by Silent Draco
Part 4
2225, 20 Jun 45, near Eisenach
Johannes babbled about travel west to find his Unkel and Tante, and something about Uma, only to get backhanded to the ground. Sobbing, he looked around in confusion.
“Enough!” shouted Novoshenko, “no one just comes west for tea with Grandmother and Auntie. You are after …” then he saw the silver chain around Johannes’ neck, below the rope burn. With one swift yank, he broke the clasp and held the chain and an odd silvery amulet with a colored stone. “Vasily, Kyril, examine!”
Two of his team looked at the amulet and reluctantly shook their heads. “The runes read “Protect … Mother, but the rest appears worn off,” offered Kyrill. “Oh, bugger,” whispered Griffin. “If the stone is, er, if the runes are what I conjecture … is my satchel still close? We have a very bothersome spot, old boy. Follow my lead, and above all, be quiet and polite.” Sellers barely flicked his eyes left in confusion; this was a fine time for the Brit to go off the deep end! Then a subtle disturbance attracted him to the reaction platoon. About ten men relaxed their weapons grip, but had quietly slipped down on a knee – no, both knees. Why?
Novoshenko said icily. “Not inner Party. Black market, and looter. This is old Russian token, soldier to protect Rodina (Motherland). You stole from dead Soviet soldier in the march east, and hope to sell scrap west. Where is the rest? Who are your contacts? Where is your gang, wrecker? Where!?” He whirled, pointing at Sellers and Griffin. Suddenly a red flare, followed by a second red star, came from outside the lit area. The captain looked out, restrained a salute reflex, then reported: “Prepared position found, Comrade Colonel. Second Platoon sector.” He gave two short blasts and one long one on his whistle, and a hand signal to the reaction platoon commander. From the sounds, everyone was now locked and loaded, and the captain absently added, “Comrade, our heavy weapons sections have the Ami and British vehicles and teams covered, range 200m or less.”
“Comrade Colonel,” Sellers began, “Surely you can’t be thinking that we’re working the market with this half-dead Kraut …” Novoshenko raised his left hand, with a face that could have been carved out of a glacier. “You will listen and obey, Mister Sellers. I will have answer, and will have it this night – no matter how many ‘traffic accidents’ have to be reported. There was no way of knowing a tank company was moving along the road – administrative change. First the German speaks, and then … you will talk.”
Out of the darkness came a woman’s voice, roughened and rounded like old wood polished in winds on the taiga. “Nyet. He is good boy”. The reaction platoon looked out with alarm, and at least half were now down on their faces – not prone, but seeking concealment.
“Comrade Colonel Viktor Adamovich Novoshenko, The Little Hussar. Do not be nekulturny. Good boy did nothing wrong, wants to bring tea for old Granny.” Kyrill turned ashen, and grabbing Vasily’s arm, he hurled them both to the ground with a whimpered hiss: “She is here!” An old woman stepped slowly into the circle of electric light, leaning slightly on her staff.
She was garbed in old rags and a tattered cape, moving slowly. But was her slow movement a sign of old age, or something like that … the Caucasus tiger he saw one time? “You want answer? Good. I am answer. Now, foolish boy, what is question?”
Griffin stepped forward quite carefully, setting his satchel down at his feet. Both hands empty, he bowed to the old woman and said “Dobry beuer, Babushka. I am Lieutenant Colonel Martin Griffin, of the Royal Army of Great Britain. May I speak concerning the good boy, if it pleases you?” The old woman glanced over, then made an elaborate gesture at Novoshenko. He froze in place, where they could see his face purpling in an effort to say or do anything. “A polite young man? Is good. Da, Granny will listen. You are not wanting to hurt or hinder him?”
She frowned slightly; Griffin and Sellers both shivered. “Oh no Madam, quite to the contrary. He came to us with a most remarkable tale, and a most remarkable – amulet? Yes, amulet, which he let me look upon; for understanding, I assure you!” Griffin suddenly sweated under his tunic; that look on her face was like a Leadenhall butcher. “He travelled very far on foot, with moderate wounds, and is quite weary and somewhat out of his senses. We gave him shelter and a place to rest, food and drink. When young Johannes spoke of his travels and what he sought, I realized that we could aid him. Therefore,” he beckoned slowly but urgently at Johannes to come over, “I give him good tea, Assam and English Breakfast, a gift from my own stores, from the kindness of my heart. Johannes, be a good fellow and take the satchel over for Granny to examine, please.”
The old woman looked into the small bag that Johannes presented to her. She pursed her lips, thought a moment, and nodded. “It is good. He has done well for Granny, and you,“ she thrust out a wicked-looking forefinger, “you were kind to him. You are good men. You and yours may go in peace, with Granny’s thanks. Is proper. Help boy to get settled, remind him he has invitation to visit Granny. Perhaps bring more good tea?” She looked wistfully. Johannes and Griffin both nodded solemnly. “It shall be as Granny requests. And if you please, there are a mixture of milk and dark chocolate candies in the other box. This is a token of my deepest respect, offered freely for your enjoyment. Perhaps Johannes will be able to bring more on his visit, should it please you, Madam.” Griffin went silent, praying deeply that he hadn’t overplayed a weak hand. The old woman smiled, like the sun behind a thundercloud. “ Good men. Go in peace with Granny’s thanks. And Johannes,” she reached over, plucking the amulet from Novoshenko’s hand, “be more wary of nekulturny, bad men like him,” she chided gently.
With a final set of bows, Sellers and Griffin mounted their teams up and drove steadily but quickly away. This was not quickly enough. Griffin, in the trailing car, heard a steely voice ring out: “Who among you know who I am, and sincerely regret disturbing me? Drop weapons, go immediately!” A great clatter and scuffling of feet followed, and a deeper tone rang: “No, you stay. And, Littlest Hussar,” came a hissing voice, “you shall watch the rest, my final treat you shall be.” Then the sounds began.
To Be Continued!