Chapter 29
Follow the Leader
It was like a ghost town.
No people. Snow and ice all over.
The pale light of the moon overhead, and a little speck of dull pink on the horizon of the soon-to-rise sun in the East. The air was bitterly cold, the wind nearly threatening to knock him right off his feet. Everything was frozen and coated with crystals.
No clouds. Stars.
Yellow lights, in a neat little row, glowing out against the darkness like beacons. The smell of coal.
The train station looked like something from a ghost town, and there was only one train, just two cars, sitting there on the tracks, glistening in the moonlight, plumes of white smoke gushing out from within the bowels of its furnace, and there was only one person that appeared to be working here. A man, standing back in a booth, bundled in a coat and an ushanka, and from the way he continued to stifle his yawns, it was obvious that he was only here because he had been dragged out of bed to get this train rolling for just one man.
But then, Ludwig knew, no one would dare refuse to do something that Ivan asked of them, even if it was to get up at four in the morning in sub-zero temperatures to direct a train that would have only two passengers.
Ludwig wasn't sure exactly where they were. Not in Mirny.
Ivan had shaken him awake at an ungodly hour and loaded him up in the car like baggage, and he had been too dazed and bleary to even bother asking where they were going. It didn't really matter, in the end. Two days later, here they were. No one else really seemed to be here, aside from the conductor tinkering around up front, and, for now, they stood there at the loading gate, in the biting air, waiting for the man to come around and get everything situated.
The tracks started here. Nothing beyond. Had never actually seen the end of a railroad line before. It was somehow fascinating, knowing that he had truly come to the very ends of the earth, that he had wound up living somewhere that even a train couldn't reach.
The door suddenly swung open and the conductor stood before them, greeting them with a stiff salute, and even though his fingers were tingling with cold Ludwig reached up before he even realized it and returned the gesture. He could see Ivan's smile.
They stepped onto the train, sleepy Ludwig frozen and numb, and the journey began.
Moscow. Dreaded it.
As the door shut behind them and the train gave a great, creaking lurch as it started forward, its wheels screeching and grinding on the frozen tracks, he looked around, Ivan's heavy arm around his shoulders, and took in his surroundings with a bleary mind.
It was not what he had expected. Not the average train car.
Obviously a private room, commissioned for officers, elegant and high-class, meant for long-distance traveling. Instead of the hard wooden benches, they sat upon a sofa, coated with a woven fabric that felt similar to velvet. The panel beneath suggested a metal bed frame within that could be pulled out. A little table in the corner, bolted to the floor. Chairs around it. Curtains on the windows. Cabinets overhead. An icebox near the table, no doubt full of food. A tiny electric stove. Before the sofa, astoundingly, a fireplace.
A little hotel room, more than a train car.
The shadows shifted. The high-pitched shrieking of the great wheels on the tracks was dull through the windows.
Ivan, tucked into his side, looked this way and that as though he might have been trying to stay awake, and then finally attempted conversation.
"The Trans-Siberian railway," came the sudden voice in his ear, and when he looked over, Ivan was smiling at him, not quite as awake and alert as he usually was, eyes heavy and lidded.
Dumbly, he said only, "Huh?" and Ivan inclined his head towards the window.
"This track," he explained. "It's the Trans-Siberian railway. Well, actually, this is really the Baikal-Amur, but we'll hook into the Trans-Siberian in about two days. This whole railroad—it's made everything so much easier. We can get to Moscow all the way from here safely. No driving, no little planes. I hate those little planes. They can get knocked around so much in the wind. You know, I lost some good men that way a few years back. I never use them anymore. Toris likes them, who knows why. He even knows how to fly them, took classes and everything. I didn't even make him do that. Guess he has a death-wish. I like trains much better."
Ludwig rested again Ivan and closed his eyes, and tried to imagine Toris piloting a plane.
For some reason, he just started laughing, and Ivan was quiet.
They fell asleep shortly after, and Ludwig didn't dream. Hadn't been dreaming much at all lately, it seemed. Couldn't remember anything at all in the morning, sometimes even who he was.
The train rocked gently back and forth, the warmth of Ivan pleasant against his skin. At some point Ivan had gotten up and started the fireplace, and Ludwig came to consciousness just long enough to ask, "How long will it take to get there?"
"Ten days."
That long? No wonder Toris liked the planes. Could at least get there in a few hours.
Ivan saw his look, and snorted.
"Use it to rest up. There's plenty of food. I need to put some weight on you before we get there. You're too skinny."
Ivan sat back down, pulled him in, and Ludwig immediately started drifting off again. A movement within his coat started him from sleep a while later, as the sun began to rise, and when he looked up in a bleary daze, he saw that it was just Ivan, sticking his hand down within his pocket as though searching for something.
What was he looking for?
Seconds later, Ivan finally retrieved his hand from within the depths of Ludwig's pocket, and there was a gleam of gold in the light. It caught his eye, and he looked up to see Ivan studying a small rock, or maybe it was a gem, head tilted and eyes scrutinizing. Had that been in his pocket?
Finally, Ivan asked, as the glowing rock sent waves of rippling color upon the dim walls of the car, "What's this?"
For a moment, Ludwig couldn't even remember. Ivan sent him a cool look and a smile, waiting patiently.
Squinting his eyes, he concentrated, attempting to cast a light on the fog.
Please be careful, Ludwig.
It came to him, slowly and blurrily.
The day before. After that long, dark stretch that he couldn't really remember, but was vaguely aware had happened.
A map.
