Chapter 31

It took three weeks for the combined attacks of the Leningrad and Volkhov Fronts to relieve Peter the Great's city from 17 months of siege. The Russians stacked 12 Divisions of approximately 10,000 men each against 4 German, all seriously depleted. Nevertheless, given the unequal odds, it still took Sviridov's 67th Army and Fedyuninsky's 2nd Shock Army to close the gap of some 16 kilometres. On January the 17th 1943 Sviridov entered Petrokrepost' and opened the city to the outside World.

698,000 of Leningrad's population had died from starvation, disease and military action. The remaining population ran out to meet the tanks, delirious with joy. Railway communications were opened up on February the 6th, but still, that corridor was barely 10 kilometres wide. The Russian armies had been stopped on the river Mga.

Benin, in Novgorod, listened to the news broadcasts with mounting excitement. She held a fondness for Leningrad, being her and John's first 'home' in Russia. They'd enjoyed their time there and the nearest the Soviet Union came to a Bohemian life.

But the cellar Jazz clubs were now holes in the ground where the citizens cowered for shelter from the cold and the German bombs and shells. The ornate and beautiful palaces, the famous whorehouses, the 18th century churches had either been demolished or clung to life potmarked by high explosives.

Not, it needs to be said, that the palaces, whorehouses and churches had seen much official use during the Stalin years, at least not for their original purpose. But, it was rumoured, at least one whorehouse, Madam Grusha's, had soldiered on catering for top Party officialdom.

But it was all good news for the Russian Nation and there began to develop an optimism that the invaders were shortly going to be expelled from the Motherland.

Stalin thought so too and dished out 19,000 medals to the heroes of the 67th and the 2nd Shock. It was all a bit premature, because Hitler and OKH were already planning Germany's counterstroke.

This was to be an attempt to reverse the situation in the South on the Kharkov Front. The panzers were going to sieze back the initiative with a grand attack on the so-called Kursk Salient.

Jana Ivanova returned with Voroshilov's staff from Leningrad. The suffering and destruction had affected them all, and an atmosphere of sadness pervaded the headquarters, despite the victory.

A letter from John was waiting for her when she got back to her quarters. That in itself was a rare event, and something to celebrate, but it carried the news that John had been given a furlough and was coming to see her. He would be arriving by train in a week's time.

She hadn't told him she was pregnant. She didn't really want to deal with it now anyway. Their's wasn't a relationship where his feelings on the subject had any bearing on her decision on whether to seek an abortion, in any case. But the facilities were available and it wouldn't be any trouble to terminate if she so wished.

But she was leaving that decision awfully late. It had been pinned on her mythical 'to do' list ever since she'd found out, but that was back in December. Somehow, more urgent matters had required her attention.

Jana realised John would have to be told and she was apprehensive. Unusually for her, she hadn't taken any lovers since her and John had got together. Long ago she had decided she'd never live with any man, or woman for that matter. John had been the closest she'd come to having a regular boyfriend.

She sat out on the small balcony that overlooked the Moscow river. It was night, it was cold, and she was wrapped in furs. The thought of John visiting set her heart fluttering like a schoolgirl's. If he asked her to live with him, she wasn't sure what her answer would be. She wondered whether the thought of a child would enter into the equation. Perhaps, she thought, that was why she hadn't done anything about it? Perhaps she secretly hoped John would ask her to be his wife?

But what of Benin? That Spanish woman had first claim and he doubted John would have the spine to leave her and their child for her. Maybe, she chuckled to herself, they could all move in together after the war? That would set the Party moralists with a problem, she thought. 'I wonder how they'd deal with war heroes bucking the social mores?'

Could she stand being part of John's harem, she wondered? She thought not. Sure, it may be fine for the first few months, but then... A vision flashed before her eyes of she and Benin fighting over John's naked body. The dream ended with the two women agreeing to sleep with each other instead. All that, Jana grinned, and she'd never met the lady, had no idea what she looked like except she was Spanish. Perhaps the two would hit it off? And maybe John could be used for a little bit of variety when they needed a spell?

Some 500 kilometres to the Northwest of Moscow in Novgorod, Benin, too, had received a letter from John. It was sparse of news, in his usual style, but promised to come and see her in three weeks.

A normal furlough was for a month, she thought. If so, what was detaining him? She quickly dismissed the thought, she knew the answer.

In any case, she had her own game of sexual politics to contend with. News of her one night stand, or more accurately, 5 minute stand with Pavel Rodel had spread around the unit. It offended her that the others now considered her to be the Captain's whore. She was tired of the knowing looks and the smart remarks.

