Chapter 12

Author's note: The tale of the carol singing is true.

Army uniform notes:

"Veshchevoi meshok", made by Sidor, this was a universal 'rucksack' which soldiers used for carrying their bits and pieces.

"Pilotka" - I have used the term 'forage cap' to describe this universally recognisable bit of headgear, but it is more correctly termed a 'side-cap', or Pilotka. Made of green or beige wool, the flaps unfasten and fold down over the ears. A needle and thread were kept inside the inner lining for quick, on-the-spot repairs.

I have given Nikolai winter 'Valenki' felt boots, seeing as the weather is so bad, but normally he would wear either leather ankle boots ('Govnodavy') with puttees, or leather kirsa jack boots.

***********************

For the next few days Nikolai was uncharacteristically subdued, and Rivka let him work through his depression, being there for him if he needed her, but knowing he had to have time to come to terms with Natalya's death.

At night he lay wrapped around her, her presence comforting him, knowing that she didn't judge him and supported him wholeheartedly. He was still mortified at his actions in 'forcing' himself on her that night, and Rivka had to show him that he had done nothing wrong, that she still wanted him and cared deeply for him. She made him lie quietly in bed as she loved him with hands and mouth, Nikolai unsure to begin with, certain she was doing it out of pity. But the thoughts disappeared as she eased the pain and heartache from him with her touch, and soon he was moaning with incoherent pleasure as she sent him heading towards joy. She watched him as he finally arched into her touch, a wrenching cry of overwhelming ecstasy torn from him as his climax flooded through his body, and he called her name over and over again as the last spasms took him. That night he slept better, and in the morning he was more cheerful, much to Rivka's relief.

They walked down to the hospital arm in arm, Rivka happier than she had been in days. When they reached the entrance Nikolai caught her in his arms and kissed her sweetly, gently, his eyes drinking in every inch of her face.

"I'll see you tonight, my lady. You be careful now, and don't talk to any strange men."

Rivka chuckled and hit him gently on the shoulder.

"Ow!" Nikolai turned a face full of mock pain to a delighted Anna Svenskaya, who had also just arrived for her shift. "See how she treats me, little one! Brutal, that's what she is! Just brutal!"

He leaned down and kissed Rivka lustily, then he straightened and stood still, waiting.

Rivka looked up at him, puzzled.

"What is it, Niko?"

Nikolai grinned.

"I'm waiting for you to turn up my collar, pat me on the chest and give me a lecture about keeping myself warm. Oh, I forgot - and not to take my gloves off unless I have to, in case I get frostbite."

Rivka bridled defensively.

"Nikolai Koulikov, you make me sound like a nagging old witch!"

But she still tucked his collar up around his neck, patted him possessively on the chest, then for good measure caught his face in her hands and pulled him downwards so she could settle a kiss on his lips.

Nikolai returned the kiss in full, his mouth moulding to hers, his eyes closed in pleasure at the softness of Rivka's lips.

When they finally broke apart they were both breathing heavily, and Nikolai knew there was nothing more he would like to do right at that moment than sweep Rivka off her feet, find the nearest comfortable bed and love her to their mutual exhaustion.

Rivka straightened her scarf and blushed, Nikolai delighted that he could still charm the socks off her. She squeezed his hand as he turned to head off to Headquarters.

"Be careful, my Niko. Come home safe."

He grinned his familiar, lop-sided grin.

"I will, Missus. I promise. I'll see you tonight, and …" He looked thoughtful. "I think I might bring you a present. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll bring my Rivka a present."

Rivka arched an eyebrow.

"A present? What kind of present?"

Nikolai looked mysterious.

"Ah, well, that would be telling now, wouldn't it? You'll just have to wait and see …"

Rivka's mouth twitched in an unbidden smile at the pleasure the thought was obviously giving him.

"You, Major, are a tease. But I'm a patient woman, and I can wait. I'll see you tonight."

She watched as Nikolai started off down the rutted, icy road, his big frame loose-limbed and graceful despite the layers of padded clothing that kept him warm in the wastes of the ruined city. Smiling to herself, she turned and went into the hospital to her work.

********************

It was well after dark by the time Rivka finished her shift. It had been a long and very difficult day, with a tank crew brought in covered in scalding oil that had stuck to their skins and continued burning right down to the bone. Three of them died in agony within hours, their lungs destroyed by the smoke they had inhaled as the tank burned around them. Two of the dead crewmen were only twenty years old. Rivka had sat beside the youngest, listening to him groan breathlessly, the morphine only just managing to deaden the pain until he slipped into a coma. He died an hour later.

She was gently straightening his limbs and trying to give him a little dignity in death that his last few hours had not afforded him, when Anna appeared. The girl's eyes glistened with sudden tears as she saw how young the blackened, ruined face of the dead soldier was. But she could not afford to grieve for him. There were the living to care for now, and that took priority.

"Rivka?" Anna's voice was a respectful whisper, although the room was filled with noise, other wounded men groaning, talking, crying out in agony. "Rivka, Nikolai's here. He's outside in the cold, I don't know why. I've given him a hot mug of tea - he looks half frozen."

Rivka looked up from her work, puzzled.

"Outside? Why on earth is he standing outside?"

Anna shook her head. Her concern was obvious.

"I don't know. Look, I'll finish doing this for you and you go and check on him. I tried to get him to come into the hall and warm up, but he wouldn't."

Rivka frowned, then stood and let Anna take her place, the young nurse taking over the thankless job of caring for the lifeless body of a young man whose name she didn't even know.

Collecting her coat, Rivka hurried out of the hospital building to find Nikolai standing leaning against a half-demolished wall, his mug of hot tea held between his hands, the liquid steaming in the frosty air. It was very, very cold. He was gazing up at the dark silhouette of Mamaev Kurgan, the battered hill that had seen so much death and destruction these past four months. For once the intermittent thuds and booms of incendiaries and the bursts of gunfire seemed to have stopped, and Rivka suddenly realised what a beautiful night it was. Stars swept across the sky in a drift of luminescence, and the reflection of the starlight on the ice gleamed an unearthly blue in the clear night.

"Niko?" Rivka's voice seemed loud in the strange silence. "Niko, come inside, love. You look frozen to death - "

Nikolai lifted a finger to his lips and smiled, signaling her to be quiet.

"What is it? Why - "

Nikolai looked at her with a yearning in his blue eyes.

"Listen."

Rivka smiled, bemused, but she wrapped her arms around him andstood quietly … and listened.

At first she could hear nothing, but then she heard it - a clear, pure, tenor voice, untrained but true, ringing faintly from somewhere high on the benighted hill of Mamaev Kurgan. The voice was young, she could tell, and there was an aching innocence to it that made her heart soar with joy. The words rang softly in the clear, still night, and the haunting music of that voice almost made the stars tremble with the beauty of it.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft, einsam wacht
Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar,
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'!