Ivan had left. The walk through the hall. Toris stood him up and held him steady in front of the mirror, and the uniform had been pulled on before he had really even realized it. Ludwig had shaken his head to clear it and focused his thoughts because this uniform had been different. Slate-grey, of a finer thread and glossier sheen. Toris had been speaking to him, explaining little things in a strange, low voice as he wound belts here and there and connected clasps and pinned on medals, stating that this was a parade uniform, for special occasions, not the field uniform in olive that he had worn before.
Toris had looked disheartened. Ludwig had been enthralled.
Seeing himself in the mirror, looking like that—important and high-ranking and groomed—he hadn't been able to suppress the smile. Shoes of black glass and leather belts polished, hat crisp and immaculate, and for the first time in a long, long time, he had almost felt proud of himself. Like he was really someone.
A nobody like him, dressed up like that.
Maybe Toris had seen it, and that was why he had suddenly taken Ludwig's hands up within his own and forced something cool and sleek inside of his palms, saying urgently, 'Here, look, I got this for you. For Christmas, really, but I was too mad to give to you, but—just take it, alright? It's for good luck! It'll help keep you safe.'
Ludwig hadn't really looked at it then, not really, too busy gawking at himself in the mirror, and had merely slipped it in his pocket with an absent hand. This was it. He didn't remember putting it in his coat. Toris must have fished it out of the uniform when he had taken it off and relocated it, predicting his absent mind.
Ivan held it up now, and Ludwig saw it himself for the first time. So, this little rock was Toris' great gift to him. A glossy little piece of amber.
"Toris gave it to me," Ludwig finally said, and Ivan gave a deep snort.
"Did he?" A silence, and he watched as Ivan held the piece of amber within his gloved palm, tossing it up and down absently. Finally, he clenched the little rock within a closed fist and asked, "For what?"
Keep it with you, alright?
"Good luck. He said it would protect me."
Even as he said it, the words felt ridiculous on his tongue.
As if a rock could protect him better than Ivan could. Toris was oddly superstitious for such a dangerous man.
"Ah," Ivan murmured, and then he leaned his head back into the seat and laughed. "Well! Well then, in that case, you should keep a good eye on it." And with that, Ivan tilted his hand and dropped the little gem back into his pocket, smiling quite cheerily. "I want you lucky. Maybe Toris believes such things enough to make them true."
He patted the lining of the pocket airily, and then returned his arm around Ludwig's shoulders.
"I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
And, with the lolling train and the warmth of the fire and of Ivan, he did.
He slept for several days straight, waking up only when Ivan shook him and forced him to eat. Needed the rest, and desperately so. Hadn't rested in so long, had been dragged this way and that endlessly for months. Hadn't gotten a chance to ever just rest.
Sleep was beautiful.
Days.
He woke up one afternoon, and his head actually didn't hurt. Couldn't remember the last time his head hadn't hurt.
Ivan noticed his improvement, and seemed quite pleased for it.
Must have been going crazy with boredom, though, because his foot was always tapping. Sometimes Ludwig came to consciousness to see Ivan pacing around the car on an endless loop. Other times, Ivan was studying his German book aloud. Frequently, Ivan was off at the end of the car, doing push-ups, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Ludwig just slept.
Ivan tried his best to keep him engaged and out of boredom's way when Ludwig was actually awake, chatting here and there about random things and sometimes involving Ludwig in light exercises alongside him, but activities on a moving train were few and far between. Sometimes, Ivan's hands wandered, as though he had thought of one thing to do, but in the end, he always pulled away and contented himself with reconfirming that Ludwig was still a bit too skinny and that he needed to catch up on a little more sleep.
Sleep wasn't coming upon him as frequently, now that he had caught up. Harder and harder to sleep all day, and was growing bored for it.
Ludwig was becoming restless.
Snow.
Snow.
More snow. Everywhere. Forests and icy lakes and every so often, a little town far off in the distance, frozen and still.
And then, after the sixth day, the endless forests began to thin. Civilization. Little houses here and there. Getting closer and closer.
Days passed.
Towns turned into cities.
And then, one morning, at long last, they drew near.
"We're almost there," Ivan suddenly said, his voice starting Ludwig from his lethargy, "Just another hour or so."
Finally. What a long journey. His relief was palpable, perhaps; Ivan snorted.
Had dreaded Moscow so much, but after ten days on a train suddenly it didn't seem so bad. Sure was nervous, though. The capital of the Soviet Union. Kinda terrifying. The first time.
Leaning in, Ivan reached out and snatched a handful of his messy, uncombed hair, and said, "You should go ahead and get dressed. I want you looking presentable when we step off. A lot of nosy people in Moscow, you know."
Blearily, Ludwig muttered, "I thought you hated the people in Moscow?"
Ivan, always quick and thoroughly unconcerned, merely responded, "All the more reason for you to look nice."
Fair enough. Sleepy and cold, Ludwig pulled himself to his feet. Ivan went over to the corner of the car, where the luggage sat, and began to rummage. It didn't take long for him to produce the slate uniform with the sheen that Toris had stuffed him into, wrapped in plastic and carefully folded.
"Here," Ivan said, as he pushed the clothes gently into Ludwig's arms. "Go ahead and change." In a mimic of prior occasions, he smiled and whirled around, clasping his arms behind his back and adding, "I won't look! Promise."
Grabbing the fabric in his hands, it was with motions that felt very mechanical that Ludwig stepped back towards the door of the bathroom, and unfolded the uniform.
Obviously, it was no great task to pull on the pants and the shirts, and fix the buttons, but the other additions were a little harder. Clasps, belts, medals. He tried to loop the belts and straps as Toris had shown him, across the breast and around the back, but that had been over a week ago, and lately his memory had been operating at the level of a few days, max.
Like a goldfish.
