Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics Read online

  “Don’t worry, Lena. I’m sure I’ll be fine, as long as this tree doesn’t fight back.” He reaches up and, with some effort, twists off a low branch full of large fir cones. He looks up at her, still standing on the path, and smiles. “It’s not much, I know. A lady like you deserves a whole garden full of roses, but this will have to do for now.” He holds up the branch to her. “Well? Aren’t you coming down?”

  “I would…” she looks down uncertainly, her lantern still raised. “But I’m not sure I can manage.”

  “Come on,” he raises his arms to her. “Trust me, Lena. I’ll keep you safe.”

  She hesitates for a moment, then steps off the path towards him. It is even steeper than she realized and she finds herself stumbling slightly, slipping on the icy ground. But Konstantin catches her, wrapping his strong arms around her body. She breathes him in, her face pressed against his body, delighting in his manly smell and the scent of tar soap. Something hard digs into her chin and she realizes it’s one of his medals.

  “What did you get these for?” she asks, fingering the medals.

  “These?” he says, as though he has only just noticed them. “Oh, they’re for my role in holding back the German Panzers in a tank battle, just outside Moscow.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Well, this one,” he points to the medal, “is for assuming command of the tank division when our battalion leader was killed. This one,” he says, tapping the star, “is for taking down twenty-eight of the German tanks.”

  She looks up at him, her eyes wide and bright. “Really? That’s amazing! What happened?”

  “When we heard the German Panzers were heading to Moscow, I was put in charge of one of the tanks as we headed out to cut them off at Klimt. It was tough going, but worse for them than for us, I think. On the third day of the combat the commander’s tank took a direct hit from one of the German shells. It blew the poor bastards to bits and caused no end of panic across the battalion. Someone had to take control, so I stepped in and tried to get things organized again.”

  “Just like that? You took charge of the whole division? Thousands of soldiers, hundreds of tanks?”

  “Just like that,” says Konstantin. He smiles at Elena, though there is a sadness to it and his eyes have a slightly haunted, far-away look. “Though it was hardly the whole division. We were being swiftly whittled away by the Germans. But then we got a lucky break. We managed to ambush a column of their tanks, taking out the front two with one masterful shot each.” He mimes shooting with a finger. “Once they were immobilized, the tanks behind got snarled up, with the whole lot bunched up, unable to get past. At this point, we struck the tanks at the rear a couple of devastating blows, leaving the whole column stranded, with no way forward or back. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. My tank alone destroyed twenty-eight of the German machines. It was beautifully done and that’s how I got the Star of Hero.”

  “You hit twenty-eight German tanks?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised!” he says with a laugh. “It may well have been more. It’s hard to concentrate on counting when you’re busy looking for the next enemy, while trying to take ground at the same time. Anyway, I can hardly take the credit for it. It’s Mikhail Koshkin who should get the medals. He designed the T34s. We just point them at the enemy and pull the trigger! It’s simply the best war machine in existence and it’s a Russian one!”

  “Better than the German tanks?” she asks, as together they make their way back up the slope towards the path.

  “They don’t even compare!” he says, helping her up. “Look at it like this. The Germans have their Panzer III and IVs. Admittedly they’re pretty accurate, but their shells have hardly any effect on our T34s if they get much further away than a pistol shot.” He gestures to the gun hanging from his belt then, realizing he is still holding the fir branch, he hands it to Elena with a smile. “Here you are, my lady.”

  She mirrors his smile. “Thank you, Kostya. You were saying?”

  “Yes, so those are the German tanks. Our T34, however, is far superior. Its armor is thicker and stronger, almost impenetrable to enemy shells unless they get right up close, maybe fifty meters or so. But they won’t want to get close, since we can penetrate a Panzer at fifteen hundred meters! Not only that, but the T34 can move more easily over the churned up, muddy ground. Like I said, it’s superior in every way!”

  “Wow!”

  “Quite,” says Konstantin, taking her arm as they continue their walk through the quiet town. “And when the rounds get there, they hammer straight through the Nazi Panzers. Hence being able to take out twenty-eight of them with a single T34!”