"What is he singing?" Rivka's voice was a mere whisper, loath to interrupt the magic of that glorious voice.

"'Silent Night'. It's an old German carol." Nikolai was overwhelmed by it, she could tell.

Nikolai held her close to him as they listened, and for long, timeless minutes the war disappeared and life became nothing more than the beauty of a winter's night brought alive by a single, clear voice that had found the courage to bring peace for a blessed moment to a place that, at best, resembled unmitigated hell.

Finally, as the last, clear notes died away and silence reigned, Nikolai shivered.

"Are you cold? We can go inside if you like." Rivka was concerned for him. Nikolai was prone to feeling the cold, she knew, and she didn't want him becoming ill.

"No. No, it's all right Rivka. I just wanted to hear the music, that's all. I'd forgotten, y'see."

She held him tighter, feeling the sadness in him.

"Forgotten what, love?"

Nikolai smiled and nuzzled her hair.

"It's Christmas Day, Rivka. It's Christmas, and I didn't know it."

"Channukah." Rivka smiled up at him.

He grinned.

"That too. Ah well. I suppose we can celebrate one or the other next year and to hell with the Communist ideal, when all of this mess is over and done with … I hope." He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, feeling them pop with tiredness. "Righto, Missus. I think it's time we went home, don't you? I'm tired, I want my supper and then I want my woman. In that order."

Rivka poked him in the ribs playfully.

"Typical man. His stomach always comes first. Anyway, I thought you said you were going to bring me a present?"

Nikolai's grin became conspiratorial.

"I did, didn't I? Well, I suppose we'd better go home and look then, hadn't we?"

Setting the now empty mug on the hospital windowsill, he offered his arm to his lady, and Rivka happily linked her arm in his as they walked slowly home through the battered streets of Stalingrad.

*******************

"Oh, Niko!! It's beautiful!! When can we use it?"

"Now then, Rivka, I have to repair it first! All it needs are a couple of small bits and pieces and then I think it should work - or at least I hope it will! It'll be a bloody waste if I can't fix it, but I'll tell you now I'm not much of a handyman …"

Nikolai ran his hand over the casing of the old phonograph, feeling the nicks and chips in the veneer and noting the small dent in the flared mouth of the horn. The handle was a little bent, and the whole machine was a touch worse for wear, but Nikolai decided all it needed was some tender loving care and it would blossom into the handsome machine it had originally been when it was built over thirty years before.

He looked at Rivka's face and saw pure joy on her lean features. God, how he loved her! He knew as soon as he had spotted the phonograph in a ruined block of apartments in the old part of the city that Rivka would adore it, and then and there he had planned to bring it home for her, so she could listen to the music she so sorely missed. Rummaging through the rubble he had discovered some record sets, consisting mostly of music by people he had only vaguely heard of … Strauss, Beethoven and someone called Tchaikovsky. He sighed. Being on his own since his early teens and then spending all of his adult life as a soldier, cold-bloodedly killing his fellow man in honour of the Motherland, didn't leave much time for cultural pursuits.

But then he didn't have time to think about it as Rivka wrapped her arms around him in delight, her head buried in his broad chest. He was shocked to discover she was crying softly.

"Rivka?? Good God, woman, if I'd known I'd make you cry - "

Rivka unwrapped her arms and straightened, sniffling quietly.

"Oh, Niko, don't take on so! I'm just a silly, over-emotional woman and you should know better than that, you big oaf! I'm not upset! I … I'm just … so …" and she dissolved into tears once more, Nikolai now more confused than ever. But then, he told himself as he held her in his arms, he had never claimed to be able to understand women, especially one as complex as Rivka Velonina.

Once her sniffs had subsided they set the fire and made supper, Nikolai noting with amusement how Rivka couldn't stop touching and exploring the old phonograph or tentatively opening the record boxes to see what delight lay within. Her little cries of discovery as she read out the titles to herself, and her enthusiasm for each and every small treasure she found made him glow with warmth inside.

After they had eaten, Nikolai settled down at the table and looked at the phonograph. He had absolutely no idea where to start. But his mind clicked into gear.

Start from the outside and work in, you dolt! There can't be much wrong with it because it didn't rattle when you lugged it home, so there's not much broken inside. You'd better be able to fix it, or Rivka's never going to speak to you again …

So, using makeshift tools and one or two articles from Rivka's cutlery drawer he set to work. Rivka sat curled up on the sofa and watched him as she repaired a hole in his jacket, smiling at the 'Hmms' and 'buggers' coming from him as he slowly investigated the innards of the machine. So absorbed was he by the mysteries of phonograph design that his tea grew cold, and when Rivka's arms slid around his neck and he felt her drop a soft kiss on the top of his head, he was astounded to discover three hours had passed.

"Well? Can you fix it?" Rivka couldn't contain the longing in her voice.

Nikolai sat back and pulled her down onto his lap as they studied the now partly-disassembled phonograph on the table. Nikolai was silent for a moment in thought, and then nodded.

"I think so. There are a few screws missing, which I think I can replace if I speak to one or two of our supply officers nicely. The rest of it just needs a good oiling, and a bit of a clean. The main problem is the handle."

Rivka's face fell. Nikolai hastened to reassure her.

"Don't worry, my lady. I think I have the answer there too. Y'see, the ratchet's broken at the end where it locks into the machine and turns the mechanism. You can't wind it without that little spur just there … see?" He indicated the broken place. "I'll ask one of the lads down at the motor pool to have a look at it. They have welders, so I'm sure they can think of something. It'll give the lazy sods something to do."

Rivka hugged him.

See? You're a clever, clever man, my Niko, and you underrate yourself far too much. I knew you would figure it out! Now," she continued, reluctantly unfolding herself from Nikolai's grasp, "I think I ought to make my clever Nikolai another cup of tea and then we should go to bed."

Nikolai's eyebrows raised suggestively.

"Bed, hey? Sounds good to me! Just as long as you don't take advantage of me, Rivka - you know how delicate I am. My side's still sore, y'know, and I'm feeling a bit fragile. In fact, I'm so tired Rivka, I think I'll just be going straight to sleep. None of this 'ravaging' nonsense. I'm getting too old, I reckon, for that sort of thing - "

Rivka's mouth stopped his words as they both forgot about the tea and headed straight to bed.

****************

"Hmmm. Looks a bit tricky to me, Major."

Corporal Ivan Grigorvitch Nikitin, ex-locksmith, ex-thief and now a member of Number Seven motor pool belonging to the Engineers, studied the battered handle of a 1912 Victor III phonograph.

Major Nikolai Koulikov glowered at the sparely-built little man who had been one of the most unsuccessful housebreakers the legal system had ever seen, mostly because he always looked so guilty when he was interrogated by police that they always persisted in their inquiries and found the stuff he had stolen secreted in his mother's wardrobe. Only the war had saved him from a forced labour camp, and he had found a new talent - he could fix just about anything.

