Natalya Read online

Page 5


  Turning, he was about to head into the street when he stopped and closed his eyes. Before he took these two children into a dangerous situation, he needed to make sure it turned out all right, and the only way he knew to do that was to try and call up a vision. Never having accepted his Sight, he hadn’t tried to do this since he was a kid.

  Reaching into his pocket, he wrapped his hand around the labradorite stone his grandmother had given him to help focus his gift. The cool surface chilled his palm, but he ran the pad of his thumb across the faded etchings and cleared his mind of all emotion. He pictured the scene before him. Slowly, a familiar feeling washed through him, and the air around his body shifted and turned dim, as if the sun had gone behind a heavy bank of clouds. He saw himself and the children walk across the street, only to be stopped by the German soldiers. The young boy, Peter, glanced up and saw Adela, his eyes widening in recognition and worry.

  Adela smiled and reached down, pulling him up and speaking to the soldiers with a smile plastered on her face. The soldiers let them pass, but as they walked into the house, his vision shifted, and he saw the wary gaze on the first young soldier’s face as he stared at the door. Minutes later, he followed them inside.

  His vision cleared, and the day returned to normal. Maybe shunning his Sight in his youth hadn’t been the best decision. His grandmother had warned him it would one day save his life. He should have known better than to turn his back on his heritage. If he’d listened then, he might have known how to interpret his visions better now.

  Letting go of the stone, he sighed. “Here we go.”

  Stepping away from the safety of the alley, he felt Julek’s small hand grasp his. He glanced down and gave the boy a smile, as any father would his son.

  “Papa—” Adela began, only to be interrupted by the duel commands of the German soldiers to halt. Just as he’d seen in his vision, they stopped beside Peter, who glanced up and recognized Adela, his eyes widening in surprise. Mikhail also saw worry for them in their depths.

  Adela smiled and reached for Peter’s hand to help him up. “Peter! What are you doing out here? We told you it was all right for you to wait inside where it’s warm.”

  The guards’ gazes narrowed at the children, and Mikhail bit back his smile. Turning to the soldiers, he gave them a terse nod and raised his arm in the official Nazi salute. “Heil, Hitler!” The words burned like acid on his tongue, but it couldn’t be helped. If they were going to pull this off, they had to play the part of Germans under the Nazi doctrine, which meant honoring Hitler, whether they liked it or not.

  The soldiers answered with identical salutes, and Mikhail could see a doubtful wariness in the first soldier’s gaze. “What is your business here?”

  Mikhail motioned to the house with a flip of a hand. “This was my parents’ home. My children and I moved in with them after my wife died, but they were very old and died soon after. Now it is just the three of us.”

  “Where were you coming from?” the second soldier asked.

  “We went to Papa’s work. He helps take care of cows and horses!” Julek answered, sounding every bit like an excited little boy.

  “I caught this boy breaking into your home.”

  Mikhail never met the soldier’s gaze, knowing most citizens here would be extremely fearful of the Germans. “Before moving here, I taught music. As you can see, Peter is older than my son and has been such a help around the house. We have no money, but there is an old piano, so I am teaching him how to play. The lad was supposed to meet us, but we were running a bit late. He knows he can wait for us inside the house. It is getting late, and if I am to give the boy his lesson, prepare dinner, and get the children to bed before midnight, I must go about it as I am a bit slower than a woman.”

  The second soldier chuckled. “I know what you mean. I have twin boys, four years old, back in Germany, and they are always on the go. If I didn’t have my wife to corral them, I would be in trouble. Besides, if you cook, you are already better off than I.” He made a motion toward the house. “Go and take care of your family. It’s nice to see good German stock so far from home.”

  Mikhail gave him a quick nod. “Danke. May this war end soon so all of our families have their fathers back.”

  The soldier’s laughter disappeared. “Amen to that.”