  “I guess that’s quite impressive,” Elena teases, though she finds it hard to conceal her admiration. Thinking back to the years of preparation for her own mission, she asks, “You must have been in training for years to handle a tank so skillfully, yes?”

  He laughs at the apparent absurdity of the question. “Years? As if we can afford such a luxury! My training consisted of one week being shouted at, dragged on thirty-kilometer marches and shown which lever and which button in the tanks did what. That was it!”

  “One week?!” Now it is Elena’s turn to marvel at this absurd idea and almost chokes on the words. “Surely not!”

  “One week for tank training isn’t actually that bad! But I got three years of training as an infantry officer at the military academy beforehand. It’s better than most. The vast majority of our soldiers were non-military personnel before all this kicked off. Training and mobilizing so many people in such a short space of time is simply an amazing feat! I’m proud to be part of such an army. Our army. The Red Army.”

  They continue in silence for a while as they are both lost in their own thoughts. No doubt he’s thinking about how wonderful Soviet Russia is, she thinks, and that the Red Army is unbeatable. I bet he believes every bit of propaganda they spew out. He’s blinded to the fact that Stalin, the self-proclaimed “Leader of the People”, and his cowardly cronies are using them as cannon fodder. Thousands of men and women, like that poor sergeant in Smolensk, all of them thrown in front of the German Wehrmacht with only a handful of decent weapons in the hope that sheer numbers will make a difference. Moscow was only really saved because Hitler made some mistakes and failed to realize just how bad winter is here, just like Napoleon. But what about next time? What happens if the Germans return when it starts to warm up again? How many good men like Konstantin will be mown down then to protect Stalin? She glances up at him, still silent, and imagines him in his full uniform, his strong features framed by the helmet worn by the tank commanders. Oh, I bet he looks good in one of them!

  He notices her watching him and clears his throat. “So,” he says, “what about you? Where did you get this medal for courage?” He reaches out and taps a finger on the medal Elena is wearing. An unexpected thrill of excitement passes through her as his hand brushes against her breast.

  “Oh, this?” she says. “I got it here in Yartsevo. After we escaped from the Germans at Smolensk, we eventually circled our way round to this town. By then the Nazis had already settled it, so we took it back from them!”

  “Really? You fought here?”

  “Yes. And it was a hot fight, too. As you can see…” Their journey across the town has brought them to an area where the devastation of warfare is only too evident. Although all the bodies have been taken away, the ground is still littered with rubble and other debris and here and there the lantern reveals dark patches, where the dead and dying once lay. Together, hand-in-hand, they pick their way through the ruins, looking around at the devastation that has become an all-too-common site.

  Eventually Konstantin breaks the heavy silence. “I heard that Stalin invited some of the top British officers, Montgomery and guys like that, to come here and observe how bravely the Red Army fought. Is it true?”

  “Yes. And they came at just the right time, thanks to Rokossovsky. It was under his excellent leadership th
at we took back the town. Those Nazi bastards didn’t have a chance once he stepped in to sort things out!” She smiles as she thinks of Rokossovsky, whom she has grown to admire and even idolize during her time in Russia. He reminds her of “The Eagle”, Prince Pyotr Bagration, one of the great generals of the Imperial Russian Army who fought against Napoleon. Like Rokossovsky, Bagration was hugely popular with the people. “After Yartsevo was taken back, the British signed an agreement with us to provide material aid in our fight against the Germans.”

  “Rokossovsky!” Konstantin breathes out the name as though he, too, is in awe of him. “He is surely one of the best officers we’ve ever had! And to secure the aid of the British, too. That’s amazing. Did you get to see any of the English bigwigs?”

  “Unfortunately not. But then, they didn’t come here for public relations and I was far too busy fighting like a damn lion!”

  Konstantin stops and turns to face her, his eyes wide.

  Careful, Helen, she thinks, resisting the urge to close her eyes and relish the feel of his touch. This guy is no mere foot soldier! I need to be careful, even with such a lovely man as this.