"Stop being such a pain in the arse, Nikitin, and just tell me if you can fix the bloody thing or not."

Nikitin looked up at the big sniper and grinned, baring yellowed, rotting teeth. He looked uncommonly like an undernourished rat.

"Well … I suppose I can rig something up. It's delicate work, though, Major … very, very delicate …"

Nikolai scowled.

"All right, Nikitin. What is it you want? Vodka? Brandy? What?"

The rodent-like corporal looked thoughtful.

"That, ah … lady of yours …" He held up a hand hastily in acquiescence as he saw Nikolai begin to bristle - the man they called 'The Bear' was not someone who took lightly to insults, especially when it came to his woman. "I've heard, Comrade Major, that she's a good cook."

Nikolai's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Yes, she certainly is. So?"

Nikitin smiled innocently.

"I want a cake."

Nikolai blinked, completely taken aback.

"A cake?"

Nikitin nodded decisively.

"Yes. A cake. Me and the lads," he indicated his scrawny team of mechanics, "haven't seen hide nor hair of a cake since January 1940. We want a cake, if that's all right with you, Comrade Major."

Nikolai thought quickly. He could order Nikitin to repair the handle, backed up with dire threats to break him to Private and send him straight to the front, but he knew that without Nikitin half of the 62nd Army would grind to a halt within days.

"All right. I'll see what I can do."

Nikitin shook his head.

"Sorry, Comrade Major Koulikov, sir, that's no use. You could go out today and get your bloody head blown off - beggin' your pardon, like - and then where would we be? I'd have a perfectly serviceable phonograph handle, no phonograph and no bloody cake. Now what's the use of that?"

Nikolai knew when he was beaten. He scowled at the little mechanic.

"All right. I'll be back in two days with the cake, and then I want that handle repaired by New Year, d'you hear me, you little skiver? Or else I'll have you and that motley bunch of good-for-nothing bastards for breakfast, Nikitin, and I don't care if Chuikov himself steps in to try and save your skinny little arse!"

Nikitin nodded, satisfied.

"Fair enough. And I'll tell you now, Major, that handle will be as good as the day it was made, I promise."

The little corporal and the big, brawny sniper nodded to one another, and then went about their business.

*****************

"A cake??" They want a cake?" Rivka was astounded.

Nikolai shrugged helplessly. He had returned home from a long, hard day out near the Barrikady factory, and he was tired, hungry and frustrated. The near-miss he had encountered that day when Vassili and their new spotter, a veteran soldier from L'viv called Ilin, had almost got themselves blown up by a Panzer tank didn't come close to worrying about where the hell Rivka was going to get ingredients for a cake.

Rivka's chin tilted thoughtfully.

"A cake. I can make them a cake, if that's all it takes."

"You can??" Nikolai was stunned. It couldn't be that easy … could it?

"Yes, Niko, I can make them a cake. All I need are some eggs."

"EGGS??? Where in God's name am I supposed to get eggs??"

Rivka's mouth twitched in amusement at Nikolai's discomfiture.

"Powdered, will do. Don't worry Niko. I'll get the eggs one way or another. I did some sewing for one of the supply officers, and he owes me something for the work."

Nikolai looked doubtful but wisely said nothing, and the two of them settled down to eat a late supper as Rivka began to mentally plan out her cake campaign.

**************

Two days later, Nikitin got his cake.

How Rivka had done it, Nikolai couldn't imagine, but the day after he had brought home the earth-shattering news that a cake was required and Rivka would need eggs, he had returned to the cellar to find Rivka happily baking a fruit cake on her day off … and there on the table were some eggs. Real eggs, brown-shelled eggs, eggs that were fresh and wholesome and orange-yolked. Nikolai's mouth watered at the sight of them - he hadn't eaten an egg in over two years.

When he inquired as to exactly where the eggs had come from, Rivka shook her head and told him she hadn't asked. The supply officer hadn't turned a hair when she asked for eggs. She was Major Nikolai Koulikov's woman, and that was all he needed to know, just as long as Rivka baked a cake for him and his men too. So Rivka had come home with some flour, the eggs and even a little dried fruit to supplement her own meager supply.

Nikolai sat and watched with amazement as Rivka measured and muttered and mixed, and by bedtime she had made four beautiful, moist, fruit cakes. One of them contained the last of her walnuts. They were Nikolai's favourite, and they were going to have the cake at New Year. The last one was intended for the staff at the hospital, who received little in the way of luxuries.

The next morning, Nikolai and Rivka had soft-boiled eggs for breakfast, and Rivka felt an ache in her chest as she watched Nikolai slowly savour every mouthful of the creamy orange yolk, the pleasure on his face almost too great for her to bear.

Nikitin and his motley crew were overjoyed too, and not only because they had a great big, moist, fruity, slab of cake all to themselves. Rivka had sent along a small jar from her precious hoard of home-made conserves.

The little rat-like mechanic and his oil-smeared compatriots studied the jar reverently.

"Jam! I haven't had jam since … since … oh, since I don't know when!! Me old Mum used to make jam! You tell your Missus that if she needs anything repairing at any time, she's just to come and ask me! The lads and me'll be happy to help out. Yes … more than happy …" Nikitin lost himself in the rich colour of the fruit conserve sitting complacently in the small jar.

Nikolai nodded.

"I'll be back in three of days, and I want that handle fixed, Nikitin. Are you listening?"

Nikitin awoke as though from a dream.

"Huh? Oh, yes indeed, Comrade Major. It'll be ready, I promise you. Good as new."

Nikolai was dubious, but resigned himself to relying on the little ex-thief.

"Yes, well, it'd better be. I'll see you then."

Nikitin just nodded in reply as Nikolai headed off out of the partly ruined building and into the streets beyond. Nikitin awoke from his reverie and glared at his men.

"Well?? Where the bloody hell is that bread I wanted?? We're having bread and jam for breakfast!!" He returned to his study of the jar and its contents. " Jam! Well I never. Real bread and jam for breakfast."

Nikitin smiled.

***************

On the evening of December 31st, 1942, Major Nikolai Koulikov of the 284th Sniper Division trudged slowly down the wrecked street from Headquarters to the untidy little motor pool where Corporal Nikitin and his men waited patiently.

They were lined up in a row as though awaiting inspection when Nikolai arrived, and Nikitin stood at attention at the end of the line. He saluted and held out the phonograph handle.

"Phonograph handle, for the use of Comrade Major Koulikov, sir!"

Nikolai took the handle and studied it carefully. The work was exquisite. Not only was the broken spur of metal replaced, it had been machined to perfection and the tooled mahogany handle had been cleaned, carefully waxed and polished. Nikolai had to admit that Nikitin and his scruffy bunch of ne'er-do-wells had done a top-class job.

