“I think it may be a crime to impersonate a soldier, but after all, it’s your head.”

Mia sniffed. “You have no idea. Anyhow, do you think anyone’s going to object to my fighting for the Red Army?”

Sasha shrugged. “I guess you’re right. And if you’re that crazy, I’ll see what I can do.” She took Mia by the arm. “The Fritzes have nearly wiped us out, but there may be a few crates left in the quartermaster’s truck. Let’s take a look.”

The still-smoking truck lay on its side, its cargo of boxes and crates spilled out onto the ground. They rummaged through the wreckage until they came across a partially singed crate with a serial number. Sasha pried it open with her bayonet. “Look at that. All the new Mosin-Nagants you could want. Take your pick.”

Mia lifted one out of the crate and blew off the dust. It felt alien in her hand, but she thought it unwise to mention she’d never shot a rifle. “So far, so good.” She set it aside. “What about a uniform?”

“Hmm. Uniform boxes are usually green.” She continued to rummage and uncovered a jumble of cardboard boxes. They were crushed, but the labels were still visible: small, medium, and large.

“I’m guessing small. It’s what we all wear.” Sasha tore away part of one box and pulled out a folded tunic. They weren’t so lucky with the box that held the pants. They were large.

Mia tore off her coat and soiled sweater and drew on the tunic that fit her loosely, but adequately. The trousers, however, were enormous. “Do I look like a clown?”

“No one cares on the battlefield. Anyhow, they’ll be warm, and you have plenty of room to sit down.”

It was true. The loose rear of the pants was faintly comical but also allowed her to kneel, squat, and bend with ease, and the tunic covered the baggiest part of them. Once both parts of the uniform were on her, and buckled at the waist, she felt curiously empowered. As a final thought, she slid the pay book that identified her as Marina Zhurova into the same breast pocket Marina had kept it in.

“You’ll need the shoulder boards, too,” Sasha pointed out, holding out two of them. “Crimson with black edges. Just like mine.” She buttoned them onto the shoulders of the tunic. “What rank are you claiming to be?”

“Staff sergeant. What does that require?”

“Oh, how ambitious. That’s three chevrons.” She rifled through a large box of insignias. “Ah, got ’em. You’ll have to pin them on for now and sew them later.”

Together they attached the chevrons, point down, in the correct position on the sleeve.

“Don’t forget one of these. Otherwise that rifle will be pretty useless.” Sasha lifted up what looked like a heavy double canvas strap and draped it over her head and one shoulder. Mia ran her fingers down the length, feeling the individual squares that ran along it, and realized it was the ammunition bandolier. It was heavier than she’d imagined, but it did make her look like an infantryman.

Sasha stepped back and studied her. “You’ll do. Technically, this counts as looting, and we both could be shot. But the camp is disbanding, and we’re leaving it all anyhow, except the rifles. I’ll report that we’ve found them. By the way, if you’re going to join us, you’d better tell me your name?”

“Marina Zhurova. Sniper and sergeant.” She reached for her rifle and held it across her chest the way she’d seen Alexia do it. Then she took a deep breath.

“I guess it’s time to report in. Who’d you say is in charge?”

* * *

Captain Goretzky, to her relief, had no time for her. He was frantically gathering papers into a leather satchel and barking orders to subordinates, preparing to withdraw.

He glanced up briefly. “So you’re the only survivor?”

“Yes, sir. They strafed us and then blew everything up.”

He looked her up and down. “You look fit to me. Why were you in an ambulance?”

“I had a concussion and this head wound.” She pointed to the bright red ridge that ran diagonally through her right eyebrow. It still oozed a thin trickle of blood that she had to wipe away periodically. “The concussion affected my vision, but it’s better now. So I’m reporting back for duty, sir. I was in the same unit as Corporals Mazarova and Yekimova.”

Goretzky sniffed. “Bershansky always did coddle his soldiers. All right. Return to your unit until further notice. At the moment, STAVKA has ordered us to withdraw to Menyusha, to the brickworks to wait for reinforcements.”

“Yes, Comrade Captain,” she said.

“By the way, sir,” Sasha added. “The quartermaster’s truck still has some rifles. Shall I make arrangements to bring them along?”

