The Dance of the Red Swan

By Jeffery Martin Botzenhart

Amidst a nightmarish Hell, a moment of Heaven is found.

In February of 1943, amidst the German Army’s relentless siege of Leningrad, Russia, the destruction of the city and starvation of the population has created an apocalyptic genocide. Yet the dangers within the city are far more perilous. Ilya, a young man forced into prostitution by his brutal father as a means to keep his disabled brother alive, understands this all too well.

In his darkest hours, Ilya finds salvation when witnessing the graceful beauty of a ballerina. To him, Tatiana is the red swan of hope, an angel surrounded by devils. As horrific as the city has become, she is an enchanting light within the darkness.

As the hours turn desperate, atonement, fate, and revenge become Ilya’s allies to freedom. The intensity of their love affair prompts them to risk all to escape from the carnage of war. And should they fail, Ilya willingly will greet death by having witnessed the sublime dance of the red swan.

PUBLISHER NOTE: Historical Romance. 28,700 words. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Jun 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224313969

Jeffery Martin Botzenhart

I was born on November 9, 1967 in Warren, Ohio and grew up in a country trailer park in Southington Ohio with my two brothers and parents.I currently live in Girard, Ohio with my wife and sons. After graduating from Chalker High School in 1986, I went on to attend Kent State University.Originally, I sought to pursue a degree in education, but changed degrees after a few years in school. After working my way through college for eight years, I graduated in 1994 with a Bachelor’s degree in International Relations.Aside from writing, I also draw and paint. My other passion is soccer. I have proudly been a coach of a soccer team for autistic and special needs players.

Book preview

THE DANCE OF THE RED SWAN

Hearts of War – Book Four

JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

Amidst a nightmarish Hell, a moment of Heaven is found.

In February of 1943, amidst the German Army’s relentless siege of Leningrad, Russia, the destruction of the city and starvation of the population has created an apocalyptic genocide. Yet the dangers within the city are far more perilous. Ilya, a young man forced into prostitution by his brutal father as a means to keep his disabled brother alive, understands this all too well.

In his darkest hours, Ilya finds salvation when witnessing the graceful beauty of a ballerina. To him, Tatiana is the red swan of hope, an angel surrounded by devils. As horrific as the city has become, she is an enchanting light within the darkness.

As the hours turn desperate, atonement, fate, and revenge become Ilya’s allies to freedom. The intensity of their love affair prompts them to risk all to escape from the carnage of war. And should they fail, Ilya willingly will greet death by having witnessed the sublime dance of the red swan.

PUBLISHER NOTE: Historical Romance. 28,700 words. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

THE DANCE OF THE RED SWAN

Hearts of War – Book Four

JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

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LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

THE DANCE OF THE RED SWAN

Hearts of War – Book Four

Copyright © JUNE 2024 JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

In dedication to all victims of warfare.

CHAPTER ONE

Ilya watched the gentle descent of snowflakes glittering like stardust. His mother once told him they were God’s tears frozen by the crisp winter air.

Why does he weep? he remembered asking.

Some are tears of joy, like in the spring and summer when all is beautiful and green, she answered. Other times they are filled with sorrow. He weeps because of what man does to his sublime vision of paradise.

When I hear thunder, is he angry?

Yes.

What is lightning?

"His warning that he holds the power to destroy all should his commandments not be heeded."

Flashes of light and rumbles of thunder pulled him from this remembrance. These were not the signals of God, though, but rather of a German devil wishing his own form of destruction.

The full moon’s luminescence caused the snow-covered street to appear lustrous, as if from a dream. Purposeful not to stray his glance toward his feet, he wished for this enchantment to last, though he knew it would not. The distant echoes of German artillery fire cast an omen upon the night. Ahead of them, traces of billowing smoke foretold the soon-to-be-seen devastation.

Breathing in the stench of burning wood, Ilya looked closer at the moon and imagined that it was God’s large eye looking down upon the people he had forsaken to war. I wonder if his eye fails to blink because he is too paralyzed to stop the desolation? he thought. Why did you bother to create any of this only to allow such suffering? What sin did we commit in your eyes too great to forgive?

