Over Fields of Fire

rebellion173. All that Aunty Anisya had left from him was an enlarged photo of the dashing seaman and their two kids — Kolya and Panya, who she had had to raise on her own. With the years the pain of his loss had begun to pass away, and Anisya had acquired her cheerful character again.

After all my misfortunes I had at last arrived at mum’s in the village of Volodovo… We were sitting with our arms around each other, with my Aunty at the table covered by a festive homespun white tasselled tablecloth. A samovar polished with brick dust to a glitter close to gold — as it had seemed to me in my childhood — was boiling on the table. This samovar was the ‘medium’ one. It was called that because we had three samovars at home, presented by the priest Gavriil — mum’s uncle, brother of my Grandmother Anna. The first samovar was the biggest — a bucket of water would fit into it; the medium one contained half a bucket, and the smallest five glasses. Mum used to boil it up quickly early in the morning, and first of all drank tea from it. The big one would be heated up with charcoal beforehand, and only when the whole family was together. It was especially good at home on Saturdays. The banya174 would be heated, and at the beginning, when the heat was highest, the menfolk would bathe, and after that the womenfolk. After the banya we would drink tea till we sweated. On the table there would be dishes of soaked red bilberries, cranberries and whortleberries…

We had a lot of fiction literature at home. Where had those many books come to a remote village from? That same priest Gavriil used to bring them to us kids, as presents, and a lot of books had accumulated at our place. He used to tell us a lot of history, geography, knew plenty of verse. I remember Father Gavriil advising us what to read. And now, in 1945, when with my Aunty I sat at the festive table laid in honour of my ‘resurrection from the dead’, and when mum had come out of the kitchen bringing plates of snacks, Aunty announced loudly (so mum would hear it):

“And now, my little niece, I’ll tell you how your mum held your wake. I won’t tell a lie”, my Aunty began. “There was plenty of food on the table, there were wine glasses, and she went and took the decanter from the locker, poured each of us a full wine glass, and put the decanter back in the locker, and then turned the key around to lock it up!”

“What you’re saying is not true, Anisushka!” mum beseeched.

But Aunty Anisya, giving me a wink, went on: “What do you mean, not true? It’s the truth, the plain truth!”

Mum was distressed, having failed to understand another of Anisya’s jokes, but Aunty kept clowning, and so cheerful, so warm was it in my soul after all I had been through, that now I can’t convey all this, I can’t find the right words…

Here is another episode from that distant time. When mum had received a message from me, and the neighbours had confirmed that she hadn’t lost her mind and that her younger daughter Anyutka was alive, mum put on her holiday clothes in celebration and headed to the District Military Commissariat.

Later the military commissar would recall that visit: “A babushka175 came in agitated — and went straight to me. ‘Sonny’, she says, ‘get me rid of this accursed pension!’ I begin to question the babushka, ‘what’s your surname, who are you, who is the pension for’, but she kept on about the same thing: “Get rid of the pension, and that’s it!’ At last I sorted out what was what, gave her a seat, gave her some tea — and she left, pacified…”

36. The Colonel’s suit

When the zampolit of our regiment, Major Shvidkiy, found me in the 16th Aerial Army Headquarters, he handed me a letter. It began with somewhat unusual words:

Dear Annoushka! I am very sick, writing from bed, but it’s a pleasure to write to you. When we’d lost you, I couldn’t come to my senses from grief for quite some time. Do you understand that feeling? I don’t understand it clearly myself, but I know for sure that you mean a lot to me. Maybe it’s not the right time to write about it, because you’ve got other stuff to think about. I’ve been doing everything I can for you and even a bit more than that. Be as cool-headed as you can, but be persistent. I hope Major Shvidkiy will bring you back to the regiment! I beg you to come and see me first thing, for otherwise I’ll be offended. Everyone in the regiment is waiting for you. If they don’t allow you to come — be patient and remember that you’re always on my mind and I will be nagging the commanders. But I do want to believe that you will come…

I embrace your slender shoulders as a friend and wish you well.

With deep respect,

V. Timofeev

21.02.45.

This letter was written by the Commander of our 197th Ground Attack Aviation Division Colonel Vyacheslav Arsenyevich Timofeev. His words amazed and delighted me, and its content made me pensive. Why was he writing to me like that? I didn’t know much about him… Moreover, I’d always related to the commanders with a certain alienation and mistrust. They even joked in the regiment that Egorova simply ignored the commanders, and because of that still hung around with the lieutenants while acting as a lieutenant-colonel. I had even had a ‘conflict’ with the Division Commander. Back then the regiment was relocating to the Dys aerodrome near Lublin. I’d been scheduled to move there with the last group. Whilst I was standing and talking to the pilots, the Division Commander appeared out of the blue. He came up to us, and I reported by the book and said that an Il-2 would soon be ready after repairs and we would be taking off.

“Take me up with you”, the colonel asked as if joking.

“What do you mean ‘take me up’? You’re welcome to fly with us. But you, as the senior in rank, will be the leader”, I replied.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to be leader. I’d better form up at the rear of your group”, the colonel said again, — overacting a bit, as I thought.

“I don’t like the superiors looking over my shoulder!” I rapped out without stopping to think. The colonel took offence, turned around and left, saying nothing. After that he did his best not to notice me, and I was glad of it: one way or another I was further out of the commanders’ sight.

But nevertheless I was cheered by that letter. I was pleased to know that there was someone in the wide world who thought and cared about me, was trying to improve my lot. It turned out that Timofeev had requested Shvidkiy take me to the Division Headquarters, which was based in Zamtera. We did so, and the Division Commander received me joyfully and cordially. He kept my hands in his for some time, looking closely at the burns, and then suddenly kissed them. I quickly jerked my hands back and blushed, and he began to invite me and Shvidkiy to have lunch with him. The Komdiv176 called an orderly and instructed him to bring three lunches from the aerial personnel mess, and produced a bottle of wine from somewhere. After lunch the Komdiv said: “Now, Annoushka, you need to stay in our army hospital, get treatment and then, when the doctors give their verdict and depending on how you’re feeling, we’ll decide the question of your further service…”

They kept me in the army hospital a short time and sent me to Moscow at the disposal of the Air Force Personnel Department (my position — Regimental Navigator — was scheduled to the Air Force Personnel Department). The head of the Personnel Department General Shadskiy told me I would be sent to the disposal of the Serpoukhov Military Commissariat for my further service.

“There will be a Lieutenant going with you”, the personnel man explained. “Head off tomorrow by train, the Lieutenant will pick you up from home with your personal papers in a package.”

Indeed, in the morning a lieutenant with Air Force shoulder boards popped in and off we went. On arrival at the spot we visited the Military Commissariat where an orderly opened the package. Another one with a wax seal was found inside it. “You have to go to the school. It’s next door to our building. You’ll see it — it’s behind barbed wire. Reception is on the opposite side from us”, the man on duty directed us further.

At the checkpoint, when the Lieutenant showed the package, they let us through to someone in charge. To