POLYA KOLANKA lay in her new uniform, her new quilted jacket over it, wearing her new winter boots which were keeping her feet snug and warm. She had taken the best spot, over the tank’s transmission – still warm from the night’s march – and now snow was covering the tarpaulin under which she lay like a second blanket. Life wasn’t too bad. She’d savour this warmth for as long as she had it, the clothes for as long as they were clean and free from lice and engine oil. She’d enjoy the weight of the bellyful of food until she needed to eat again.
Best of all, no one was shooting at them – they’d reached the position undetected. She listened to Avdeyev the machine gunner and Vitsin the loader digging the tank in, their spades sounding brittle on the cold earth. Polya would have to get up in an hour and take her turn, of course, but at least their spot in the forest was relatively free from roots. Artemeyev’s lot hadn’t been so lucky – she could hear them swearing as they chopped their way down, centimetre by centimetre. They’d been told to do the job properly, that they’d be here for a while. And the Germans were close – so the deeper the hole, the safer they’d be.
She was tired. Her shoulders ached from pushing and pulling at the steering levers on the march, although she’d never admit it to the others or use it as an excuse to get out of the digging. She might be a woman but she wanted no special treatment. Anyway, Avdeyev and Vitsin had broken through the frosted crust now – so her part would be easier. By the time they finished they’d have shifted tens of tonnes of soil – but the tank would be safe unless a German shell landed straight on top of them. And when they’d covered it with branches and brush only the crows would know they were here – and by the morning, the crows would have forgotten where. As it should be.
It was worth the effort, the German artillery would pound them if they knew the battalion was here. And she hated artillery.
She was pleased that all their hard work making sure Galechka was ready for the coming battle had paid off. They’d had no trouble on the march here, while some of the skirt-chasers who’d spent their time running round after the field hospital nurses had broken down and been pushed off the road. And when the battalion had made its way through the forest, tank by tank so as not to let the Fritzes know what they were up to, Galechka had slipped through the trees like a ghost. They were only a few hundred metres away from the trenches – close enough to hear rifle fire – but some people, like that fellow in the third company, didn’t understand the operational necessities of being quiet. Crushing a motorbike? What a piece of work that was. The Germans must have been asleep not to have heard it.
‘Well done, Polina Ivanovna – not bad for a girl,’ Lapshin had said to her when they’d arrived. She knew he’d been teasing her, that he’d expected nothing less. Little Polya had done it again. She’d been glad he’d been up behind her in the commander’s seat, unable to see how her face had glowed with pride. She liked, as well, that he used her given name and patronymic – it was respectful. Although, she thought, calling her Little Polya, as everyone else did, would be quite acceptable also. She lay on top of the tank, feeling the heat from the engine against her back – and decided it was best not to think too much about Comrade Lapshin. It was distracting. Yet here he was coming towards the tank, picking his way across the snow. She knew the sound of his walk. She listened for it when he wasn’t there.
She heard him climb up the side of the tank and slip under the tarpaulin alongside her.
‘Comrade Lieutenant?’
‘Ah, home sweet home. How long till our turn to dig?’
‘An hour. I kept the watch.’
‘Time enough for a nap, then.’
‘All went well?’
‘With the meeting? Well, enough. Your driving was picked out by the battalion commander for special praise – “If Little Polya can drive her tank like a man – everyone can.” Don’t expect kind looks from the third company – they were singled out for criticism.’
In the darkness Polya grinned hard enough to split her face.
‘And now?’
‘We wait. No more stripping engines, Polya. It could be at any moment. Turn her over, grease her up, keep her warm but nothing more than that. Now, if you’ll excuse me – an hour’s sleep is an hour’s sleep.’
There it was, just like that. Comrade Lapshin had called her Polya. She smiled, turned on her side, and shut her own eyes.
As Comrade Lapshin said, an hour’s sleep was an hour’s sleep.