  Mikhail motioned for Peter to join them. He pushed the children in front of him as they walked up the stairs and into the long, dark hallway. Closing the door behind him, he knew it was only a matter of minutes before the suspicious soldier followed. Somehow, they needed to magically escape before he found them again.

  4

  Hurrying through the house, they were descending down a rickety wooden staircase into a stone-lined basement when Mikhail heard the distant slam of a door. He pushed the children through the basement as fast as he could. “Where is this door, Adela? We need to hurry.”

  “It’s there.” She pointed to a cupboard, much like the one in her own house where he’d found the two of them hiding. He smiled. “Good. That’s good. Now, let’s hope there’s no squeaking when we move it. The last thing we need is to give away our position.”

  Peter grinned up at him. “You’re in for a treat then, sir. Come,” he said and led them to the large two-door pantry. He opened the doors and pushed in what looked like a small screwhead, turning to Mikhail with a wide grin as the back of the pantry silently swung inward. “See?”

  Mikhail’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be. It’s ingenious, and we should stay completely hidden. Who goes around pushing on screwheads for secret doors?” He chuckled. His smile faded as heavy boots sounded directly overhead. “Hurry, the guard is in the kitchen, and it won’t be but a few minutes before he comes down here.”

  He followed the children into the tunnel and watched as Peter pulled a small lever about waist-high, protruding from the wall and attached to a kind of pulley system. The pantry’s two outer doors slowly closed without making a sound. The shelf slid into place, followed by the back wall with an almost silent snick. He shook his head in amazement. He had seen many wondrous things as an agent of the Resistance, but this contraption was one of the best. Whoever designed it was an inventor he would like to meet.

  “Come,” Peter said in the darkness. “Hold hands, and I’ll lead the way. I know these tunnels well.”

  After slowly patting the space in front of him, he latched on to a small hand. When the short fingers pulled away and wrapped between his, he recognized Julek’s hand. Giving it a slight squeeze, he smiled when the boy squeezed back. After a few minutes of cautious steps on what felt like hard stone, Mikhail whispered, “Peter, where do these tunnels go?”

  The tunnel floor seemed to be smooth and free of pebbles, indicating they were, indeed, used a lot. The farther away from the house they got, the more damp and musty the air became.

  “This tunnel leads to the sewers.”

  The answer surprised him. “Why in God’s name are we going there?”

  “You’ll see, Mikhail,” Adela whispered. “This is important, I think, for you to see this.”

  “Is it far?”

  “No, we’re almost there. Just a few more feet.” Peter’s voice came from ahead.

  Mikhail heard the slight scraping of metal against rock, a few whispered words, then the sickly yellow light of a lantern turned on in front of them. He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the sudden appearance of light, and noticed a new face staring at them from a doorway. It was another boy, about Peter’s age, holding the lantern.

  “You swear he won’t tell anyone, Peter?” the new boy asked.

  Peter nodded, and the new boy turned his dark gaze on them. “Follow me.”

  Without any explanation, he turned and walked back into the dark room behind him. Once inside though, a noxious odor hit Mikhail in the face, and he realized it wasn’t a room at all, but a side door into the sewers. Pulling his shirt up through the top of his jacket, he breathed through the material, which helped some but not enough.

  “You get used to the stench once you’ve been here for a while,” Julek said, walking just in front of him. “The first time I came here, I threw up, so you’re doing good.”

  Mikhail’s lips brushed against his shirt as he smiled at the boy’s statement and followed Julek deeper into the underground cesspool. All around them, the dim lantern lit up only the area where they walked, surrounding them and showcasing the dark gray limestone blocks used to construct the archways overhead. They plodded single file along a narrow walkway on one side of the tunnel. The farther in they went, the path slanted downward. Before long, he’d be doubled over, and he didn’t even want to know, much less see, what was flowing in the channel on their left. Thankfully, whatever flowed along beside them stayed in shadow.

