The first time he had been required to step up to a man, put the muzzle of his revolver against the nape of his neck, and squeeze the trigger, he had felt less revolted, although still disturbed. When he had been required to carry out an interrogation, he had not been sure he would be able to do it. Then, when he had stood above the naked, bound, and abjectly terrified young man who was to be his victim, his sense of power had grown, combined now with lust. He could do anything he liked to that helpless body, vent every terrible desire he had always endeavoured to keep suppressed, deep in his soul.
His experiences outside Moscow had given him a new insight into what could be accomplished, and equally, into his own deepest recesses of inhumanity and lust. Of course it had to be a carefully controlled inhumanity. He was a German officer, at all times required to be dignified and unemotional, no matter what passions might be raging inside. He flattered himself that he had never betrayed himself in the slightest to his subordinates, which was why he was so highly thought of by his superiors.
But that pose had been easy to maintain where his victims were bearded, lice-ridden, basically unintelligent human beings. They had convinced him that the Fuehrer had been correct in his judgement of the Russians. Valya Malevicha had been something different. Not only had she been by far the most attractive woman ever to fall into his hands, but she had been intelligent and quick-witted, well educated and intellectually alert. Destroying her had been the most horribly exciting event of his life, made more enjoyable by the fact that she understood what he was telling her, what he would do to her. She understood that he was going to kill her at the end of it, in the most painful and humiliating method he could devise. It had been a treat to watch her mentally preparing herself to do battle. And a bigger treat to watch the collapse of her defences, one after the other. It had been better than having sex with her. Out of it had come a passionate desire to achieve the same relationship with this Tatiana Bolugayevska-Gosykinya, the young woman Valya Malevicha had named as the leader of the ‘partisans’, as she had called them, a woman of both beauty and determination, Valya had claimed. A woman who was actually only a girl. A woman who was his cousin by marriage. A woman he had never seen, but with whom he felt the closest affinity. A woman after whom he lusted, with all the inhumanity that had developed in his character.
The command car drew to a halt, and the bodyguard, who accompanied Alexander everywhere since it had been discovered how easily the partisans could penetrate the town, leapt out, opened his door for him and saluted. Alexander touched the brim of his cap with his swagger stick and went inside, the door of the house being opened for him by Constantina. Constantina had been like a cat on hot bricks ever since she had recognised one of the women partisans. From her point of view the Gestapo had captured the wrong woman. She lived in terror of assassination, hated to leave the Colonel’s house. Now she took his cap and stick, cloak and gloves. “The mistress is upstairs, Herr Colonel,” she said in her usual half whisper.
Alexander nodded, went to the sideboard, and poured himself a glass of schnapps, taken in a single gulp. It was not that he felt safer when inside his own house. Quite the reverse. He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. His fear of his wife had grown over the past fortnight. When he had permitted her to stay for the preliminary examination of the Russian woman, he had sought at last to gain a psychological advantage over her. He was the hardened, inhuman interrogator; what was going to happen to Valya Malevicha had happened to several dozen people under his eyes and on his instruction. Nothing that could now happen could possibly affect him.
Anna, for all her early adventures, had lived a sheltered life. It had been almost a gentile life since he had risen in the Party hierarchy. She had never seen a human being tortured to death. And he had the evidence of how upset she had been when she had learned of the execution of the Jewish schoolchildren. He had expected her to rush from the room in horror, had anticipated hurrying behind her to comfort her and assure her that these things were necessary for victory, and in doing that proving his own mental as much as physical strength, to gain a victory of his own.
Instead she had sat, gazing at the woman, not even wincing when Valya had screamed her heart out and her throat dry. Anna had insisted upon attending every session, and it had taken Valya three days to die. And every minute of those three days had been savoured by his wife; there had been times when he had almost suspected she would have liked to join in the interrogation herself.
