He nodded. “So we’ll get her back.”
“And afterwards?”
He gazed at her for several seconds. Then he said, “Let’s kill as many Nazis as possible, and rescue Olga. Then we can talk about afterwards.”
*
Alexander von Holzbach leapt from his desk as the windows in his office rattled. The explosion had come from west of the town. Jutta had also started up, abandoning her typewriter with a squawk of alarm. Alexander peered out of the window to see a pall of smoke rising in the distance. Jutta stood beside him, grasping his arm, forgetful for the moment of the propriety she normally maintained when in the office. Alexander went to the door, threw it open. “Where is Major Clausen?” he bawled.
Clausen ran in a moment later. “The railway line has been blown up. A massive explosion. God knows how much HE they put into it.”
“To the west?” The partisans had never operated on the Polish side of the border before.
Even as he spoke, there was another explosion, to the east. The two officers stared at each other in consternation, because there now came several other explosions. “The bridges!” Clausen gasped.
Jutta screamed. Alexander slapped her face. “Stop that!” She burst into tears, and sat on his desk. Alexander faced Clausen. “Get through to Pinsk. Tell them we are under attack. Tell them that we have been isolated by both rail and road, for the moment. Tell them that we need help.” Particularly, he thought, he needed to have back those men Pinsk had drained off from his command, which had reduced his effectiveness to a dangerously low level. “And send me Pritwitz.”
Pritwitz looked as confounded as anyone. Because Alexander had not showed them the top secret despatches he had been receiving, warning him of the utter catastrophe that had overtaken the German army farther to the east, of the necessity to prepare to defend Brest-Litovsk to the last man. “Pull yourself together, man,” Alexander said. “We are under attack. Implement those dispositions I gave you for the defence of the town.”
Pritwitz gulped, and hurried off; he was as aware as his chief that he did not have sufficient men for the task he had been given. Jutta’s glasses has come off when Alexander had slapped her. Now she dried her face, picked them up from the floor and put them back on her nose. “If they get in here...”
“They are not going to get in here,” he snapped. But just in case he strode into the outer office, where Clausen, red in the face, was spluttering into the phone.
“The lines have been cut, Herr Colonel.”
“Send out a radio message. Then come with me. They would assault us, would they? We shall give them the best possible answer.” Clausen swallowed, and stared at Jutta, who was following her master and lover, shirt front heaving, glasses gleaming. Alexander stamped down the stairs. Frightened orderlies and secretaries stood to attention. But from the courtyard outside there came crisp words of command and the stamp of marching feet; Pritwitz was sending the garrison to its appointed defensive positions, as allotted by himself. Created by himself, in fact, nests of machine-guns and mortars, concentrated firepower to resist any attempt to come at them from the Marshes.
Alexander continued on his way down to the cellar, and Olga Kaminskaya. Like Elaine before her, she hung from chains against one of the centre pillars. But her body was marked, a gigantic red and white weal. Everything that could be done to a woman had been inflicted on that body, save for actual mutilation. He had intended that for the last. But now he would have to change his plans. “Bring her out,” he said.
Olga was dragged up the stairs. Alexander pointed to the next flight, and she was taken up there as well, forced on to the balcony, blinking in the sudden unaccustomed light. Two men had already prepared the rope, and the noose was dropped over Olga’s head and tightened round her throat. “Well?” Alexander demanded. “Have you nothing to say?”
Olga spat at him.
“Aircraft approaching!” a loudspeaker boomed. Every head turned to look at the sky. There was no need to identify the aircraft: there were no German planes left in this sky. And besides, the bombers were approaching from the east. “Take shelter!” the loudspeaker instructed.
The men on the balcony looked at Alexander. “Finish her first,” Alexander snapped. One of the men bound Olga’s wrists behind her back, then lifted her from the floor and carried her to the balustrade, to which the rope had been secured. They could hear the crump of the bombs, and buildings were exploding into flame and black smoke. “Now,” Alexander said.
Olga’s body was thrown over the balustrade, to hang there, legs kicking. But soon they were still.
