Burning Moscow

Chapter 155: Lessons Learned During My Hospital Stay (Part 2) Seeing me cry, Restaev panicked. He stood before me, at a loss, and asked anxiously, “Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, what’s wrong? Why did you suddenly start crying?” Upon hearing the news about Lukin and Sapochuk, my mood suddenly lifted. Ever since I was transported to this world, although I’ve met quite a few people, but in the end, they either parted ways with me or were killed in action. Even the core team I’d worked so hard to build was nearly wiped out after a few battles. Given Lukin and Sapochuk’s abilities and experience, they’d likely land some position after being discharged, and I’d have two more capable assistants in the future. Thinking of this, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I wiped away my tears and smiled. “It’s nothing—I’m just happy.” ” I gave Restaev a cheerful punch on the shoulder. “Thank you, Restaev. I’d always thought Lukin and Sapochuk had been killed in action. I never imagined they were still alive—this news is truly wonderful.” “As long as they’re okay.” Restaev gave a silly chuckle. “When I saw you suddenly start crying, I thought something had happened. I worried for nothing.” “Have you eaten yet?” I didn’t know what time it was, but I offered the customary courtesy anyway: “If not, I’ll treat you to lunch at the hospital cafeteria.” “I haven’t had lunch yet. Now that you mention it, I’m actually a bit hungry. Let’s go right now.” Restaev shook his head, didn’t stand on ceremony, shifted to one side, and gestured for me to go first: “ “I suppose you don’t know where the cafeteria is. Let me show you the way.” The hospital cafeteria wasn’t large; there were only about ten neatly arranged square tables inside. It wasn’t mealtime yet, so the place was completely empty. As soon as we walked in, a plump old woman wearing a headscarf and an apron stood up from a corner near the door. She said to Restaev: “Comrade Commander, I’m sorry, but the cafeteria is currently closed. Please come back in two hours.” Although the old lady had effectively turned us away, Restaev asked somewhat reluctantly, “But I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. Could you prepare something for me? Even just a few slices of bread would do.” “We’re out. We’ve got nothing left,” the old woman replied coldly. “Comrade Commander, the cafeteria is currently closed. We’ve sold out of everything.” Hearing this, I gave a wry smile and said apologetically to Restaev, “Restaev, I’m sorry. I really wanted to treat you to a meal, but I didn’t expect the cafeteria to be closed. I’m truly sorry.” Restadayev sighed in disappointment and said, “Ah, never mind. I’ll just go back to the Garrison Command Headquarters to eat. Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, let’s go.” “Comrade Major!” Hearing Restaev address me this way, the old lady couldn’t help but look me up and down, repeating my rank aloud. We had barely turned and taken a few steps when the old lady suddenly called out from behind us, “Please wait a moment.” We stopped and turned to look at the old lady running after us. She stood in front of me and asked tentatively, “Excuse me, are you Major Oshanina?” “Yes.” I looked at her in some surprise, wondering how she could have known my identity. “I’m so sorry, Comrade Major!” the old lady apologized. “You’re wearing a hospital gown, so I didn’t recognize you.” “ “It’s all right; there are no rank insignia on a hospital gown, so it’s only natural you didn’t recognize me.” I said to the old lady in a friendly tone, “We just came to grab a bite to eat, but it turns out the cafeteria has closed. Oh well, that’s a bit of a shame. We’ll head out for now and come back later. Goodbye!” As I finished speaking and turned to leave, the old lady had already grabbed my right arm and was pulling me toward the cafeteria, saying as we walked, “Come with me, young lady. You’ve come all this way—I can’t let you go home on an empty stomach.” After taking a few steps, she called out to Restaev, who was still standing there dumbfounded: “Hey, Comrade Commander, what are you still standing there for? Do you want to stand there like some capitalist lord, waiting for a servant to bring your food to you on a platter?” Amid the good-natured laughter of the old lady and me, Restaev gave an embarrassed smile and hurried to catch up. The old lady seated us at a table, then went into the kitchen to fetch our food. Restaev watched her retreating figure and remarked with emotion, “ “It seems you really do carry a lot of weight. Even a restaurant that’s closed for the day is willing to make an exception to serve you.” I was just as baffled, unable to fathom why the old lady’s attitude had done a complete 180-degree turn the moment she heard my rank. I simply smiled slightly and said nothing. Restaev suddenly asked, “Have you been stationed with the 316th Infantry Division all this time?” “Yes. After I led the Independent Revenue Battalion to retake the station, I’ve been in charge of defending the area ever since. On the eve of the October Revolution anniversary, I received orders from division headquarters to lead a mixed battalion—composed of personnel drawn from various units within the division—along with Political Instructor Kroshikov, to participate in the Red Square military parade…” “Wait a moment.” Just as I reached this point, Restaev interrupted me, interjecting, “Are you saying you also led troops in the Red Square military parade?” “Yes.” I sensed he was trying to imply something, especially with that “also”—could it be that his own unit had