"What happened next?" Linka asks "Although I think I know."

"Maybe I should just leave you hangin'! Your turn. Why don't you tell me about your dream?"

"Ok."

The young Russian girl was startled when she first heard the shots. She had not expected the Nazi troops to move through her village, let alone have a battle between the Russian and German armies raging in her front yard. She knew to stay away from the windows and just stay were she was. Although she wanted to run, it was much safer inside than out there. She just wished she wasn't alone. She wondered if her father and brother were out there fighting. She had not heard from either one of them for a while, nor had she heard from Mikhail. She hoped they were all safe. She hated the Germans. They had had good relations until Hitler decided to invade Russia. What a stupid, greedy little man. She had faith that her country could defeat the Nazis, but she was happy to hear that the Americans had joined the war and were also fighting against Hitler's army. Surely he could not defeat ALL of the world's super powers.

She spent the next few hours counting the shots until she had lost track. When they had finally ended, she waited a while before heading to the window to look outside. She was dismayed to see the German army had advanced. The medical teams were now there taking care of the fallen soldiers in her yard. Many had died and the attention was being focused on the survivors. The girl's grandmother was a nurse and had volunteered to help the army. She decided to go out and see if there was anything she could do to help, but also, to see if there was anything of value left behind. She knew it was wrong and she felt bad, but with all the men in her family off fighting the war, there was very little she could do to make money and buy food. She never took from her countrymen, only from the Nazis. She did not feel guilty taking from them. She had gathered quite a collection of gold and silver jewelry, coins, ammunition, and anything else she thought that she could sell.

When she was walking back to her house, she noticed a figure off to the side, almost at the edge of the woods. She wondered if anyone on the medical team had seen the downed soldier and tended to him. From the looks of things, it was too late to help him. She did not recognize his uniform though and decided to see if he had anything of value on him. He was laying face down so she had to roll him over.

"An American? I did not see any other American soldiers on the battlefield...how did you end up being the only unlucky one to get shot?" she thought.

His name was "Walker" according to the patch on his uniform. He was wearing a beautiful gold cross which had fallen out from the collar of his shirt. She held the charm in her hand and admired it.

"This would buy many groceries...perhaps some new clothes...but I cannot. You are a friend to my country and died fighting alongside us," she said to herself.

She tucked the necklace back inside his shirt and said to him,

"Spasiba, Commerad."

When she patted his chest, she thought she felt it moving. Could he be breathing? Could he still be alive? She leaned down to put her ear next to his nose and mouth to see if she felt air coming out, and to also look at his chest to see if it was rising and falling to indicate that he was breathing. Sure enough, he was! She looked around to see if anyone was there to help, but by now, all the medical personnel had left. She began shaking him gently, trying to get him to wake up. He was too heavy to carry or drag back to the house, but if she could just get him to walk on his own, she could at least help to support him until they got inside.

It was no use though. He was out. She ran to the shed to get a cart and then she ran to the barn and equipped the plow horse. The horse looked at her like she was crazy. The weather was cold. The ground was frozen and covered in snow. This was not the time of year to plow! When were the men coming back? They would know better than this silly girl.

She led the horse out to the cart and hooked them together. Then she took him over to the fallen soldier. She tried lifting the soldier up and pulling him onto the cart, but she could not hold him up and pull him into the cart at the same time. She needed to be behind him, but could not manage to do both at the same time. She was getting frustrated, angry, and upset. She was covered in the strangers blood and was worried that she had caused him to bleed even more than he already was. She gathered all her strength and made one last attempt. She lifted him up and then, the next thing she knew, the cart was moving backwards towards her, positioning right against the soldiers backside, so all she had to do was gently lean him backwards. The horse had seen her struggles and knew what she was attempting to do, so he backed the cart closer to her. She could then climb into the cart and pull him the rest of the way in. Once she and the soldier were safely on the cart, the horse made his way to the house, as close to the door as possible so that the young girl could get her patient inside. It was not easy, but she managed to get the Yankee inside and laid him on the floor. She covered him in blankets to warm him and put a pot of water on the stove to warm some water. While she was waiting for it to warm, she took the horse and cart back to the barn and fed him, giving him a little extra to show her appreciation for his efforts.