Oh well. No worries. Ivan, obviously peeking despite his declaration that he would not, saw his fumbling and quickly came to his aid, with sure hands and eager fingers and a bright smile. Always had Ivan to fall back on when Toris failed him.
He straightened his back and stared obediently ahead as Ivan fixed his tie, tugged the straps in place and pinned on the medals, and when everything was in its proper place, Ivan reached out to brush down his shoulders and place the cap neatly upon his head.
With that, he wasn't Ludwig anymore. Now he was Colonel Müller.
In appearance rather than spirit, at least, because even though he liked the way the uniform looked, he still didn't really feel much like a colonel. Lack of confidence. Well, no worries about that either. Ivan had confidence enough to float the entire Soviet Union.
"There," Ivan suddenly said, as he straightened medals upon Ludwig's breast and gave him one last look over, "That's perfect! Don't touch it."
Ludwig obeyed, perhaps a little too literally (refusing to give in and reach up to merely scratch an itch beneath his collar), and stood as rigid as a board, keeping mindful of his arms as Ivan turned around to prim and preen himself.
The anxiety was mounting.
First time in Moscow, and in such a flashy uniform. Didn't know if he could really live up to it.
Then, fretting, the time seemed to fly, and he barely realized that an hour or so had passed, as he stood there tapping his foot and too afraid to sit or move for fear he would jostle his uniform out of its pristine condition, until he looked up, and saw it.
Moscow.
First houses, and then increasingly congested streets, and then tall concrete buildings that loomed on the skyline, more people than he could have ever imagined, and he stared out of the window as Ivan smoothed back his hair and picked lint from his clothing with dutiful fingers.
The first lurching of the train as it slowed down turned his anxiety into something more like panic.
Colonel. Too much pressure.
Wheels grinding the tracks. The train was stopping.
Ludwig could see the curling of Ivan's lip and the prim sneer of disdain as his brow fell lower. Clear enough how unhappy he was to be here, and Ludwig knew that he would be treading very, very carefully while here so as not to fall through the ice. Ivan hated Moscow. Step lightly. Keep quiet. Obey without hesitation. And, above all, keep a careful eye on Ivan's moods, and act accordingly.
Suddenly, he wasn't so excited about being in a vast, explore-able city.
That increasingly deep crease in between Ivan's eyebrows was ominous.
With one final, drawn-out squeal, the train fell still, and Ivan lifted up his shoulders, and then his chin.
"Well!" he began, as Ludwig fidgeted in anxiety, "Let's get this over with."
The door was pulled open from outside, cold air blasting in as the attendant saluted from below, and with a deep inhale of ill-temper, Ivan took the first step down, and Ludwig stayed hot on heels, if only for fear of being lost in the thick and unyielding crowd.
And immediately, Ludwig understood why Ivan hated Moscow.
The station was crammed full of people. Noisy and crowded and drab and dreary, the grey sky threatening to burst above, and it seemed a world apart from the quiet, isolated, icy town that they'd come from. Every step was like shoving through a thick forest. People just wouldn't move. Everybody shoved and pushed and cast foul looks. The city itself didn't seem particularly friendly. Just cold, damp, and miserable.
At least Siberia was quiet.
Grey all around.
Ahead of him, Ivan was using his tall stature and broad shoulders for all they were worth, stretching his back and walking almost on his toes to make himself as imposing as possible. Ha. As if Ivan needed to try hard for that.
Most of the people, upon seeing Ivan's glossy uniform and serious face, quickly leapt to the side and out of his path, and if they hadn't, Ludwig had a feeling that they would have gotten trampled on. Ivan didn't even slow down, and made no effort to go around anyone. Barged right on through like a bull.
Ludwig found a small comfort in the fact that no one was sending them second looks. A quick glance, the sight of the uniforms, and the men sped off silently and the old women covered their faces with their shawls and bowed their heads.
Every so often, Ivan would take his eyes off his path and glance over his shoulder to make sure that Ludwig hadn't been swept away in the tide of the crowd. Ludwig tried to stay close, even if Ivan's furious pace was hard to match.
He didn't dare open his mouth and speak to Ivan, not only to avoid irritating him but also to avoid uttering German in the midst of all these bustling Russians, for fear of being eyed and cursed at. He didn't even want to think of the repercussions if some poor soul had uttered something under their breath in earshot of Ivan. A disaster best left avoided.
The pushed their way out of the station and into the streets, where the sound of passing cars and honking taxis and people shouting grated his ears mercilessly, and Ivan tilted his head to the side, looking for a moment as he were seconds away from coming up with a good reason to turn on his heel and flee back into the quiet of the train.
Ivan fled from nothing, and in the end, he heaved a sigh through his nose, and trudged forward. Ludwig followed, without a word.
As they passed a crosswalk and Ivan kept his gaze straight ahead and his face impassive, a slight inconvenience; when they reached the other side of the street, two street-vendors, pushing their cart along, were so startled as a general approached that one of them stumbled and tipped the cart clean over.
Vegetables tumbled out in a pool directly into their path, Ivan stopped in his tracks, and Ludwig fell completely still, feeling his heart already racing.
A short silence.
And then, as the vendors stared over their shoulders at Ivan in obvious horror, Ivan raised his hand in the air, furrowed his brow, and started shouting.
A scramble to gather the goods. Even though Ludwig could not understand the words that Ivan was saying, the tone of voice and look on his face made the message very, very clear :
'Get all this shit out of my way.'
They did, and parted quickly, without a word. Probably there was an 'or else' left unsaid at the end. Ivan only said things once. A repeat was unnecessary.
Path clear, Ivan lowered his hand and shook his head, spat something under his breath, and walked on.