Alexander opened the bedroom door and went in. Anna had clearly recently bathed, and sat at her dressing table, wearing only her camiknickers, carefully etching her eyebrows. She spent a great deal of time every day over her make-up, and as a result invariably looked immaculate. He stooped to kiss the nape of her neck, and she reached behind herself to slide her hand over his trousers. The discovery that she was perhaps a greater sadist than he had made her inexhaustibly randy, where before he had always felt she had regarded sex as a wife’s duty rather than a pleasure to be enjoyed. So perhaps he had gained something after all. Save that he no longer had the least desire to have sex with her. “Tell me,” she said, “shall I wear the red or the blue?”
“Is it important?” He released her and took off his belts.
Anna swivelled on her stool. “Have you forgotten? We are going out to dinner with the General.”
“Damn!” He had forgotten, and was not pleased to be reminded. General von Blasewitz maintained his headquarters in Pinsk, some 60 miles to the east, and on the south side of the Marshes, but whenever he visited Brest-Litovsk he insisted upon entertaining his senior officers and their wives to dinner, whether or not he actually liked them. He certainly did not like Colonel von Holzbach. Blasewitz was an old-fashioned Prussian Junker, who had been decorated in the First World War. A career soldier, dedicated to the greatness of Germany, he had accepted the Nazi takeover of the government, and then the armed services, as representing the will of the people. But he made it very clear that the more he saw of this government the less he liked it. He had no objection to going to war with Russia — like most Germans he feared Russia more than anything else — hut he believed wars should be fought between armies, not peoples.
He regarded the Gestapo and the SS, with their instructions to deal as harshly as possible with their enemies, as excrescences. He had to work with them, but he did not make any bones about loathing them. Thus while he beamed as he kissed Anna’s hand, and remarked, “Ah, Frau von Holzbach, you grow more beautiful every time we meet,” he merely gave Alexander an icy stare. “I understand you have a matter you wish to discuss with me, Colonel.”
“Indeed, Herr General. A most important matter. Shall we say tomorrow?”
“It will have to be early. I am leaving at noon.”
“I shall be here at seven, Herr General.” They played an elaborate game. But it was a game Alexander knew he was certain to win: he had Heydrich’s instructions in his pocket, and not even Blasewitz would dare go against Heydrich’s written requirements.
As she had expected, Anna was seated on the General’s right hand at dinner. There was a Frau Blasewitz, and like many of the senior German officers, now that this part of Russia was so securely in their hands the General had installed her in Pinsk. But he never took her on his tours of inspection, certainly not when they included Brest-Litovsk, and Anna von Holzbach.
He had made his first advance on his first visit three months ago, and she had smiled flirtatiously, but allowed nothing further. He had come on stronger on his second visit a month ago, and she had dropped her napkin at dinner, so that, in gallantly retrieving it, he had been able to run his hand the entire length of her leg from her ankle to her thigh; as her skirt had been slit to above her knee, he hadn’t done too badly, and had clearly spent the rest of the night suffering from acute indigestion. Then again she had called a halt. But tonight he would be seeking something more. And why not, she wondered? She did not find him an especially attractive man — but he was a general
. And recently Alexander had not been the most loving of husbands. He seemed preoccupied so much of the time.
On the other hand, how would he react? He was obviously quite unaware of the lovers she had taken in Berlin during his absences. But there was no way she could sleep with the General without the whole of Brest-Litovsk knowing about it. However, the Generalclearly had a plan. “What I really enjoy,” he announced, “is an after dinner game of chess. Do you play chess, Frau von Holzbach?” He had, of course, asked her this on the occasion of their first meeting, so he was taking no risk.
“I adore chess, Herr General,” she said.
“I wonder if you would give me a game? I have played most of these fellows. I know all their moves too well.”
“Well...” Anna glanced at Alexander with assumed docility.
“By all means give General von Blasewitz a game, my dear,” Alexander said. “But if you do not mind, Herr General, I shall retire. Chess bores me, and we have an early day tomorrow, do we not?”
