I won’t have to make that decision

The cocking of a gun tells me that I won’t have to make that decision. An ice cold chill cuts through my body. A deep voice comes from behind me.

“Уронишь пистолет, девушка.”

Drop your weapon, girl. The words are Russian but the accent is thick and foreign. I lay my weapon in the dirt and carefully raise my hands above my head.

“Стоишь.”

Stand. Slowly and carefully I come to my feet, standing with my back to the voice. My heart thumps in my chest.

“Пожалуйста меня не стреляете!” I beg. Please don’t shoot me.

“Смотришь меня. Медленно.” The voice beckons.

Look at me, slowly. I slowly and carefully turn around to face my assailant. He’s a rugged looking man, wearing a uniform I don’t recognize and aiming a handgun at me. His face softens when he gets a look at me.

“Как тебя зовут, девушка?”

I raise my eyebrows at the question. My name?

“Татьяна.”

“Ты убила солдаты на дороге?”

He asked me if I killed the soldiers on the road. I can feel myself sweating, and my words can’t make it past my throat.

“Татьяна, за кого сражаишься?” He asks.

I guess this is it. He asked me who I fight for. I take a deep breath, knowing that could very well be shot for my answer.

“Я сражаю за мою советскую родину!” I declare proudly, ready to face the end with courage.

“What did she say?” Another voice calls out from behind him. My eyes pop wide open. English? I was so focused on the gun that I didn’t even realize there were two of them.

“She said she fights for her Soviet motherland.” The one with the gun responds.

“Thank god.” The one in the back says. They lower their weapons and seem more at ease.

“Who are you?” I ask them. Their own eyes widen.

“You speak English?” The one in the back asks me.

“Little.” I answer. “I go to school.”

“Was that you, who killed them?” The first asks me.

“Yes.” I tell him. “I kill.”

“Maybe you could help us.” The first suggests. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Colonel James Clarke, of the United States office of strategic services.”

“You is American?”

“Are. Am.” He says. “You are, I am.”

“Sorry.” I say, and blush at my mistake.

“Don’t be.” He assures me.

“And who are you?” I ask the other.

“I am Major Roger Hobbs, of his Majesty’s special air service. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine!” I tell him.

“Perhaps you could be of service to us.” Hobbs, the Brit suggests.

Of service?

“Help us.” He says more slowly.

“What you need?” I ask him.

“We’re trying to meet up with a group of partisans operating in this area, led by a commissar named Fedorov.” Clarke, the American explains to me. “Do you know where we could find them?”

“Yes.” I answer. “I know. I am partisan.”

Suddenly Russian shouting comes from the trees around us.

“Drop your weapons!” Dadonov screams out, emerging from the trees with his weapon up, flanked by Zhukov and Kapustin.

“Stop!” I shout at them and rush forwards. “Don’t shoot!”

“Tatya, who the fuck are these men?” Dadonov asks me. They keep their weapons ready.

“They are allies!” I plead. “An American and an Englishman.”

He lowers his rifle. “American? What in the world are they doing here?”

“I don’t know.” I tell him. “But they said they were looking for our detachment, for Fedorov.”

“Go bring them in.” Dadonov orders me. “Take these foreigners to the commissar. The three of us need to stay here and take care of this mess.”