A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (5 page)

“That’s the golden question,” he said. “I think it comes down to him being a pretty awful excuse for a human. A week-long skirmish meant that his armies wouldn’t need anything special— not even winter uniforms, although this is already one of the coldest winters in decades, which he couldn’t have predicted. I wouldn’t be the least surprised to find out that Stalin is capable of cold-blooded murder. That’s basically what he’s done to his men over the past two weeks— when thousands fall, he sends thousands of replacements. No regard for human life— his men’s or the Finns’. Who cares about strategy to spare his own men, when he has so many?”

“How awful.”

In the distance, the sound of engines starting came through the darkness. Anna’s chin came up, and she cocked her head, listening. “A nighttime patrol?”

Pete shrugged. “Possibly. But they’re probably just keeping the engines warm. You’ll hear every vehicle run for a bit every fifteen minutes, around the clock. If that doesn’t happen, the engines turn into frozen blocks of steel until spring. That’s another thing the Russians are finally figuring out; they’ve lost several vehicles already because the engines weren’t running often enough to keep from freezing.”

“You’ve learned a lot more in two days than you give yourself credit for.” Anna stared off into the woods in the direction of the sound. “So many things in this war I never thought of. And it sounds like a lot of these same things never occurred to the Soviets.”

The scent of sausage soup grew stronger now; they had to be close to the field kitchen and mess tent. In their relatively short walk, Anna had grown colder than she’d ever been in her life. She wrapped her arms about herself and rubbed her hands up and down her arms through her coat. “Let’s get some food.”

“This way,” Pete said, nodding forward.

They each took only one more step before shouts and running and other chaotic noises sounded from the rear of the camp. They halted to listen. At first, Anna assumed the noises were something easily explained, like what Pete had described with the men making sure to turn on a truck engine to keep it from seizing in the cold, or a training exercise, or perhaps something else she hadn’t learned about yet as the army dealt with the Finnish winter. But the look on Pete’s face made her heart grow cold.

“Pete? What is it?”

He stood there, stock still, listening. Wordlessly, he held out a hand, palm out, signaling for her to say or do nothing. Suddenly men were running in all direction, yelling and cursing. Shrieks of pain echoed through the night.

We’re under attack!
The thought came to her in a flash, and Anna knew it was true.
But this isn’t a combat zone!

The Soviets weren’t in this area in great numbers— at least, that’s what Marshal Mannerheim had predicted. The enemy was supposed to be stuck following the obvious narrow roads, unable to get through the dense forests with their tanks. The Finns protected the roads easily, throwing Molotov cocktails into tank air vents and setting the whole thing on fire. This was supposed to be a safe place.

Yet flashes of light lit up spots in the night. The simultaneous booms told Anna that it was rifle fire from both sides as Russian and Finn met. In the distance, soldiers seemed to be shooting blindly into the darkness, which made sense; they certainly couldn’t see one another clearly. Groans and cries echoed, followed by the sound of a man— Two? Three?— crying out.

Were the fallen Finnish or Russian? Anna couldn’t tell from where she stood, unmoving. Yet she found herself worrying, caring about the people she’d just met. These weren’t nameless fighters, but men with lives and loved ones and physical pains.

The fighting slowly spread, drawing closer and closer. At first Anna stayed alert, taking it all in, until Pete grabbed Anna’s hand and yanked her off the trail and into some brush. They half ran, half stumbled into the thick trees, with snow halfway up their legs.

Pete stopped briefly, searched the landscape, and pointed. “There!” he whispered, indicating a snowbank and a cluster of trees a few yards off, lit only by the full moon reflected off the snow. They ran and hid, crouching behind the trees and snow as the fighting went on.

They were safe for the moment, but Anna’s heart raced, hammering against her chest as the realization that this “safe” area was still in a war zone— and she could have been killed. Could yet be killed.

Together they stayed hunched down and waited. Anna breathed hard and fast, sending wisps into the air. Could the enemy find them by the fog of their breath? The snow began to seep through her boots, stockings,
and
long johns, and the booms and blasts continued, making her tremble.