"Nice. Very nice, Nikitin."

A small, undernourished lad at the end of the line piped up.

"I did the wooden bit, sir. It was - "

"Shut up, Lubov!" Nikitin growled at the baby-faced mechanic. "Who asked you!" He grinned at Nikolai. "That's Lubov, sir! He may be a worthless, Ukrainian piece of shit whose dad used to shag sheep, but he does know how to put a nice finish on a bit of wood, Comrade Major Koulikov, sir!"

Nikolai grinned back. The lad had certainly treated the wood with a great deal of care.

"Good job, Lubov."

Lubov smirked at Nikitin defiantly.

The skinny little corporal ignored Lubov and straightened even more to attention. He brought out his other hand from behind his back and offered the contents to the big sniper. It was the conserve jar. It was spotlessly clean and completely empty.

"For your Missus, sir. A very nice bit of jam, sir, so it was. Very nice indeed. Oh, and the cake …"

Nikolai heard sighs of happy remembrance from the line of oily, grubby soldiers.

"Just perfect, sir. Absolutely perfect. The lads and me … well, if your Missus needs anything fixing … anything at all, all she has to do is ask. Oh, and she's not to worry about ingredients if she just so happens to want to bake another cake, Comrade Major, sir. I'll just send young Lubov on the scrounge. Handy lad, Lubov. We don't call him 'Light-fingered Lubov' for nothing, if you get my meaning - "

Nikitin was saved from further elucidation as a young soldier came running breathlessly into the cavernous workshop, waving an envelope.

"Comrade! Comrade Major Koulikov! They said I'd find you here! You left Headquarters before I could give you this!"

Nikolai looked down at the youth, who didn't look old enough to shave let alone be a soldier.

"All right, lad, calm down! You've found me now, so stop getting in a lather. What is it?"

"Oh, just orders, sir."

Nikolai took the proffered envelope and opened it. He spent a minute or two perusing the contents, then folded the sheet of paper, slipped it back into the envelope and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He looked up to see the young soldier still standing there.

"Well, boy? Why the hell are you still here? Bugger off home, or your mother'll be wondering where you are." He grinned at the lad, who smiled shyly and trotted off back up the hill to Red Army headquarters. He turned back to Nikitin. "I'm off, Nikitin. I'll let you know how the handle works - and it'd better work, or I'll have your bum for a doorstop."

Nikitin just grinned. He had to admit to himself that he liked this big, gruff Major. Tough as hell with balls bigger than Kruschev's. And his woman was a bloody good cook, to boot.

"It'll work, Major - or my name isn't Ivan Grigorvitch Nikitin!" The little mechanic passed the handle to Nikolai, who slipped it into his 'Sidor' bag.

Nikitin watched as Nikolai headed off out of the door, but was surprised to see him pause for a moment and turn back to gaze at him with sombre blue eyes.

"I might come back and have a talk to you tomorrow, corporal. I have some arrangements to make."

With a bemused expression on his rat-like face, Nikitin watched the big soldier disappear out into the snowy night.

"Well, my lads. I wonder what that was all about?" He sighed dramatically, then turned back to his work as the small, ragged bunch of mechanics started to disembowel a tank.

*******************

It had been Rivka’s day off, and when Nikolai arrived home he was greeted with a warm, loving hug and a gentle kiss on his cold-chapped lips. Rivka looked beautiful, soft and inviting in her makeshift dressing gown made from a quilt Nikolai had brought her, and she helped him off with his jacket. She peeled grubby gloves from his chilled hands, rubbing his fingers briskly to get the blood flowing into the frozen digits, then a mug of tea was placed in his grasp and he sipped the hot liquid as he sat down at the table.

But he soon looked up at Rivka in surprise. A bowl of hot, peppered cabbage was placed in the middle of the table along with potatoes in their skins and some mashed turnip. Cold ham sat in slices beside the potatoes.

"What’s all this?"

Rivka kissed his cheek and smiled.

"I thought it would be nice for us to have a decent meal for once, seeing as it’s New Year’s Eve. So, love, help yourself. There’s plenty …"

Nikolai found a big bowl of soup set in front of him along with a plate of bread.

"Where did all this lot come from, then?"

"I saved my extra rations, Nikolai, and don’t even think about complaining; you’re always so hungry, love, and I wanted to make something special. It’s not much, but - "

Nikolai was overwhelmed.

"Rivka Velonina, you are a marvel!! This is bloody wonderful, so it is!! Just wonderful!"

Rivka smiled at his obvious delight.

"So eat, you big fool! It’ll get cold while you sit around gabbing, and I want to see you full of food for once, do you hear?"

She watched, tickled mightily, as Nikolai tucked into his supper, eating with a relish she had come to realise was borne of a lifetime of never having enough to eat. How on earth he had grown into the big, brawny man he was she could not understand.

The soup, as always, was delicious. Nikolai loved Rivka’s soup. It was thick and rich, and warmed his insides better than anything else he had ever eaten. The bread was freshly-made, and he tried hard not to wolf the food down he was that hungry.

But when he had finished the soup, he had a plate put in front of him and Rivka heaped it with vegetables and potatoes, and three thick slices of ham were laid beside them. But the crowning delight was a spoonful of thick, luscious blackcurrant jelly plopped on top of the ham.

"Rivka, I can’t … this would feed an army!"

Rivka snorted.

"Ach, Nikolai Koulikov, don’t be so daft! If you want to make me happy, eat!!!"

He didn’t need telling twice. He delved into the plateful as though he hadn’t eaten for a week, Rivka eating heartily of the pile of hot food on her own plate. As they ate they talked, Rivka telling Nikolai what she done during her precious day off and how she had planned the meal, Nikolai telling her that his day had been uneventful and relatively safe.

Their meal was finished off with a thick slice of Rivka’s fruit cake and some coffee, and sitting beside the coffee was a large square of dark, rich chocolate from the bar Nikolai had brought home before Christmas.

Nikolai sat back in his chair with a sigh of complete contentment. Never in his life had he eaten so much food at one sitting, and he was full almost to bursting point. He watched for a few moments as Rivka began to clear away plates, and then he decided he could just about manage to stand up and help out.

Between them they washed the dirty dishes, and afterwards Rivka made more coffee while Nikolai dug about in his bag, brought out the repaired phonograph handle and slotted it into its place in the body of the machine. Rivka came and sat beside him with such a look of yearning on her face that Nikolai was terrified that the blessed handle wouldn’t work and she would dissolve into tears. But thankfully when he gave the handle a few cranks the revolving table began to move. He gave her such a beatific smile of success Rivka burst out laughing. Nikolai gave her a mock scowl.

"Well, woman! Go find yourself some music to play!" Nikolai looked at her sternly, causing Rivka to kiss him gently in gratitude for this precious gift of music he had given her.