Pavel had not the first clue on how to seduce a woman or be a lover. Benin wondered how his wife must feel and felt sorry for her. If that was all the experience she'd had of sex...

But he seemed immensely proud of herself for fucking her over a stinking bunk in a dirty cell. It didn't seem to dawn on him that that was anything but an erotic experience for her. She wanted to forget about the whole thing but Pavel wouldn't let her.

The next morning he'd trapped her and planted a kiss on her mouth. His hand had grabbed her around the bottom and felt her up like a prize sow. She'd felt degraded and managed to slip out of his grasp making some excuse. He still behaved possessively towards her shooing the men away. It had to stop, but she wasn't sure how she could do it within the confines of Service discipline, the chain of command and the reality of a woman's life in the Military.

For, as in all services in all Nations, women had to walk on eggshells. Certainly in the Red Army women were sometimes regarded as fair game for the men. Despite regulations, loose and unevenly applied in any case, most young women were pressured for sex. If one took a lover, you were regarded as a whore. If one resisted, then you were frigid or a lesbian. In this socialist paradise such attitudes were still common and it was up to the woman to find some kind of middle road. Certainly, the heirarchy weren't going to protect you. They all came through the same system and were subjected to the same attitudes.

At the end of duty that day, Pavel suggested she see him in his quarters. She told him she would, but only that they needed to talk. He agreed, perhaps believing she'd succumb to his 'charm' in the end.

He sat on his bed, patting it anmd urged her to sit beside him. Benin ignored it, found a stool, and sat opposite him. The room was small, having once served as the duty officer's day room from when the building served as a local Police Station.

"Pavel," she began, "I think you... we, should stop," she told him.

"Why?" he asked, confused. At this point she'd considered telling him about her 'husband's' imminent arrival, that he was a Lieutenant-Colonel and extremely jealous as well as influential in Moscow. It may have worked, too, but she thought she'd try a softer tack before pulling rank.

"Pavel... you're a nice man, I like you. But..." Dammit, she had to tell him the truth. "Pavel, I'm not going to be screwed over a bunk in a filthy cell and have you call it love!" She leaned back, waiting for his reaction.

"You not like it?" he asked.

"No!" she said, firmly. He looked down as if crestfallen. 'He really didn't have any idea, ' she thought. She'd wounded his ego and, in some strange way, she felt guilty. "Do you really like me? Or am I just some piece of meat?"

"Sure, I like," he told her.

"Then don't you think I deserve some respect?"

"Sure!" he brightened.

"Then," she chuckled, "perhaps one day we can do it properly so I can get something out of it too?"

She wasn't sure why she'd said it. She hadn't intended to offer him another opportunity. But then, she was sure, John was with Jana and why couldn't she have her little fun as well? Maybe if she showed Pavel a little technique then, who knows, it might even make him a better husband? At least she got him to promise not to paw and slobber all over her and she could still get John to have him posted to Azerbaijan as a train guard if it didn't work out.

The train blasted into Moscow Southern Station amid the roaring of steam and the screech of air brakes. Snowflakes were falling and the immense snowplough on the front of the locomotive sparkled with ice. The rear of the train was normally reserved for senior officers and Jana pushed past the throngs along the platform. As usual a guard and a gate protected the bigshots' privacy by fencing off the rear two carriages. This she negotiated by presenting her ID to the bored man.

On the offside of the platform, several black sedans waited to whisk off the Officers to their various meetings, offices, quarters or whorehouses. All was spit and polish as aides strutted around as if on parade.

And there was John, in dress uniform but open at the neck. She laughed because she knew he didn't like anything tight around his throat. He came over to her grinning, his big arms out wide. They hugged and kissed oblivious to those around them. It didn't matter, some of the other officers were doing the same thing.

John steered them past the waiting cars. Apparently they were only for full Colonels and above. He had to carry his own luggage too. Although he was permitted to, John had never bothered to acquire an aide.

But even Lieutenant-Colonels, no matter how temporary, weren't to be fucked with and soldiers threw the pair snappy salutes all the way back to Jana's quarters.

Although Jana was still only a Major, her position on Marshal Voroshilov's staff earned her fairly decent quarters. She lived in an apartment block, as virtually every Muscovite did, but it was spacious and featured a small balcony. John was impressed, it was certainly better than one end of an abandoned railway carriage that still served for his accomodation at Abganerovo.

Jana needed to talk to him, but was also realistic. Not much talking was possible until they had sex. It was a normal response, she mused, for a soldier returning from the front to have his mind on mating and little else.

