Mate of War

January 10th, 1943

Stalingrad, USSR

The air was bitingly cold as the young lieutenant trudged on through the snow towards the regiment headquarters. He was alone, unusually; Karataev and Alekseev had been called on patrol duty, and the new regiment commander requested him to come alone. He didn't quarrel with it. Instead, he found it as an opportunity. Perhaps this commander might provide him more opportunity for advancement, whereas his company leader always held him in suspicion for his self-interested ambitions.

He was still seething in anger and frustration from his failure to stop the American boy from crossing the border and taking the Koslov girl with him. He searched throughout his mind, scheming for a way to get back at him and settle their rivalry at last. The only way he could see it was travelling across the oceans to find him, but such a project was daunting, and implausible at this point. There was still an enemy to fight. There was still a siege to end. There was still a war to be won. And until Germany was defeated, he would have to put his rivalry to one side. And still, it was a prospect he was unsatisfied with.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he reached the regiment headquarters, a two story grey office building with a caved in roof. Even high ranking officers could not afford much better accommodations. It was a sign of the times to him. The innocent and carefree days of childhood had long since faded away, leaving only the stone cold reality of a cruel, unforgiving world. It was this reality he accepted wholeheartedly, as he felt that he would only retard himself from further advancement by looking away. In fact, he gladly embraced this, seeing it as the new normal for the years that were to come. He approached the entrance of the building and was surprised to find his company commander, a Ukrainian man named Pavlenko.

"Comrade Lieutenant Chertov!" Pavlenko greeted with a saccharine smile. "You made it!"

"Comrade Captain," Chertov returned, sharply saluting his superior. "I hope I am not late."

"Not at all. The Lieutenant Colonel is expecting you. You will find him on the first floor in the reception room."

"Thank you, sir."

Chertov quickly slipped past Pavlenko and entered the building to be greeted by two warrant officers in full winter dress: dark brown coats and matching trousers, black felt boots and fur hats. They both greeted him with a look of expectancy.

"The Lieutenant Colonel is in here, comrade Lieutenant."

The both opened up a set of double doors that led him right into the reception room, where he found the man he was expected to meet.

He was young, looking to be in his mid-twenties, with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a short ponytail. His sharp blue eyes were glassy, obviously from spending many a day and night looking over maps, planning attack and defense. Across the wooden table he stood before were schematics of various landmarks throughout the city, ones of strategic importance no doubt. He wore a dark khaki uniform with blue riding pants tucked into tall black boots, covered over by his brown cloak. The dimly lit room hid his face, but Chertov could swear he had seen it somewhere before, like a ghost from the past.

The officer looked up and greeted Chertov with a cold smile.

"Ah, Junior Lieutenant Ilya Chertov! Finally we meet."

Chertov saluted him, just as he did with Pavlenko.

"It is good to meet you too, comrade Lieutenant Colonel," he said unaffectedly. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes, indeed, comrade Lieutenant. Please, sit down."

Chertov did as he was told and pulled up a chair, while the lieutenant colonel found a bottle of liquor on a sideboard and some small shot glasses.

"Would you care for some vodka, comrade Lieutenant?"

"Not while I am on duty, sir."

"Good lad," his superior laughed, as if expecting such an answer. "I like that sense of professionalism! Captain Pavlenko always spoke highly of you in that regard…"

He returned to the table, and faced him with a look in his eyes as strong as steel.

"…as well as your adeptness in battle. He told me you cleared out all three German machine gun bunkers in the assault on Mamaev Kurgan only yesterday."

Chertov cleared his throat.

"I might have done so, sir, if the captain says, but to be honest, the whole assault is a blur to me. I hardly remember anything about it at all."

"That's something I hear often from soldiers after days of fierce combat. Many a man do I know who barely escaped death with only fragments of memories of their experiences…"

Chertov titled his head in confusion at his superior's musing.

"Sir?"

The lieutenant colonel chuckled, as if the laughter would will his words away.

"Don't mind it, comrade Lieutenant. Rambling is one of my persistent habits."

"I hardly mind it, sir. Only I am still left wondering why you called me here."

"Ah, yes, that," the officer said, snapping his fingers in revelation. "Tell me, comrade, what is your opinion of this war?"

"This war, sir?"

"No, the last war. Yes, this war, man!"

Chertov contemplated the question a moment. He never truly thought much about the reasons why he was fighting, outside of a duty to save his country from certain oppression by the forces of fascism. The colonel, however, evidently wanted something much deeper and personal than the stock reason for fighting that every ordinary soldier gives when asked that question.