*
The partisans of Group One crouched beside the shattered railway line as the Ilyushins went in, flying low, hardly a thousand feet, pinpointing their targets, demolishing the town; that there were Russian civilians still in Brest-Litovsk was irrelevant compared with the business of killing Germans. Alex glanced from Tatiana to Elaine, one on each side of him, each grasping their sub-machine-gun, each staring into the debris in front of them. Behind them were Shatrav and Gregory, and all the other men and women with whom they had fought and died over the past year. Now their moment was come. “Go!” Tatiana said, and got up.
The town remained shrouded in the dust-mist caused by the bombs, and the planes were returning east, low enough to waggle their wings above the partisans. “Stay with me,” Alex told Elaine, as they ran into the rubbled street. They passed a machine-gun emplacement that had suffered a direct hit; it was now a mass of shattered steel and men. A German soldier appeared in front of them; he had been sheltering from the bombs and was obviously dazed, although he still carried his weapon. Alex shot him through the chest and he fell without a word. Then there were others, but they too were obliterated by the automatic fire from the partisans.
Each group had its assigned target; Group One the headquarters, Group Two the barracks. Group Three, which had been responsible for the explosions west of the town, were to attack and destroy the railway station. Tatiana led Group One along the main street of the town, firing indiscriminately at anyone who showed themselves. Then they were in the square and facing the headquarters building. Here they were greeted by a hail of fire from the windows and doors, but they would have checked anyway, staring at the naked body of the woman dangling from the upstairs balcony.
“Oh, God!” Elaine muttered.
“Shatrav!” Tatiana snapped. He was their marksman. He stood up, leaned against the wall of the building where they were sheltering and fired several shots. At least two hit the rope, and Olga’s body plunged to the ground. “Bring up the mortar,” Tatiana commanded.
The squat weapon was pushed into position, the first projectile loaded into it. The partisans dropped to their knees, hands pressed over their ears, and the shell exploded on the front steps, near Olga’s body. The body disappeared into fragments; so did the steps. The partisans screamed their “Ourrahs!” and ran forward, again to be checked by the fire. Several fell, and Tatiana waved the rest back to shelter.
Alex looked left and right, and found Elaine, unhurt, staring at the building. “Demolish it,” Tatiana said.
The mortar fired, and again. Chunks of concrete flew off the building, smoke began to rise from it. The radio chattered. “The garrison has surrendered, Comrade Commissar.”
“Take no prisoners,” Tatiana replied. “Shoot everyone in uniform.” In front of them the headquarters building was silent, save for the sound of collapsing masonry. Tatiana waved them on again, and they ran forward. As they reached the foot of the crumbled steps, several people came out with their hands high in the air. Tatiana gestured them to come down to the street, and they obeyed, looking fearfully left and right. The partisans pushed the soldier to one side, while Tatiana inspected the officer. “Name?”
She spoke Russian, but guessed he understood her. “Major Frederick Clausen.”
Tatiana glanced at Elaine, who was staring at the major, hands tight on her gun. “Was he one of them?” Tatiana
asked.
“He was there,” Elaine said in a low voice.
“Then he would have been there when Olga died,” Tatiana said. Clausen looked from one to the other, licking his dustcaked lips. But Tatiana’s attention had been caught by the emergence of the last two figures from the rubble. “Come down here,” she commanded.
Jutta was shaking with fear, and she had lost her glasses; Alexander had to help her over the rubble as she blinked in the sudden daylight. Both their uniforms were smothered in dust. “That is Holzbach,” Elaine said.
Tatiana stood before them. “Tatiana Gosykinya,” Alexander said, wondering how he could ever have mistaken anyone else for this beauty. “We are related. By marriage.”
“Where is your wife?” Tatiana asked.
“She is in Germany.”
“And this one is your mistress?”
Alexander hesitated, and Jutta, seeking salvation, nodded. “Yes. I am his mistress.”
“Then you will have to do. Shatrav,” Tatiana said. “You and you and you. Rape this woman. Do it until you can do it no longer. Do it. Now. Here. Then cut off her breasts, and hang her.”
