Free Underground Soldier by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch Page B

replies. Then he and his mother walk through the cordon of soldiers.
    I never saw him again.
    Two days later, we found out that there had been no train. The Nazis had murdered the Jews of Kyiv. Their bullet-riddled bodies now filled the ravine of Babyn Yar.

Chapter Thirteen
Fighting Back
    I could still almost hear David’s voice, saying, “Don’t forget me, Luka.”
    An overwhelming weariness washed over me.
    I vowed to survive this horrible war, so I could tell others about what the Nazis had done and how David had been killed. David would have loved Lida. Had he lived, they could have been the greatest of friends.
    I untangled myself from the branches and started back on my journey.
    The woods seemed oddly empty. Surely I wasn’t the only one in them. I walked until the midday sun broke through the branches overhead and didn’t see a single soul. Once, a deer darted by in the distance, and another time I nearly stepped on a snake, but the birds were oddly silent and I saw no trace of other humans.
    I walked as close to the edge of the river as I dared, waiting for a spot where I would be able to climb down and get a drink, but long stretches of the bank were too soft and crumbly for climbing. In places the bank plunged right down to deep churning water. Finally I came upon a stretch that overlooked a pebbled beach and a patch of river that rippled but didn’t churn. Perhaps it was shallower.
    Using the roots of trees as a ladder, I climbed down to water level. I stayed hidden behind some bushes and watched for a few minutes to make sure no one else was around. I stepped over mucky stones until I reached a dry, flat rock, then shrugged the knapsack off my shoulders and sat down. It was so silent and still, and watching the river ripple over smooth rocks had a soothing effect. I could almost forget that I was a fugitive in the midst of a war.
    I set my knapsack on the rock and picked my way from one rock to another until the river looked knee deep. I knew I was taking a risk, but there wasn’t a single boat in sight and the opposite bank was deserted.
    I knelt down and took huge gulps of water, then splashed my face and hair. It felt so good to finally not be thirsty. I used the stepping stones to get back to the flat rock and stretched out. It was chilly, but I was relieved to be out of the woods. My stomach grumbled. This was as good a time as any to open up one of those American army rations and see what they contained. I reached for my knapsack.
    It was open.
    Had I left it that way? I couldn’t remember. I took everything out of it, placing the extra clothing Margarete had packed over to one side. There was also a first-aid kit. Thank you, Margarete and Helmut! A stiff piece of fabric was folded tightly and tucked along the back of the knapsack. I pulled it out and unfolded it — a huge lightweight rain poncho with a camouflage pattern — very useful. But then I counted and stacked the ration boxes and there were only nine. I was sure there were supposed to be ten.
    Perhaps one had dropped out of the knapsack? Or maybe there were only nine to begin with. In any case, I’d had my fill of water and that would have to do for now. I packed everything back up and slipped on the knapsack. I was halfway up the riverbank when the scent of roasting meat drifted towards me. My stomach growled with hunger.
    There were other people around. Had one of them stolen a ration box from my knapsack? But why would they steal just one and leave everything else? It didn’t add up. Whatever the truth was, I was suddenly aware of how exposed my location was.
    I quietly climbed back up part of the bank until I could just peek over the edge. At first I saw nothing, but the aroma of smoke and meat directed me to a clearing a stone’s throw away. Leaning against a thick fir tree was a German soldier, cleaning a rifle. At his feet was a second rifle. A smoky fire billowed a few metres away and another soldier squatted on the ground