She sat up, unslinging her gun. If that fool Peter Petrovich had lost his nerve...but he had gone to the east, not the north! She saw movement, and rolled into the shelter of the nearest bushes, watched a group of German soldiers coming through the trees. Oh, my God, she thought. Her heart seemed to slow. She had thought they were all behind her. But these must have come in from the north-west. There was quite a lot of noise behind her as well and she realised that she was trapped. But surely, if she just lay hidden, they would go away again. Then, above the cacophony, she heard the barking of the dogs.
Elaine had read of people’s blood running cold, and dismissed it as novelists’ hyperbole. But now she felt her entire body seeming to turn to ice, realised her teeth were chattering with fear, had to clamp her jaws together. What to do? Stand up, sub-machine-gun blazing, and go out like a heroine? But it was only worthwhile being a heroine if people knew about it. She wouldn’t last a moment, and she would be left, a nameless rotting corpse in the swamp. And besides, she didn’t want to die. Not now. Not when life was just beginning to promise again.
But if she lay there and were taken alive...could anything Tatiana and Olga had told her of the way the Germans treated their prisoners be true? She had the evidence of her own eyes that Valya had been crucified. But there was a glimmer of hope. Something Tatiana had let slip. “They treat us like shit because they think all Slays are sub-human,” she said. That was tragic, but she was not a Slay. Anyone could see that. The yelping of the dogs was coming closer. If she didn’t do something, now, they would be upon her, tearing her to pieces. If she was going to die, she wanted it to be in one piece. Elaine drew a deep breath, laid the gun on the ground, and stood up.
She was seen immediately, and rifles turned towards her. “Kamerad!” she shouted. It was about the only German word she knew. She drew another deep breath, held her hands high above her head, and walked towards them.
They were chattering to each other, and now a sergeant stepped forward, staring at her as she came closer yet. Then he said a single word. She had no idea what it was, but it didn’t sound the least friendly. “American,” she said. “I am American. Also, I am a doctor.”
He said the word again, and when she still didn’t respond, made a gesture to his men. Before Elaine understood what was happening she had been seized by her arms and legs and thrown to the ground, to be pinned there on her face while other hands tore at her clothes and body. My God, she thought: I am being raped. Just like that. Breathless, she didn’t know whether to scream or not, and then realised that, at least in this first instance, they were more intent upon searching her. Her belts and pack were pulled off, the contents of her pack scattered on the ground.
She spat earth from her mouth. “That’s good medicine,” she protested.
The sergeant appeared to resent her comment; he knelt beside her, thrust his fingers into her hair, and pushed her face into the earth, to and fro, as if he were squeezing half a lemon. She panted and choked on the dust, and then was able to spit it from her mouth and blow it from her nostrils as he released her and she could gasp for breath. Obviously speaking was impossible until she found someone who understood English. She made to push herself up, and he put his boot between her shoulder-blades and pushed her flat again. Once more she was winded, and now she felt hands on her waist belt, releasing it and pulling down her trousers. She couldn’t stop herself screaming “No! You can’t do this to me! I am not Russian. I am American!”
They rolled her on her back as they pulled her trousers right off. “No!” she begged, and hated herself as the tears started from her eyes. “American,” she moaned.
Someone was pulling off her boots, and she was naked from the waist down. She had a curious feeling that the whole area of her body between her navel and her knees, the exposed part, no longer belonged to her, and yet she could feel it as if it were swelling and about to burst. But the sergeant was also interested in her upper half, and was tearing open her blouse to expose her breasts. “Oh, God!” she gasped. “Oh, God!” she shrieked as men pulled her legs apart and one knelt between.
And her prayer was answered. By God? Or the devil? Her brain was filled with such screaming terror and disgust that she had not heard the words, but suddenly she was released, the men around her standing to attention. The man who had been going to have first go at her stood, absurd, with his pants about his ankles and a huge erection. Elaine blinked tears from her eyes and stared at an officer, crisply handsome in his black uniform and high-peaked cap. He was looking at her with some interest, and no evidence of pity. Well, she thought, if I am to be raped I would rather it was by an officer. Then he spoke, in Russian, “Where are your companions?”
Elaine sat up. There didn’t seem a lot of point in trying to conceal her private parts, but she drew up her knees and hugged them. “I don’t know. I am alone.”
“Do not prevaricate with me, woman, or I shall give you back to my men. You are a partisan.”
“I am an American doctor,” Elaine said. “I have been caring for the partisan wounded, yes. But I am not one of them.” Pray God, she thought, that he does not know about the man I emasculated.
“It is a nice day,” he said, without warning, in English.
“It is too warm,” she replied, also in English.
He stared at her, and then, deliberately, at her body. He carried a swagger stick, and this he now placed between her knees and forced her legs apart. She let them go. She felt quite weak, terribly aware of all the eyes staring at her, of all the lust with which she was surrounded. “You are filthy,” the officer remarked. “You are covered in dust.”
“That is because your men rolled me in it,” she said.
“Dress yourself.”