Catastrophe averted. A bit of luck.
He could understand as well why Toris had seemed so twitchy and alarmed about this whole journey. No doubt it was a little frightening to accompany Ivan to the place that he hated the most and walk the fine line of patience and sanity. Without thinking, Ludwig reached down and patted his pockets. Rock, safe. So far, so good.
As long as Ivan's gun stayed firmly in its holster, everything should be alright.
A dull gleam ahead drew up his eyes, and he saw a car parked in the street, its black paint as shined and glossed as Ivan's uniform, and he didn't really have to guess; he knew this was their ride. The driver leaping out to yank open the door in a very stiff manner only made it all the more obvious, but Ludwig was far too preoccupied with watching the rather persistent twitching of Ivan's eye.
When they were both nestled inside and the door was shut, the sounds of the street muffled a little, Ivan sank back into the seat, crossed his arms above his chest, and muttered, irritably, "Shitty place, isn't it?"
Ludwig, shifting a bit in his seat, only gave a short, "Hm."
Ivan carried on quite easily without his input, as it turned out, and added, "I only come here when I have to, understand, I hate it here so much. Ever seen anything so ugly? I always said that I think they should make Vilnius the capital. I'd gladly go to Vilnius. Anywhere but here."
Ivan turned his eyes up, and for a moment, his irritated grimace faded into a strange half-smile.
"Well," he finally amended, when Ludwig stayed silent, "It's a little better with you here."
Ludwig smiled, as much as he could for the unease.
Moscow was unsettling, and so were the dangers it held. Unpredictability.
Ludwig sat there, hands wringing subconsciously in his lap as Ivan turned lazy eyes to the window and watched the congested streets fly by with a curled lip, and the uniform was starting to itch a little. He didn't raise his hand to scratch at it, and kept his neck painfully straight so as not to tilt his hat.
Thankfully, the drive to wherever they were going was not exceedingly long, and Ivan's foot had barely began to tap by the time they reached their destination.
The car pulled to a stop.
Ivan leapt out quickly, before the driver could even step out, and this time the agitation was gone, replaced by eagerness and maybe even a little glee. Not necessarily a good thing.
It didn't take Ludwig long to realize, as Ivan extended a hand in courtesy to pull him out, that they were on the edge of the city, the tall buildings looming out far in the distance. Here, there was a vast, muddy field, and a high wall of thick barbed wire. Guard towers. The gleam of sniper scopes as they caught the pale sun in their sweeping observations.
A Red Army encampment.
If he hadn't been petrified into complete stillness, Ludwig might have shuddered. Ivan, with a wide smile and a high chin, started walking towards the great, guarded gate, and Ludwig could only follow.
Before they neared, Ivan slowed his pace, and whispered, "Beside me, not behind. You're a colonel, not a foot soldier."
A spark of adrenaline lit him up, and Ludwig forced his shined shoes through the mud to try and match Ivan's long strides, falling in beside of him with a little effort. His heart was pounding so fiercely he was afraid he'd fall over right in the dirt. The guards, still at a distance, saluted, and the gate began to creak open. Looked more like the gates of hell.
Ivan, looking straight ahead and without leaning in, uttered quiet advice as they approached.
"Head up."
Ludwig straightened his back, trying to call back the memories of how Toris had instructed him to conduct himself so long ago.
Pretend you've got a board stuck down your pants.
Right.
It had been a little easier in the comfort of the house, when a slip-up only earned him a quick slap from Toris. A slip-up here might earn him a bullet in the head.
He walked as closely to Ivan as he dared, and tried to stifle his nausea. Ivan was smiling away.
"Put a hand behind your back, like me. So they think you don't give a shit."
Glancing over, Ludwig observed Ivan's posture, the carefree and superior gait and air of authority, and tried to emulate. But even when he held up his chin and placed a hand at the small of his back and loosened his shoulders, he still felt vulnerable, and a little ridiculous.
Imposter.
"And don't smile."
Well, that one wasn't a problem.
They approached the gate, he had one last chance to pull on the mask of belonging and a stance of mightier-than-thou, hiding his tremor the whole while, and then they stood before entrance. A well-dressed soldier of some sort came forward, and broke into a great beam, reaching out and clapping Ivan on the shoulders with heavy hands. Words were exchanged, greetings and pleasantries.
Ludwig kept himself straight and tall, brow low and lips pursed, and could only pray that he was not letting Ivan down.
Ivan directed the man over, and as Ludwig's heart thudded all over again, he still reacted quick enough to reach out and take the offered hand with the right while saluting with the left. He gave a smile that he tried to make as snide and condescending as possible and made sure the handshake was firm.
Ivan was beaming, though, so that was good.
Ludwig only nodded his head as the man spoke, and kept his mouth shut, although he was fairly certain that Ivan had introduced him as a colonel from the GDR, maybe just popping in for an observational visit, or maybe a transfer. The soldier finally released his hand and then turned around, waving his hands around emphatically as he blabbered away in Russian, apparently acting as a tour guide, and the second the eyes were off him, Ludwig could not repress the great exhale and the swallow of nervousness.
Ivan reached out quickly, and slapped his back.
"Very good."
The words, although quick and quiet, were enough to boost his confidence, and Ludwig felt himself calming down, just a little. He might be able to make it through this yet.
As they walked behind the gesturing soldier, Ivan glanced over at him, and sent him a leer.
"You look very handsome in that uniform, did I tell you?"
He managed a low, weak, "Thank you."
Because compliments, in Ivan's world, should always be acknowledged politely. And very quickly.
As they walked, he felt a little more at ease, and his shoulders were steadily loosening without him really realizing it.
