Wake up

“How do you feel?” A voice asks me. My vision returns to me with rushes of light, until I can make out Dr. Volkov’s face.

“How do you feel?” He repeats.

“Warm, kind of like… I’m floating.”

“Those are the ****.” He explains to me. “Enjoy it now, because it’s going to hurt when they wear off.”

I nod at him.

“You’re a very lucky girl.” He tells me. “We almost lost you, but you’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it.”

“Where is the man who brought me here?” I ask.

“He refused to leave your side until I was sure that you would live.” Dr. Volkov explains. “It seems like he really cares about you.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

“They made him move along, but he left this note.” He says, giving me a piece of paper. I take it and clutch it tightly to my chest. “Now it is our time to move along.” He turns to his nurses. “Bring her outside with the others.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Please.” He says. “This is what I do.”

Two nurses come to pick up my litter. The first one I saw when I was brought into the field hospital is by my head.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you.” She tells me, helping carry me outside. “Anybody else your size would have been dead. You must be very tough.”

I don’t have the energy to say anything, but I look up at her, my chest rising and falling.

“Up you go.” She says, and I’m lifted on the back of a truck with some other wounded. The nurses leave me.

I bring my hand down to my stomach, and feel that it’s been bandaged, then unfold the piece of paper in my hands.

Tatya,

Even though our countries are allies, I have not felt very welcome here. They’re making me move along, and seem eager to put me on a plane and ship me away. They didn’t even want to allow me to write this note, but I insisted. I refused to go until the doctor assured me that you would survive.

I’m going to miss you. American and British girls simply do not compare to you. You are one of a kind. I’m leaving you my address at the bottom of the page. Look me up, or write me after the war. Hopefully I’ll still be alive. I don’t know where I’m going next. I love you.

James

“Hey.” A voice says. “Devushka.”

I fold the note and put it away, then look up at a young soldier.

“What?” I ask him.

“How are you?” He asks.

“What do you think? I’m a casualty.”

He looks down, his arm in a cast. “Me too.”

“Just let me sleep.” I plead.

“That’s no way to talk to your comrade.”

“Really?” I ask. “Look around.” I tell him. “Look at all these men, all going the wrong way.”

“The Germans have re-organized.” He explains. “We can’t stop them here.”

“So you run. You couldn’t stop them at Minsk, or Kiev. You’re not going to stop them here.” I argue. “Where? Where will the mighty Red Army make its stand? Where will she defend her people?”

“I’m not sure.” The wounded soldier says to me. “But judging from the maps…”

“Where?” I ask. “Where are you going to stop running? Where are you going to stand up to these fascist bastards?”

He has one word for me.

“Stalingrad.”