Aleksandra Read online

  She stared into the cup with a pensive look. "I know you are an excellent sniper and believe if you take out key positions along the German salient in the north, you will give your people a better advantage to penetrate the front line." She met Aleksandra's gaze. "If you can get enough Russians behind enemy lines, you will be able to stop the Wehrmacht's advance and, hopefully, get the 3rd Guards to drive straight for Orel, effectively trapping the German forces defending the east face of the Orel salient."

  "I agree," Idunn added. "Meanwhile, we will figure out why events have changed from what they were before your death. Like Freyja said earlier, something isn't right. I hate to say this, but I also believe other forces are working against us." She turned her blue gaze on her friend. "Do you think Odin has found out what we're up to?"

  Freyja smiled. "Probably. Thank you for saying we instead of it just being me."

  "I should, you know. You're always getting me into trouble."

  Freyja wrapped her arm around Idunn's slender shoulders. "What are best friends for?"

  Natalya met Aleksandra's gaze, and the two women burst into laughter. The pressure building in Aleksandra's chest from the amount of responsibility that had just been placed on her lightened a little. It still weighed heavy, but somehow, she knew she wasn't alone in this. If the goddesses believed she could handle this job, then she would. It was as simple as that.

  While she stood there watching the three women discuss future options, a thought occurred to her. "Excuse me, but will I be out there alone, or will I have a partner or someone to go to if I need help?"

  The room went silent. "I'm sure if you need us, Mikhail and I will be allowed to go." Natalya glanced at Freyja. "Won't we?"

  Idunn laid her hand on Freyja's arm. Aleksandra saw the goddess's elegant fingers give a slight squeeze and wondered why. "She will need help, my friend. We can't pull Natalya and Mikhail away just yet. You know this."

  Freyja nodded. "You will be given aid, but not as you expect. I can't tell you more than this or what I say may change future events. Just keep an open mind and take help when it's offered."

  Natalya grimaced. "This is something else you're going to have to get used to. We're never given a straight answer about anything. Drives me crazy."

  "Of course, it does." Aleksandra laughed. "You have to be in control at all times. Lilyann told me stories about how you forced her to do things because you were the older sister."

  Natalya rolled her eyes. "That's just what sisters do. The oldest is always supposed to tell the younger one what to do. I didn't do that in our unit—"

  "Oh, yes, you did." The momentary merriment disappeared, and Aleksandra gave her a worried look. "This will work out, won't it?"

  Natalya wrapped her arms around Aleksandra's neck and hugged her close. "It's most definitely going to work out. You'll see, my friend. You'll see."

  4

  Aleksandra

  Area north of Kursk, Russia

  July 15, 1943

  Turning, Aleksandra took in the small spit of land she'd chosen for her vantage point, the near-constant explosions from the tanks in the distance vibrating the ground beneath her boots. The hidden space was about the size of her bedroom back home, maybe ten foot by twelve foot, but the brush-covered rocks gave her the cover necessary when she began firing on her targets below.

  She set up her rifle, a Russian Mosin-Nagant M91/30. Pulling out the PU scope, she placed the end over the recessed ball and held it in place as she tightened the screw and locked it to the top of the gun's body. She was as good a sniper as pilot but evidently not good enough to get the coveted PEM scope, which had a longer distance range. She was content with what she had, though, and usually managed to get her targets.

  With gloved fingers, she lovingly caressed the pristine stained wood then leaned down and looked through the viewing end of the scope and adjusted the drums until the soldiers came into focus. Moving the gun in small increments, she studied the raging battle unfolding below. She caught sight of red piping on a man's shoulder patches and hat, his commanding motions telling her more than anything he was in charge of the artillery.

  She focused on the officer and exhaled before pulling the trigger. The single shot was loud, the echo filling the space around her as she pushed up the bolt handle and pulled it toward her, effectively loading a second bullet into place for her next shot. Pushing the bolt handle back down, she aimed the gun toward the north, moving her elbows on the top of the rock for better purpose and settled into a more comfortable position.