also participated in that famous parade? With that thought in mind, I asked curiously, “Why did you say ‘also’? Were you in the marching units back then?” He shook his head dejectedly and said, “My unit was on security duty on the streets near Red Square that day, so I missed the chance to see Comrade Stalin in person. It’s such a pity.” “It’s okay!” I consoled him. “If you didn’t see him this time, there will be another chance next time. Besides, since you work at the Garrison Command, you have far more chances to see Comrade Stalin than we do in the field units.” “Speaking of which,” he changed the subject, asking, “How have Ferstov, Pavlov, and the others been lately? Are they still at the station? I haven’t seen them in ages and really miss them.” My smile froze on my face. The image of Ferstov’s body, hanging from the flagpole and swaying in the wind, immediately flashed through my mind. My nose stung, and tears nearly welled up again. It took me quite a while to finally compose myself. Staring at the ceiling, I said, “They’ve all fallen! They died heroically in the battle to defend the station. “Besides Ferstov and Pavlov, Agument and Aghi were also killed. After our troops recaptured the station, we heard from captured German officers and soldiers that Ferstov, despite being seriously wounded, single-handedly blew up a German tank. In a fit of rage, the German commander ordered his men to hang him from the station’s flagpole…” Hearing how the Germans had treated his comrades, Restaev’s eyes blazed with fury. He slammed his palm down on the table and snarled through clenched teeth, “Those damned fascist bandits! I’ll make you pay for your crimes with your blood!” “What’s going on?” The old lady, who had been busy in the kitchen, heard the loud noise from the dining room and rushed out to see what was happening. “It’s nothing, nothing!” I quickly turned to the old lady and waved my hands repeatedly, saying, “We were just chatting. Comrade Major got a little carried away and slapped the table. I’m so sorry to have startled you.” “Dinner will be ready in a minute.” With that, the old lady darted back into the kitchen. I looked at the emotionally charged Restaev in front of me and said slowly, “This is war. If we want to stop losing our friends and loved ones, we must first defeat these invaders…” “Comrade Commander, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” The old lady’s booming voice came from the kitchen, and I saw her emerge carrying a tray. She approached our table, cradling the tray with her left hand while using her right to place each dish onto the table one by one. In addition to two plates of roasted potatoes, a plate of bread, and a bowl of borscht, there was even a serving of steaming roast meat, drizzled with tomato sauce and sprinkled with fresh onion slices. After setting the food out, the old lady placed the tray on a nearby table, then gestured invitingly and said, “ “Please help yourself, Comrade Commander. You must be starving.” Restaev didn’t hesitate. He first picked up a slice of bread with his left hand and took a hearty bite; before he could put it down, he speared a potato from the plate with his fork, mumbling, “I haven’t eaten all day—I’m absolutely starving.” I was very curious to know how the old lady had learned my identity, so I didn’t eat right away. Instead, I motioned for her to sit down in the seat next to me and asked curiously, “Grandma, how did you know my name?” The old lady first pushed another plate of potatoes toward me, then said in a leisurely tone, “The hospital notified us yesterday that a female Lieutenant Colonel was being treated here and asked us all to be ready to help her at any time. And when I just heard that commander call you ‘Lieutenant Colonel,’ I guessed it was you. Besides, I’ve heard quite a few stories about your exploits from others…” “What deeds?” Hearing the old lady say this, I grew even more curious. I hadn’t expected that I’d already gained some fame—that people had actually begun to talk about my exploits. “They say you once led a small unit deep behind enemy lines to carry out a dangerous reconnaissance mission. On the way back, you took in a large number of scattered soldiers and formed a unit. And when fighting the Germans who were attacking the city, you personally went to the front lines to engage the enemy face-to-face, forcing an enemy unit to surrender to you…” Although the old lady’s account was brief, it was all true. But since these events couldn’t possibly have been reported in the newspapers, how did she know about them? I looked at the old lady in puzzlement and asked, “Who told you about these things?” “My son!” “Your son?!” “Yes!” the old woman said proudly. “He served in the Independent Battalion; he was a company commander under your command.” “A company commander under my command?” I couldn’t help but glance at Restaev across from me. He had half a potato hanging from his mouth and was staring at the old woman in utter astonishment. Judging by the old woman’s attitude toward him just now, the two were clearly not mother and son. So who could her son be? I silently ran through the names of the company commanders from the Independent Battalion at the time, then tentatively asked, “Which one is your son? Lukin or Sapochuk?” The old woman shook her head and said, “Neither. My son’s name is Ishayev; he was the artillery company commander under your command.” “Ishayev!” Resdayev dropped the potato he was chewing back into his plate with a plop. He and I stood up at the same time and asked the old woman in unison, “Ishayev is your son? Where is he now? Is he still alive?”