This wasn't so bad! Ha. Maybe he'd been overreacting a little. Feeding off of Toris' fear. Toris worried too much. That was all. This wasn't all that hard, not really, and as long as he stayed beside of Ivan and acted like he knew everything, then it wasn't so bad. The soldiers that they passed fell into place and gave rigid salutes like they did every commanding officer, and life within the encampment carried on as it normally did.
No one knew he wasn't who he pretended to be.
He relaxed, and let himself look around to gather a sense of his surroundings.
Behind the impenetrable fortress of steel beams and barbed wire and guard dogs out in the front, imposing and safe from prying eyes, there was a vast clearing that stretched back probably for a kilometer or so, although view of it was obscured by small buildings and tents that jutted up against the horizon.
A faint whirring of machinery beyond.
The soldier leading them forward continued to speak aloud to Ivan, who nodded his head at intervals, and Ludwig could only try to imagine what exactly was in store for him within this camp.
He didn't need to wonder for long.
They rounded the corner of a heavily-plated building, and the field beyond became visible. And immediately, Ludwig froze still like a deer, overwhelmed. His foot hung in midair.
Awed.
Because behind that building and standing in that field were men; hundreds of them. The Soviet Army stood before him, rows and rows of them, standing at perfect attention and rifles perched neatly upon their shoulders, their uniforms immaculate and faces completely serious.
Impressing the general.
Ivan did not seem particularly impressed, however, and barely spared the soldiers a glance before turning his attention to the man who had led him there, as they saluted and then parted ways. Now it was just him and Ivan, standing before the army.
The army.
His first coherent thought was a simple, 'oh shit.'
Scary as hell, that was for sure, and he had never seen anything like it, not ever. Nothing like this, as they didn't even twitch, as far back as the eye could see, olive uniforms a dull gleam against the fog and mud and grey skies, casting shadows back as tall as the trees, and ready to make war at a mere snap of Ivan's fingers.
Unsurprisingly, Ivan only observed them once with a critical eye, raised his brow, and then turned back to Ludwig with an airy twirl. To Ivan, this was nothing. Boring. Ivan had stood in front of the army for nearly his entire life, waking up in the morning to sounds of guns and machinery and seeing trained killers in uniform practicing in the yard.
Just business as usual.
Ludwig jumped in alarm when Ivan suddenly stepped forward and leaned in next to him, close to his ear and whispering, "Impressive, aren't they? This is only a small platoon. This is the one going to Odessa." A hand on his shoulder, as Ivan pointed to the distance. "See the tanks back there? I'll let you go see them in a minute."
Craning up his neck, Ludwig looked over, and saw the iron vehicles sitting behind the men, and he realized now what that mechanical whirring had been; atop the tank, a great gun swung back and forth, scoping and focusing. A shiver of thrill. He'd seen tanks in books and on the television, and he knew damn well the logistics and the fact that better tanks made better war, but he'd never seen one up close and personal.
Surreal.
His heart was thudding all over again, and it was with stiff shoulders and a painfully straight spine that he lifted his chin and sucked in a great breath to steady himself, arms still tucked behind his back. Tried to look as bored as Ivan did.
Ivan only smiled down at him, keen to his efforts.
"Nervous?"
He was, of course he was, but Ludwig shook his head anyway, and tried to scoff. He would not admit faults in front of Ivan, when Ivan didn't expect him to have any. Ivan demanded perfection. He tangled his hands into the fabric of his uniform so as to steady them, and tried to keep his face as impassive as he could.
Ivan knew damn well what he was feeling, Ivan always knew, but he humored him anyway and turned his eyes back to the waiting men, and Ludwig barely kept from jumping in alarm when Ivan began to speak.
But not to him.
Voice rising over the background noises and the engines, Ivan addressed the statuesque soldiers, pacing slowly back and forth as he waved an emphatic hand in the air, voice steady and sure as he gave a speech in Russian, and Ludwig had no doubt that he was giving very specific instructions on how this operation was to be conducted.
No prisoners. No survivors. Ivan's voice held no tremor. No remorse. No call for sympathy.
Shaking his head in a quick twitch to clear it, Ludwig tried to push the squirm of unease away, and focus on something else. What happened in Odessa was not for him to say. If Ivan was telling them to raze a town to the ground or shoot fleeing men in the back, then there wasn't anything he could do about it. And besides, it wasn't like he was going to see it.
He wouldn't see it.
Toris had taught him up in that room that not looking meant it wasn't real. Even if it was happening right in front of him. If he turned his head, and averted his eyes, then all was well. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just Ivan's work.
Ivan's work. This was Ivan's work. This army.
Fascinating.
Ivan, it seemed, was saying a lot; he was still pacing back and forth before the still soldiers, voice rising and falling in various pitches and tones, stressing important phrases and muttering others, and Ludwig was quite content to listen to the smooth words he didn't understand until Ivan suddenly looked over his shoulder and met his eyes.
A rush of panic. Ivan had introduced him, perhaps.
A thought that surely wasn't far off, for when Ivan suddenly raised a casual hand in the air, as though swatting a fly, the soldiers loosened up and fell at ease, and turned to look at Ludwig. Low chatter. Curious gazes. Ivan was watching him expectantly.
Keep cool.
The only thing Ludwig could think of to do was to lift his chin and narrow his eyes, sending the staring soldiers the same look of annoyance and iciness that he had sent to him when he'd been falling over drunk on the floor.
...him?
That damn name just wouldn't come to him, no matter how hard he tried to drag it up from the depths. Oh well. That wasn't important anyhow, not right now, not when Ivan had come back over to his side, standing at rigid attention beside of him as Ludwig tried to deter the men from staring at him.