  She took her time, looking through the scope to find another target. Finally, she found a tall, skinny man with grass green piping on his hat. He jumped to his feet, screaming at a young soldier peering at him from the top of a large tank. The soldier responded, but his answer must have infuriated the officer because his face turned a bright red and his prominent Adam’s apple moved up and down at a quick rate. As she'd done the first time, she stilled and slowly exhaled, her target lining up with the lines and arrow inside the scope. She fired but at the last moment, the man stepped forward and her shot missed.

  The officer's head jerked up, and he glanced around him. She allowed him to settle down a bit, hopefully believing it was a stray Russian bullet. The last thing she wanted or needed at this point was for someone to become suspicious and come looking for her. Running toward a vehicle, the officer jumped in, following behind the advancing tanks as they pushed the Red Army back. The jeep jerked to a stop. He stood, pressing a set of field glasses to his eyes, as he studied the formation spread out before him. She took the shot. This time, she didn't miss. She watched the man's lifeless fingers drop the field glasses as he fell forward over the front shield of his Kübelwagen, the German army's light military vehicle.

  "So ugly," Aleksandra muttered, adjusting the bolt to load a third bullet. Her scope traveled from one unit to another as they advanced but was unable to find a good target. Dust obscured her vision from the tanks' tracks as they rolled over the ground, churning up the dry grasses and dirt in the once green valley. She waited, biding her time, and ignored the growling of her stomach. "What I wouldn't give for another piece of Idunn's delicious cake."

  Somewhere close, she heard a slight rustling, as if someone disturbed a leaf-covered branch. She strained her ears, trying to hear it again. Shaking her head at her jumpiness, she once again looked through the scope's viewer but still couldn't see anything. She turned the rifle end more to her right and changed eyes, gaining a few more feet of visibility.

  Not finding a new target, she started to sit back on her heels when a dark shape rushed her. She dropped the weapon and reached into her boot for her knife just as she was tackled to the ground by what felt like a moving brick wall. The soldier growled an obscenity in her ear as she fought back, clawing and kicking at her attacker.

  The German hollered to someone nearby. When she heard two voices respond, Aleksandra realized with a sinking feeling, she might not get out of this alive. She could never fight off three Germans, much less one, especially if it was the man who'd managed to pin her to the ground.

  Struggling and not making any headway, she paused when the sharp whine of a bullet sped by them, and she heard a low grunt somewhere behind her. Before she really grasped what was happening, another whine flew by. It, too, was followed by a loud guttural sound. A second later something fell, and the soldier trying to hold her released his grip enough for her to twist her hand free. She grabbed the knife handle and brought the blade up but missed him as he jerked away, his gaze only glancing over the scene behind them.

  She caught a quick glimpse of at least two crumpled bodies lying in a heap as she scrambled to her feet. Hunching over, she balanced her weight with a side-to-side rocking motion from one booted foot to the other as she tried to judge what his next movement would be. It didn't take long before he growled in rage and lunged for her, uncaring that she held a knife in her hand.

  One step away from reaching her, the soldier j
erked to a stop and a hole appeared in the middle of his forehead. The German fell toward her, but she couldn't move fast enough. The man's weight threw her backward. She tried to break her fall, twisting as she went down. The last thing she felt was a burst of pain as her head slammed against the rocky ground.

  Jakob

  Area north of Kursk

  Jakob flipped onto his back, his rifle lying haphazardly across his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to even out his ragged breathing. How could he have taken such a risky shot? Had he killed her?

  Forcing himself upright, he stood and slung the rifle strap over his shoulder, the weapon behind him. As he took off, he snatched his supply pack and slid down the hillside, slipping a couple of times on the loose rocks and pebbles but reached the bottom safely. He sprinted along a dry creek bed then cut a zigzagging path through densely growing trees as he raced to where he'd last seen the Russian sniper.

  Since the gunman made Jakob's job a lot easier by taking out two of the targets he’d aimed for, shooting the two German soldiers had been necessary to give the Russian a fighting chance. The other sniper was good, he'd give him that. Not too many people could beat him when it came to taking down moving targets.

