May, 1945
Czechoslovakia
The sun had dropped behind the mountains when they came within sight of the stream that marked the border. A short wooden bridge spanned the water, red in the fading sunlight. On the bridge were Russian soldiers, their rifles leaning against the guard house. The Czech side was deserted.
They heard a voice shouting down at the soldiers from the mountainside. Marie came down at a run, waving her good arm.
“Should we go downstream and try to cross?”
“They’d catch us.”
“But how—”
“I’m going to talk to them,” Stephen said. “When I signal, start running through the water to the other side.”
“But what will you say to them?”
“I’ll think of something.” He kissed her. “We’re going to make it.”
Stephen made his way along the edge of the forest to the bridge and she walked to the water’s edge. He saw that there were six soldiers, all but one of them young. Marie was shouting at them in Polish, but it was clear they had no idea what she was saying. Ignoring her, Stephen approached the oldest of them.
“My friend,” he said in Russian, “I was on the national soccer team. Also in the cavalry. Kozlov’s brigade.”
The veteran looked at the others. “Go back to your cards. And make her shut up.”
The younger soldiers took Marie into the guard house.
“So what’s this all about?”
“My wife and I want to cross the border.”
“Sick of Poland are you? You’ll get no argument from me.” He spit over the rail of the bridge. “Soccer, eh. I couldn’t run worth shit.”
“I can’t either. Not now. Hurt my ankle climbing these damn mountains.”
“You think life will be any better over there?”
Stephen shrugged. The soldier turned and walked away. Stephen waved for Rachel to go ahead. He resisted the urge to run and walked forward at a steady pace.
Rachel waded into the icy water. One step, then two, and then she ran. She splashed through and up the other side and raced for the end of the bridge.
At the top of the hill she looked back. The Russian had his back turned. The trees on the mountain were already dark and quiet had fallen over the stream. Stephen hobbled toward her, his feet clacking on the wooden slats. She started forward to help him but he warned her off. A few more steps. In her arms. Delirious. Laughing. Crying. Free at last.
The End.