December, 1941
The Pripet Marsh
Dawn. The mosquitoes had found him and any exposed flesh on his body was covered with fresh welts and red bites. “Don’t you guys go somewhere for the winter? Try the Nazis—they’re the ones with the pure bloodlines.”
He stood and studied the terrain. Grass and sky merged into an indivisible line. He dug through the scattered debris left by the storm. The rifle was covered with mud, the ammunition soaked. He uncovered a knife and a few biscuits, covered by ants. He discovered that the mosquitoes couldn’t bite through the mud on his face and neck. Hallelujah, he told himself, you’ve invented the wheel.
He was hungry and thirsty. “You too, Koz. Well there’s plenty around here to eat. But first, I want a bath.”
He padded down the bank, his boots sliding on the mud, then entered the grass. Oblivious now to the mosquitoes and the needles, he returned to the creek. He removed his muddy clothes, dropped them into the creek, and went naked into the water. He didn’t mind the water; it was cold but nothing compared to the icy Baltic he was used to. It soothed his bite-infested skin, and he lay still against the smooth sandy bottom. A myriad of bird and animal chatter surrounded him. The sky was clear except for white tracers that were hundreds of miles long. Minnows flashed beneath him, sending shivers over his skin while larger fish came close and darted off.
The grass rustled, and he caught a glimpse of a rabbit darting past.
Hunger drove him to leave the water. He hoped to find some way to catch fish, and as he put his wet clothes back on, he was distracted by the sudden movement of a tiny crab on the bank. He made a grab for it, but came up with only a handful of mud. But there were hundreds of them, and he soon got the knack, crushing them in his fist and eating them raw.
From above, Koz watched his activities with some interest. Stephen took a handful of the crabs over to him and held them up to his nose. The horse sniffed and turned his head. “You might like these, Koz.” But the horse dodged his hand and Stephen finished them himself. “That’s only my appetizer, buddy. Now it’s time for the main course.”
He dug up more of the crabs and put them into his boot. He held the boot under water. Before a minute had passed he felt the forward thrust of a fish and he whipped the boot out and flung the fish onto the shore. Two more followed, and he cut them open with his knife, pulled out the bones and ate them. “All I need is a nice Chablis, Koz.”
Satiated, he explored the creek bank, coming upon a narrow trail that led back into the grass. Following it, he observed animal tracks that he guessed were deer or wild boar. Despite his growing excitement he went back for the horse.
“Did you know about this? Some great general you are!”
Koz followed him down the trail. It wove across the marsh for miles, cutting neatly through the needles so that Stephen could walk untouched by the spears.
It ended in a clearing at the center of which was a hole. Stephen and the horse approached, and he let out a delirious cry of joy when he saw that water was bubbling up out of the hole. A spring. He got on his knees and tasted the clear water. He splashed it over his face and hands, drank more, then moved aside. “Your turn, Koz.”
The horse went placidly to the spring and sniffed it. “Go on,” Stephen chided. “You saw me drink it so you know it won’t poison you.” The horse’s tongue lapped at the water. He occasionally looked at Stephen, but he didn’t stop drinking.
“That’s enough. You’re going to burst.” Stephen shoved Koz away. The clearing was heavily tracked and he found a dozen game trails extending in every direction. By following them he knew he would soon learn his way about the entire marsh. “This is it, Koz. We’ve gone from being infants to masters of the kingdom in one day.”