Daughters of the Night Sky

The deciduous forests to the east of Berlin were a change from the lush evergreens of home, but the parts that remained intact were thriving and verdant—indifferent to the hate that engulfed the city to the west. It felt good and natural to have twigs and branches underfoot instead of the blasted remnants of pavement and cobbles. The air was thick with smoke, not the pine-scented purity I associated with a ramble in the woods, but it was one step closer to home.

“I’ve written to Mama,” Renata said, still fidgeting with her wrist. “I’ve asked her to make her famous potato pancakes and zharkoye. And blintzes with black currant preserves. The minute I get home.”

“Your mama will have you the size of a house within the first month of your homecoming,” Polina chided.

Renata’s descriptions of her mother’s zharkoye—beef stew—were nearly as longing and tender as our comrades’ descriptions of their husbands and sweethearts and had been used more than once as a distraction from our poor rations. “All the better,” Renata retorted. “I’m entitled to a few months of gluttony after four years of hard work and army rations.”

“Absolutely true,” I agreed, remembering the massive gingerbread matryoshka doll pryanik of my youth. I had army pay now. I’d buy a dozen if the store was still open and operating as soon as I got back to Moscow. I’d eat three for myself before I crossed the threshold back onto the street, and give the other nine to the hungriest-looking children I came across. And then likely return for more when I realized how many more children were in need of some sweetness in their lives. I spared a thought for Comrade Mishin and the children he tended. For Oksana’s sake, I hoped they’d managed to survive, though the odds against them had been overwhelming.

Grinning, Polina kept up her teasing of Renata. “So much for finding a handsome hero to make little Soviet babies with.”

“Any man who has been to war will be pleased to see a woman with some meat on her bones,” Renata said. “They’ve all seen enough of the contrary.”

“I think they’ll be glad for the affections of a healthy, happy woman,” I said, then allowed my thoughts to wander as I hadn’t since before the height of the war. I hadn’t heard from Vanya in three months, but few of us had seen letters or postcards since we crossed into Germany. I hoped he wasn’t far from here, but we would have to wait for our reunion in Moscow unless we were remarkably lucky.

We heard a muffled scream up ahead, followed by deep-voiced chuckles. Renata and Polina looked over at me, awaiting orders; we’d been part of the military machine for so long, we didn’t even consider breaking ranks, even though we were all but discharged from duty. A second scream pierced the air, and I motioned for them to follow me as quietly and quickly as the root-strewn path would allow.

We happened upon two of our soldiers and a German girl of about sixteen.

One knelt between the girl’s knees, his trousers dropped. The other had her pinned down to the forest floor with one hand and was groping her breasts through a tear in her blouse with the other.

“Get off of her, you disgusting jackasses,” I snarled.

“What do you care what we do with some German bitch?” the man with his pants down said, barely glancing back at us. “We’ve won the war; we’re able to do with them as we please.” This soldier, no more than twenty years old, wore the marks of a lieutenant. The other was a sergeant.

“Get off of her,” I spat again. The soldiers looked at me in disgust but made no signs of movement. “That’s an order.”

“Fuck off,” the kneeling soldier said.

The poor girl, her blond hair matted with blood and her eyes pressed shut against her nightmare, whimpered softly.

I pulled out my service revolver and pointed it at the soldier’s head. “I am your superior officer. I will not repeat my order a third time.” I heard Polina and Renata free their pistols behind me as well.

The man must have seen the eyes of his companion facing me widen, because he turned. If he was alarmed by finding three pistol barrels trained upon him, he didn’t reveal it. But he did sigh and sit back. “Disloyal whore,” he mumbled, pulling up his trousers. The sergeant at least had the good graces to look embarrassed. “I should report you for this.”

“How do you think it would go for you? I’m within my rights to shoot you where you stand, you insubordinate prick. Get back to your regiment, and busy yourself cleaning latrines. It’s a far better use of your time.”

The soldiers skulked off in the direction we came from, leaving the German girl behind without a thought. So very typical. She wiped her eyes and pulled her ruined blouse over her bruised breasts. I offered her a hand to help her stand, but at the movement she cowered as if I’d made to strike her.