In response to some questions about the woman: Recall where Javert really is and who is really around him.
The plan practically formed itself. I took a calming breath and set off towards the fallen rider, bending as low as I could to avoid getting hit by flying mortar fragments.
It was entirely unclear what their artillerists were thinking. There was no consolidated infantry within easily two hundred feet of the ravine – most of them were on the opposite side of the marsh - and yet the shelling was so intense that my little hill was beginning to resemble a well-ploughed field. Another few hours and it would be entirely leveled.
Seventy or eighty paces to the fallen Cossack. Forget about the rifle, the backpack, the freezing cold, the soggy clothes and the water-logged boots. Ignore the nauseating high-pitched whine of bullets and the bombs bursting all around you. Just run.
"If that is not a horror, what is?" suddenly came the weepy female voice again out of nowhere.
I gave up trying to reassure myself. If I was to go mad, I decided, there were far less suitable places for it than a battlefield.
"A horror, yes, I concur in full," I panted, looping around tufts of dry rushes like a demented hare. "But what is to be done about it?"
"...Work honestly..." moaned the invisible girl.
"I fully intend to!" exclaimed I, growing irritated at her indignant tone.
Perhaps I ought to pray, I thought. Maybe then she'll leave me alone. Neither the Pater nor the Ave seemed appropriate for the occasion, so I decided to improvise an orison of my own.
"Our Father, who art in heaven," I thought, shielding my head instinctively against yet another fragment whizzing overhead, "all I need from you is about five minutes. Can I have that much, Father? After that, thy will be done. But I really need those five minutes. Preferably without that ghostly broad talking my ears off. Amen."
The smoke was becoming so thick that I could barely distinguish the rider and the horse anymore. There was no longer any way to orient oneself. Where was up? where was down? Where was East? where was West? I felt as if I was being carried downstream through a boiling river. All I could do was trust my legs to remember both the direction and the distance for me.
Fifteen more paces. Twelve. Watch out for that ditch. Nine
/In German, Sashuta, count back in German. Concentrate. You're doing well./
Neun. Acht. Sieben.
The Cossack was dead. His back appeared to have been broken when his mount collapsed to the ground. The horse was alive and unharmed but in panic, foaming and kicking and neighing pathetically. I approached the fallen rider from the back and dropped to the ground, struggling to catch my breath.
Suddenly the Cossack cracked open one crusty eye and looked me right in the face. I was so taken aback that I did something utterly silly: I grinned at him like a village idiot.
"Uuuh, besovskoe otrod'e!" growled the Cossack. "You devil's spawn!"
Think fast.
"Spi, dedushka," I said in Russian. "Sleep, grandpa."
Cossack opened the second pale eye in disbelief. His huge gray moustache twitched.
"Iz nashih shto-li?" he asked, straining to discern me closer. "Are you one of ours then?"
I stopped smiling and helped him rise up a little towards me. Let him see.
"Ish ty, tzygan," said the Cossack more mildly after considering my face for some time. "Sho v mundire-to vrazheskom razgulivaesh', hlopche?" "Well now, a gypsy, eh... What are you running around in the enemy uniform for, laddie?"
"Holodno," I said, feverishly racking my brains for useful Russian vocabulary. "It's cold."
"Voz'mi moyu shinel', ottaesh'. I Man'ku beri. Ona loshadka horoshaya, ne norovistaya... puzhlivaya tol'ko malost'." "Take my overcoat, you'll thaw out. And take Manka. She's a good horse, not bad-tempered... just a bit scaredy."
The man smiled and closed his eyes. His neck tendons grew slack in my hand. I lowered the dead man gently to the ground and drew a shaky breath. I felt like an utter blackguard, but what choice did I have? A la guerre comme a la guerre.
"...Wronging poor people..." mewled the infuriating female voice again. I clapped both of my hands over my ears.
"I'm not listening to you!" I hissed. "Go haunt someone else!"
/Sashuta, there's no one here but you and me. Eugene has gone downstairs to talk to your apprehended fellow, we're alone. Calm down, sssh.../
A large warm palm came up to stroke my head. I heard soft keening and realized that it was coming from my mouth.
/The candle is out. I've shuttered the windows. There's water when you're ready. Everything is going to be fine./
No, it's not. It's not going to be fine. I will wake up and you won't be there.
/Sure I will./
A heavy weight sunk onto the bed beside me. The hand left my brow; there was wet, resonant coughing and then the hand returned, only this time I was stroked with the back of the hand and not the palm.
/I'll be right here when you come back. Just keep counting for me./
Sechs. Fuenf. Vier.