She fetched her boxed sets of records and sat down to choose, while Nikolai settled himself down in his big chair and tamped a little of his precious tobacco into his meerschaum pipe and watched her with a glow of pleasure in his azure eyes.

Rivka was spoilt for choice. She knew Nikolai knew little or nothing about music, and didn’t want to bore him, so she decided to pick something light and easy for him to listen to at first. She worked her way through the sets until she found what she was looking for, until she gave a little cry of pleasure. Removing the record from its sleeve she looked at Nikolai shyly as he sat watching her.

"I hope you like this one." She smiled as a sudden memory touched her. "It was my father’s favourite."

Setting the record on the baize-covered turntable she wound the handle and gently placed the needle in the groove.

The first soft, rich strains of Strauss’ ‘Emperor Waltz’ echoed through the ancient cellar that had become a home, and Rivka sat in Nikolai’s lap and snuggled down against his broad chest to listen. She felt his arm enclose her, and before she knew it they were lost in a world where the war didn’t exist.

The rhythmic ebb and flow of the music filled every corner of the room, and Nikolai Koulikov listened. He listened with his heart and his soul, the harmonic swell of strings and horns filled him like no other sound ever had. He had spent most of his life listening to the harsh boom and rattle of gunfire and the screams of dying human beings, and never had he heard anything like this music that now caught him in its magic. He could feel Rivka’s head resting contentedly on his chest and her fingers tapping gently on his arm along with the music, and he knew then and there that this was the happiest, most fulfilled moment of his life.

For the next few hours they sat quietly together as Rivka filled his life with something beautiful. He rested his head on the chair-back and listened to the sombre majesty of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Pathétique’, and the pure, clear harmony of the Flower Duet from Delibes’ ‘Lakmé’ almost reduced him to tears. At one point through the evening Rivka thought about getting up and making more coffee, but when she looked up and saw the entranced wonder on his mobile face as he listened she didn’t have the heart to disturb him.

And so they sat, the distant boom of the bombing and the chatter of gunfire faded and their existence became nothing more than sweet harmony and the soaring glory of the music.

Finally, as the last, ethereal noted died away, Nikolai sighed.

"That was lovely, Rivka. Absolutely, bloody lovely!"

Rivka lifted her head from his chest and gazed at him, startled by the peacefulness in his eyes. But there was a hint of something else … a sadness, a deep, deep melancholy that wouldn’t go away despite his happiness and contentment. She decided he needed something to chase away the pain inside.

"Do you like to dance, Niko?" Her voice was impish.

Nikolai looked down at her, seeing the amusement in her lean, beautiful face. He shook his head.

"Can’t. Never learned, y’see. I’d probably have two left feet anyway, Rivka – big and clumsy, that’s me."

Rivka snorted softly.

"Clumsy? Nikolai Koulikov, you may be a klotz when it comes to looking after yourself, but clumsy you are not ! You are the most graceful man I have ever seen, Niko, and you will dance beautifully, I have no doubt at all!" She eased from his lap and stood up, removing her quilted dressing gown and catching Nikolai by the hand, tugging forcefully. "Up you get! I’m going to teach you to dance, once and for all. It’s a waltz, so don’t worry – it’s easy!"

"But Rivka - "

"Up you get!" She smiled at him, delight twinkling in the depths of her brown eyes. "Come, my Niko … you’ll enjoy it, I promise!"

He looked up at her standing before him, clad only in her nightgown and old shoes so her movements would not be impeded by the heavy dressing gown, and couldn’t refuse her. He, Major Nikolai Koulikov, was going to learn to dance.

"All right, all right. Just as long as you don’t mind having your toes trodden on, woman …"

He levered himself out of his comfortable chair and helped Rivka move the heavy old table out of the way so they could have plenty of room. That done, Rivka positioned him in the middle of the floor and showed him what to do.

"Now, take my hand … no, the left hand … that’s it! Put your other one around my waist – my waist , Niko, you terror! Stop it, you romantic big fool! Right … there we go. You lead, I follow, you see, and the rhythm’s very easy. One-two-three, one-two-three … are you ready? All right, we’ll try without the music to begin with …"

For the next fifteen minutes, Nikolai concentrated harder than he had ever concentrated before as Rivka taught him the rudiments of the waltz. At first he was hesitant and unsure, but once he figured out the rhythm and movement of it all he gained in confidence. And he didn’t tread on Rivka’s toes once.

Rivka looked up at him.

"All we need now is music. I know exactly the piece that will do, Niko. You’ll love it!"

Slipping out of his arms she rifled through her collection of records and found the one she sought. It was dropped gently onto the turntable and within moments the first, majestic notes of Strauss’ ‘The Blue Danube’ filled the air. She ran back to him and they were ready.

They waited a few moments as the music began to build, and then they were off, Nikolai leading, his big body graceful in the lamp-light. The waltz was slow and comfortable, allowing him to adjust to the precise rhythm and the feel of Rivka allowing him to move her across the floor, and as he settled into the swell of the music he began to relax.

It was wonderful.

He felt the music rather than heard it, and Rivka’s body in his arms was perfection. They moved slowly around the cellar, Rivka marveling at how quickly he had learned, and looking up at him she saw a boyish delight that she had never seen before. He was truly happy. Gone were the strains and worries of his life, and he was on a plain of existence he had never reached in all of his hard, endless years of toil, and Rivka rejoiced.

And so they danced, this lonely, abandoned woman and the tall, worn, troubled sniper. They lost themselves to beauty, bodies moving in timeless wonder as the music filled broken hearts with love and laughter. The horror of the world outside the cellar did not exist for them as they danced, and Rivka knew that nothing could ever compare with this magical night. The music intended for beautiful people in magnificent ballrooms glittering with the light from a thousand lights could not even begin to compare with the glory of dancing with Nikolai in a spartan, battered cellar in this war-torn city of Stalingrad.

But all too soon the music came to an end, and before they could separate Nikolai caught Rivka in his arms and lifted her up to him, holding her high, seeing the light in her eyes and the glow in her lean face. He kissed her until he was breathless, and they fell onto the bed laughing, Rivka held tightly in Nikolai’s grasp, the pure happiness of this rare moment of peace filling them utterly.

Rivka lay, relaxed and happy, feeling Nikolai’s arms around her and feeling the joy in his big, broad frame. Lifting her head she caught him watching her, his face unlined and bereft of pain, and he smiled at her. His voice when it came, was husky with desire.

"Come … lie with me, Rivka."

She gently freed herself from his grasp and knelt on the bed, unbuttoning her night-gown, Nikolai watching with a hunger that could not be hidden. He loved her undressing for him, and he studied every move of her hands as she worked her way down the front of the gown, his need for her growing by the second.

But then a thought struck him.

"Peaches!"

Rivka blinked.

"Peaches?? What on earth - "

Nikolai was eager now.

