Chapter 6

When I returned to the duty room, the warrant officer on duty had already prepared my appointment letter. Seeing me enter, he picked up a document from the table and handed it to me.

I took the appointment letter and was taken aback. If it were a printed document, I could have understood some of it, but the order on the paper was handwritten. The difference between handwritten and printed Russian is so great that I couldn't make out what was written.

I hesitated for a moment and then, with a bit of embarrassment, asked the warrant officer, "Comrade Warrant Officer, could you read the content of this document to me? The handwriting is too messy, and the room is too dark, so I can't read it clearly." After saying this, my face turned red with shame.

The warrant officer didn't notice my discomfort; he just gave me an impatient look but still read the order to me patiently: "To the commander of the Unnamed Height Defense Battalion: We are dispatching Sergeant Mushtakova Osharina to your unit to serve as the platoon leader of the anti-aircraft machine gun platoon. Please accept her. Leningrad Air Defense Command."

"Who should I report to when I get there?" I asked hurriedly.

"Once you get there, someone will tell you," the warrant officer said, a bit impatiently, and then added, "The truck and driver to take you to the height are already waiting outside. Go quickly. That's all I have to say."

I quickly saluted him and then turned to leave the duty room.

As I walked out of the air defense command headquarters, I saw that it was already evening. Not far ahead, a truck covered with a tarpaulin was parked. I was about to go over and ask if it was the truck going to Pulkovo Height when the truck door opened, and a driver wearing a boat-shaped cap poked his head out and shouted loudly, "Girl, are you going to the front?"

Girl! Hearing this word, I immediately looked around reflexively, but there was no one else at the gate except for two soldiers on guard duty. Where did this girl come from?

"Hey! Hey! Dear," he called out again, "Stop looking around. I'm talking to you. Get in the car quickly; the truck has been waiting for you for a long time."

It turned out he was calling me. Sigh, even after so long, I still couldn't remember that I was now a female soldier. I quickly walked a few steps, got into the car, and sat in the passenger seat, tentatively asking, "Are we going to Pulkovo Height?"

"Yes, yes," the driver said as he turned the ignition key and shifted the gear. The car started moving.

For a while, the driver drove in silence, and neither of us spoke, but he had a mysterious smile on his face.

"Why are you so happy?" I finally couldn't help but ask him out of curiosity.

"You are amazing!" he replied unexpectedly, "To have already received two military medals in such a short time."

"I just received them recently."

"I sincerely congratulate you, Comrade Sergeant."

"Thank you, Comrade Driver. They were awarded by the Front Commander himself." Talking about the medals, I couldn't help but feel a bit proud. But soon I felt a bit embarrassed. Both medals were hard-earned. The Red Banner Medal was awarded by the headquarters to Lidia for personally shooting down two enemy planes in the air defense battle. As for the battle in the forest, although all the German soldiers were eliminated, four female soldiers were killed, and Warrant Officer Vaskov was wounded and sent to an unknown hospital. I haven't been able to find out where he is. I received the honor that should have belonged to them, which made me feel somewhat ashamed.

"Was it General Zhukov?"

"No, it was Marshal Voroshilov, the Front Commander, who awarded them personally."

"Ah?!" He was surprised, "You didn't know? Marshal Voroshilov was recalled to the General Headquarters last week. Now, the Front Commander is General Zhukov."

"Oh," I quickly explained, "I just got out of the hospital today and didn't know the commander had changed."

"I love driving at night," the talkative driver continued, "I always feel the urge to drive at full speed! You don't have to worry about pedestrians or other vehicles! Fly down the road and rule the highway!" As he was speaking, a traffic officer crossed the sidewalk and stopped the car in front of us. Seeing the police stop the car, my heart leaped to my throat. In Moscow, I was most afraid of the police stopping the car. Usually, they would stop the car under the pretext of checking the driver's license or passport, and then extort money. After encountering this several times, I developed a fear of the police without realizing it.

Just as my heart was racing, I suddenly heard the driver's voice, "Hey! Hey!" He shouted loudly at the traffic officer, "Look carefully! Don't delay my official duties." He pointed to the square cardboard pass on the windshield. The traffic officer looked at the pass, saluted us, and stepped back to the side of the road.

I secretly breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the driver. At that moment, I realized I wasn't in Moscow of the future but in Leningrad during the war. In the war, soldiers had many privileges and didn't need to fear the traffic officers.

Without the police's restraint, he became even more reckless, driving the car at high speed down the empty streets, swerving left and right, clearly enjoying the freedom of driving without constraints.

"Where are you from?" he asked me.

"Moscow," I replied without hesitation.

"Moscow!" He became excited, "What a coincidence, I'm also from Moscow. I've been serving in Leningrad since I enlisted. I live at 27 Lenin Street. Where do you live?"

"I live at 118 Mozaiskaya Road. From my balcony, I can see the Triumphal Arch and the Victory Monument on Victory Square."

"Where exactly?" the driver asked, surprised, and his foot moved off the accelerator.

The car's speed suddenly slowed down.

"Watch the road!" I hurriedly reminded him, realizing I had made a serious mistake. Victory Square was only built in 1995, and it was 1941 now. He wasn't a time traveler like me, so how could he know about a building that would appear more than fifty years later?

"Dear, what do you mean by the Triumphal Arch and Victory Square?" the driver asked, adjusting the speed, "I've never heard of these places."

"Oh, I didn't explain clearly. What I mean is: after the war, we should build a grand Triumphal Arch in Moscow and a huge square with a tall Victory Monument in the middle to commemorate this great Patriotic War. The best location would be near the Kutuzovskaya Metro Station on Mozaiskaya Road. That way, I can stand on my balcony and see these two great buildings every day," I improvised, trying to cover up my mistake.

"You said it well," he said without any suspicion, and began to imagine along with me, "I also hope we can drive the German invaders away soon and then build the structures you mentioned in Moscow to celebrate our victory."

The truck climbed a small hill and drove for a while before the driver began to slow down. "Have we arrived?" I asked, feeling quite exhausted, as the driver parked the car next to other trucks.

"We have," the driver confirmed.

I thanked the driver and jumped out of the car. The driver leaned across the seat and poked his head out of the open door, pointing ahead, "Follow this road until you see a half-buried shelter. That's the command post of Unnamed Height. You should report to the commander there."

I thanked him again and walked along the bumpy road toward the command post.

After a short walk, I saw a raised earth shelter with two soldiers in uniform pacing around it. As I approached, one of the soldiers raised his hand to stop me and said, "Comrade soldier, please show your identification."

"I am Sergeant Osharina, the new platoon leader of the anti-aircraft machine gun platoon at Unnamed Height. I am here to report to the commander," I said, unbuttoning my jacket pocket and taking out my military ID and the appointment letter, handing them to him.

The soldier took the documents, read the appointment letter carefully, flipped through the military ID, and looked at me, probably comparing the photo with me, then said, "Wait a moment," and turned to go inside, closing the wooden door behind him.

I understood that the soldier was reporting to his superior and waited patiently.

The door opened, and the soldier came out, returning only my military ID but not the appointment letter, which he must have left with the commander inside.

"You can go in, Comrade Sergeant. The commander is waiting for you."