War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 354

Chapter 21

Summer 1949

C

hristmas came and went, but everybody was too exhausted to notice. Winter passed and summer chased away the brutal cold. The prisoners planted vegetables to supplement their diet, repaired their barracks, and made small embellishments here and there.

Since the

plenni

didn’t have reliable information, they lived purely on the plentiful rumors. Every other week one of the men spread the latest gossip about a general amnesty for prisoners of war, gleaned from reading between the lines of a

Pravda

article or an overheard conversation between two guards.

Sometimes miracles happened and German POWs were transferred away, either home or to another camp. The Soviets never gave an explanation and the prisoners didn’t dare ask.

Johann lived day by day, making the best out of a horrible situation. He’d become quite fluent in Russian and used his day off to read the books from the culture barracks.

In Vorkuta, every prisoner was allowed one day off per week, called

vikhodnoy

, which translated to going out. A cynical name, really, because this was the one day the prisoners didn’t have to leave the camp.

Johann had long given up the notion of getting angry or even annoyed at such blatant mocking from the Soviets and instead enjoyed the leisure time. Most prisoners slept all day, but he buried his nose in books that transported him into a better world far away from the Devil’s Home.

In his mind he wrote letters to his beloved Lotte, the thought of her making him sad and happy at the same time. He imagined her in all her beauty with children tugging at her hands – she deserved to be happy. But although he wished the best for her, he hated the idea of another man by her side, and in his dreams those children belonged to him.

To them.

In reality, there were no letters. The Soviets held a hysterical fear that a prisoner might write something bad about them and let the outside world know the truth. Johann scoffed; there were more than enough abominations to write about. In his opinion, the Communists were on a par with the Nazis in terms of injustice, cruelty, misanthropy and mendacity.

Like Hitler, Stalin justified even the cruelest crimes with his flawed ideology. Johann sighed. Would humanity never learn? Hadn’t the Romans killed the Christians two thousand years ago? And hadn’t then the Christians killed the Muslims in the crusades a thousand years ago? Hadn’t even the Christians amongst themselves fought to the last drop of blood in the Thirty Years War four hundred years ago? All to preserve a flawed ideology that decreed there was only one correct path to follow. When would humanity finally learn to leave those in peace who looked, thought, and lived differently?

Johann wouldn’t hold his breath.

“Hey, what’re you up to?” Alfred strolled into the library.

“As you can see, I’m reading.” Johann held up the book

Anna Karenina

by Leo Tolstoy. It was tough reading and only with Igor’s help had he managed to get past the first page.

“Reading, always reading. Come outside, the sun is finally shining. And I have bartered

machorka

.”

“Now I know why you stuck your nose into the library,” Johann said with a laugh and walked over to the basket with the

Pravda

. He tore off half a page and handed it to Alfred.

Outside, Alfred took the newspaper and rolled the Russian tobacco with surprising agility. Then he ripped the finished cigarette into two pieces and handed one to Johann.

“Ahhh… that’s good.” Johann savored the sweet taste. It had taken him a while to get used to the taste of

machorka

, but now he looked forward to such a treat. They usually smoked it rolled in newspaper. Not only out of necessity, but also because it simply tasted best.

Igor had explained that the newspaper publishers used a special kind of paper explicitly for this second usage. In a Soviet Union riddled with shortages, one could not let anything go to waste, not even an old newspaper. Other second uses were less appetizing but equally appreciated.

“We should organize a football game,” Alfred said, taking a deep lungful of smoke.

“Are you nuts? Who has the energy for a game?”

“It’ll be fun. And we desperately need some fun.” Alfred looked at the meager remains of his formerly bulky muscles. “And some practice, or before long I’ll disappear completely.”

“You go and do that.” Johann shrugged. He took another deep inhalation of the sweet tobacco. Should Alfred organize a football game, he’d sit on the bank rooting for the teams.

About an hour later Alfred returned. “All set.”

“What?” Johann looked up from his book.

“The game, idiot. Haven’t you listened to me?” Alfred punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh Johann closed his book. Alfred was a great friend and good companion but sometimes he was simply a pain in the ass.

The courtyard had been converted into a makeshift field, two wooden logs on each side standing in for the goal. On the field twenty-one players waited for Alfred to return. One team was comprised of the well-fed gang bosses, kitchen workers and other privileged prisoners.

But Johann’s breath caught in his lungs when he saw the opposing team dressed in uniform. The guards had exchanged their rifles and truncheons for a ball. The rest of the prisoners on

vikhodnoy

stood around the field waiting eagerly.

A whistle blew and the game began. For the next half an hour Johann forgot about the misery of his existence and cheered on the prisoner team. Ultimately the guards won, which was probably the wisest outcome.

Everyone, including the guards, enjoyed the small reprieve from the harsh reality and the guards showed their appreciation by doling out double rations in the evening. Alfred beamed from one ear to the other, already making plans for the next event.