  They passed by a narrow metal door then another until Mikhail counted eleven doors. Working for the Resistance across Europe, he was used to tunnels and underground cave systems and figured they’d been walking at least ten minutes since meeting their new companion who had yet to introduce himself.

  “Julek, who is our guide?”

  “His name is Adam Weiss. When the Nazis first arrived in Poland, his father died trying to fight them.”

  “And his mother? Is she still alive?”

  “I dunno. I don’t think he ever knew his mother. At least, he never mentioned her. It was only him and his papa. Now he helps us hide from the Germans. He keeps us safe.”

  “Us?”

  They stopped. Mikhail met Adam’s dark gaze through the dim light. The boy turned and gave a series of long and short knocks on the metal door with one fist. The door slowly opened, and Adam glanced over at Mikhail as the door clanged against the limestone wall. Staring at them from inside the room were at least six more children of various ages. Dirt encrusted their faces, and their clothes were torn and tattered. He read both fear and hope in their eyes. He rubbed the sudden ache over his heart. He hurt for what these innocents had been put through. No one should have witnessed the sorrow and atrocities these children had seen and felt.

  A black-haired girl spoke first, her eyes narrowing in distrust as she stared at Mikhail. She spoke in Yiddish, naïvely believing Mikhail was German or Polish and would not understand. The girl barked out the words, asking Adam why he brought a stranger into their safe haven. In her next breath, she chastised him, saying it was too dangerous to bring anyone, no matter how trustworthy he or she was deemed. It had been agreed upon, and now Adam had broken the rules he’d helped create.

  Mikhail stepped forward and held out his hand, palm first, and spoke to them all in Yiddish. “My name is Mikhail Abramovich and I understand your concerns. My family was also taken by the Nazis—in France—and placed in a camp for Jews and Romani, of which I am both.”

  The young girl stepped closer, her head slightly tilted as she stared up at him then nodded. “You have the Romani look about you. My grandfather was Romani. He died when I was little, but I remember him. He was… different from most people. Why are you here?”

  He hesitated, debating on how much he should tell them and decided these boys and girls were so much more than mere children. They were also soldiers in this war, whether by choice or not. They were surviving when so many others had not. That last thought made the decision for him. They deserved the truth from him about who he was. “I am with the Resistance and need to get back to Stalingrad. I am supposed to meet with my contact soon and was merely traveling through Lwów when I stumbled upon Adela and Julek. They helped me make it to the safe house when Peter was caught by a German soldier. We couldn’t leave him, so we helped him escape. He brought us here because the soldier was suspicious and followed us into the house. We had no other option.”

  The dark-haired girl remained stoic, both in body and expression for a few moments longer. With reluctance, she slowly backed away from the door. The children behind her did the same until there was enough space in the cramped room for them all.

  Mikhail glanced around, noticing another door on the other side of the room and wondered where it went. Before he could ask, Peter answered his silent question.

  “This area of the sewers is next to the control building. These rooms used to be filled with parts and other miscellaneous things, but when the Nazis arrived, someone had the foresight to empty them. I can only assume they were meant for what we use them for now.” Peter pointed to the door on the other side of the room. “That door leads farther into the sewers. It will take us to the edge of town, but it isn’t an easy trip. We stay in this area for a reason. The tunnels on that side are smaller and more cramped, and you have to wade through the waste water to get where you’re going.”

  Mikhail felt his heart fall into his stomach. The last thing he wanted to hear was there would be more sewer travel. Tunnels deep underground he could handle, as well as many other disgusting things, but sewers were at the limits of his self-control.

  “You said you were going to Russia, no?” a young boy standing beside the dark-haired girl asked.

  Mikhail nodded at the boy and glanced around the small room. His stomach growled, and the dark-haired girl grinned at him. The thought of food quickly disappeared when he remembered the sewers and their revolting stench. “I need to get to Stalingrad before the German army.”

