listened intently.

She heard one of the soldiers laugh and say something to Dimitri in Finnish. Tatiana didn’t speak Finnish, so she couldn’t guarantee that it was Finnish, but the Soviet soldier spoke to Dimitri in a language Tatiana didn’t understand, and obviously Dimitri hadn’t understood either, because he did not reply.

The Soviet officer repeated his question more loudly.

Dimitri remained silent. Then he said something in what sounded to Tatiana like Finnish. After a short snickering silence from the troops, one of them said, in Russian, “Get out of the truck.”

“Oh, no,” whispered Dr. Sayers. “Are we caught?”

“Shh,” said Tatiana.

The soldiers repeated their order to Dimitri to get out of the truck. He didn’t move.

Dr. Sayers turned around and said, in Russian, “He is wounded. He can’t get up.”

And the Soviet officer said, “He’ll get up if he wants to live. Talk to your patient in whatever language he speaks and tell him to get up.”

“Doctor,” whispered Tatiana, “be very careful. If he can’t save himself, he will try to kill us all.”

The three NKVD soldiers dragged Dimitri out of the truck and then ordered Sayers and Tatiana out. The doctor came around and stood by Tatiana’s side near her open door. His slender body was slightly in front of her. Tatiana, feeling herself weakening, touched Sayers’s coat, hoping for some strength. She felt ready to faint. Dimitri was out in the open in plain sight a few meters away from them, dwarfed by the Finnish uniform, a uniform that would have been just right on a bigger soldier.

Laughing, their rifles trained on him, one of the NKVD troops said, in Russian, “So, hey, Finn, we ask you how you got your face wound, and you tell us that you are going to Helsinki. You want to explain?”

Dimitri said nothing, but stared pleadingly at Tatiana.

Dr. Sayers said, “Look, we picked him up in Leningrad, he was grievously wounded—”

Imperceptibly, Tatiana nudged Dr. Sayers. “Keep quiet,” she whispered. “It’s trouble.”

“He may be grievously wounded,” said the NKVD man, “he’s just not grievously Finnish.” The three soldiers laughed. One of the NKVD men walked up to Dimitri. “Chernenko, don’t you recognize me?” he said in Russian, cracking up. “It’s me, Rasskovsky.” Dimitri lowered his good arm. “Keep your hand above your head!” the NKVD soldier yelled, laughing. “Keep it up.” Tatiana saw they were not taking Dimitri seriously, his right arm in a sling. Where was Dimitri’s weapon? she wondered. Did he have one on him?

The two other soldiers stood a short distance away from Dimitri. “You know him?” one of them asked, lowering his rifle.

“Know him?” Rasskovsky exclaimed. “Of course I know him! Chernenko, have you forgotten how much you were charging me for cigarettes? And how I had to pay because I just couldn’t be without my smokes in the middle of the forest?” He laughed. “Just four weeks ago I saw you. Have you already forgotten?”

Dimitri didn’t say a word.

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you just because of the pretty color on your face?” Rasskovsky seemed to be having a very good time. “So, Chernenko, darling, can you explain what you’re doing wearing a Finnish uniform and lying in the back of a Red Cross truck? The arm and the face I understand. Someone didn’t like your extortionate prices?”

One of the other two soldiers said, “Rasskovsky, you don’t think our runner is trying to escape, do you?” Everyone roared with laughter.

Under the glare of the lights Dimitri stared at Tatiana, who held his gaze for only an instant. Then she turned her whole body away and moved closer to Dr. Sayers, her arms tight around herself. “I’m cold,” she said.

“Tatiana!” yelled Dimitri in Russian to her. “You want to tell them? Or should I?”

Rasskovsky turned to look at her, and said, “Tatiana? An American named Tatiana?” He walked over to Sayers. “What’s going on, here? Why is he talking to her in Russian? Let me see her papers again.”

Dr. Sayers showed Tatiana’s papers. They were in order.

Looking right at Rasskovsky, Tatiana said in English, “Tatiana? What is he talking about? Listen, what do we know? He said he was Finnish. Right, Doctor?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Sayers replied, stepping forward and away from Tatiana and the truck, his friendly hand on Rasskovsky’s back. “Listen, no trouble, I hope. He came to our hospital—”

At that moment Dimitri took out his sidearm and shot at Rasskovsky walking in front of Tatiana.

She wasn’t sure whom Dimitri was aiming for — he was shooting with his left arm — but she wasn’t about to stand there to find out. She dropped down. He could have been aiming at the NKVD man. He could have. But he missed and shot Dr. Sayers instead. Or maybe Dimitri didn’t miss. Or maybe he was shooting at her — standing behind the two men — and missed. Tatiana didn’t want to think about it.

Rasskovsky ran toward Dimitri, who fired again, this time hitting Rasskovsky. Dimitri wasn’t quick enough to turn his fire on the other two NKVD soldiers, who, as if suspended in still life, struggled to remove their rifles from their shoulders. Finally they opened fire on Dimitri, who was thrown several meters by the force of the impact.

Suddenly there was return fire from the woods. This fire was not slow and methodical bolt-action fire — the metronome of battle: five cartridges, flip open bolt, thumb in another five, close bolt. No, this was a bursting machine-gun fire that broke apart the truck’s elongated, flattop front end and the entire windshield. The two NKVD men disappeared.

The window of the cabin door above her shattered, and Tatiana felt something hard and sharp fall and lodge itself in her cheek. She tasted liquid metal, and her tongue ran over and got caught on something sharp inside her mouth. When she opened her mouth, blood dripped out. She had no time to think about it, crawling under the nose of the truck.

Tatiana saw Dimitri on the ground. Dr. Sayers was on the ground out in the open. There was an endless barrage of fire, a stifling ringing, a constant popping against the steel hood of the Red Cross truck.

Tatiana crawled out, grabbed hold of Dr. Sayers, and dragged his motionless body with her. Pulling him close and covering him with herself, she thought she saw Dimitri still moving, or was it the strobe lights of gunfire? No, it was him. He was trying to crawl to the truck. From the Soviet side a mortar shell flew into the air and burst in the woods. Fire, black smoke, screams. From here? From there? She couldn’t tell. There was no here or there. There was just Dimitri making his way toward Tatiana. She saw him in the incongruous headlights, searching for her, finding her, and in the second or two when there was no noise she heard him calling for her: “Tatiana . . . Tatiana . . . please . . .” with his hand outstretched. Tatiana closed her eyes.

He will not come near me.

Tatiana heard a whistling noise, a flash, and then a charge that exploded so close that the wave pushed her head into the undercarriage of the truck, and she lost consciousness.

When she came to, Tatiana decided not to open her eyes. She couldn’t hear very well, having just come out of a dead faint, but she felt warm, as if she were in the hot bathhouse in Lazarevo when she would throw hot water on the rocks and the rocks would sizzle and release steam. Dr. Sayers was still partially underneath her body. There was nowhere for her to go. Her tongue ran over the sharp object in her mouth again. She tasted metallic salt.

Sayers felt clammy. Blood loss. Tatiana opened her eyes, felt around on him. A small flame behind the truck illuminated the doctor’s pale face. Where was he hit? With her fingers she felt around under his coat and found the bullet hole in his shoulder. She didn’t find the exit hole, but she pressed her gloved hand into his arm to try to clot the wound. Then she closed her eyes again. There was a blaze behind her, but there were no more gunshots.