It was late at night.
On either side of the intersection, separated by the crossroads itself, scattered bonfires flickered along the street.
The fires to the east belonged to the Soviet troops, while those to the west belonged to the Germans.
As for the small, lonely fire burning in the middle of the intersection, it belonged to the somewhat comical Polish traffic policeman.
The gaunt man still stood beside the damaged tram.
The small oil drum burning in front of him, along with the fuel to keep it lit, had been provided by the Germans.
The pot resting on top of it, filled with macaroni and tomato soup, as well as the loaf of black bread beside it, had been sent over by Viktor.
Although the man spat at and cursed both the Russians and the Germans, neither side seemed to take offense, and no one regarded him as a threat.
In return, he accepted everything offered by both sides without hesitation.
He had even taken the initiative to ask the Germans for a bottle of liquor and Viktor’s men for a pack of cigarettes.
Generally speaking, all three sides displayed remarkable restraint, and there was surprisingly little open hostility between them.
Although the weather had been rather warm during the day, the temperature dropped sharply after nightfall.
Under the moonless, starless sky, even sitting beside a bonfire, one could still feel the damp chill creeping into the air.
Wrapped in a brown-green felt blanket beside a burning oil drum, Viktor sat recording everything that had happened that day in a small notebook by the light of the fire.
These notes would later be submitted for the official archives.
Not far away, several Soviet soldiers sat shoulder to shoulder on a shattered stone slab, quietly listening to the harmonica music drifting from the German side of the street.
In the distance, a German soldier sat beside a bonfire with his helmet off, playing an unfamiliar melody on his harmonica.
The music had continued for quite some time.
When another tune came to an end and applause broke out among the Germans, Viktor stopped writing.
Closing the notebook, he slipped it into his jacket pocket and looked at Sofia, who was sitting opposite him.
“Doesn’t anyone feel like dancing?” he asked with a faint smile.
“We can’t let the Germans have all the entertainment.”
Sofia blinked in surprise and stared at him for a moment before realizing what he meant.
Setting down the mug in her hand, she stood up, straightened the hem of her military jacket, and smiled.
“Very well, Comrade Lieutenant Viktor Viktorovich.
I’ll organize a dance that will satisfy you right away.”
There was some truth to the saying that partisan fighters were natural performers.
Under Sofia’s direction, rhythmic knocking soon echoed across the eastern side of the street as soldiers beat wooden planks together, accompanied by the deep, synchronized chants of the men—”Ho!” and “Hey!” As the rhythm grew faster and louder, a Soviet soldier suddenly stepped forward, set aside his rifle, and began performing the rapid spins of the Lezginka.
The atmosphere quickly became lively.
More and more soldiers joined in, beating on wooden boards and empty oil drums to keep the rhythm.
Others stepped into the dance one after another, while cheers, applause, and laughter gradually filled the night.
At some point, the harmonica music from the western side of the street stopped.
Large numbers of German soldiers either stood along the road or climbed onto their tanks, watching from a distance.
For soldiers living such a monotonous life, even watching others dance was a rare form of entertainment.
Viktor was very satisfied with the effect.
At that moment, he represented the Soviet Red Army, and as a representative of the Red Army, they could not afford to lose at anything.
“Comrade Lieutenant, look over there,” Sofia said, having returned to Viktor’s side at some point.
Viktor looked at her in confusion, then followed her gaze.
A lone figure had emerged from the German side and was walking toward them at an unhurried pace.
It was the same German commander who had stood on top of the tank that afternoon, though this time he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.
In fact, he wasn’t even wearing his military cap.
His tunic was unbuttoned, revealing the white shirt underneath.
In his left hand, he carried a bottle of liquor, and in his right, a military mess kit.
Noticing Viktor watching him, the man raised both hands and gave them a little shake, indicating that he had come in peace.
Viktor stood up, raised a hand in greeting, and waited where he was for the man to approach.
“Lieutenant Viktor, would you mind having a drink with me?” the German commander asked with a smile as he came closer, lifting the bottle in his hand.
“I just opened this whiskey and added a little honey to it.
Hmm…
I also brought some ham, though I’m not sure if it suits Russian tastes.”
“Who would refuse a good drink with a friend?” Viktor replied with a smile.
