Rumbling

I’m shaken awake in the back of the car by a loud rumbling, roaring from just outside the car. I prop myself up with a lot of groaning and look out the window. A Soviet tank rolls along next to us, “за родину!” painted on the turret.

“Hey you,” Clarke says from the front seat, turning his head back. “You’re finally awake!”

“Where are we?” I groan weakly.

“With the Red Army.” He tells me. A soldier steps out in front of us and flags us down. I grit my teeth and steady myself as Clarke hits the brakes.

“Who are you?” The soldier asks, coming to the window. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve got a girl that needs a doctor NOW!” Clarke yells out the window to him. The soldier leans over to look in the back seat, and a grim look crosses his face when he sees me.

“Hold on!” The soldier yells, and hurries to the other side, where he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Go right, go right!” He orders. “Now straight!”

“Hang on!” Clarke yells back to me.

“Left, left!”

“Here!”

The car screeches to a halt. I try to get up but I’m too weak and too dizzy. Both of the men get out, the soldier rushing inside a large tent, Clarke coming back to me.

I gasp when he tries to move me, but he persists and pulls me out of the back seat, scooping me up in his arms.

“We’re here!” His blurry figure yells to me. “Don’t you fucking die on me!”

I’m carried through the flap of the tent and laid on a litter. I wince when I hit the ground, then groan, rolling back and forth and holding myself where it hurts the most.

“Doctor!” Clarke shouts. “We need a doctor!”

A weathered nurse approaches him and stops, looking me over. “Next time, bring me someone that actually has a chance.” She tells him.

“Please, you have to try!”

Look how pale she is.” The nurse says. “She’ll never make it.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” A confident voice says, entering the room. I turn my head weakly to to it. It’s a man.

“With all due respect Doctor,” the nurse argues. “If we don’t pack up and leave soon, we could lose everyone when the Germans overtake us.”

“I’m not going to give up on this young lady.” The Doctor argues back. “We will just have to move fast.”

“My name is Doctor Volkov.” He says, coming to me and kneeling by my side. He gently takes the hem of my shirt and lifts it to look underneath. I know he doesn’t like what he sees, but he keeps his composure.

“What is your name?” He asks me.

“Tatyana.” I groan.

“Your full name.” The nurse demands.

“Kulikova… Romanovna.”

“And your date of birth?” She asks.

“Why?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“September 29th.” I sigh. “1922.”

“Okay.” Dr. Volkov says. “Bring her back and prepare her for surgery.”

“You’re going to be okay.” He promises, then looks up to Clarke. “Don’t worry, sir. You’ve come to the right place. Your friend is in good hands.”