She went back to her house and began removing the soldier's shirt to get a better look at his wound. It was bad. Fortunately though, the bullet had gone through and was not lodged inside his shoulder. The bleeding seemed to have slowed as well. She began to clean his wound. She found the first aid kit and got as much gauze as she could to bandage the bullet hole once she had been certain the bleeding had stopped, or at least slowed. Once she was satisfied with her work, she once again covered the American soldier with a blanket and began cleaning his face. His cheek was reddened from laying in the snow. She worried that he had gotten frostbite so she placed a warm washcloth over his cheek to warm the tissue.

He began to wake up and she was right by his side to greet him.

When he saw the beautiful blonde looking down at him, he was immediately relieved.

"I'm not dead?" he asks.

"Nyet," she replies, shaking her head.

He looks around at his surroundings and then notices that his wound has been taken care of.

"Did you do this?" he asks.

"Da," she nods.

"You seem to understand English...so, thank you."

"You are welcome," she replies.

"And you can speak it too?"

"I learned it in school."

"Lucky for me because I don't know any Russian...other than what you just said, 'da,' and 'nyet.' So not only is my rescuer smart, she's also a babe."

"What is 'babe?' As in infant?"

"No, that's a 'baby.' A 'babe' is...well, a compliment. It means you're pretty. No...more than pretty. Beautiful."

She blushes at the compliment.

"Spasiba...it means 'thank you.'"

"And now I know another word. So Doc, am I going to live?"

"Da, you will be fine. The bullet went right through. And since your shoulder seems to be in place, it does not look like there are any broken bones. I would guess that there is only tissue and muscle damage, which is much better than broken bones and bone fragments. I do not think I would have been able to fix that here."

"Are you a nurse or something?" he asks.

"Nyet, but my grandmother is. She is working as a nurse for the army now. I can ask her to come here to check you out and make sure everything is ok."

"No! Thank you, but no. As a military employee, she might turn me in."

"Turn you in? I do not understand. Perhaps she can find a way to get you back to your army...to your own doctors for better care."

"I'm AWOL...absent without leave...so even if you asked her not to, but she'd be obligated to say something to her superiors. She could get in trouble if they found out that she knew about me and didn't turn me in...so could you, which is why I'm leaving as soon as I'm healthy enough. I don't want you to get in trouble."

"You are not leaving until you are completely healed! I did not save you just so you could go out there and get killed again."

"Ok, Ok. I'll stay...for a while."

"Would you like some clothes? Your shirt is completely ruined and your pants are covered in blood and wet from the snow."

"That'd be nice, but I don't think I'd fit into any of your clothes," he jokes.

"I have men's clothes here. You look to be about the same size."

She returns with a t-shirt, pants, and a button down flannel shirt.

"Here," she says as she hands them to him and turns around to give him privacy.

He manages to step out of his old pants and into the new ones with only a little bit of difficulty. His shirt is another story. He can only get it over his head and around his good arm.

"I guess this is as good as it's gonna get."

She turns around to see what he is talking about.

"Here, let me help you. You should have put it over your injured arm first," she says as she carefully removes the t-shirt. She has never undressed a man before and cannot stop looking at his body. She has seen men without shirts before, but never has she seen one this perfect. His body is so well defined. It is so toned, every time he moves, she can see the muscles moving beneath his skin. She wonders what they feel like. Are they as hard as they look? Why does she care? Why does she want to know? Why is she letting her hands brush against his skin as she maneuvers the shirt sleeve around his injured arm, then as she pulls the shirt down over his head, she smooths her hands down his sides. Is it her imagination, or did his breathing just speed up? And how long has she been holding her breath? Maybe his irregular breathing is from the pain.

"Did I hurt you?" she asks.

"No. I...it's...I'm fine. Thanks."

"You should rest. I could not move you any further than right here. Do you think you can get up. I can help you get to bed so you will be more comfortable," she says.

