Sandrine finished her wine. She felt physically sick, but she was not going to let him see that. ‘And suppose I am found not guilty?’
He gazed at her for several seconds, then burst out laughing. ‘I do adore women with a sense of humour. You are not eating.’
‘I really am not hungry.’
‘Ah, well. In that case, let us begin our relationship. In there.’ Sandrine got up, and went into the tent. Her legs were trembling, but he could not see them inside her trousers. Wassermann followed her, ducking his head. ‘Take off your clothes. Face me.’ Sandrine obeyed, bending to unlace her boots, pulling off her socks, letting her trousers drop around her ankles, and then taking off her blouse. Then she let her drawers follow her trousers to the ground. She was in a position where she could only suspend reality to the best of her ability, keep telling herself that what was about to happen to her had no meaning, that she would eventually survive and recover. With Pavelic she had always felt that it would be possible to escape, once he had sated himself. She wondered if this could apply to this man? Somehow she did not think so. But she would not despair.
‘So much beauty, unadorned,’ Wassermann reflected. ‘It is the most delightful of sights.’
‘I would be better after I had had a bath,’ Sandrine said.
‘You are sufficiently delightful now,’ he assured her. He moved against her, fondled her breasts and buttocks, her belly and pubes. He did not feel that he was in any way being unfaithful to Angela. Having sex with this woman was not in the slightest degree an act of love. It was an act of conquest, of triumph over the enemy, which would at once degrade her, and, he was sure, make her the more vulnerable to the pain he intended to inflict upon her. Besides, the idea of having sex with a woman he intended to torture was compellingly attractive.
But he could feel the suppressed muscular tension beneath his fingers. She made him think of a steel spring, coiling up before unleashing itself with deadly force. And he needed to remember, judging by her record, that the force would indeed be deadly, were she ever to be given the chance to use it. ‘However,’ he said, ‘I think it would be better for both of us, and much safer, if we bound your hands behind your back again. I intend to take you from behind, anyway.’ He turned her round, and secured her wrists. She made no protest. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ he asked. ‘You were going to call me names.’
‘I can be patient,’ she said. ‘There will be time enough to call you names when you are lying at my feet, waiting to die.’
He glared at her, then swung his hand. It crashed into her cheek, and she fell to the ground. Unable to break her fall, she could not resist a little moan of pain. Wassermann stood above her, breathing heavily, having to resist the temptation to kick her, again and again. He wanted her, so very badly. But suddenly he realized that at this moment he could not have her, no matter how hard he tried. He could not account for it, had to assume he was overtired; he would never admit it might be his still looming memory of the massacre he had commanded, the hundreds of men being shot down in cold blood. Perhaps, if he continued to feel her up … But then, he also wanted to hurt her, so very badly, and he knew that if he tried to have sex with her, and could not erect, much less ejaculate, he would hurt her, very badly, and even visibly. And that was not part of his plan – at least not in the first instance.
She would keep. She would still be at his mercy when this brief campaign was over, and he had nothing more to do than enjoy himself. But until then … He knelt beside her, rolled her to and fro for some minutes while he savaged her, slapping her buttocks, squeezing her breasts, putting his hands between her legs to squeeze her there too, pulling her hair, both on her head and at her pubes. Sandrine gasped, and uttered one or two moans. But she would not cry out. Another few minutes, he thought, and I will kill her.
He stood up, leaving her lying there, and stepped outside. ‘Albrecht! Summon Captain Ulrich.’ Albrecht scurried off. Wassermann returned inside the tent, where Sandrine was struggling to rise to her knees. He knelt beside her and freed her wrists, and she looked at him in surprise. ‘Get up,’ he commanded. ‘And get dressed.’ She hesitated, suspecting that he was playing some game, then cautiously picked up her drawers.
‘Sir?’ Ulrich stood in the tent opening, looking bewildered.
‘Come in, Ulrich.’ Ulrich entered the tent, cautiously, and did a double take when he saw Sandrine pulling up her pants. ‘You haven’t met,’ Wassermann said. ‘This is Mademoiselle Sandrine Fouquet, of whom I know you have heard.’
‘Sandrine Fou … ?’
‘Oh, indeed. Everything comes to him who waits, eh? Sandrine, this is my aide, Captain Hermann Ulrich.’ Sandrine buttoned her blouse as best she could; there were only two buttons left. ‘Would you not agree that she is twice as handsome as we thought?’