Yet Pete was beside her, still holding her hand. She could feel his breath on her face. The idea that he was here, protecting her, made her want to weep. She wanted to kiss him hard, if only to thank him. Another cry of pain rang out, and another making her shudder.

This could be my last chance to tell Pete I love him.

Stop thinking about him. You’re a reporter!

Tears stung her eyes, but she forced them back; she couldn’t be objective if her emotions got tangled up in her work. She hoped that whatever was happening would be over soon, but the screams, moans, and gunfire didn’t ebb. Her feet throbbed from the cold. More shots boomed and flashed through the forest, and her body started to tremble. She found herself drawing nearer Pete for comfort; journalism could go hang. Pete must have sensed her anxiety, because he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“It’ll be all right.” His embrace felt warm and comforting, familiar— right. For the moment, she blocked out the fact that they were no longer a couple, that they had no future. She closed her eyes and let his presence calm her, take her away from the war raging around them.

She found herself shaking uncontrollably, yet she couldn’t blame more than half of it on the temperature. A constant parade of images marched through her mind: Russians finding them and dragging them away. Russians torturing them, shooting them. Fear and adrenaline pumped through her trembling body.

She grasped one of Pete’s hands between both of hers and tried to breathe evenly. A voice in her head whispered that she should be taking in as many details as possible so she could write a great story about this battle— one she couldn’t see even though she was in the thick of it.

“Anna, I—” Pete’s voice cut off, but his eyes stayed locked on her, and even with the battle raging, a thick silence hung between them.

She had to know what he had been about to say. “What?” It came out as a whisper. The moon lit one side of his face, casting the other half in shadow.

“You need to know that…” He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the fighting, took a deep breath, and tried again. “I left in a cowardly way. But I’ve never stopped loving you. I just had to leave, because you deserve so much more than what I can offer you.”

Anna straightened and stared at him. Her heart felt as if it had jumped back to life. But the sad look on his face didn’t give her the hope she needed. “What do you mean?”

“You deserve to be with someone you can count on, not someone who hops around the globe unexpectedly. You should be able to have stability, and a few kids, and a white picket fence and—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “Who said I want all that?”

“You… don’t want children?”

“Sure I do, but—”

He shook his head and interrupted. “And you talked about settling down.”

“I didn’t mean it that way— I meant being with one person, no more dating.” Anna wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know where this conversation was going. “What made you think that?”

“The way you talked about your parents made it sound like you wanted to stay near them, and have a house like theirs…”

“No, Pete.” Anna put her hands on his chest to get his attention. “That’s not it at all. I knew who you were when I met you. That’s part of what I love about you... you have no fear. I loved hearing about your travels and seeing your eyes light up when you talked about it. I wanted to experience that
with
you.”

Pete brushed a lock of her hair away from her eyes. “But you’re so close to your parents.”

“They’re are dear to me, but there is so much more of the world to see than California…” Her eyes searched his for understanding, for hope. “You never gave me the chance to choose. You just… left.” Tears pricked her eyes, and this time they wouldn’t stay put. One ran slowly down her cheek as if it were partially freezing on its way.

Pete lowered his head. “I didn’t know it would hurt you like that.”

“How could you
not
know? I love you, Pete Sorensen. And that isn’t going to change, ever, even if you walk out of my life again.”
But I hope you won’t.

He looked about to respond, but suddenly the noise about them dimmed. Both Pete and Anna turned their heads to see what had happened. Some voices— Finnish ones— called out orders and questions with an urgent tone. What was happening? Was it over? She didn’t hear anyone speaking Russian. Did that mean the Finns had won the battle?

Pete gradually stood from a crouch, grimacing, his legs likely frozen in place. Anna’s were stiff too didn’t know if she could stand if she had to. Pete lifted a finger to his lips. She nodded, agreeing to stay silent.

He jerked his head to one side and mouthed,
I’ll be right back.