  Half jogging, half walking through the trees, he made his way toward the almost hidden clearing. He'd almost missed seeing it earlier, but the fleeting glint of sun off a scope gave the sniper's position away. Curious and not having much luck with spotting his own targets, he'd focused his scope on the other sniper. He never caught more than a glimpse of the olive-green uniform because of a strategically placed leaf-covered branch, but the uniform's color told him he was watching a Russian.

  A couple of feet from the rock border and brush near the top, he grabbed a dangling branch and jerked several times, making sure it would hold his weight. Satisfied, he pulled himself onto the rock, but because of the thick foliage, he still couldn't see anyone. His thoughts turned back to before he'd shot. Out of curiosity, he'd waited a few minutes, trying to see the person's face and, just as he was about to turn back to the job at hand, he'd seen the three German soldiers arrive behind the sniper.

  When the large behemoth in front lunged at the Russian, he fired off two quick shots and took out the two soldiers hanging back. He watched the much smaller sniper kicking and struggling, but the German was simply too large and much stronger and kept a firm grip on the smaller Russian. Jakob caught the glint of a knife blade and the look of fury on the big man's face, and Jakob knew he was watching the Russian's death. An ache began in his chest at that thought. He hadn't even realized he'd aimed at the German and was surprised when the gun bucked, the resounding shot echoing in his ears.

  Shaking the image from his mind, he pulled himself over the ridge of rocks and dropped onto a grassy area where his gaze immediately moved to the four still bodies. He didn't bother checking the two soldiers he'd fired at first—he knew they were dead. The big German, however, had him worried.

  Grabbing the behemoth by one shoulder, he pulled him off the Russian, and found the smaller man's body crumpled, lying face-down underneath the Nazi. Glancing at the large body at his feet, his sightless eyes stared at the darkening sky above them as night creeped closer.

  With a deep exhalation, he felt the side of the Russian's neck and felt a steady pulse. "Thank God," he said, dropping his pack and laying his rifle next to it. The last thing he'd wanted was to kill the very person he tried to save. Grabbing the sniper's arm to turn him over, he was surprised when his hand encircled the man's forearm. He hoped it wasn't a young boy. If so, he was even more thankful he hadn't killed him. He turned him over but couldn't pull his gaze away from the sniper's beautiful face. The Russian sniper wasn't a man or boy but a woman.

  Shaking his head, he cupped her cheek and gently turned her head to face the gray-blue sky and studied her face. Even with her eyes closed, her long, black eyelashes fanned out over high cheekbones. She was breathtaking. Her features were delicate, and her porcelain skin—not a freckle, scar, or even a speck of dirt marred its perfection. Her hat lay haphazard over her face, exposing her long, black cascading hair, which had pulled free from its confines. He saw both Russian and Japanese in her face and wondered how that came about. Those two cultures mixed like oil and water.

  He'd never been fooled quite so easily, which left him with an unsettled feeling. Maybe Bernard was right when he said Jakob needed to step back and get hold of the anger boiling inside. Normally, that roiling emotion focused him and drove him in the right direction. Other times... Well, those other times hadn't ended quite so well. He had to admit, though, in this disguise, she did pass as a slender man.

  Jakob pulled off her hat and tucked it around the side of her face so she wouldn't be laying in the dirt. He grabbed his last clean handkerchief from inside his jacket and tenderly pressed it against the bloody gash on her forehead. The woman let out a soft moan but didn't awaken. Reaching with one hand, he turned around his pack and unzipped the front pocket where he kept his first aid supplies. Turning back to her, he stopped, the kit lowering to his knee, as his gaze locked with her large eyes, their dark brown depths drawing him down into their darkness.

  For the first time since he found her, he noticed the knife clutched in her first. "Zdravstvuyte." Not wanting to startle her, he whispered the word hello in Russian. "You seem to need a bit of help." He held up the sulfa powder and bandage Bernard had supplied him with, liking the American supplies more than the German ones he'd had before.