He must have been doing a good job of holding composure.
"Look at you!" Ivan breathed at his side, bristling. "I think this is where you were meant to be. See, how well things are working out for us? You're everything I ever looked for. How well you fit in here. You're a natural. What a general you would make. Just the way you stand. I can tell."
Words of praise. What? Just for this? Just for standing?
Ludwig dared himself to break stillness, and looked over. His heart started up its mad dash. Ivan was beaming at him, chest puffed and shoulders braced; like he had brought the best of the best to the show. Was Ivan proud of him? What a thought!
"Come on," Ivan said, inclining his head, and it was obvious that it took every shred of restraint within him to keep from reaching out and snatching Ludwig's hand. The staring soldiers were no doubt a good deterrent. "Let's go down and get you up on a tank! You'll like it. Have you ever held a rocket launcher?"
A—a what?
Ivan's excitement was channeled through his high, thin voice as he sped along, so eager that he almost left Ludwig completely behind with his long strides. His own eagerness, however, prevented him from lagging.
He couldn't remember moving this quickly in all the time he'd been out here (how long had he been out here?—ah, fuck it, who cared?), and it was a little dizzying to hustle along through parting soldiers, some of whom leapt back from Ivan so fervently that they nearly toppled backward. None of them spoke as they passed.
But even through his exhilaration, Ludwig did not miss the looks that some of the soldiers sent him, once Ivan had safely passed. Crinkled noses and visible canines; grimaces of distaste. Sneers of hatred. That old word of 'GDR' could still cause such strife. He wasn't welcome here.
And Ludwig couldn't really reconcile those looks with Ivan's constant declarations that this was exactly where he belonged.
One or the other. It couldn't be both.
If this had been only months earlier, he would have been able to form a very rational essay in his head, explaining in very merciless detail the contradictions of everything Ivan had ever said, to pinpoint every lie and every deliberately misleading word, to observe and recognize every little inconsistency, and in doing so be able to convince himself that this was not where he belonged—
Tank.
All thought fled. The last of the soldiers parted, and there before him, tracks sinking into the mud, was a tank.
A tank.
Well! Well...
Months ago, maybe. Right now was right now, and there was a tank standing right in front of him, Ivan was standing beside of him, and he couldn't even remember what he'd eaten on the train the day before, let alone piece together a report on Ivan's sincerity.
Without realizing it, his heels stuck back in the soft, cold earth, and he stopped dead. Ivan stopped too, and whirled around, hands tucked again behind his back and absolutely beaming. The sun may as well have come out, for that look. Suddenly, the cold air and damp mud and unfriendly soldiers didn't really bother him all that much.
He didn't realize that Ivan was close enough to the tank to actually touch it until he lifted his hand, and then threw an arm back, gloved palm patting the freezing steel cheerily.
"Neat, huh? Come here. Don't you want to get on top of it?"
He opened his mouth, couldn't find his voice, and merely stood still, as much like a deer as he had ever accused Toris of being. He could have gladly stood there for quite a while longer, if the soldiers hadn't been staring at him, but it was not a good thing for a colonel of the Soviet Army, GDR or no, to be gawking up at a tank like a little kid seeing Neuschwanstein castle for the first time.
So, he stifled the thrill, shut his open mouth, squared up his shoulders, tucked his arms behind his back, lifted up his chin, and only huffed, as primly as he could, "Hm!"
If he could speak Russian, he might have turned to the soldiers and said, 'Well! German tanks are better.'
Ivan, smiling in a rather wolfish manner, turned to his men and muttered something lowly in Russian. Ludwig could only hope it was something along the lines of, 'Colonel Müller is not impressed.'
Even though he was.
At Ivan's words, there was a sudden bustle; the soldiers who weren't staring at him like he had just crawled out of a sewer came forward, in slow, careful movements, and gathered around him. He realized with a lurch of anxiety that Ivan had something more like, 'Give him a tour.' Oh, damn. Well, like so much else out here, better just to go along with it.
The soldiers blabbered away, not seeming to care that he couldn't understand them, and some of them appeared a little more eager than others, gawking at him as he had gawked at the tank. A German where he shouldn't be. It was a little comforting to know that some of them saw this as an interesting event that called for curiosity and observation, rather than annoyance and aggression. Not all Russians, it seemed, automatically hated Germans just because they were expected to.
...maybe he'd been a little prejudiced himself. Alright. Maybe a lot. Ha. Hadn't he always fed off of the hatred of others and saw them all as merely 'Reds', to be feared and mistrustful of? Better dead than Red—who had said that?
Look at him now! Standing amongst soldiers of the Soviet Army, a supposed newcomer from the GDR. A German with Russians. Enemies. Ivan didn't really seem to notice the problem. So he shouldn't, either. Any doubts from earlier were quickly cast aside as one of the soldiers reached out with a loud voice and placed a heavy hand on Ludwig's shoulder (only to wrench it quickly back as though he were going to be reprimanded), and he felt himself calming once more.
Could be worse.
Before he knew it, he was being led to the tank, eager, rapid voices floating through his head like white noise. The feel of freezing steel beneath his thin gloves. Climbing up.
Suddenly the entire camp was visible, the great forest behind spreading on for eternity, and he wobbled a little as he tried to gather up his shoddy balance and nod to the pointing soldiers at the same time. It only took a second after he had found his footing atop the tank for him to break into a wide smile that showed his teeth, even as the cold wind howled.
Oh, damn! Was this a feeling! Excitement. When was the last he'd felt that?