No one was going to help her, or stop looking at her. Elaine had to turn on to her knees to reach her clothing, and stand up to pull it on. She sat down again to lace up her boots. The captain gave orders in German and two men grasped her arms and pulled her up. Her hands were then taken behind her back and her wrists bound together. Then they urged her through the trees, to the west, away from their comrades, and the officer.
They walked and splashed their way for several hundred yards. Without the use of her arms for balance, Elaine stumbled several times, and would have fallen had they not caught her arms and held her up. Then they stopped, and looked over their shoulders. Their comrades had faded from sight, and they were quite alone. And although Elaine couldn’t tell what they were saying, she knew they were talking about her. They are going to rape me, she thought. Oh, my God! And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Her knees gave way and she sank down while one of the men grinned at her. He was the one who wanted to do the raping. The other wasn’t so sure, and had produced a whistle, with which he clearly meant to identify themselves to any of their comrades in the vicinity.
Now the argument grew quite heated, while Elaine knelt between them, scarce daring to breathe. Then the non-rapist apparently won the argument, for he gave a shrill blast on his whistle. But the other was not to be entirely denied, and he unbuttoned Elaine’s blouse again to slide his hands inside and finger her breasts, drawing the nipples time and again across his palms. God, she thought, I’m going to be sick! Or have hysterics. Then he released her, and there was a crashing in the undergrowth, and more men appeared. At their head was a very distinguished-looking officer, a Colonel from his uniform and his demeanour. He gazed at her, frowning, while the men did some explaining. “You say you are an American?” he asked in English.
“Yes,” she said. “Please...I am a doctor.”
He jerked his head, and the two men lifted her to her feet. Her blouse was still open, and once again she was terribly aware of being stared at.
“Come,” the officer said.
She was led back to the encampment, showed the two corpses lying with their chests blown away. “You did this?” the Colonel asked.
“No. They did it to themselves. They did not wish to be cap
tured. Do you think you could untie my wrists?” He seemed a very civilised man, both in his speech and his demeanour.
“Why not? I am sure you are too intelligent to attempt anything foolish.” He nodded to one of his aides, and the ropes holding Elaine’s wrists were cut. Eagerly she rubbed her hands together, wincing at the pins and needles. “Now, go into that hut,” he commanded. Elaine obeyed. She had to go on believing that he was as much of a gentleman as he appeared. “I am Colonel von Holzbach.” he told her. when they were inside, and alone. “I am in command of this area. And you are...?”
“Dr Elaine Mitchell.” She was still rubbing her hands together.
“You understand that even medical personnel can be considered as combatants, certainly in circumstances such as these?”
Elaine licked her lips. “I understand that I can be treated as a prisoner of war.”
He smiled. “There are no prisoners of war where partisans are concerned, Dr Mitchell. Undress.”
Oh, Lord, she thought. Not again! “I have already been searched, Colonel von Holzbach.”
“I know. I wish to look at you.” Elaine bit her lip to fight back a rising sense of panic. Then she took off her clothes, pausing when she was down to her drawers. “Everything,” he commanded. She sighed, and slid them down to her ankles before stepping out of them. “You are filthy,” he said.
“Well, your men rolled me in the dust,” she explained. She had to try to be rational about what was happening. She would go mad otherwise.
“I hate filthy women,” Alexander told her. “Go outside and bathe.”
“In front of all your men?”
“Are you ashamed of your body? It is a good body. Let them enjoy it, while they can.”
Elaine swallowed. “You mean it’s not going to be around all that long?”
“That depends, Dr Mitchell, on what you have to say to me. When you have bathed, and washed your hair.”
Elaine drew a deep breath, and stepped out of the hut. What had happened earlier had been a kind of kaleidoscope of horror, an outburst of angry energy, both by her and her captors. But this was cold-blooded humiliation, governed by fear. She knew she was trembling as she walked down to the water. Only yesterday she had done exactly this, in all the glory of her confident young womanhood. Now she was a frightened creature, knowing only that she was facing utter catastrophe.
Her appearance drew the men. They clustered on the water’s edge to watch her go in, watched her scoop the water over her body, then her hair. I could rob them all, she thought. I could push my head beneath the surface and start breathing as hard as I can. But they would not let her drown, and the thought of being resuscitated by these grinning louts was worse than having to bathe in front of them. She soaked for several minutes, then stood up, water dripping from the hair plastered to her shoulders, from her breasts and her pubes, rolling down her thighs, and walked away from them, through a double line of soldiers, and up the sloping ground to the huts. Alexander stood in the hut doorway, watching her. “That is much better,” he said. “Now you like what you are, a very handsome woman. And you have made my men happy. Now, come and make me happy.”
Elaine stepped into the hut, and he closed the door. She turned to face him, forcing her hands to remain at her side. “I am a prisoner of war,” she said. “Under the Geneva Convention...”
“Do you want to make me angry?” he asked, and stood immediately in front of her. She kept her eyes on his face, even when he suddenly caressed her breast. “Yes, you are my prisoner. No, you have no rights at all, Dr Mitchell. I can cut these off, if I choose.” He gave a little squeeze, and she involuntarily stepped back. “Or I can hold lighted matches between your legs. Or I can pull out all of your fingernails and toenails. Or I can have you flogged to death. I can do any or all of those things, and there is no one going to stop me. Do you understand?”