  She raised her free hand to her head, but he grabbed it before she could touch the wound and held her hand in his. "You've got a nasty cut on your forehead. I'm not sure if it happened during the fight or when you fell, but if you'll let me, I'd like to clean it." He waited for her to make up her mind and followed her gaze to the hand still holding hers, his thumb rubbing back and forth over her knuckles. He stared at it a moment longer and fought the urge to jerk away, but an abrupt motion like that could get him knifed.

  Laying her hand on her stomach, he cleaned the wound as best he could. Just before he poured the disinfectant, he met her pain-filled gaze. "I'm sorry, but this is going to sting a bit." She nodded, and he dumped the white sulfa powder on the laceration. He tried to ignore her quick gasp and the slight flaring of her straight nose as she breathed away the pain. Laying the bandage over the wound, he taped the ends then leaned back on his heels.

  "There. I'm done. Head wounds tend to be messy. Do you think you can sit up?" He held out his hand, once again waiting. Her steady gaze never left his face, as if trying to make up her mind about him. When her hand rose to meet his, a burst of unfamiliar emotion blossomed in his chest. He eased her into a sitting position. He stood, not moving her too much as he helped her stand. Wrapping one arm around her slender waist, he moved her to a nearby rock, so she could sit.

  "Spasibo," she thanked him, her gaze never leaving his. Her lip twitched a few times as if she were trying not to smile. "You speak Russian with a slight German accent. The last thing I expected was to find a Nazi who didn't shoot first and ask questions later, much less one who treats my wounds. I'm the enemy, you know."

  Her softly spoken words and sultry voice washed over him, soaking into him like a water-starved desert. He forced himself to take a step back to give her space but, in reality, he wanted to wrap his arms around her once again. What was wrong with him?

  "I am no Nazi." He shoved the first aid supplies back into his bag. Slinging both his gun and pack over her shoulder, he met her curious gaze. "We can't stay here. More Germans will come, searching for their fellow soldiers. I was set up on a nearby hill—if you'd like to come with me? We will be safer there for a short while, but we'll need to move again."

  She reached for her gun, shouldering it as he'd done then stood. Her body weaved, but he saw the determination stamped on her face and let her steady herself. "Go. I'll follow."

  His gaze narrowed. "You're sure?" She waved him away with one hand. As the day's light continued to wa
ne, he slid over the rock wall and eased down the steep slope. He stopped a few feet down and turned to her with an outstretched hand as she slid off the rock behind him. Clasping her hand in his, he made sure she stepped out onto solid ground and didn't slide down too fast, tumbling them both to the bottom.

  A few minutes later, she edged next to him and gave a slight tug to free her hand. He continued picking his footing as he made it down the hillside, until he stepped onto the valley floor. Surprisingly, she stopped at his side a second later.

  Pointing, he moved to stand behind a fallen rock and explained, "I was on that hilltop over there. There's no cover here, so we'll need to hurry because the Germans will have a direct line of sight as we cross the valley. If you feel up to it, we can join together and pick off as many officers as we can. I'm assuming that's what you're doing here?"

  She cleared her throat. "I'm trying to take out as many as I can in this salient. The Russian forces don't have a lot of manpower this far north and need all the help they can get if they're going to break through the German Panzer unit. It's been brutal."

  He nodded, reluctantly holding out his hand and was even more unwilling to give her his cover name. For some strange reason, he didn't want to lie to her. "My name is Jakob Matthau. Yours?"

  "Aleksandra Rybakov."

  He gave her a slight grin before glancing around the rock to see how far away the closest German unit was. He was glad to see they'd moved away, giving them a better chance of making it to his previous position without being noticed. Across from them was the tree line, which cut the valley in half diagonally. The trees provided more than enough cover. The problem was getting to them. With a quick glance at the sky, he figured they had another hour or so before the sun set, but they couldn't wait that long. Turning, he felt the same strange falling sensation as he stared into her dark gaze.