Ivan just stood there below and watched him, hands tucked in his pockets and looking for all the world like he'd just gotten a brand new puppy and was watching it run around the room; a little adoration, a little bemusement, a little possessiveness, and a little glee.
For once, Ludwig couldn't really think of a reason to feel down. Not while he was standing up there on top of the tank, not as the men hovered around him with smiles and eager hands, thinking he was their superior and wanting to impress, not as he came into contact with things he had no business being near, and certainly not when the men opened up the hatch, and pointed downward.
An invitation to leap inside.
He would have, immediately, as enthralled as he was, but even now Ludwig found himself freezing still and looking down at Ivan in a silent search for permission. Ivan only smiled, and gave an almost imperceptible twitch of his head. Approval. Ludwig didn't waste any time. Exhilaration was leading his actions now.
Grabbing the ladder, his hands steady and strong, he slid down, and even though there was a language barrier, exaggerated motions and big grins and laughter were effective ways to communicate, and Ludwig only nodded his head every time one of them patted his arm and showed him something new. He didn't understand the machine, not by any means, but he sure as hell pretended he did, and just to be able to touch and feel the inside of a tank, civilian that he really was, was more than anything he could have ever really anticipated.
Suddenly, Ludwig realized he was engaging with the soldiers, speaking to them in German as they spoke to him in Russian, asking them questions about this and that even though he knew they didn't understand him. He was too excited to be quiet, too high on adrenaline.
He hadn't known it would be this, well...
This amazing, for lack of a better word.
Machinery had always been something of a fascination, from the sidelines, so to be able to be inside of a war-machine was something akin to Christmas. He didn't necessarily condone using it, not really, but there was no denying it was impressive. The cannon on top was the icing on the cake. Grabbing the control and actually making it move back and forth, the whirring of the machine music to his ears, was almost as good as seeing those papers had been.
By the time Ludwig climbed out, head poking back out into the cold, arms folded over and staring out over the field (his field), he was smiling, and he knew. He liked all of this. Maybe he had always been cut out for the army but had never been given a chance to find out.
Felt like he fit in here.
Ludwig glanced down, smile still wide on his face, and saw Ivan.
Calm.
The excitement dulled, the adrenaline slowed, as Ivan smiled up at him, and as they just stared at each other silently, Ludwig felt tranquil and happy. Felt happy, really happy, and it was beautiful. Hoped that Ivan could see in Ludwig's expression how grateful he was, for everything.
Ivan inclined his head, and Ludwig sucked in a breath and hauled himself back onto the top of the tank, waiting rather impatiently for the next demonstration.
It didn't take long.
He was led here and there, shown this and that, and the whole time Ivan just stood back and watched over him, making no effort to command or intervene as the soldiers shoved weapon after Soviet weapon into his hands, no doubt thinking that they were convincing Ludwig that Russian guns were better than German guns.
Let them think what they wanted, as long as they kept on handing him shit. Could have stood here all day, and damn! There was that fuckin' rocket launcher Ivan had talked about, holy hell—
The hours zoomed by, and by the time the sun was up high at noon, he was alert and awake and feeling more involved in the world than he had in months.
Everything felt oddly perfect.
No problems, smooth sailing, good moods, and none of it had been tumultuous or frightening enough to warrant Toris' dumb little rock. As long as he did what Ivan wanted, everything was fine. Just fine. Toris worried too much. Nothing to fear out here.
He could have carried on with this until nightfall, being in the middle of everything and feeling a little sense of control, but finally Ivan stepped forward, and twitched his head.
A call to return. Ludwig obeyed.
Making a beeline for Ivan, he fell into his side and tucked his arms behind his back in a mimic of the tall general, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin as the soldiers fell back into rank and formation.
Time to go, no doubt.
Ivan muttered, under his breath, "Have fun? They'll be talking about this for a while."
He couldn't help the puffing of his chest. Let them talk. Sure thing. He liked the look and feel of this newfound position, and it was a rush to think that others would be talking about him long after he was gone.
He was somebody here.
Hell, maybe this was where he had always belonged all along; on the battlefield.
Had Ivan been able to sense something within him that he himself had never even known was there? Perhaps so, and that was why he had brought him here in the first place when he could have easily gone on alone. The great tanks sitting there, the guns upon them swinging to and fro as the men practiced, the smell of machinery and gunpowder and the feel of the metal in his hands, and best of all Ivan's unshakeable smile.
Home.
He focused his attention on his hands; still steady.
He didn't jump when Ivan suddenly started speaking again, not even a twitch, and stood there with a smile, considering that this was possibly the most exciting day of his life. Thrills of excitement and the feeling of belonging.
Ivan finished quickly this time, and smiled over at him.
A quiet whisper.
"Anything you'd like to say to them, colonel?"
Say to them? Maybe he was feeling a little confident here, but he wasn't ready for that. What would he say? The thought alone was mortifying; he'd fumble, for sure, and come off sounding like an idiot to those few soldiers that might have understood a little German.
Risking being a little bit of a disappointment, Ludwig finally shook his head, and said, easily, "No, general."
Ivan's smile never wavered, and he only raised his brow. "Well, then. Let's go."
Ivan was patient with him, and let him work up to it at his own pace.
Without another word, Ivan turned on his heel, trudging through the mud back towards the great gate at the front of the field, and Ludwig followed him. The soldiers were left behind. As soon as the fence was reached and the gate began to creak open, Ludwig reached into his pocket, and made a decision. Grabbing up Toris' gift, he brought it out into the open, and with a flick of his wrist tossed it out into the mud and grass.
He didn't need it. Simple as that.
