I: Caboose
Katya stood with her baggage at Railroad Station Number One in Stalingrad, surrounded by women and children, the old and infirm. Soldiers watched over them, shouting instructions, keeping order. They were evacuating the city in anticipation of the German advance.
Everywhere, people smothered each other with tearful embraces, kisses, and promises to write. Katya’s husband was at the front lines. She had not seen him in months.
The next train approached, decelerating into position. Once its doors were opened, the crowd surged forward. Someone pushed Katya from behind. She brushed against a little girl with long jet-black hair. They only touched lightly, but the girl yelped as if stung. She scurried behind an old man and looked out from behind his legs. She had the most startling green eyes Katya had ever seen.
“I...I’m very sorry,” Katya said to the old man. He was wiry, with skin like leather and a shock of white hair.
The old man smiled. “The fault is not yours, miss,” he said, his voice rough as a grindstone. “Mariya is a very...sensitive girl, and with all these goings-on....”
“Of course.” Katya offered Mariya an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”
Mariya ducked back behind the old man’s knees.

...

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