Elaine gasped. She couldn’t be hearing this. “So now, tell me what I wish to know. Question, you are a member of the partisan organisation known as Group One, commanded by a certain Tatiana Gosykinya. Correct?”
“Yes,” Elaine said. She was too frightened to lie, and besides, at this stage there was no point. When she lied, it had to be a good one.
“And she is presently away raiding our lines of communication. Why were you left behind, by yourself?”
“I was not by myself. I was left behind to care for the wounded. You saw two of them. The others could move, and I told them to scatter into the swamp.”
“That is very good. Now, when do you expect this Group One to return?”
Elaine took a deep breath. “They are not going to return.”
Alexander frowned. “Why not?”
Elaine licked her lips. “Orders from Moscow. All the partisan groups in the Pripet are to amalgamate into one large group, to strike at...” if only she had a better idea of Russia. “To strike at Pinsk.”
“You expect me to believe that? If they are not coming back, why were you left behind?”
“I told you, to care for the wounded. As soon as they were all able to move, I was to lead them east to the concentration.”
Alexander studied her for several seconds, while her breasts heaved with apprehension. “I think you are lying,” he said at last. “You certainly look like someone who is lying. On the other hand, you could be telling the truth. But there is an easy way to find out.” He opened the door, spoke in German. “Go outside,” he told Elaine.
She hesitated. “May I get dressed?”
He smiled at her. “That would be to ruin your clothes, Doctor.”
Elaine gasped as two of the men seized her arms. She was almost becoming used to such manhandling, but this time she felt it was going to be a more serious matter than a few sexual frolics, or even rape itself. She was marched across the clearing, again watched by the entire command, and made to stand against a tree, facing it. Her arms were carried round the bole and tied together. The rough bark ate into her flesh and she squirmed with discomfort. “Now,” Alexander said, “I am going to beat you till you bleed. Who knows, your screams may bring your comrades to your aid.”
Behind her, Elaine heard the snap of a whip.
Chapter 14 – The Victors
“It has been more than a week now, Herr Colonel,” Clausen said. “And not a sign of them. Perhaps the American woman was telling the truth.”
“Meanwhile,” Pritwitz said — the two majors always endeavoured to see Alexander together, his temper was so uncertain — “my men are rotting in that swamp, being eaten alive by mosquitoes.” Alexander continued to stare at the report which had just arrived on his desk. On the first day of the great battle being fought around Kursk, the Russians claimed to have destroyed more than 500 German panzers. That had to be propaganda nonsense. What was disturbing was that the OKW was making no very strong denials. There had obviously been a disaster. And Kursk was not all that far from the Pripet, in terms of Russian distances. If the Russians were to come rolling in here...It made his blood run cold. And OKW was obviously anticipating something like that. Double all strongpoint garrisons, the message ran. All positions must be held to the last man, until our next, decisive, counter-attack can be launched. Next, decisive, counter attack! Launched with what arms? Worst of all had been the orders from the general in Pinsk to transfer half his command to that city, as being nearer the Russian advance. He felt physically sick. “What are your orders, Herr Colonel?” Pritwitz persisted. “We must either continue our original plan, and sweep right through the swamp, or we must pull out.”
The subordinate officers knew nothing of what was happening in the east, nor could they; morale was low enough as it was. “As the partisans obviously know of our plans,” Alexander said, “to resume our sweep might be to march into a trap. Pull your men out, Major. I will have fresh orders regarding our dispositions ready for you tomorrow.”
Pritwitz hesitated in surprise; he had expected to be given the command to resume the advance. Then he clicked his hee
ls and saluted. “Heil Hitler!” He left the room.
“What will you do with the woman, Herr Colonel?” Clausen inquired. Alexander stroked his chin. “I think, in all the circumstances, Herr Colonel,” Clausen ventured, “that she should be disposed of, quickly and quietly. Not only is she an American, but she is intelligent and articulate. Were she to survive she could make a good deal of trouble.” He hesitated. “I would take care of the matter for you, Herr Colonel.”
Because you would like to get your hands on her, Alexander thought. “I will let you know what I decide,” he told him, and got up. Clausen saluted in turn, and held the door for his chief. He knew where Alexander was going, waggled his eyebrows at Jutta, patient in the outer office. But Jutta was not concerned; she knew her boss-cum-lover better than anyone.
Alexander went down into the cellars to look at the woman. There were no cells down here, just a large room with a ceiling supported by thick pillars. It made an ideal torture chamber, and Clausen had managed to assemble an impressive collection of instruments, calculated to frighten the life out of anyone. Almost anyone. Alexander had had no doubt at all that Elaine Mitchell had been terrified when she had been brought down here, her back and buttocks still bleeding from her whipping in the forest. Now she was sitting on the floor, chained to one of the pillars. She was naked, but her body was surprisingly unmarked, apart from the slowly fading weals. That was because he had not been able to bring himself to mark her. Now, when she heard the footsteps, she pulled her knees the more tightly against her body, and turned away from him. She did not have to look at him to know who it was.
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