The old professor, Hepple, died in a POW camp in Germany in 1947.
Martha and Paul were reunited in 1955 and now live in Austria.
Inge emigrated to the new state of Israel in 1950.
Hans Klein emigrated to the United States.
Anton Tannhäuser remained in Germany. He spent the rest of his life rebuilding the country and was present in Berlin when the wall came down in November 1989.
About the Author
JJ Toner writes short stories and thrillers. Look for his Second World War series, that starts with The Black Orchestra He lives in Ireland. Find JJ on his website:
https://www.JJToner.com/
Too Many Wolves in The Local Woods
A Novel of Love and Fate
MARINA OSIPOVA
To Kathy Powell-Wilkinson
Contents
Synopsis
1. Natashen’ka
I. Once Upon a Time in the Soviet Workers-and-Peasants Paradise
1. Ulya
2. Natasha
3. Ulya
4. Natasha
5. Ulya
6. Natasha
7. Ulya
8. Natasha
9. Ulya
10. Ulya
11. Natasha
12. Ulya
13. Natasha
14. Ulya
15. Ulya
16. Natasha
17. Ulya
18. Natasha
19. Ulya
20. Ulya
II. Everyone Has His Own War
21. Ulya
22. Natasha
23. Ulya
24. Natasha
25. Ulya
26. Natasha
27. Ulya
28. Natasha
29. Ulya
30. Natasha
31. Ulya
32. Natasha
33. Ulya
34. Natasha
35. Ulya
36. Natasha
37. Ulya
38. Natasha
39. Ulya
40. Natasha
41. Ulya
42. Natasha
43. Ulya
44. Ulya
III. Something Else in Store
45. February 1943
46. Late spring, 1943
47. Summer 1943
48. October 1943
49. End of October-November 1943
50. End of November 1943
51. December 1943
52. Winter 1944
53. End of January 1944
54. February 1944
55. End of February 1944
56. March-June 1944
IV. The Hammer and Sickle Returns
57. June 1944
58. July 1944
59. August 1944-Winter 1945
60. March 1945
61. April 1945
Epilogue
Glossary
Notes On Russian Names
A Love Letter To My Readers
Synopsis
Two unlikely women with a shared history, two different turns of fate.
The end of the 1930s. The specter of twisted paranoia of Stalin’s unrelenting dictatorship continues to tighten over the Soviet Union. NKVD, the country's secret police, coerces University graduate Ursula Kriegshammer, a Soviet Volga German with special skills, into serving this regime.
Natasha Ivanova, a worker at a metal plant in Vitebsk, a city at the western border of the Soviet Union, still can’t recover from the betrayal of the man she loves.
When in 1941 the German Army occupied Byelorussia, both women seem to be helping the cause to fight the ruthless invaders. But when their paths cross, tragedy strikes and one must carry the burden of guilt. Will she ever find peace with herself and the way out of the trap fate prepared for her?
Years later, the daughter of one of them launches on a quest to uncover the heroic nature of her mother’s role in WWII, only to discover a heart-shattering revelation of her own parentage.
1
Natashen’ka
May 14, 1971
Moscow
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Natashen’ka enjoys the rhythmic beat and the sensation of lightness in her chest—by now, all the parts of the puzzle have come together.
When the clock strikes six, she opens her eyes. The first gray light flows unsure through the narrow, guipure curtained window. Moscow wakes up—trucks rumble, wooden boxes are dropped on the pavement, some low-key cursing filters in through the open vent. Above this noise, she hears the birds singing their tiny hearts out.
Her own heart beats in excitement. And a bit of sadness. Now she knows the truth.
Natashen’ka gets up from the bed and tiptoes to her desk over the cool parquet floor. Above it, on the three-tiered shelf, typed, copied documents, arranged into orderly piles, remind her of hundreds of hours spent in the moldy-smelling, low-ceilinged drab rooms of archives in Moscow, Vitebsk, Minsk, and in Lipetsk. On the desk, atop the cover of her thesis for the Candidate’s Degree, there is a black-and-white picture of four young people, yellowed with age and torn in two. The tear, like a scar, separates a girl and a dark-haired young man from another young man and a girl—her mother at the age of seventeen. It’s time to put these ragged parts back together.
I
Once Upon a Time in the Soviet Workers-and-Peasants Paradise
1
Ulya
September 3, 1938
Saratov, a city on the Volga River, about 800 km from Moscow
Engels, the capital of the Volga German Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic from 1918 to 1941, across from Saratov
“Kriegshammer?” There was more of a statement than a question in a male voice behind Ulya’s back.
She turned to confront a young man, his steel-gray eyes hard, passionless.
“Follow me.” He took her by the elbow.
“Where to?” She shook his hand off.
“To the Komsomol committee room.”
She moved along the corridor crammed by chatting students on their way to the canteen, her escort a half-step behind her.
In front of the familiar door, blocking the way, stood a young man in civilian clothes. His eyes swept over her. “Please, you are expected.”
She stepped into the room she knew so well. A long table, the rows of simple chairs facing it, a shelf crammed with the books of Lenin and Stalin, and a bunch of propaganda brochures. Even Stalin’s portrait, in a pretentious gold-colored wood frame, did nothing to make it a bit cheerful.
A man in his late thirties got to his feet from the chair behind the table. He was slim and tall and, since their eyes were on the same level, most likely Ulya’s height of 1m 74cm. “Senior Lieutenant Vyacheslav Konstantinovich Godyastchev, Saratov NKVD branch. Please, take a seat.”
NKVD. The People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs. What did she have to do with the secret police? Had she done something wrong? Said something wrong? She checked her memory. No, she could think of nothing.
While lowering herself on the chair, she ran through all her contacts. Her inner circle consisted of her father, her best and only friend Rita. Her interactions included her classmates. Yes, the students at the OSOAVIAKHIM too, but with them, there was very little conversation.
Assessing brown eyes behind oval metal-rimmed glasses surveyed her. Of his long lashes any girl would be jealous.
“Your name?” A quiet, pleasant voice.
“Ulya.”
“Ulya?” He gave her a quizzical look.
“Ursula Franzevna Kriegshammer.”
“Your family name sounds so . . .” A smile touched the corners of his lips. “Peculiar. Kind of militaristic.”
“A common German last name.”
“Why do you name yourself Ulya?”
She shrugged with one shoulder. “That’s how I remember being called since I was a child. I presume the youngest of the
