Leningrad, Soviet Union, October 16, 1943
Tatianna's wrists were sore. Her forearms were on fire. Her hair was limp and lanky with sweat. The extra few inches it had grown since she had been wounded barely touched the bottom o f her neck. She took in another deep breath. Her good leg was planted firmly on the tread board of the staircase in the back of one of the permanent military hospitals in Leningrad. The main staircases were for doctors and nurses but no one bothered her here. She allowed the oxygen to flow into her lungs for one more moment, grimaced, and slowly lifted her damaged knee. Her foot left the ground, relief and then a new type of pain as the ligaments and tendons of her ankle were too lax and she felt things stretch as the movement reached its apex. She placed her foot down again. Everything hurt as the muscles that had been damaged by that shell fragment screamed in pain as they contracted and allowed her to go up one more step. This was the tenth flight of stairs that she had done this morning. it would be her last. It had only taken her most of an hour. The first time she attempted to go up and down the back stairs after she was released from the surgical ward, one flight took her two hours.
An hour later, she was sitting in a chair in the library. Her cane was next to her and in front of her was a cup of lukewarm tea. Her new friend, a wounded machine gunner from a Guards regiment laughed as she curled her lips. The pawn positions were becoming intolerable. White had an advantage that either the King side bishop or the Queen's rook would soon exploit. A sacrifice might buy her some time, as her knight advanced. As the piece touched the board, a new pain, no, a pain that she had forgotten long about hit her. Her hand went to her stomach as her womb began to cramp for the first time in two years. Enough food not being burned during long stalks for a firing position had allowed her body to remember that she was still a woman.