Jutta screamed as the men threw her to the ground and began ripping off her clothes. “You cannot permit this,” Alexander shouted. “You...Dr Mitchell, in the name of humanity...”
“That is what you did to my friends,” Tatiana told him. “That is what you were going to do to Olga Kaminskaya. That is what you would have done to me, had you captured me.” Alexander panted, as he realised his fate was next to be decided. “Strip them both,” Tatiana said. She turned to Elaine. “Do you wish the pleasure, Doctor?”
Elaine stared at Alexander, and he stared back. For a week they had been almost intimate, in her defiance and his desire. Now she saw his lips trembling as the partisans pulled off his belts and then his tunic. “No,” she said. “I would like them to be shot. Now.”
Tatiana smiled. “You are still too soft for this war. Shooting is too good for such as these. Put them on the ground,” she said.
Elaine turned and ran for the other side of the street. Alex went behind her, held her shoulders, both looking away from the sound of the men screaming, their sudden high pitch matching Jutta’s. They listened to laughter and more screams, gasps and moans. They could not stop themselves turning back, to watch the three bodies being hung from the balcony by their ankles; all three dripped blood, and the two men’s mouths were stuffed with their genitals. But they were still alive, swinging to and fro, “They are animals,” Elaine muttered, “We are animals.”
“Like I once said,” Alex replied. “The caveman lurks just beneath the consciousness of all of us.”
“I want to go home,” Elaine said. “Can we go home, Alex?”
*
“Oh, my darling!” Priscilla held Alex close, then held him away again the better to look at him. This was her son?
He kissed her, then extended his hand for that of the tall, somewhat gaunt woman who stood beside him on the deck of the troopship that had brought them back from Europe. “You remember Elaine?”
Priscilla embraced Elaine as well. “We got your wire. Your parents are on their way. I’ve invited them to stay with us.”
Elaine hugged her again.
Joseph shook hands with Alex and kissed Elaine on the cheek. “I guess yours was a pretty grim war,” he said. “What do you want to do?”
“Go home,” Alex said. “Have a hot bath, and a hamburger.”
“Two hamburgers,” Elaine suggested.
“And then, maybe, get married,” Alex said. “As soon as Elaine’s folks get here.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Priscilla asked. They sat in the drawing room of the Boston house, and Rollo served them champagne. It was a family occasion. A very small family, now.
“No,” Alex said.
“I think we would like to forget about it,” Elaine said. “If we can.” Once she had said it would never end. But now it had to, for them at least. Whatever it had made them, they had to pick up the pieces of their lives
Priscilla had only the faintest idea of what the partisans had endured, what crimes they had had to commit just to survive, much less win. But she could remember the horrors of the civil war in her own youth, and she did not suppose what her son and his woman had gone through had been anything less cataclysmic than that. Compared with their ordeal, hers at the hands of Stalin had been, as he insisted, a holiday. “What of Tatiana?” she asked.
“Oh. Tattie and her people are still fighting. They won’t stop fighting until they reach Berlin,” Alex said. “But you and Joe. They told me you were wounded, Joe?”
“Some,” Joseph said. “And I wasn’t even a combatant.”
Joseph and Priscilla looked at each other. They knew the question that was coming next. “How is Aunt Sonia?” Alex asked.
“I think she is dead,” Priscilla said. Both Alex and Elaine stared at her with their mouths open. “She went with me to Russia. I shouldn’t have let her. I was so sure she would be all right.” She sighed. “I thought I would be all right. What a fool I was!”
“But...I don’t understand,” Alex said. “You say you travelled together...?”
“And we got to Moscow together. Then I was...invited to have lunch in the Kremlin. Sonia had lunch with Jennie. After lunch, she took a cab back to her hotel...and disappeared.”
“Wait a moment,” Alex said. “She took a cab? There weren’t any cabs left around, when we were in Moscow.”
“Yes,” Priscilla said.
Alex turned to Joseph. “Can’t the State Department help?”