"Peaches, Rivka! You promised me peaches, remember? When we were hiding out in the sewer, you said – you promised – that you would take me to bed and feed me peaches until I was sated!"

Rivka looked puzzled for a moment … and then her face cleared, and an elfin grin appeared on her angular face.

"I did, didn’t I? Wait a minute …"

In a second she was off the bed and rummaging on her shelves, looking for the small, precious, single jar of preserved peaches she had salvaged from the ravages of the German intruders. Her small cry of triumph denoted her discovery of the jar hidden behind some pickles, and when she returned to the bed, jar and spoon in hand, she discovered Nikolai had undressed and lay naked under the blankets. He had propped himself up with pillows, and awaited her attention with shining azure eyes.

Rivka plumped down on the bed beside him and opened the jar, seeing the eagerness on his face. Where he would put the food she had no idea, considering how much he had eaten earlier, but she had discovered very early on in their relationship that Major Nikolai Koulikov was a bottomless pit when it came to food. He was always hungry.

He grinned at her.

"Feed me, woman!"

Rivka dimpled a little smile as he watched her carefully spoon out one of the peach halves, and she was delighted as he took the mouthful of fruit and closed his eyes in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. She watched him chew slowly, his face alive with the wonder at the sweetness, the moist, cool richness of the peach sending sparks of ecstasy through his frame. He swallowed, almost with regret, and his eyes opened, hazy with the aftertaste. Rivka sat poised, spoon at the ready.

"Another one?"

Nikolai nodded eagerly.

She gave him another, and she was astounded at the joy it gave him.

"Niko?"

"Mm-hmm?" He was too busy savouring the melting texture to be able to answer properly.

"Have you never eaten peaches before?"

Nikolai swallowed the mouthful of heaven and ran his tongue along his lips to catch the aftertaste. He shook his head.

"But I have now." His voice was soft with the sweetness of the fruit, almost as though the flavour had penetrated his very soul. "You have some, Rivka. I can’t take them all, it wouldn’t be fair."

But she would have none of it. She had been raised in a home where at least she had had the chance to taste different foods, and Nikolai had been raised on nothing but leftovers and cabbage by the look of it, she decided. She gave him the rest of the peaches from the small jar, and she thought she would remember the pure pleasure on his face for the rest of her life.

But all too soon the jar was empty, and only the dregs of syrup remained, so Rivka left the jar on the bedside table and leaned forward to kiss her Niko, tasting the sweetness of the fruit on his lips. The kiss deepened, and with a soft moan Nikolai pushed off the blankets and pulled her over him until she straddled his lap. He could feel the soft quiver of her thighs against his hips, and his hands finished the work of unbuttoning her nightgown, the material falling away to reveal her firm, rounded breasts and supple body.

"You are so beautiful, my lady … so beautiful …"

And his big hands traced and cupped her breasts, loving the silken texture of her skin as he rubbed the erect nipple between his finger and thumb. But his already-hard erection stiffened even further when Rivka leaned over, and dipping her fingers in the peach-syrup she smeared the sticky, heavenly sweetness on her nipples.

He couldn’t resist something so erotic, so arousing it took him almost to the brink even as he watched her. With a deep, feral growl he pulled her to him, his mouth seeking her breasts urgently, hands kneading the soft fall of her hips as he nuzzled.

Rivka arched her back with delight as he found what he sought, suckling firmly, his soft moans stirring her as he tasted the unique flavour of her soft skin slick with the sticky syrup. But she wanted more and shifted in his grasp, moving upwards until she was poised above his erection, her hands reaching to clasp onto the bars of the bedstead. Nikolai still gently nursed and tugged at her breasts, unable now to stop the heady gasps coming from his chest, and he cupped her buttocks in big hands, maneuvering her into position so he could enter her tight, warm channel. He raised his knees a little to support her and began to urge her downwards onto his erection but Rivka braced herself, preventing him from doing so. He broke away from her magnificent breasts and groaned.

"Please … please, Rivka … I have to be inside you … now, Rivka, I need … I need to move … push into you …"

She bent down and kissed him.

"Hist, love … let me do it … let me love you …"

And with that she lowered herself slowly, easily onto him, Nikolai dropping his head back onto the bedrail and letting out such a groan of want that she thought he had been unable to wait. But she stilled for a moment and let him calm a little, and then she began to move. She wouldn’t let him thrust – she was determined to make him relax into her loving, sure that at the end his orgasm would be all the more intense. She felt his hands at her hips, holding onto her desperately as his mouth returned to her nipples, and each rocking movement of her body brought him to new heights of pleasure, each breath he took bringing with it a sob of such desire she almost climaxed at the sound of him.

Nikolai grunted softly as she quickened slightly, unable to stop herself as the pleasure began to take over, and he looked at her face as she moved, her eyes closed and mouth open slightly as she gave little, sighing cries as she rocked. Her dark, dark hair framed her beautiful features and her breasts bobbed against his chest. He groaned again, his head dropping to her shoulder as her heated skin sent swathes of intense felling to his groin. He was so close …

"Rivka … I can’t … I can’t hold on … please, I have … I have to thrust …"

Heeding him, she lifted her hips slightly and allowed him to move at last.

He cried out at the sensation and gripped her hips tightly, watching as Rivka arched back once more, this time teetering on the brink of her own fulfillment. His body took over and he thrust upwards deep, deep inside her, looking down the length of their bodies to where they were joined. He watched his final, powerful thrusts as they slid into her, the sheer eroticism of her dark hair against his, the glimpse of his manhood as he thrust once, twice … and then she called out his name in throaty cries, the spasm of her climax clenching around him as he drove into her that final time and he came, hard and fast, his body shuddering his completion against hers, his cries muffled as he buried his face in the hollow of her neck.

Rivka relaxed first, her body shaking in the aftermath of their tumultuous joining, and she let go of the bed-rails and settled against him, Nikolai’s head cradled still against her shoulder. His hands still held her to him as he finished and she sighed at the throbbing, final pulse of his penis and the soft heat of his seed spilling into her. His breath was ragged against her skin and he swallowed, trying to catch his breath.

"Rivka … God, Rivka …" He lifted his head from her shoulder and gazed into her dark, sated eyes. "I’ve been hungry all of my life … but I never knew what hunger was until I met you, my lady … my Rivka … I will always hunger for you, Rivka … always …"

The look of passion in his eyes almost took her breath away, But she noticed something else … something so profoundly sad she could have wept for him. A chill suddenly swept over her and she shivered. He was instantly concerned.

"You’re cold …"

She kissed the worry from him and let him slip from her body as she lay down beside him, knowing what he wanted as he shifted over her. His big frame settled on hers, his head cradled in the hollow between her breasts and his body sprawled between her thighs. She heard him sigh in contentment, his hand lazily stroking her breast as she ran her fingers through his short, curly hair, soothing him. She knew he loved to sleep like that, feeling her under him, feeling her arms hold and nurture him as he slept. The words came from him again, slurred with sleep now, drowsy with pleasure and longing.