Ilya halted his steps when he witnessed a building immersed in flames. Crowds had gathered near it, the people holding out their hands to be warmed by the inferno. Hanging out one of the top windows was a person’s smoldering torso. His or her arms were stretched down toward the street as if waiting to be pulled free from the fire. But when Ilya looked at the ground below the window, he saw a child lying still in the snow. Possibly the person sought to save their young one, yet the frozen ground betrayed such a desire to claim the child’s soul before the flames could.

While others stood still, all staring vacantly ahead, an elderly couple holding hands stepped forward. They turned to each other, and the woman caressed the man’s cheek with him nodding to her. To Ilya’s horror, with their pace relaxed, they walked up to the burning building and climbed the steps leading inside. No one in the crowd attempted to stop them. The man and woman shared the last kiss of what must have been a lifetime together and then continued holding hands as they walked through the doorway. Their frail bodies were instantly ignited by the fire. Screams of agony were heard from neither over the roar of the inferno.

Dragged forcibly by his coat collar, he was led away by his father to another nightmare that would soon be at hand. The fog of his nervously exhaled breaths corrupted the view of his surroundings, with only the sight of his father retaining clarity. Following him down a narrow alley, the matching fur hat and coat his father wore reminded him of what a bear might look like from behind. This seemed fitting as he viewed his father to be just as vicious as a forest beast. In the forest, he thought he might have a chance to escape. Yet here in the ruins of Leningrad and under the protection, so to speak, of his father, escape was futile. Hordes of German soldiers surrounding the city matched the capacity of cruelty he suffered from his father’s harsh reprimands. I exist amidst an unimaginable hell, Ilya said to himself. I wish I had the courage to kill myself. Or if there is a God, possibly he will continue to turn a blind eye to my misery and allow my murder.

The door they approached was one familiar to him. Maneuvering around rubble and debris, Ilya’s heart nearly stopped beating when seeing a vague human form blanketed by snow. The person must have died when the stone from the bomb-damaged building fell. Having seen this many times throughout the city, while others had grown numb to this, he had not. The War, hunger, and cold had claimed countless lives. Firm in the grip of the Russian winter, bodies could not be buried in the frozen ground. Worse, though, was the reality that too many had died, either by virtue of the harsh winter or the incessant German air and artillery attacks.

Beginning in early September, the German Army’s siege of Leningrad had cut off all supplies of food, oil, and coal. Lacking the needed heat, water pipes froze. Drinking water grew scarce. The corpses of the deceased accumulated in the city parks, streets, and open areas. The dead were overtaking the city and those like himself and his father were merely awaiting their turn to join them.

Ilya’s father knocked on the door and then offered him a glance brimming with disgust but uttered no matching words. The door was unlatched, though not fully opening as was customary.

Do not further disappoint me… or your punishment will be severe, his father growled under his breath.

His father walked away, limping and wheezing as always, to leave Ilya standing there in the cold. Mother said your leg was injured in the first Great War. I wish you would have died, these last six words echoing in his mind.

Swallowing deeply, Ilya’s fogged breath evaporated before his eyes as his trembling hand reached for the door. I wish I could run away, and find a place to hide, but Father would find and punish me. The city has too many eyes watching me and too many voices whispering to him. I have no choice.

Ilya stepped inside and closed the door. He trudged up a staircase, counting silently the steps until he reached the top floor. Knocking lightly on a door to his left, he waited for a response. When he heard a man’s deep voice respond, Enter, he turned the doorknob and pressed his hand against the white-painted surface.

Once inside the darkened room, he inhaled the strong scent of cologne before he noticed the silhouette of a man sitting in a chair and the dim flicker of light from his lit cigarette. Shifting his weight anxiously, without prompting, Ilya shed his clothes and lay with his stomach pressed down on the bed. Hearing movement behind him, he closed his eyes as he felt a weight on the bed frame. He was forbidden to look upon the man’s face. Please be quick, he begged to himself.

* * *

Ilya’s hands trembled severely as he buttoned