“Do that. I’ll send over one of our carriers for them. See if there’s anything else worth saving. If not, I want the rest destroyed.”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted, and Mia saluted a second later with as much snap as she was able. She was going to have to remember to do that.

Outside, Sasha clapped her on the back. “Before the carrier arrives, let’s go collect everything else you’re going to need on the march.”

They jogged back to the jumble of boxes and found that the basic field items were still available, though not necessarily in the correct size: padded jacket, water flask, mess kit, pilotka cap, underwear, boots, and a backpack to carry it all in. “A shame we can’t find a scope for you. But you’ll need more ammunition.” Sasha hooked a cartridge belt around Mia’s waist. “This should do it.”

“Jesus, you march with all this on?” Mia grumbled. “I sure hope Menyusha’s not far.”

Just then a troop carrier pulled up next to them. The sergeant who had rescued her eyed her new uniform and smiled. “Much better,” he said, and joined Sasha in hauling out the rifle crate as well as others full of ammunition.

When the work was done and the remaining supplies set ablaze, Mia and Sasha joined the stragglers who marched eastward toward Menyusha. After only an hour on the road, she already hated everything in her pack, and she knew that Menyusha would be very, very far.

* * *

With her entire body aching, Mia plodded along behind Sasha and the others heading eastward. It was nightfall when they reached the Menyusha brickworks and joined the other defenders. “Who’s in charge?” Sasha asked as they entered the heavily guarded building.

“I am.” A tall gangly man in a soiled uniform stepped toward them. “Captain Pletchev. 145th Armored Division. Who are you, Corporal?”

“Aleksandra Yekimova, Marina Zhurova, 109th Rifle Division, reporting for duty, Comrade Captain.” They both saluted.

“I see. A few other women from your division are here as well, down at the far end of the building,” he said. “Go join them until further orders. I’m waiting to hear from STAVKA about reinforcements.”

“Yes, Comrade Captain.” Sasha saluted again, and Mia snapped to attention as well.

Surprised at how easy it had been to take on a new identity, Mia strode beside Sasha down the corridor to the far end of the station. She almost laughed at the idea of what she was now, a soldier who couldn’t see clearly and had never fired a gun.

Chapter Sixteen

May 1944


Silence came with nightfall, and only a few kerosene field lanterns illuminated the cavernous workshop. Sasha and Mia moved cautiously down the center of the hall, stepping over feet and equipment while they looked for familiar faces. Finally they spotted Klavdia and Fatima, and threaded their way through the resting soldiers to join them.

Fatima glanced up and smiled. “My, my. Last time we saw you, you were bandaged and blind. You’ve changed, my friend.” She tugged on the side of Mia’s uniform pants.

Mia let her pack fall, savoring the relief to her back. Now the damned thing could serve as a cushion. With her feet, her neck, and every muscle in her back aching, she dropped onto her knees and found a tolerable position on her side. “Long story,” she said, punching a groove in her pack for her shoulder. “I’ll tell it later.” With a quiet sigh, she laid her head on the pack and started to doze.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she sat up. “Alexia! Kalya! I’m so glad to see you two.”

Alexia laid down her rifle and settled in beside her, making a backrest from her own pack. “I’m glad to see you, too, but a little confused. Sasha said you managed to come back, that you could see again, and that you wanted to stay with us. I’m sure there’s a lot more to the story.”

Kalya slid in closer to listen. “I want to hear this, too. Why the new outfit? And the gun?”

Mia rubbed her face, wondering whether to jeopardize her new friends. “Look, it’s a complicated story but also dangerous. If I tell you, you might get in trouble for not reporting me.”

Kalya beamed. “Oh, that sounds much too interesting to resist. I’ll take my chances. Talk.”

“Well, you’ll have to slide over closer where no one can hear us. And you must swear not to betray me. It could cost me my life.”

All four of the snipers nodded energetically and slid some distance away from the others to make a rough circle around Mia.

She leaned forward and began her narrative in a whisper. “You know that the plane I was on was shot down, but you don’t know that I was a prisoner. I was guarded by two NKVD men who were about to dump me out over German territory. Only the attack by the fighter planes saved me, although the crash gave me a concussion.”

Fatima scowled. “Dump you out? That can’t be true.”

“It is true. One of the NKVD men even admitted they were ordered to. It just never got that far.”