Again Anna nodded, this time sending a prayer heavenward that Pete would be able to return to her safely. He moved slowly, but Anna could hear snow crunching and squeaking beneath his boots, and she cringed with every step, waiting for another blaze of light from a Russian rifle taking Pete out.

Please, please, please.
The single word repeated itself as the purest prayer she’d ever offered. She still loved Pete. Always would.

The freezing darkness pressed on her as she waited an eternity for Pete to return. She leaned against the trunk of a tree and closed her eyes, willing away the cold burning into her feet and hands. What she wouldn’t give to see— to feel!— the sun again.

Chapter Five

Pete came upon the skirmish near the field kitchen and mess tents, not far from where he and Anna had been standing. Between a few lanterns on the ground and the bright moon, he could make out a bloody mess as men fought in hand-to-hand combat— something neither side was used to, he was quite sure; long-distance artillery and rifle shots were the norm.

A couple of cooks in white, stained aprons ran past Pete, nearly knocking him over. At the same time, several others— including Kaisa from the field hospital— surged into the fray with improvised weapons: chairs, pocket knives, metal drawers. Kaisa had a scalpel in hand, and the fire of hell in her eyes. In spite of their efforts, Finns kept dropping to the snow, bleeding, one after the other.

It’s a bloodbath.
Pete’s stomach twisted with equal parts horror and terror. He looked over his shoulder in the direction he’d come, hoping Anna wouldn’t be spotted behind the trees. No one seemed to be going anywhere near her. He crouched behind a jeep beside the mess tent and watched.

Suddenly, without any order or signal that Pete could tell, the Russians stopped fighting and went on the defensive, as if they were trying to run away. As if they were trying to run
to
some place.

The Russians quickly retreated toward the kitchen and mess tent, leaving panting, wounded Finns behind. Several slumped against the nearest supports or even dropped to the snowy ground to catch their breath.

That’s when Pete really looked at the Russian soldiers as they rushed into the mess tent. Their faces were chalky white, likely from the cold. But some noses, chins, and ears had black spots— frostbite. Their eyes were sunken in, their cheekbones and jawlines jutting out, skulls visible through stretched, thin skin. The men, young and old alike, retreated, stumbling into the mess tent and field kitchens as if driven, haunted by something.

They’re starving to death.

Quite clearly, the Russian attack had stopped as quickly as it had begun when the men smelled food. Cooking sausage soup was tantamount to a Thanksgiving feast for them. No doubt after they satisfied their bodies’ crazed drive to eat, they’d come to their senses and resume the attack.

If the Finns were very lucky, this break would last long enough for reserve troops to arrive, and the Finns wouldn’t be slaughtered by the Reds.

Better get back to Anna— fast, before they finish eating.

As Pete turned to go, he spotted a Russian coming out of the kitchen with a whole sausage in one hand. He wore a look of absolute contentment as he left the mess tent, oblivious to anything but the heaven in his mouth.

In that brief moment, at least this Russian became human for Pete. This poor young man— boy, really— had been forced far from home because of a heinous dictator. Starved. Lied to. He’d suffered from cold and hunger and looked not far from death from both.

Yet the Finns had to fight back against men like this, destroy them all, or risk losing their very lives and liberty to the Soviet Block. Even with a best-case scenario, tonight wouldn’t be pretty. One side or the other had to die.

The professional in Pete looked around, realizing that he’d never get any pictures of tonight; his equipment was too far away and in its cases. A strange sense of relief came over him at the thought, but the journalist side chided him.

Pete turned and scurried down the slight hill of snow and along the path to where Anna hid. She had to be near, but all the pine trees looked the same in the dark. “Anna!” he whispered as loudly as he dared. “Anna, where are you?”

“Pete?” she whispered back. Her arm stuck out from behind a tree, followed by her face— lined with pain. She grimaced with each movement; Pete wanted to get her a cup of hot coffee to warm her up then hold her close and kiss her all better. To tell her he loved her and always would. Maybe he’d been wrong all along. She was right about one thing; he hadn’t given her the option to choose a life with him.