"In my opinion, comrade Lieutenant Colonel, this war began as treachery against us by a nation that, in retrospect, could never be trusted. If I had the power to go back and change the past, I would have much rather had us and the Germans at each other's throats than to have a treaty between us that in the end would only be broken. This war is merely a matter of us misplacing our trust in a madman who only sought to dupe and dominate us. And it is for that reason, sir, that I will fight the enemy that stands before us with my life, for as long as I have air in my lungs."

The colonel smiled, appearing satisfied with his answer. A small shade of light was cast on him and revealed his hollow face, cheekbones evident in his visage.

"You are very perceptive, comrade Lieutenant. Perhaps, then, you might be able to agree with me on my view of this Great Patriotic War1."

He slowly circled the table, heading in Chertov's direction as he spun off his reflections on this, the most defining event of their young lives. Clearly, this officer had great and large ambitions, almost to the point of possessing delusions of grandeur.

"This war is unlike any humanity has ever seen. It has proven to be more destructive, more costly, and larger than anything we could have imagined. But at the same time, this war will also define us. Whatever the outcome may be, the victors of this conflict will not only be responsible for the defeat of fascism, but will also have the power to change this world forever. And I am sure you will agree with me, comrade Lieutenant, that nothing must stop us from taking control of that destiny."

By now, the lieutenant colonel was towering over Chertov, and he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a bit intimidated. Nonetheless he sat up perfectly, listening to the colonel's high aspirations for his nation.

"You certainly think big, sir," Chertov remarked plainly, as if this kind of speech was normal. "And I cannot disagree with your opinion, as I certainly think this war is important as well."

"You know, I like you, comrade Lieutenant," the lieutenant colonel said with a smile. "And it is because of your skill and ability that I have selected you for a special mission."

Chertov raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of special mission?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot release the details to you at this time," the officer said, spinning on his heel and walking back to his side of the table.

Chertov stood up as the short ponytail of black hair flowed behind him. He was not about to stand for his superior holding out on him. Why on earth was he called out specifically if he was not even going to be given the reason why? It was too frustrating, too aggravating for him!

"Forgive me, comrade Lieutenant Colonel, but you are the one who wished to see me and speak with me. If the purpose of our meeting is for you to assign me a special mission, don't I at least have a right to know what the mission entails? How can I hope to serve you if you do not give me any hint of what it is you are planning?!"

The lieutenant colonel stopped, his cloaked back facing him. He paused, as if the young lieutenant said too much and now a decommission was in order. Chertov gulped hard, fearing that he had just shot his entire career out the window with one badly timed flare-up. Now he feared the worst

"…and Captain Pavlenko also told me about your temper…" the lieutenant colonel cautioned. "Understand: I am giving you an opportunity, comrade Lieutenant. It would be unwise for you to so carelessly waste it."

"Apologies, sir. But may I at least know what I have to do for this mission?"

The officer faced him and leaned over the table. His face was lit up, and Chertov finally saw exactly who this lieutenant colonel was. He knew he recognized the face somewhere before, but just didn't recall. With the narrowing of his ice blue eyes and the twisting of his mouth into a grin, Chertov immediately remembered this man from his past. A man he never expected to see.

"I'll let you even your score with Peter Daniels, Ilya Pavlovich. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"It does, Igor Petrovich," Chertov replied, a smile slipping across his face. "I am surprised you still remember the American after all these years."

"I remember many things, Ilya Pavlovich, especially you and your rivalry with him. I promise if you stick with me, you will have your revenge."

The colonel outstretched his hand.

"Tochna2?"

Chertov's smile only widened, and he reached out his hand to him, finding a new ally. This time, it was an ally who knew and understood him, his qualms, and his deepest feelings of enmity for the American boy that was always his ire. In an instant, he felt his prospects for revenge soar with a shaking of the hand. The deal was done, and a new dangerous alliance had been formed.

"Tak tochna, sir3."

»»»»»

Mill Valley, California, USA

The air was quiet and deathly still with a slight foggy haze hanging over the small valley town. Their ship had arrived late at night, and so all the windows of the town were dark. No one knew they were arriving from such a long and arduous journey. All the townspeople were dreaming sweet dreams without care as the dual headlights of the taxi arrived at the little bungalow on the rise, the humble abode where he made his home.

"Here we are, kid, 1225 Bay Street," said the gruff cabby.

The ash-blonde boy promptly paid his fare to the cabby and nudged the sleeping brown-haired girl next to him.

"Tanya, we're here. We're home."

She moaned and stirred, rubbing her eyes slowly in an attempt to regain some semblance of alertness after travelling tirelessly for many a week risking life and all. She turned a weary but strong grey eye to him and nodded.

"Let's go home, Peter."