The corridor outside her apartment was busy, as usual. It was not uncommon to have soldiers living there. Accomodation was difficult to be had in Moscow, especially with the numbers of troops expecting to be quartered somewhere. There were approximately 700,000 soldiers based in the immediate vicinity of Moscow as well as the Local Defence Volunteers, sundry Militias and various Labour Corps that had all flooded into Moscow from the satelite towns to aid in its defence. Behind them, in Kalinin Square, a tent city had sprung up and the statues and fountains competed with anti-aircraft guns for space.

Jana's hands were shaking as she unlocked the door. John was standing behind her and she could feel his air of expectantcy. She wrestled it open with a weak smile.

"You want some tea?" she asked in a voice louder than normal.

"Sure!" he shrugged. John followed her into the small kitchen and remained behind her as she prepared the jug. Tea was next to impossible to be had. Some ersatz coffee was available for those with contacts. Curiously, it was smuggled in from Sweden who obtained it from Germany. Made from Barley extract, the most one could say about ersatz was that it was warm.

Jana sucked in her breath as John placed his hands on her hips. As she waited for the jug to boil, he nuzzled her neck. She could sense, and feel, his growing excitement. Wordlessly, he slipped his hands around her waist and drew her back against him. She trembled slightly as she felt the warmth of his body.

Ink was also hard to obtain. The GRU office in Novgorod used a watery Blue, Green and Red ink for official reports. The green for margins, blue for text and red for comments, recommendations and footnotes. The ink often faded or became blotchy. It was one of the many inconveniences they had to suffer.

Benin recognised the colours of the hand crafted little plaque that appeared on her desk one morning. The carved Siberian scene had been carefully colourised with the office fountain pen ink. An elk stood proud, surveying the taiga as it erupted in the brilliant colours of the brief Spring. Benin had no doubt who the artist was. Such a gift would never have occurred to John.

Pavel breezed in trying to pretend that it was business as usual. He muttered and smiled in his usual way then proceeded to his desk and picked up the day files. Benin looked on amused as he pretended to read the prisoner muster. He held it up in front of his face like a schoolboy trying to avoid the teacher's gaze.

"Thank you, Pavel," Benin said, "it's very nice!"

"Eh? Oh that!" he replied, "is just something I did last night." Benin didn't believe him. The work must have taken him a week of carving, painting and lacquering with God-knows-what he used as a varnish. Even the resourceful GRU Captain couldn't have conjured up varnish or shellac.

"What did you use?" she asked him.

"Oh, that?" he tried to sound off-hand, "the wood is seasoned fir. The paint is office ink and the lacquer is my special secret formula, a mixture of pine, used sump and diesel oils. But it has to be blended just so." Benin sniffed, it reeked of diesel and the faint, sweet aroma of pine trees. She laughed. Pavel put down his paper. He looked anxious, perhaps even offended.

"No," she told him, "I don't mean to upset you. It's amazing... really. I don't know what to say. I didn't know you were such... such an artist."

"We Rodels are all craftsmen and artists," he told her, "musicians too. You want me to play the balalaika?"

"You have one?"

"No," he grinned, "not here. Many of us Siberians learn such things," he explained, "because of the long Winter months... to counteract the boredom, you understand."

"Yes, I see."

"So we make art," he continued, "read, write books, poetry... tell stories and sing."

"It must be fabulous!"

"Yes. It's a good life there. We make our own amusement. Only," he added, "not many women up there. Not, I think, pretty ones."

"You must find Novogorod... a revelation?"

"Revelation?" he considered, "maybe not revelation. But there're many pretty girls, here." He stared briefly at Benin. "But not," he added, "many like you."

"Oh now," she blushed, "you haven't been looking very hard. In any case, you're married, kids?"

"Yes," he agreed, sighing, "a girl who is my cousin... It was arranged when my Father thought it was time I got married. I had very little say..."

"Oh, come now," Benin told him, "you could've refused. What? Your Father held a gun to your head?"

"Oh, no! Don't get me wrong. I could've refused, but why should I? Who else was there? She is good woman... fine Mother."

"But you still want to cheat?"

"Ah," he shrugged, "it's like a boy who falls asleep one day. He wakes up suddenly and finds he is a grown man. He doesn't know what to do... so many things he feels but doesn't know what to do... how to live in this new World."

"I see," Benin replied, "so you've suddenly gone from the wilderness to civilisation?"

"Exactly, see? I often wonder just where all these people came from... all these pretty women. You maybe think," he continued, "you might try... maybe again? I treat you nice, you see!"

"You want me to sleep with you?" Benin asked. His doe eyes were fixed on her expectantly. "No prison cells, dirty beds?"