“Not really. Official policy is that we are still bosom-buddies with Russia, and Sonia was travelling on a Mexican passport. The official line is that she was murdered by robbers. No one believes it, but...”
“Are we really going to go on being bosom-buddies with them?” Elaine asked.
“You fought beside them for two years,” Priscilla said. “Don’t you count them your friends?”
Elaine looked at Alex. “No,” he said. “Comrades, yes. Friends, never.”
Tatiana, Shatrav and Gregory stared at the gates of the concentration camp, the emaciated human beings who stared back at them. The Russians were no longer capable of being shocked, or of having feelings about these people. In the 18 months since they had stormed Brest-Litovsk, which they had had to evacuate again as the Red Army had not been able to get to them in time, before re-advancing to re-take the town in triumph, they had developed into killing machines who slaughtered the enemy, without discrimination as to sex or age, without the slightest hesitation or compunction. But this was something outside of their comprehension.
They stood with the other officers and watched the human wrecks shuffling past. These people were actually the lucky ones, who had been saved from the gas chamber by the arrival of the Red Army. But would they ever recover from their ordeal? And yet, Tatiana thought, some of them were quite sprightly, looked at their saviours, some even smiling. There was spirit there. She wondered if they would all have to be shot?
Then one of the women broke ranks. “Tatiana!”
Gregory and Shatrav instinctively closed in on their commander, protectively, while guards hurried forward. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” Tatiana said.
“Tatiana!” The woman fell to her knees before her cousin.
“Why, Anna,” Tatiana said. “I am glad you have survived.”
If you could call it survival, she thought, as she looked at the emaciated figure, the hair which was just starting to sprout again from the shaven skull; it was no longer a glowing gold, but white. “Help me!” Anna begged. “For the sake of our name, help me.”
“That is why we are here,” Tatiana assured her. “To help you. But you must go with these people, now. They will take care of you. I will see you later.” Anna allowed herself to be led way, looking over her shoulder and attempting to smile. “What will happen to her?” Tatiana asked the guard captain.
“She will go to a rehabilitation camp,” the man said.
“They will all go to a rehabilitation camp. And then...” he shrugged.
Tatiana shivered.
The bells pealed, the people clapped. Red Square was packed, the crowd supervised by watchful guards, as one after another the heroes and heroines of the Soviet Union were led forward. Gregory’s parents were there, to hug and kiss him after he had received his medal.
Shatrav no longer had parents, but one of the women kissed him anyway.
“Tatiana,” Stalin said, as he pinned the Order of Lenin to the breast of her tunic, and then embraced her; like the others she wore a smart new khaki uniform and a matching sidecap, and her long dark hair was tied with a ribbon. “You are the true heroine. Now, there is so much for you to do.”
“For you. For Russia,” Tatiana said.
“Of course. There is so much for us all to do.”
Tatiana stepped back, saluted, and then went to join her mother. “Tatiana!” Jennie hugged and kissed her. “Oh, there were times...But to have you back...you remember Galina Shermetska.”
“Tell me how Sophie died,” Galina said. She had only just learned that her daughter wasn’t coming back.
“As a soldier, Comrade,” Tatiana said. “Fighting the enemy.”
Galina’s shoulders hunched, and then she straightened again, as the tall, moon-faced man with the pince-nez joined their group. “Comrade Beria!” Tatiana stood to attention.
“Welcome home, Major Gosykinya,” Beria said. “I have an appointment for you.” Tatiana raised her eyebrows. “You are to work for me, now,” Beria said. “For the elimination of subversives. For the restoration of Russia. It is the wish of the Chairman.”
*
The door of the cell opened and Sonia looked up. Then she stood up, a quick flush suffusing her face: behind Beria there were four people, two men and two women. If she had allowed herself to be lulled into a sense of security, of perpetuity, over the past couple of years she had always understood that today might come. The very moment she ceased to be of use to this horrible man. But she had always rejected the concept. She had almost enjoyed herself, with her books and the total absence of stress. These had been the most peaceful two years in her turbulent life. And now they were ended. “You are to leave this place, now,” Beria said.
The Scarlet Generation Page 30