  But Konstantin smiles, reaching up to her forehead to adjust a strand of hair that has slipped out from beneath her cap. “And I bet you were a very pretty lion, too, full of fury with your flying yellow mane and your icy blue eyes. I wish I’d been there to see it!” Elena smiles as she closes her eyes, enjoying the feel of his fingers on her skin. “You poor girl,” he says, still gently touching her hair. “You’re supposed to play with children, not guns.” As his fingers brush against her temples and down to caress her neck, she feels dizzy to be so close to her dream man. She gives in and closes her eyes, longing to be lost for a moment, to fly up and away from this endless war. She feels him drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper. “Lena. You are so beautiful.” The desire to get closer to him, to kiss him, is almost overwhelming. “Oh Lena, what will tomorrow bring for us?”

  “Who can say?” she says breathlessly, her arms wrapping around his neck gently, enjoying this wonderful closeness and giving him a chance to kiss her deeply, properly.

  I want to love him, she thinks, her body singing with desire.

  “Are we going to have a chance to meet again, Kostya?” she whispers, stroking his dark hair.

  He reaches up a hand to twine his fingers into hers. “I’d love to.”

  “Look.” She points towards the horizon where the sun is just beginning to cast a dim glow.

  He draws close, clutching her to his chest. “Yes, a new day is coming. And we have to move out towards the southwest.”

  “Really?” She cannot hide the shock in her voice. “When do you have to leave?”

  “This morning.”

  “This morning?” she says, feeling a stab of pain in her heart at the thought of him leaving.

  He nods sadly. “I’m afraid so. Can I write to you a letter, Lena?”

  ~

  “Lena!”

  She bursts awake, confused for a moment before she remembers where she is. In her dream she was back on the farm with her family in Arizona, bathing beneath the warm, summer sun. They were all together—her father, her mother and her dear grandma, leaning on her walking stick and smiling toothlessly, wishing she was going away to see the land of her birth.

  “Lena!” The voice comes again, snapping her out of the reverie. It is closer this time and, a moment later, Katya hurries into the room. “Lena, have you heard the news?”

  Elena rubs the tiredness from her eyes and peers at her friend. “I don’t know,” she says. “What news?”

  “The Japanese have invaded America. They’ve bombed Pearl Harbor.”

  “What?” she sits up, suddenly wide awake.

  “It’s in Hawaii,” Katya adds helpfully.

  “I know where Pearl Harbor is. Is it true? What happened?”

  “Word just came through. A load of Japanese planes attacked Pearl Harbor. Which means the Unites States and Britain have now declared war on Japan!”

  “That’s insane!” she says, hardly able to believe it. “They attack the U.S.? That’s suicide!”

  “And that’s not all. Rokossovsky says that since Germany is allied with Japan, Hitler might declare war on the United States. He can’t risk upsetting another important ally!”

  Elena struggles not to give herself away to Katya, but she suddenly recalls a conversation with her instructor about the possibility of an attack on U.S. soil by the Germans, some crazy scheme to create a plane that will leave the Earth’s atmosphere.

  “Leave the Earth’s atmosphere?” she had asked. “Is that even possible?”

  Her instructor had nodded. “Theoretically, yes, it is. And Hitler’s got some of his top scientists and engineers on the case. If anyone can make it happen, they can.”

  “But why? Why would the Germans want to bomb us?”

  “Well, it’s not us particularly that the Nazis are after,” said the instructor, straightening the pencils on his desk absentmindedly. “They’re specifically looking to bomb the Jews, and Hitler claims that the epicenter of the Jewish capitalist conspiracy is in New York.”

  Helen was both shocked and fascinated by this idea. “And how’s this… space plane supposed to work?”

  “Well, apparently it is supposed to be able to hold its position above the atmosphere as the planet rotates beneath it. It doesn’t need much fuel because the Earth does all the work. It just sits there and waits for New York to roll round, and then drops its payload!”