“Ha! ha!” Blasewitz laughed. “Yes, indeed. But I am used to long nights. The responsibilities of command, you know. Do not worry, Colonel, I shall have your wife delivered home safely as soon as our game is finished.”
“I am sure of it, Herr General.” Alexander clicked his heels and said goodnight to the other officers, leaving Anna in a very uncertain frame of mind. He had to know why she was staying, and yet he had raised not the slightest objection. Perhaps he was waiting for her to come home and would then beat her. She rather thought she might enjoy that.
But there was no turning back now. The other officers were also saying goodnight and filing from the room. “I shall need my car to send Frau von Holzbach home,” the General told his adjutant. “In about an hour’s time.”
“It will be ready, Herr General.”
The door closed and they were alone. “Will our game really only take an hour, Herr General?” Anna inquired.
“I am an impatient man.” He got up and opened the door leading off the dining room, which Anna saw led directly into a bedroom. It looked a very comfortable bedroom, with a fourposter bed, but she did like her affairs to contain a modicum of romance. Then as she preceded him into the bedroom the telephone jangled. “God damn it to hell!” Blasewitz snapped, and picked it up. “I said I was not to be disturbed!” he bellowed into the mouthpiece.
Anna could not hear what was being said on the other end of the line, but she could tell someone was shouting. At the General? She watched his face slowly turning red. “Are you drunk?” he bawled. More shouting. “Then turn out the garrison,” Blasewitz snapped. “Yes, you will command them, Pritwitz! Haste, now. I wish these scum destroyed.” He banged the receiver onto its hook, and glared at Anna. “Was not your husband sent here to deal with these so-called partisans?” he demanded.
“Why, yes, Herr General. I know he is planning...”
“Planning!” roared the General.
“He has to wait until the weather improves, you see...”
“By God!” Blasewitz shouted. “They are not waiting for the weather! They are attacking the bridge.” He picked up the phone again, thumping on the handle. “Get me Colonel von Holzbach!” Someone apparently protested, because his voice again rose to a bellow. “I don’t care what time it is, you fool! Get me the Colonel. Now!”
“We will use your bed, Constantina,” Alexander told the maid. “I do not think my wife would like to think of me fucking you in her bed, eh?” Constantina trembled. She had supposed being promoted to be the maid of the SS Colonel’s wife would have lifted her above the raping she had suffered time and again when working for junior officers. But she had no intention of refusing the Colonel, to be beaten. She climbed the stairs ahead of him, unbuttoning her blouse as she did so. She only wanted it over and done with. But before he had time to touch her, although she knew he was immediately behind her, the phone jangled.
“Who is it at this hour?” Alexander called down the stairs; his batman, Carl, was in the kitchen.
Carl had already answered it. Now he came to the doorway and looked up the stairs. “It is General von Blasewitz, Herr Colonel.”
“What?” Alexander ran down the stairs. Something must have happened with Anna. But what? He grabbed the phone. “Yes, Herr General?” He listened to what Blasewitz had to say. “Yes, Herr General. Yes. Right away.” He hung up. He did not believe it. The partisans, not more than 60 of them the woman Valya had said, attacking a fortified post? That was madness. Or was it a trick by Blasewitz to get him out of Brest-Litovsk? But he had to go. “Fetch my clothes, you stupid bitch!” he bawled at Constantina, who was peering down the stairs.
“Oh, get dressed and go home,” Blasewitz said. “My entire night is ruined.”
What about mine? Anna wanted to ask. For an hour and a half they had rolled and wrestled, sweated and exhausted themselves, absolutely to no point. She pulled on her clothes, dragged back her hair.
“Oh, do not look so disconsolate,” Blasewitz said. “There will be another time. When your husband has dealt with these partisans, eh?”
When he may not be in such an accommodating mood, Anna thought. “Suppose he gets himself killed?” she asked.
“Why should he do that?”
“Have you not sent him out to the bridge?”