"Always, Rivka … always … forever …"

As she finally slipped towards sleep, Rivka Velonina discovered she couldn’t hold back a sudden, chilling sense of forboding.

***************

Next morning, the bottom finally dropped out of Rivka's world.

She sat on a chair at the table, hands clasped tightly in her lap, ramrod straight, as Nikolai slowly, gently, told her he had been ordered to the Eastern front.

"When did you find out?" Her voice was calm, controlled.

Nikolai sighed.

"Last night. One of the lads from Headquarters came and found me at the motor pool. I couldn't tell you last night, Rivka. Dear God, I wish I didn't have to tell you now, but I couldn't let it ruin our evening together. I just couldn't …"

Rivka was numb. She knew it had to happen one day - he was a soldier, after all. But she had wildly hoped that somehow they would forget about him, or that the Germans would suddenly give up and surrender … anything that would have kept him with her. Even having him crawling about in the ruins taking pot-shots at Germans was better than not having him beside her, not feeling his comforting warmth at night, not seeing his cheeky grin as he teased her … nor hearing his lusty groans as he moved in her at night. She took a deep breath and asked the question she had been trying to avoid.

"When?"

Nikolai hung his head as he sat in the chair opposite. He was hating every minute of this nightmare they had suddenly found themselves living. He hesitated for a second.

Oh, bugger it, man - just tell her! She has to know!

"Tomorrow morning."

For the first time he saw her flinch, and he noticed the almost imperceptible tremble in her hands.

"So soon, Niko …" The words were barely audible. Her lips began to tremble, but she took a deep, shuddering breath and got herself under control. "Well, it's no use just sitting here being sorry for myself - there are things to do. I'll send a message to Oleg and tell him I can't come to the hospital for a couple of days. He'll understand, bless him, he's a dear. Then I'll get on and make sure you have clean clothes, love, and you have to pack and I'll make up some food - "

"Rivka …"

"No, no, Niko, it's all right. We always knew you would have to go sometime. Don't worry, love, it'll be perfectly fine …"

She stood up and prepared to set to work but he was beside her in a moment, holding her to him, murmuring wordless comfort into the hollow of her neck. Rivka couldn't hold back any longer and her rigid self-control crumbled as she clung to his broad, familiar frame, her body wracked with sobs. There was nothing either of them could do. There was no way of changing the fact that in less than twenty-four hours Nikolai would head out of the door, and there was a good chance he might never come back.

For long minutes they stood entwined, Nikolai trying to reassure Rivka that he would take great care and he would try his damnedest to keep safe and warm. But she could not be consoled. She knew well enough what he was heading into - she had seen the wounded and dying men that flooded in from the fronts to the west and south as the Soviet army beat back the German forces, metre by bloody metre. He was going into Hell.

But soon he lifted his head and gazed at her grief-stricken face, and used his thumb to wipe away the tears.

"Now then, Rivka, I'll be fine, don't you worry on that score! I'm a tough old bastard, you know that, and if I can survive Stalingrad I can survive anything! Now listen - I have to go to headquarters for a couple of hours, there are some things I want to do, then I'll be back. All right?"

Rivka nodded, using the heel of her hand to wipe away the remainder of her tears. She knew he needed support and common sense now, not a weeping, useless fool of a woman. She patted his arm.

"I'll be fine, Niko. It's just the shock, that's all. You go and do whatever it is you have to do, and I'll see you in an hour or two. I have things to get ready for you anyway, so that will keep me occupied."

Nikolai grinned, reassured.

"Good girl! I'll see you in a little while, and we'll have a quiet afternoon together - well, as quiet as you'll get in this bloody hellhole, hey? How does that sound?"

She smiled shakily.

"That sounds wonderful, love. I'll have a bite to eat ready for you when you get home."

Nikolai's grin softened.

"I'll be back before you know it. Then we'll talk, my lady."

He lifted his winter hat from the back of the chair, stepped out of the door and was gone.

*****************

When he returned three hours later, he found a bowl of soup waiting for him, a pile of clean clothes ready for packing, and a tired Rivka sitting drinking a mug of tea at the table. She had obviously thrown herself into getting things ready for his departure, trying hard not to think of where he was going.

They sat quietly at the table as he ate, each deep in thought, but when he had finished and slid the bowl to one side he reached over and took her hand in his.

"Rivka … we have to talk."

She turned desperate, sad eyes to him.

"What is there to talk about Niko? Nothing. You're leaving and there's absolutely nothing either of us can do - "

"I've made some arrangements, Rivka, and I want to explain them to you."

She frowned, puzzled.

"Arrangements?"

"Mm-hmm. I've been to see Danilov, but I'll tell you about that in a moment. Now then. I had a word with that weasely little bugger Nikitin down at the motor pool, and he said he'd be glad to send one of his lads up here now and again to see if you need anything. They can just about fix a rainy day, that lot, so if you need any repairs doing or anything like that, just ask." He saw her about to protest, but cut her off. "No, Rivka, you'll deal with it woman, d'you hear me? I can't be spending my time worrying myself to a frazzle, thinking you're going out in the dark for water, or stuff like that. It could get me killed, Rivka, if I'm not paying attention." He saw her blink in sudden understanding. "Good. Nikitin's lads look rough, but they're good fellows. Kind hearts underneath all of that filth. All they ask is for a bowl of soup, maybe, or something like that. You'll spoil 'em rotten anyway, knowing you." He saw a small smile break on Rivka's face.

Good, he thought. She's a practical woman, my Rivka, she understands that I need to have her safe and sound.

He continued.

"Some of the girls at the hospital are billeted near here, and they said they would be happy to walk back and forth to the hospital with you. That daft young doctor of yours … what's his name … Chernyenko … said he'd make sure you didn't walk home on your own."

Rivka's eyes widened.

"You spoke to Oleg about this?"

Nikolai grinned.

"Of course I bloody well spoke to Oleg! He's the only man I know that can keep you in some sort of order! Anyway, he says he'll keep an eye out for you as well, so that's all sorted. Now, I said I'd spoken to Danilov …"

He reached over and lifting his greatcoat from the back of the chair brought out some papers from the inside pocket. Dumping them on the table, he pushed them over to lie in front of Rivka.

"Those are for you."

Rivka looked at the little pile of papers, but didn't touch them.

"What are they?"

Nikolai took a deep breath and explained.

"Well, I wanted you taken care of if I get hurt, or … well, anyway, there's a letter authorising the army to give you all the money I've put by if anything happens to me. It's not much, Rivka, but it's enough to get you out of here and find somewhere comfortable. Maybe start up a little shop or something."

He sat and looked at her, waiting for the explosion. He wasn't disappointed. Rivka was furious, her fear for him coalescing into anger.