  Helen was skeptical about the idea at the time. It had sounded crazy. But now, she is worried. The sooner she can get in touch with her U.S. contacts the better. She gets a grip on herself and simply raises her eyebrows.

  “Thanks for telling me, Katya,” she says. “This is good news for us.”

  “You bet it is! Once the Americans get stuck in from the west, the Nazis will have to pull out of Russia to defend themselves. This could be the lucky break we’ve been waiting for!”

  Still excited, Katya rushes back out of the room, and Elena listens for a moment as she shares the news with other women in the barrack.

  I guess there’s no point worrying about everyone back home, she thinks as she heaves herself out of bed and snatches up her uniform. At least I’m in a position where I can make a difference. Here, in the strange country of my grandmother, I can fight for my homeland. It makes me feel good and proud of myself. I made the right decision to come out here.

  Kharkov, Ukraine. March 1943

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Elena looks up at a sharp rapping on the dormitory door.

  “Yes?” she calls and smiles as her friend, Katya, enters the room. “Is it nearly time?”

  “The Captain reckons they’ll be here in forty minutes or so.” She pauses, giving Elena a meaningful look. “Well? Aren’t you going to get ready? You haven’t seen him in ages!”

  “What do you mean? I am ready.” With the piece of paper held between her fingers, she gestures to herself dramatically and says with a smile, “Are you saying I don’t look beautiful?”

  “Hah. As if! Well, some of us need a bit more time to get ourselves presentable.” Katya gestures to herself and Elena sees what she means. Her light hair, which was long when Elena first met her, has been cut short by someone who clearly wasn’t skilled at hairdressing. And though Elena has grown to enjoy her friend’s twisted sense of humor during their time together, and even her tendency to panic at the slightest provocation, she could not call Katya pretty. Her nose is slightly too long, her eyes just a little too far apart and she has a large, brown birthmark on her forehead. “Fair point!” says Elena with a wink. “You’d better get to work.”

  “Very funny! Meet you out front in fifteen minutes.” And with that she disappears, the door swinging slowly closed behind her.

  Elena looks back at the paper she is holding, torn at the edges and spattered with old mud—her first letter from Konstantin. The second lies
across her lap.

  Only two, she thinks. Two! In all the months since I last saw him, since we walked the moonlit streets of Yartsevo together. It seems almost a lifetime ago! Several lifetimes even. So many of those I’ve got to know since I came to Russia have died, killed in this endless, vicious fighting. Fighting that has kept us so far apart. And all I have are these two letters. They didn’t have much information worth passing on to my U.S. contacts, but then these are really meant for my eyes only.

  It had only been days after their first meeting when Elena began the twenty-five day march south to the Ukrainian city of Kharkov, which the Nazis had seized the previous year. On the journey, Elena became increasingly aware of the change in the season. The ice had long since melted away, replaced by the first flowers pushing their way up to the sunlight, and all around the land was turning from the grey of winter to the green flush of spring. It seemed strange to think of warfare when life was bursting out all around. Meanwhile, Konstantin had been whisked away with his tank division and swept up in the counterattack to force the Germans out of Russia before turning southeast to defend the city of Stalingrad.

  She looks down at his first letter. Its unfolded page so familiar to her, its words almost committed to memory. She picks it up and reads it once again.

  “Lenochka,” it begins, and Elena smiles at his cute, special name for her. “Lenochka, my little bluet. Words can hardly describe just how much I miss you, my darling. My heart burns for you. My body yearns for you. My every waking thought is of you, and at night I drift into the darkness imagining falling into your gentle embrace. Not that there is much time for sleep here! But at least I don’t have to spend my nights in the tank anymore. We abandoned them shortly after getting to Stalingrad, since tanks are pretty useless for city-based warfare. The Germans found that out the hard way, when they tried to barge their way in using their puny Panzers. We’ve got some guys here who are a crack shot with a bottle of incendiary mixture—what the Finn’s call the “Molotov Cocktail”—and a decent number of them make quick work of a Nazi tank! Wish you could have seen it, though no doubt you’ve witnessed plenty of destruction on your end.”