  “Good. We will go with you. On a few occasions, the Germans have gotten too close to finding us. As Resistance, you would not leave children to fend for themselves against the murdering Nazis, would you?”

  Mikhail frowned, not liking where this was heading. “I don’t believe any of you are defenseless. In a sense, you have banded together and formed your own kind of Resistance. Who’s to say the Germans won’t leave you alone—or leave the town altogether?”

  She shrugged. “They might but not before finding every single Jew they can and killing them. We may be young children, but we have seen our families rounded up like animals and…” She pulled the boy standing next to her a little bit closer, almost as if trying to shield him from what she was about to say. “And a few of us have seen our families die.”

  She glanced around the dim room, all the children’s faces turned to her, their dark eyes glittering in the lantern’s light, and a solemnness hung heavy in the air. “I speak for us all when I say we will go with you and help you in any way we can, as long as you find us a safer place to wait out the war.”

  Mikhail stared into the crowd of dark eyes. No matter how stupid the decision, he already knew he couldn’t leave these children here to face certain death. He needed to know what he was dealing with, though, to make the best plans for escape. “What is everyone’s age?”

  “Julek is six years old, so he’s the youngest. My name is Zofia, and I’m twelve.” She glanced at the boy still tucked under her shoulder. “And this is Józef, and he is seven.” She nodded to the two blond children huddled close to Józef. From their similar features, Mikhail knew they were brother and sister. “That is Marcel. He is eight, and next to him is his twin sister Sonia. Behind Sonia is Dora, who is ten and next to her is Ben. He’s eleven.”

  Mikhail took a deep breath, knowing he would probably regret his decision, but he couldn’t leave the children behind. “Good ages. You are all old enough to follow directions—orders, if needed, correct?” They all nodded. “How long will it take to get through the sewers to the edge of town?”

  “It’s only a fifteen-minute walk,” Zofia answered.

  “Good. When we leave here, we will be traveling silent and fast until we get to the edge of town. You will all have to keep up, so I need you, Zofia, Adela, Peter, and Adam to help out with the younger ones. Can you do that?” Mikhail met each older youth’s gaze.

  “Yes, sir,” Adam said, speaking for the entire group. “We are used to working together, and we always help one another when needed. It’s how we’ve survived this long. We will do everything you say, especially if it gets us out of Lwów.”

  Mikhail nodded and glanced at his watch. “We’ll head out in about forty-five minutes, so get some rest. If the Nazis have fortified their positions, it will be a long, hard trek.”

  Mikhail sat down with his back to the wall and watched as the children all bunched together, their heads resting on the shoulder next to them. The exceptions were Julek and Adela, who stayed at his side. It was both surprising and comforting. He was even more shocked when Julek crawled onto his lap and curled up against him. Hesitating only a brief second, Mikhail wrapped his arms around the boy and closed his eyes.

  Night Witches’ airbase

  Engels, Soviet Union

  Sitting on her cot, Natalya pulled her knees close to her chest and tucked the thin sheet around her legs for warmth and a bit of comfort. She wound her arms around her shins and rested her chin on her knees, staring at the empty beds of her comrades. Sometimes she had to pinch herself to believe she was a part of the elite 588th Night Bombing Unit. Nachthexen, or Night Witches, as the Germans called them.

  With a sigh, she pulled out the crumpled envelope from the Bible on her nightstand. Curling up, she pulled on the heavy woolen blanket folded near the end of her bed to cover her legs. Next, she pulled the well-read letter from its protective covering. Carefully, she unfolded the stationary and smoothed out the creases against her legs. She had read Misha’s letter so many times since receiving it two months ago, she had it memorized, but it would never be enough. Not until she could wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

  To know he was safe meant everything.

  The pad of her thumb gently rubbed over the rolling script letters. It had always annoyed her that Mikhail’s handwriting was so pretty. Much prettier than hers. In fact, her handwriting looked like a bunch of scribbles because she didn’t take the time to form each letter.

  Dearest Talya;