"Nikolai Koulikov, you … you … dolt!!! I can't take your money! I won't!!! Don't even think - "

"Rivka …" Nikolai's soft voice cut through her tirade in an instant. She saw the sad smile on his face, and suddenly understood he was trying to do the best he could for her - he had nothing else to give, nothing else to show that he cared desperately for her. He went on. "I need to know you'll be well and looked after, Rivka. It matters to me more than you can imagine. What you've given me over the past couple of months has been so wonderful, Rivka …" His voice broke for an instant before he continued. "Anyway, there's something else, and I want you to understand that I did this for both of us, so that we didn't lose one another." He lifted a small brown envelope. "This is a copy of my will, and I've also had you put down as my next of kin. Everything I have - and there's bloody little of it, I can assure you …" He grinned ruefully, "all of it is yours. I put you down as my next of kin so that if anything happens to me, they'll let you know. If I'm hurt they'll tell you where I am, and we won't lose contact. There's nothing worse than not knowing, Rivka, and I can't have you trying to cope with that. Do you understand?"

Rivka looked at the little pile of papers and nodded. She understood. She understood that he thought he wouldn't make through this war, that he would die out there with no-one caring about him, no-one to remember him. He needed someone to know where he was, to care whether he lived or died … and if he died, then it would be nice to have someone to put some flowers on his grave. Giving him a valiant little smile, she leaned forward and grasped his hand tightly, feeling his long, big-knuckled fingers wrap around hers. Her chin tilted in that characteristic gesture of defiance he loved so much, and her face set with determination.

"There's one thing you can do for me, Niko … just one little thing more. You must promise to write to me whenever you can and let me know how you are, whether you're eating enough … to let me know you're not hurt. Please, Nikolai … this matters to me."

Nikolai gave her his best toothy grin.

"As long as you promise to write back, woman!!" His grin softened. "It would be nice Rivka, to get a letter or two. I've never had anyone write to me before … oh, and be sure to make 'em nice and sloppy with lots of kisses - but not too many. I don't want to be kept awake nights getting all uncomfy thinking about being with you!"

Rivka smiled and nodded, the matter settled.

"Write to me at the hospital, Niko. The letters will be sure to get to me then, all right?"

They sat for a moment longer, then Nikolai stood and pulled her to her feet, led her over to his big chair and sat down, tugging her onto his lap. Rivka snuggled into his broad, welcoming body and relaxed, feeling Nikolai's arms wrap around her. He gave a small sigh of contentment and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Let's just sit quiet for a while, hey, Rivka?"

So they did just that. For the rest of the afternoon they sat curled up together, quietly, serenely, Nikolai occasionally stroking Rivka's hair as she lay comfortably against him, hearing the regular, calming beat of his big, generous heart deep in his chest.

When evening came, Nikolai packed the rest of his gear while Rivka made a good, plentiful supper. They sat and ate companionably, and then they listened to music for an hour before Nikolai took his Rivka to bed.

He made love to her that last night with a silent desperation that would have broken Rivka's heart if it had not already been broken beyond repair. She cradled his striving body and felt the need in his big frame as he drove them both to completion, and when his release came and he spent himself within her the only sound he made was the soft, groaning whisper of her name, over and over again as he spilled his semen deep in her warm, welcoming body..

Afterwards he lay trembling, and Rivka gathered him to her breast and crooned to him until he slipped into a fretful sleep. Neither of them slept well that night, Rivka unable to settle and Nikolai driven awake by vague nightmares that he couldn't remember as he woke, sweating and shivering.

Morning came all too soon. Breakfast was a quiet affair with both of them tired and unhappy. Nikolai only had thirty minutes before the truck was to pick him up at the bottom of the street, and Rivka helped him into his greatcoat. She had made him put on two pairs of socks and his felt boots, and he was adamant that he was perfectly warm.

"Now then, Rivka, I'll be fine! I might not even be away too long, my lady - Danilov said something about wanting me for a sniper school they're setting up here in a couple of months - so I'm better off than some of these poor buggers that have been away from home for a year or more."

She reached up and cupped his face in her hand.

"Months or years, Niko - it doesn't matter. I'll miss you every moment you're gone, so just try and keep your head down and stay safe for me - do you promise?"

He leaned down and kissed her.

"Yes Rivka, I promise. Right - where's my pilotka?"

Rivka smiled despite herself and lifted his forage cap from the table and handed it to him, watching him set it on his short curls at the jaunty angle she adored.

"You, Major, are a handsome man, did you know that?"

Nikolai snorted.

"Me?? Are you crazy, woman? I've seen better-looking horse's arses! Handsome indeed!"

She patted him gently on the chest.

"You're handsome, Nikolai Koulikov, and don't you ever forget it!"

They stood for long moments, gazing at one another, until Nikolai took a deep breath and broke the spell.

"It's time, Rivka. I have to go. Do you think you could see me off? I'd like that."

Eyes shining with unshed tears, she nodded.

He lifted his pack and rifle and headed off out of the cellar into the clear winter sunshine, Rivka following him up the stairs, shivering slightly as the frozen air hit her face. As she stood beside him he touched her face and tucked a tendril of hair back behind her ear, and before he could stop himself he had gathered her into his arms, and they held each other as though they would never let go. Pulling back a little, Rivka reached up and cradled his rugged face in her hands and gave him a small, sweet kiss so tender and soft he gasped at the joy of it.

But they were interrupted by the honk of a truck horn. Nikolai turned and lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and then eased himself from Rivka's arms and shouldered his rifle and pack once more.

"Major?" Rivka's voice was warm, despite her heartbreak.

"Yes, Missus?"

"You be safe for me, do you hear? None of this getting shot or blown-up nonsense, because I won't be very happy if you get yourself hurt." Rivka smiled up at him through the tears. "Don't be a pain in the toches, behave, eat properly and keep warm. And don't forget to write."

He smiled down at her.

"I promise, Missus. I'll be home soon. Take care and don't - "

"Yes, yes, I know. Don't talk to any strange men!" Rivka couldn't keep the sob from her voice.

And with a cheeky grin Nikolai was off, trotting down the street, bag bouncing on his broad back, heading towards the unknown.

Rivka watched his tall, brawny frame as Nikolai heaved himself into the back of the truck, her heart breaking. She hugged her shivering body, tears spilling down her face unbidden, the pain of watching him go almost too much to bear.

As the truck drove slowly away into the ruins of the city, heading only God knew where, she sobbed quietly. Perhaps she should have told him ... no she could not have burdened him with more worry. She instinctively touched her stomach.

No, my Niko ... when you come home, my love ... when you come home and you're safe and sound, then I'll tell you that I carry your child inside me ... then we can be a family … at last.

Finally turning away she slowly walked back to her home, where the only thing she could do now was wait, and hope, and pray.

To Chapter 13

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