Burning Moscow

Chapter 153: Lessons Learned During My Hospital Stay (Part 1) I don’t remember how long I sat there dazed on the ground before someone pulled me to my feet. I mechanically followed the person out of the subway station and was shoved into a black sedan. Only then did I realize that the one who’d pulled me into the car was Colonel Bezhikov. I foolishly asked him, as he sat beside me, what had happened to the passengers on the platform— “Are there any survivors?” He replied with some impatience, “They’ve all been blown to bits. How could anyone possibly have survived?” I think I was crying as I asked him, “Why did all this happen? Why? Dozens of people—dozens! There were old people, women, and children among them. They were just mowed down indiscriminately, their bodies torn to shreds. Why on earth did this happen?” ” Bezikov said unhappily, “It’s all that damned driver’s fault. He insulted Comrade Stalin with his words, which had already enraged the soldiers. Just then, a blinding white light appeared; almost everyone was momentarily blinded by the white glare and instinctively pulled the trigger…” Just then, I heard the air raid siren. At first, the siren was faint and distant, but it quickly grew louder, drowning out Bezikov’s voice. Furious, he shouted at the driver in the front seat: “What’s going on? Wasn’t the air raid alert lifted? Why is it sounding again?” The driver glanced out the window, then continued to focus intently on the road ahead, replying indignantly: “ “Comrade Colonel, the Germans have become particularly cunning. They’ve split their bomber formations into two waves, taking off in batches. After the first wave has been gone for a while, the second wave of bombers arrives and indiscriminately bombs people emerging from the air-raid shelters, causing heavy civilian casualties.” As he spoke, I caught a glimpse of the bronze statue of Pushkin flashing past the car window. I knew we were not far from the Kremlin; just a few more minutes’ drive would take us to safety. But German bombs were already whistling through the air. One exploded nearby, followed by the rumbling sound of buildings collapsing. Before I could turn to look at the destroyed structures, another bomb suddenly detonated by the roadside to our left front, causing our car to jolt. Bezhikov grew anxious and frantically urged the driver: “ “Hurry up, hurry up, drive faster!” … Before he could finish speaking, another bomb fell from the sky and exploded right beside our car. The massive blast flipped the vehicle over. As the car rolled, Bezikov, who was sitting next to me, slammed into me with such force that stars danced before my eyes and everything went black. Then my head struck the roof of the car with a violent thud, causing me to lose consciousness completely before the car had even completed its first roll... When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a blinding white light. For a split second, I had the illusion that I had returned to that platform littered with corpses. I blinked frantically, trying to adjust to my surroundings. As my vision cleared, I realized I was in a pristine white hospital room. Glancing around, I saw a nightstand to my right and a row of yellow radiators beneath the window. There was only my hospital bed in the room—it appeared to be a private room. I looked down at my body and couldn’t help but smile wryly. My clothes had been removed, and my left side and chest were covered in crisscrossing bandages. I tried to sit up to see where I was, but the moment I moved, a sharp pain shot through my left side, making me groan involuntarily. My scalp felt a little itchy, and the only part of me I could move was my right hand. I raised it to scratch my head but instead felt the bandage wrapped around my forehead. I silently lamented my bad luck; ever since I’d come to this world, I’d lost count of how many times I’d been injured or ended up in the hospital. Just then, the door opened and a nurse in a white coat walked in. Seeing that I had regained consciousness, she closed the door and hurried over to crouch beside me, asking cheerfully, “You’re awake! How are you feeling?” “I’m fine!” I didn’t know where I was, nor what had become of Colonel Bezhikov, who had been with me, so I asked, “How is Colonel Bezhikov?” “Don’t worry, Comrade Colonel is doing just fine!” the nurse reassured me. “When the rescue team pulled you both out of the car, the driver was killed, and you sustained only minor injuries. As for the colonel, he injured his leg, but he