Men of Winter

Chapter XVII

I approached the pantry from the rear and noticed a figure in gray lying in the snow. From the man's half profile I could tell it was the young lieutenant. My first crazy idea was that he should be more careful because it was dangerous to sleep outside in wintertime. Then I noticed the thin trail of blood and the path where he had been dragged. Incredulous, I rolled him over and saw the crimson patch on his uniform where he had been stabbed in the chest. The blood had soaked into a perfect heart-shaped pattern. It was so ludicrous I almost laughed. The lieutenant's face was vivid blue and ice crystals had formed in his lifeless eyes. It looked like he was wearing a bogeyman's mask.

I followed the body's trail and knew where it would lead. The pantry door was ajar. I opened it all the way and quietly said, "Helena?" It was difficult to see but things had been upset and there was a black stain on the floor that marked the lieutenant's original resting place. I am ashamed to say, but I was worried about my valise and manuscripts as well and was relieved to see the case on the floor unopened. "Helena?" I said again.

She did not respond but I detected the slightest sound in the back of the pantry – as quiet as the footfall of a mouse. I walked along the standing shelves, losing light as I went. I kicked something metal with my boot; it was a gory bayonet, which spun like a compass needle for a moment. There were items on the floor throughout: empty grain sacks, the top of a crate and so on. In the farthest corner of the tent there was something black on the floor and I realized it was a bearskin. I picked it up slowly. Helena lay fetal, her face and hands aglow in the dark tent.

I leaned down. "Are you hurt? Did he injure you?"

Her eyes were open but she did not acknowledge me. I helped her to stand – she weighed nothing – and more or less carried her to a cot, which I had to set upright. I knelt before her and examined her as best I could. She seemed to be in order. Her hands were blood stained and there was a spot of it on her cheek which I tried to wipe away but was unsuccessful. Her eyes glittered in the doorway light yet seemed vacuous too. They recalled for me the lieutenant's crystalline eyes and I tried not to think of it further.

"I am sorry. I should have been here – but Zlavik kept me, talking and drinking, then I was lost in the dark...." For whom was I confessing, for Helena or myself?

Suddenly there was the sound of a massive explosion, then another: artillery.

I stood so fast my head swam for an instant. "I have to go. Zlavik is attacking. I must be there." I reached over and took my valise. "I will be back for you. I promise." I started for the door.

"Hektr. I am coming too." A single tear had rolled from Helena's eye and when she brushed it away the blood spot disappeared too. She took her coat and bag then we were outside rushing east – to find the road Zlavik had talked about. The sounds of exploding mortars were virtually continuous. When they did pause, you could hear the far-off percussions of P57s. The great battle had begun and its destined historian was miles away!

How long? I wondered. Once Zlaviak initiates the attack, how long before his forces cross Lake Aurora? I supposed timing was everything. Too soon or too late both meant disaster for his plan.

Helena and I were more or less running through the ghost camp, our breath smoking in the morning air. It seemed no one had been left behind, save for the whores and Helena and me and the lieutenant's half-frozen corpse. It was an inauspicious beginning for my career's turning point.

We came across the ruts from the trucks and horses and mules that had been used to move everything into position for the final battle: the troops, of course, but also the long- and medium-range howitzers, and the cannons left over from the previous century. Following the ruts, we easily found the clearing in the woods that Zlavik euphemistically called a road. The sounds of war grew louder. Every so often I thought I even heard the screams of the dying but it was just a trick of the wind in my ears. Or so I hoped.