How else would they have military crates out here, a hundred miles from the nearest proper depot? That evening she slips into the barracks to see Lute.
It’s a serious rules violation, but Katya knows how to move unseen. The barracks is hot and noisy. A new group has taken over the corner by the entrance.
Their leader is Rat. Thin, wild-eyed, with a long scar across one cheek, she’s sharpening a spoon on a stone. She sees Katya and smiles like a coyote.
“Well, look who’s here. Our huntress,” she calls out. “Bring us some meat? Or are you the meat?”
Katya walks past without reacting. She heads straight for Lute’s bunk. “Need to talk,” she says under her breath.
Lute nods. They move behind the stove into a dark corner. “I saw men in the woods,” Katya says quickly.
“Two of them. Armed. Hiding military crates in the old shack.” Lute’s eyes widen.
“Green crates? Metal corners?” “Yes.” Lute mutters a curse.
“Not outside men. Men from the camp up north. There was a break there a week ago.”
“Word is they hit a supply shed. Took explosives. So they’re here waiting on somebody.”
She grabs Katya’s sleeve. “Rat’s tied in with them. She’s been sending notes through civilian truck drivers.”
“They’re planning to blow our wall.” The whole picture snaps into place. This isn’t just escape. It’s a mass breakout.
The explosives are for the perimeter. The weapons in the shack are for fighting off pursuit. And they need a guide.
Someone who knows these woods cold. “They’re coming for you, Katya,” Lute says, and for the first time there’s real fear in her voice. “Rat won’t kill you.”
“She’ll make you lead them through the woods. Then once you do, they won’t need witnesses.” At that moment, the barracks goes strangely quiet.
Too quiet. Katya turns sharply. Rat and five of her women are standing in a half-circle, blocking the only way out.
In their hands are sharpened tools and clubs. “All done whispering?” Rat says with a nasty grin. “Now let’s get practical.”
“Sniper, we need you. And we need you now.” Rat takes a step forward.
“Tomorrow morning you take the rifle like always. Then you come with us. We’ll say we’re sick.”
“They’ll move us toward the infirmary. We’ll take the guards there. You cover us from the tower side. Got it?”
“I’m not doing that,” Katya says calmly. “Wasn’t a request.” Rat pulls something small and silver from her pocket.
It’s an old locket. Inside is a faded photograph of a little girl. Katya goes cold.
It’s hers. Her locket. The one with the picture of her dead daughter. She hid it in her mattress in the supply room. It’s the last thing she has left. “Pretty little girl,” Rat says with a grin.
“Shame she died young. Memory’s a fragile thing, though.” She holds the silver locket over the hot stove.
“Say yes, sniper, or I melt it down right now. Then maybe we take your eyes too.” Katya looks at the glowing stove, then at Rat.
Inside her, cold, measured anger rises. The same anger that let her lie in snow for days during the war. “Fine,” she says quietly. “I’ll lead you. Give me the locket.”
Rat laughs and slips it back into her pocket. “You get it when we reach the shack. Smart girl.” Katya walks out of the barracks.
The night outside is black and starless. She knows one thing for certain: she will not lead them to freedom. She will lead them straight into hell.
But to do that, she has to prepare. And she needs help. Help from the one man she should hate most.
She doesn’t go back to her warm little room. She goes straight to Captain Ivashin’s office. Not to turn in the escapees.
She’s going there to run her own operation, with her life on the line. The office door creaks as Katya steps inside. Ivashin is at his desk cleaning his service pistol.
There’s an open bottle of brandy on the desk and a stack of papers. He looks up, genuinely surprised. The game warden has come on her own, late at night.
That’s a serious breach of order, enough to land someone in the punishment cell. But Ivashin says nothing. He studies her face.
It’s pale as chalk, but perfectly calm. The face of someone who has made up her mind. “What is it, Melnik?” he asks lazily, not setting down the pistol.
“Another bear? Wolves?” Katya closes the door behind her. The office is warm and smells of tobacco and leather.
“Not a bear, sir. Men.” Ivashin stiffens at once, his hand freezing over the pistol parts.
“What men?” “At the old shack in the woods. The two I didn’t report this afternoon.”
Ivashin slowly sets the pistol down. His eyes narrow. “You lied to me?”
“I was checking,” Katya says without blinking. “I saw them hiding crates. Green military crates. Heavy ones.”
“I overheard enough. There’s gold in them, sir. Gold from a mining shipment they took off a guard convoy a month ago.”
“They’re waiting for a guide to take them across the border.” Katya lies smoothly, weaving truth and invention together.
The gold is made up on the spot. She knows Ivashin well enough. He isn’t just cruel. He’s greedy.
If she says weapons, he’ll call in outside troops. If she says gold, he’ll want it for himself. Quietly. With his own trusted men.
A hungry gleam appears in Ivashin’s eyes. Gold means a ticket out. A new life. A way out of this frozen hole.
“You sure?” he asks, leaning forward. “You saw it yourself? Bars? Coins?”
“Two men. One with a submachine gun, one with a shotgun. They’re leaving by noon tomorrow.”
Ivashin drums his fingers on the desk. He believes her because he wants to believe her.
“All right,” he says, making up his mind. “Tomorrow you take your rifle. I take Petrov and two others I trust.”
“You lead us straight to the shack. If there’s no gold there, I shoot you on the spot and report attempted escape. Understood?”