“That is no reason for him to be killed. Men like Holzbach are great survivors.” He was dressing himself now. “I suppose I had better see what is happening myself.” He accompanied her down the stairs. Two adjutants and the chauffeur were waiting in the hall. “What is the news?”
“Only that there is a severe engagement at the bridge, Herr General. The enemy are using a bazooka. But we are holding them.”
“Holding them?” Blasewitz demanded. “I wish them destroyed. We will take Frau von Holzbach home, Willi,” he told his driver. “Then we will go out and see for ourselves what is happening.” Willi clicked his heels and opened the door. As he did so, something came through it, flung hard. “What the devil is that?” Blasewitz exclaimed.
“Grenade!” shouted one of the adjutants.
There was a huge explosion.
Chapter 9 – The Destruction
Tatiana’s grenade was the signal for the operation to begin. She had divided her people into eight groups of five, each with a designated target. Hers was the German Headquarters building, and this she now charged, hurling her second grenade as she did so, while her companions opened fire with their sub-machine-guns. She ran up the steps through the clouds of smoke, burst into the hallway. The chauffeur had taken the first grenade in the chest and would have been unrecognisable by his mother. The second grenade had passed over him and exploded between the two adjutants. They were both dead. Lying at the foot of the stairs was a man in the uniform of a general. He seemed to be suffering more from shock than any physical injuries. Tatiana levelled her sub-machine-gun and shot him through the head.
By now her companions had also entered the hall, their guns cutting down the three men who were emerging from the communications room. “Get in there and destroy all their equipment,” Tatiana commanded, and saw the woman.
She was tall and very blonde; the ultimate Aryan. She was lying on her side, arms and legs drawn up. There were cuts on her back where her gown had been ripped apart by the blast, but she was obviously alive; she was shaking with fear, Tatiana dug her fingers into the thick yellow hair and pulled the head back. She frowned; there was something very familiar about the features. Even about the eyes, wide and staring at her. But Tatiana could not imagine ever having met her before, as she was definitely a German. She threw the head away from her, and the woman collapsed again, hugging herself.
Tatiana ran up the stairs, opened doors and cupboards. But there was no one up here. She went down the stairs again. Shots and explosions, screams and shouts were coming from all around her. “Torch it,” she said. Her companions began making a heap of papers and material on the floor. Tatiana nudged Anna with the toe of her boot. “Yo
u had better get out of here, or you will burn.”
She spoke Russian, as she knew no German, but surprisingly the woman seemed to understand her. She raised her head, staring at her.
“Get out,” Tatiana snapped again, kicking her towards the door. Then the fire was lit, and she led her men down the outer steps; Anna had disappeared into the darkness. Someone shot at them from a corner, and they returned fire. Then there was a huge explosion from a few blocks away; Olga’s detonation squad had carried out their assault on the electricity generating building. Instantly the town was plunged into darkness, save for the glare from the fires, while the noise seemed to increase. “Let’s go,” Tatiana said. Now the noise was overwhelmed by the roaring blaze of the power station, which quite dwarfed the burning headquarters building. But from the barracks there still came the rattle of small arms fire. Gregory was in command here, and a few minutes later Tatiana had joined him. They continued firing while the other groups came out of the darkness. Natasha’s group was the last to arrive; she had been sent out of town against the villa where they had been held by the German officers the previous year. “Well?” Tatiana demanded.
“It is on fire.”
“Were there any SS men there?”
“Not one,” Natasha said. “I think they must all have gone up to the bridge. But look what I did find.” The shivering Constantina was dragged forward.
“Well, Colonel,” Major Pritwitz said. “I do not see what all the excitement is about.”
Alexander’s car had just arrived at a position about a mile south of the bridge and the post. Here the main body of reinforcements sent up from Brest-Litovsk had disembarked from their trucks and been deployed to either side of the railway track. The fort itself was lost in the gloom, but it was still clearly in German hands. And the attackers... “Where are they?” Alexander demanded.
The Scarlet Generation Page 17