can walk with the aid of a cane.” “Where am I?” “This is the 37th Army Hospital. When you were admitted, we received orders from higher-ups to provide you with the best room and the best treatment, so we arranged for you to stay in this special ward…” Just as I was exchanging questions with the nurse, there was a knock at the door. The nurse got up and went to open it. Immediately, I heard her voice: “Hello! Comrade Colonel!” “Has Lieutenant Colonel Oshanina woken up yet? ” The voice sounded very familiar; I knew immediately it was Bezhikov. I quickly pulled the sheet covering me up to hide my exposed body, then called out, “Is that Colonel Bezhikov at the door? Please come in and sit down; don’t just stand there.” The nurse stepped aside to make way, and Bezhikov, leaning on his cane, limped inside. He called out to me loudly, “Thank God, you’ve finally woken up!” I reached my right hand out from under the sheet, waved at him, and said, “Comrade Colonel, my ears aren’t injured; you don’t need to speak so loudly.” The nurse walked to the other side of the bed and whispered to me, “Comrade Colonel’s ears were deafened by the explosion; if you speak too softly, he won’t be able to hear you.” Since the nurse had said that, I had no choice but to raise my voice when speaking to him. At the same time, I motioned for the nurse to leave and close the door—I certainly didn’t want our conversation to become public knowledge. I asked Bezhikov, who was sitting in the chair by the bed, “Comrade Colonel, how are things?” My original intention was to ask if the air raid outside had ended, but he misunderstood me. He slapped his thigh hard and said, “It’s absolutely terrible. I never expected the Germans to launch two consecutive air raids today. According to the original schedule, you should have been in the Kremlin right now, being received by Comrade Stalin. But since you’ve been wounded and are unconscious, the meeting has been canceled at the last minute.” “What?” The news took me completely by surprise. The idea that Stalin wanted to see me was simply unimaginable. I pointed a finger at my own nose and asked in disbelief, “Comrade Stalin wants to see me?” “Yes.” Bezhikov said with certainty, “It was Comrade Stalin’s order to have you return to Moscow.” Hearing this, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of being both flattered and overwhelmed. I secretly wondered if recalling me at this time meant another promotion—perhaps two medals first, followed by a general’s rank. That would make the trip well worth it. Just as I was lost in these daydreams, what Bezikov said next made me feel as if I’d been plunged into an ice cellar. “I have some bad news to tell you.” “He said calmly, ”Shortly after our convoy emerged from the subway station, it was spotted by enemy aircraft. Perhaps the enemy mistook us for newly arrived reinforcements, so the enemy planes launched wave after wave of attacks on the convoy. Aside from a few wounded soldiers who narrowly escaped, the rest were all killed." In disbelief, I asked, “Was it the convoy transporting the subway passengers?” “Yes!” Bezikov said flatly. “It wasn’t just their convoy; even the convoy our guard regiment was escorting—the one carrying the mechanical engineers and workers—was bombed. Almost everyone was killed in the air raid. ” I stood there in a daze for a long time, then suddenly recalled that he had used the word “almost.” So, clinging to a sliver of hope, I asked, “What about Senior Engineer Fronin? And the engineer named… named Seregin, I think that was his name? Did they perish as well?” As soon as I finished speaking, I fixed my gaze on Bezikov, watching intently for his reaction. Seeing him shake his head just as I’d hoped, I secretly breathed a sigh of relief; the weight on my heart had finally lifted. But then, to my surprise, he added, “Although the car they were in wasn’t traveling with the convoy, it was also hit by the bombing.” My heart leapt into my throat, my breathing grew rapid, and my right hand unconsciously clenched the bedsheet. After a long moment, I asked weakly, “Are they all right?” “Engineer Seregin had half his head blown off by shrapnel; he died instantly. Senior Engineer Flonin, however, was lucky—he was knocked unconscious by the blast’s shockwave. He suffered a head injury and fractures of varying severity in his limbs. After emergency treatment, the doctors say he’s out of danger, though he remains in a coma for now. We’ve moved him to the room next door. If you have time, you can go see him.”