Ivan was all the protection he needed, and when they were back inside the glossed car, it was all he could do to keep his composure and sit perfectly still. Had the driver been blocked from view, he might have collapsed back into the seat and grabbed Ivan's hand, or at the very least tossed a clenched fist of enthusiasm into the air like one of his old friends used to. Couldn't really seem to think of his name at the moment, but who cared?
He was floating, and Ivan seemed even more comfortable than usual, arms behind his head and staring lazily out of the window as the car rolled along. Ludwig quickly realized that they were returning to Moscow.
So. The troops were about to roll out and right over Odessa, and so what was there really left for them to do here? If he'd been a little braver, he would have asked to go on a tour. Sightseeing would be welcome after so many weeks in the desolation of the diamond town.
Minutes of silence.
Finally, Ludwig gathered up the courage to ask, quietly, "Where are we going?"
"To the hotel," came the simple response, and when Ludwig looked over his shoulder at Ivan, the raised brow of knowing was apparent. "What?" Ivan continued, airily, "You thought I would bring you all the way out here and then not let you look around? Ha! For ten days on the train, we should at least stay two weeks, right?"
A moment of immobility, and then Ludwig found his voice, and said, as the smile spread across his face, "Right."
Long minutes later, the car stopped. He could hear Ivan's belated sigh, and then the click of the door. Quick movements, and his own door was held open, as Ivan looked back and forth over the streets with a grimace.
"Come on," Ivan said, as he began to amble off into the passing pedestrians, "It's this way."
As he walked at Ivan's side, people parted and dodged and some of them even went all the way to the other side of the street to avoid stepping in their path. None of these people would have ever gotten out of his way if he'd been on his own. He'd have just been jostled and pushed and shoved like everyone else. No respect. No second glances. No care.
Things were different now. He was somebody now.
Colonel Müller.
To think he'd ever roamed the streets back in that place and let people push him around for so long. That wasn't a problem out here. The gun strapped to his waist, locked in its holster, was as big a confidence booster as Ivan's presence.
Ludwig was floating. Walking on the clouds Ivan had placed beneath his feet.
Ivan suddenly pointed up to a building, damp stone shining in the pale sun that struggled in through the clouds, and said, "That's it!" Certainly in a much better state than the crumbling buildings on either side of it, obviously well-tended and cleaned on a daily basis. Safe looking, and elegant. "Pretty, right? Best hotel in Moscow! Modeled after the French. Well, I suppose that's a good thing! In Moscow, sometimes buildings blow up just because."
And from the look on Ivan's face, that was not a joke. Right.
The gleaming columns that framed the door were visible.
Before they could approach, an interruption.
"General!" came a sudden voice from the side, and Ludwig turned to look over his shoulder as a man came striding towards Ivan from the other side of the street, and god, he looked so familiar! It struck Ludwig instantly that he knew the man coming towards them. From where? Who was he? No matter how hard he tried, Ludwig realized that he couldn't think. Blank after blank.
Reaching their side, the man came to an abrupt halt before Ivan, and saluted with a strange smile, clicking his boots together and sending Ludwig a quick glance as he did so. Ivan's tense face of agitation melted into one of ease and fondness, and the smile that spread over his face was a good sign.
Ludwig relaxed, but tried to keep up the act of superiority by appearing untouchable and aloof. The familiar man was in uniform too, but of a rank he did not recognize. He could only pray that it was a lower rank than colonel, otherwise he might have looked a fool for not showing the same respect the officer had shown Ivan.
A conversation in Russian, and Ivan broke the formality to reach out and slap the man's arm with a laugh, but it became obvious that the man only had eyes for Ludwig, looking over at him in very frequent intervals with scrutiny and curiosity. Ludwig just stood there silently, awkwardly, and tried to put a name and place to the face.
He knew this man. The frustration of not being able to really remember was nagging him. Rough-looking and smelling of cigars even from a distance, looking both confident and somehow defeated. Scruffy and short and stocky. Right there on the top of his tongue, but he just couldn't pin it.
Ivan blabbered away, his voice quick and smooth and silvery in his native language, jostling the officer every minute or so in what was clearly excitement. Like a little kid. The officer only smiled back, and joined in the conversation. But he still glanced over at Ludwig, as if trying to communicate with only eye contact. Not understanding and feeling a little agitated, Ludwig finally averted his eyes off into the distance, and stood as still as a statue.
Ivan's meeting. Not his.
The short conversation finally ended, and a farewell was given with an enthusiastic hug. The officer had to stand up on the tips of his toes just to reach Ivan, who towered above.
Goodbye.
Before he left, the man stopped short and turned back to Ludwig, muttering something under his breath as he saluted him, and Ludwig saluted back in that automatic response that had become a habit. Footsteps thudding down the street. Ivan waved in a final moment of exuberance, and then fell back into the collected air of authority that Ludwig was used to. The officer was gone, lost in the crowd. Taking all familiarity with him.
He didn't really care enough to ask Ivan about it, either. Maybe Ivan thought he could remember on his own, for he suddenly leaned down and said, "He's here to lead the troops to Kiev. I gave him that operation. He's never let me down before."
All Ludwig responded with was a simple, "Hm!" If all else fails, just play along.
Ivan led him at last into the hotel.
Nothing could bring Ludwig down, not even fuzzy memories. Not propped up like he was upon Ivan's shoulders.
Colonel.
Memories. What good were they, really? Never there when he needed them nowadays. It was better to forget so much, and people could be forgotten as easily as dreams, as if they had never been. He had forgotten that man, and was forgetting everyone else with every day that passed.
Only Ivan mattered in the moment. This uniform. The two most important things in his life now.
The most powerful country in the world at his fingertips, and the man who could give it to him.
He followed Ivan, everywhere.