"Yeah, I can get up."

He stands and tries to take a step, but his legs are wobbly and unsteady. She grabs hold of him and places his arm over her shoulders to help support him as she leads him to her bed and helps him lay down.

"Spasiba," he says.

"Very good...and you are welcome...Walker, is it?"

"Yeah. How did you...?"

"It was on your shirt."

"Oh. Right. It's my last name. My first name is...never mind. I hate my name. I make everyone call me by my last name anyways. What's your name?"

"Liliya."

"That's a pretty name. Pretty name for a pretty girl."

"That is nice of you to say...Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, a little, but I don't wanna put you through any trouble."

"It is no trouble. I need to make dinner for myself. Now I will just have company. Besides, you are a soldier helping my country fight their enemy and were shot in the process. It is the least I can do to repay you for your bravery and duty."

"I'm afraid I don't deserve your kindness."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"I wasn't being brave and I certainly wasn't doing my duty. I was running away. I wasn't fighting with your army. I was fleeing from mine. I just happened to be passing through when I got stuck between the battle between the Russians and the Nazis," he explains. "I'm a coward. A deserter who was trying to get home. If they find me, I'm in big trouble...and you could be too for harboring me. Which is why I will be on my way as soon as I can."

"You should wait until you have recovered."

"You're not mad?"

"For what?"

"I'm not the great guy you think I am."

"Why? Because you want to go home? I do not blame you. I would want to go home too if I were you. This is not your war. You are here helping. You are fighting someone else's war."

"But I wanna help. What this Hitler guy is doing...it's wrong. He needs to be stopped. But...I wouldn't be leaving except...I got a letter from home..."

"Is everything ok?" She asks.

"No. My girlfriend, Tracy...she broke up with me. She can't take the distance. She says it's too hard. So I gotta go back so we can be together."

"Perhaps it is best that you break up now instead of later," Liliya says.

"Why?"

"Because, if she is breaking up with you while you are away at war, she must not love you. If she did, she could wait."

"But if I were there, it would be different. It wouldn't be as hard because we wouldn't be apart. We could work things out."

"But it does not sound like she is willing to make things work. If she were, she would be writing to tell you she loves you and she misses you, not to break up with you. She has probably found someone else."

"Gee. Thanks for the support," he says sarcastically.

"I am sorry. I just do not want you to think that if you make it home, things will be ok. You should be prepared. Then what? You have left for no reason and are now in big trouble with your army."

"It's ok. You've given me something to think about...to be prepared for the worst. So what about you? What's your story? These clothes I'm wearing...obviously there's a guy living here...That ring you're wearing...is that a...are you...married?"

"Da. He is also in the army."

"And you've never once thought about how much you'd rather have your husband here than fighting some stupid war? Don't you wish he would leave and come back to you?"

"I just want it to be over. My father and my brother are also out there fighting. I want my loved ones to be safe. I am going to make dinner now. I am sorry if I upset you."

"No, it's ok. You didn't. And I'm sorry if I upset you," he apologizes, noticing the abruptness of her departure.

When she returned to his room after making dinner, he was asleep. She felt bad waking him because she knew he needed his rest. It was a fitful sleep though. He was tossing and turning and mumbling something she couldn't understand. He had pushed the covers off the bed. She placed the covers back over top of him, kneeled down beside him, and whispered as she stroked his cheek,

"Sssh, relax Yankee. Everything will be ok."

His features became more relaxed and he calmed down.

"Wait, I remember that! I mean, I remember you...I mean Liliya, saying that to me...err, Walker...whoever."

"But I really did say it to you. When you were sleeping. Remember I told you that you looked troubled?"

"Yeah."

"Well that is when I said it, and you seemed to calm down."

He looks over at her and smiles,

"You have that calming affect on me," he says as he puts his arm around her and rubs his hand up and down her arm.

She returns his smile and leans her head on his shoulder, allowing him to pull her closer. It amazes her how cold the desert can get at night.

"Your turn. Then what happened in your dream?" she asks.

To Be Continued...