Peter thanked the cabby for taking them this far and both exited the taxi taking with them their baggage as they headed up the hill to the front door of his home. Tanya was taken rather aback at how small and unfitting it seemed for a boy like Peter. She was certain his home would be much bigger, maybe a bit luxurious. She wanted to ask him why, but she saw in his eyes that all he sought for was to finally set foot in home again where he could not be questioned or troubled by such pressing matters as attack and defense and escape.

The door was opened, two pairs of feet stepped in, and the journey was concluded with a quiet shutting of the door.

He set his bag down on the kitchen bar and allowed her to walk around the house for a moment, getting acquainted with her new home. In the meantime he took in everything that had transpired in a mere month as he unpacked his briefcase. His exploits seemed better placed in an adventure novel than in real life, and yet it was all too real. He had traveled through fire and ice to find her. He witnessed and partook in unspeakable horror to bring her back. He fought against friend and foe to protect her. It had all paid off, and she was safe and sound with him. All else that followed would be rewards from God for risking life and limb to save a fellow human being. What would come next though?

Her adjusting to a new life, certainly.

Him showing her the ways of his small town.

…Love?

At that thought, he no longer heard the pacing about of dainty feet on the carpeted floor and went off in search of his friend. Not surprisingly, he found her in the bedroom, lying sprawled out in utter exhaustion from the weeks of travelling and being on the run from the Soviet authorities. She was turned on her side away from him, but Peter's heavy footsteps had her turned over. With much effort in her tired limbs, she sat up in the bed, greeting him with a weary smile. It was as if the only way she could convey in her gratitude and indebtedness to him was with that simple expression.

"You must be extremely tired after everything," he said, taking a seat beside her.

"Yes," she said after a brief pause.

Her senses were lagging and disorientation increasing with each passing moment. Being in a country where the time difference was equal to more than half a day, it came as no surprise to him, as he was quite on the verge of falling dead on the spot with her. However he felt a need to make a promise to her before she inevitably slipped off to a world of happier places one only dreams about.

"Tanya?" he started.

"Hmm?" she mumbled.

"I promise from now on that you won't have to feel any more pain like what you felt before. I'll keep you safe from all the horror. Never again will you—"

His heartfelt vows were cut short by her gentle sigh and he turned to find she had drifted off to sleep leaning on his shoulder. He smiled, seeing her tranquil and peaceful countenance all the more illuminated by her semiconscious soporific state. Looking at her while sleeping was looking into the face of an angel. And that was exactly what she was through all of this. An angel who had been misplaced in a cruel and inhuman mortal world. The innocent who was always fated to be trodden upon by the conniving and callous. She was his angel, and he would be her protector, the sole mortal defender of what was humane and right in an age that had forgotten such words. He whispered quiet words that communicated as much as he laid her down on his bed.

"Sweet dreams, my friend. All will be well."

»»»»»

The night seemed to pass quickly as he collapsed onto his sofa to sleep, leaving her to the bed. He was willing to give it up for her. Speaking of the new member of his household, she was still fast asleep by the time he got up which was around two in the afternoon. He was certain that it felt like later to him, but he brushed it off as the remnants of jet lag. In the meantime, he had to nip down to the pharmacy and see that all was well with the employees and to the local market to pick up some much needed food rations; the icebox was close to being bare upon his return.

He left her a note should she wake up before he returned, though given her nature he severely doubted such a possibility.

Tanyusha,

I've gone out to get rations and take care of a few things in town. There is some food left in the icebox that should be easy to prepare. I will be back in an hour or so. Please make yourself at home; this is your home as well as mine from now on, after all.

Petroshka

With that he quickly took to the shower and grabbed a fresh set of clothes out of the closet (all with Tanya undisturbed, dead asleep as she was), and started out the door when he noticed something on the coat rack that sat in the short hallway to the door. A trench coat, one he had never seen before.

It was long and brown, with the collar turned up. There was a cloth belt around the waist of the coat and a single row of buttons. There was a note latched on it with a safety pin. He pulled it off and immediately recognized his brother's awkward handwriting, smiling and laughing to himself.

To my brave little brother,

A new coat for you to wear when your heart needs warming. About time you had one of your own, since mine is about worn out and probably riddled with bullet holes now. Ha ha.

Merry belated Christmas,

Willie

He laughed and thought it nice to actually not borrow his brother's coat for a change, and took the coat of the rack. It fitted him perfectly, and suited him very well, giving him a dapper and dignified look. He smiled contently, feeling comfortable in this new garment no longer having to be content with borrowing his brother's worn out one. Satisfied with his gift, he exited his house and quietly trotted in the direction of downtown.

Even though he was home, he still felt lost and discontent as was evident by his posture. He kept his face hidden from all by turning up his collar. He did not wish to be singled out for praise and fanfare merely a day upon his return; he was more content to adjust in silence and not receive the pomp and bluster of a hero's welcome; such a rejoice was not merited in his mind.