Dynamo: Defending the Honour of Kiev

For Christine, Iain and Stuart

and dedicated to the bravery and heroism of the

men of FC Start

especially Kolya, Vanya, Sasha and Nikolai

Cover Page

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SOURCES

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

21 JUNE 1941

Valentina and Alexei were very much in love, a blind man on a galloping horse could see that. It was the little things that gave them away, like the fact that they just could not take their eyes off each other. Valentina was in the kitchen with the other women while Alexei was outside smoking with the men. But no matter where they went or how far they strayed within the big apartment they always found each other with their eyes. Alexei could hear her laughing with her friends, it was an excited girlish laugh which was not at all fitting for her serious job as a laboratory worker. But no one would grudge her any of her enjoyment on this, her big day. This, after all, was Valentina’s wedding day, the day she would remember for the rest of her life.

Valentina Masterova and Alexei Dubovsky had been married earlier that afternoon. It had been a traditional ceremony that had taken place on a glorious midsummer’s day, so the omens were good for a long and happy marriage. They had not known each other long but they loved each other; that they had no place to stay and no real plans did not seem to matter. They had good jobs – he was an engineer and she worked in the laboratory – and they had each other. That was what was important. Why should it matter that they were starting their married life in someone else’s house? Since they had no apartment of their own they were holding their wedding banquet at a flat which belonged to one of Valentina’s girlfriends. The apartment was big and airy, the sort of place they would have loved for themselves, but despite its space it was crammed to the rafters with friends and well-wishers. There was one other added attraction to the apartment on the corner of Lenin Street, it was above the best bakery in Kiev, Bakery no. 3. Valentina worked in the laboratories checking the quality of the bread and the purity of the wheat while Alexei and his fellow engineers kept the place running. Almost everyone they knew worked at the bakery and it was at a works social function where they themselves had first met. But even a works celebration could not match what was on offer here today.

The groaning tables which filled the large living room were ample testament to the skill and craft of the workers at the bakery downstairs. This was a special occasion and everyone seemed to have made a special effort to make sure that their contribution was as rich, as soft, as perfect as it could be for the happy couple. There were breads of all shapes and sizes and description; good white wheat bread and rich black rye bread. With the bread there was smoked salmon and caviar, expensive to be sure but it was not every day a girl got married. The salmon and caviar were a treat, something to be savoured, but everyone else had pitched in with the rest of the meal. There were vareniki – dumplings stuffed with cottage cheese – and, to eat with them, bowls of smetana – sour cream – that could also be added to the plates of soup being ladled out of huge tureens by the enthusiastic guests. There was borscht of course, and schi – cabbage soup – and some pungent rassolnik – a kind of meat soup – as well as delicious ukha – fish soup. The room was filled with a heady mixture of aromas as the strong smells and flavours of traditional Ukrainian cooking vied with each other. Huge plates were piled high with mounds of pork and beef, other pots contained rich and intoxicating stews. Every time the piles looked like dwindling another guest would arrive with a pot or a plate of something delicious to add to the menu. One table contained nothing but fish dishes. Since they were on the banks of the Dnieper and not too far from the Black Sea the quality of seafood was superb. Apart from the salmon and caviar there was marinated herring as well as plates and plates of vobla – the sharp-tasting, salt-covered dried fish.

The guests helped themselves throughout the day, attacking the laden tables with increasing enthusiasm. The enthusiasm was fuelled by large amounts of alcohol. The local vodka called gorilka was consumed with gusto. The drink takes its name from the Ukrainian word for burning, but the rough nature of the liquor did not appear to be deterring anyone from drinking it. The women drank with as much delicacy as they could muster from the small glasses known as ryumka, while the hardier men slaked their thirst with gusto from the larger stakan, which held just over half a pint. Each swill of vodka was accompanied by a handful of olives or a tangy portion of savoury, fatty