Stepping forward, he took the mess kit from the man’s right hand with his left, then extended his right hand.
“However, before we drink together, I should at least know your name.”
“Ah, my apologies,” the German replied in a gentlemanly manner.
Shaking Viktor’s hand, he said, “Captain Hecht Adenauer, 14th Army of the Wehrmacht.”
Captain Hecht did not mention his unit designation, which was only proper military discipline.
As for the 14th Army, that description was far too broad.
As far as Viktor knew, all German forces attacking Poland from the southern front through Czechoslovakia belonged to the 14th Army.
“Then, Captain Hecht, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Viktor said.
After shaking his hand, he gave him a brief embrace before adding with a smile, “Your Russian is excellent.”
“I lived in St.
Petersburg for six years,” Captain Hecht replied.
Looking around, he found a place to sit before continuing, “Though I suppose you call that beautiful city Leningrad now.
Whatever its name, I truly loved living there, and I sincerely hope I’ll have the chance to visit it again someday.”
“There will be opportunities,” Viktor answered with a smile.
The words had barely left his mouth before he realized something was wrong.
Telling a German officer that he would one day have the opportunity to visit Leningrad again…
that sounded rather inappropriate.
Sofia soon returned with three enamel mugs.
She poured the whiskey Captain Hecht had brought, handing one mug to Viktor and another to the German captain.
Without asking anyone’s permission, she kept the third for herself and sat down nearby.
Besides the drinks, she also brought over some fruit and two cans of preserved meat.
“I admire you, Lieutenant Viktor,” Captain Hecht said after Sofia left.
“You and your soldiers are brave warriors.”
As he spoke, his gaze casually swept over the surroundings.
“If I’m not mistaken, the only troops you can mobilize in Lviv are the people here, correct?” he continued.
“Why do you say that?” Viktor asked curiously.
He lifted the hand holding his wine glass and pointed toward a building on one side of the street.
“Look, if I were you, the best way to stop the armored units coming from the opposite street would definitely not be to build such a simple defensive position across the road.
I would position troops over there…”
Turning slightly, he pointed to the second floor of another building across the street.
“And there, I would set up two machine-gun positions.
Those two firing positions could create overlapping fields of fire and effectively block any infantry advancing from the opposite side.”
He then pointed toward two storefront windows along the street.
“And at these two locations, I would place two anti-tank guns.”
Transferring his wine glass from his right hand to his left, he held his right hand upright and gestured toward the German positions.
“This way, a tank advancing from the opposite street at roughly a twenty-degree angle would first have to adjust the elevation of its main gun before it could engage either anti-tank position.
That would take ten to fifteen seconds.
During that time, your two anti-tank guns could each fire twice.”
Viktor listened attentively.
He carefully examined the firing positions Captain Hecht pointed out while imagining the battlefield in his mind.
In his opinion, the German captain was clearly an experienced commander, and everything he said came from practical combat experience.
“You see,” Captain Hecht continued, “that alone would be enough to pose a real threat to our advance.
But you didn’t do that.
Instead, you built a weak defensive line across the street.
In my opinion, that’s the fighting style of guerrillas, not of a regular army.”
Viktor glanced at his wristwatch.
It was already eleven o’clock at night.
If nothing unexpected happened, the Soviet Army’s advance units would enter Lviv within three or four hours.
In other words, it was highly unlikely that the Germans would break their agreement and attempt to seize the city by force.
“Yes, you’re right, Captain Hecht,” Viktor admitted frankly, making no attempt to conceal the truth.
“We are not regular Red Army troops, and the men you see here are all the personnel we can mobilize.
But we are allies, after all, aren’t we?
There shouldn’t be any conflict between us.”
“Of course,” Captain Hecht said with a smile.
“As I mentioned earlier, for us, the war here is already over.
In fact, I received orders from my superiors about half an hour ago.
We will withdraw from Lviv tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, the war is over,” Viktor said, raising his glass and taking a sip before nodding.
“No one likes war.
We’re all the same in that regard.”
“So, to bring this damned war to an end, shouldn’t we have a proper drink?” Captain Hecht said with a smile, raising his glass toward Viktor.
“Cheers!” Viktor replied loudly, raising his own glass to clink it against Captain Hecht’s.