‘Ah … indeed, Herr Major.’ Ulrich had got his breath back. ‘But how …’
‘Our good friend Matovic delivered her into our hands. Now, Ulrich, I am placing her in your hands.’
‘Sir?’ Ulrich looked extremely apprehensive.
‘She is a most important prisoner,’ Wassermann reminded him. ‘I wish you to take her back to Belgrade, and lock her up. Now listen to me very carefully. I do not wish her harmed in any way, and I wish her to be kept incommunicado until I return. No one is to know of her arrest.’
‘Yes, Herr Major.’
‘And Ulrich, do remember that she has a sting which can be fatal. You will take four men with you, and make sure that she is handcuffed until she is in her cell. Then you should take every precaution to make sure that she cannot commit suicide.’
Ulrich clicked his heels, and gazed at Sandrine. Who gazed back, her face expressionless.
‘In Belgrade you will place her in the care of Anke,’ Wassermann said. ‘But be very sure that that harpy does not harm her in any way. Nor do I wish her raped. Do you understand?’
Ulrich’s face was stiff. ‘I am not in the habit of raping women, Herr Major.’
‘I was not thinking of you, you dolt. I was thinking of Anke.’
Ulrich gulped.
‘Well then,’ Wassermann said, ‘off you go.’ He chucked Sandrine under the chin. ‘Amuse yourself until I can come to you. Then we will resume our unfinished business.’
Seven
Retreat
It was late afternoon before the dust could be seen across the plain below Uzice. Having had a short but intense sleep before carrying out a brief and fruitless reconnaissance south-east of the town, Tony was with Tito and the other officers on the north-eastern outskirts to watch the approach of the panzers followed by the truckloads of infantry.
It had been a dreadful day. At every sound behind him he had spun round, hoping against hope that it might be Sandrine, standing there with that slightly quizzical expression of hers … but it never had been. He had inspected his women, sat for some time with the seven badly wounded, who had been tended by the army doctors and given painkilling tablets, but even in their drowsy state they had understood his anguish; it was shared by the entire regiment. ‘If there is anything we can do …’ Draga told him. Sasha stood aside, watching him with brooding eyes.
But now at last there was the prospect of a fight, although they were puzzled about the German tactics. ‘There are no aircraft,’ someone observed once Tito had called a meeting of his commanding officers to discuss their own tactics.
‘Then they will not attack until dawn,’ suggested someone else.
‘I think he means to outsmart us,’ Tito said. ‘I think he will just keep on coming. So we may expect the attack this evening, without air support.’
‘In the dark, sir?’
‘In the dark. He does not care who gets killed. I imagine he has told his men to shoot everything or anyone that moves, and burn any structure they do not like the look of. Well, we certainly wish them to engage. Captain Ivanovic, your regiment will defend the town for half an hour following the initial attack, then you will wit
hdraw. This manoeuvre will have to be carried out as rapidly as possible, but order must be maintained. You will be covered by the main force.’ Ivanovic, young and eager, saluted. ‘The rest of you will begin your withdrawal to the prepared position now,’ Tito went on. ‘What is the latest report from the north-east sector, Colonel Asztalos?’
‘The right-hand pincer is in position, sir, in the woods four miles from the town.’
‘Very good. Colonel Davis?’
Tony’s reconnaissance, with Sasha and a squad of her girls, had been at least partly able to mount a search for Sandrine without disobeying Tito’s orders. They had not found her, but … ‘There is no sign of the left-hand pincer as yet, sir. But there is evidence that there have been people in the area. I would say they were Cetniks.’
Tito was frowning. ‘In what strength, would you say, Colonel?’
‘Not great. Perhaps twenty men.’
‘Then they must have been a reconnaissance only. In that case, their main body must have been close behind. Well, gentlemen, we always assumed it was possible that Mihailovic might attempt to cut off our retreat, which is why it was never my intention to withdraw towards him. We are going to the south-west. This will take us away from the right-hand pincer, but it must still be prevented from moving towards us. Colonel Asztalos, you will take your men back to the north-west. This is to mask our retreat. Do not make contact with the enemy until either they attack you or you receive my command. The order will be the word “go”. When that is received, you will launch a holding attack, and then withdraw to the south-west to link up with the main force. Understood?’ Astzalos saluted. ‘The rest of you,’ Tito said, ‘will withdraw in regiments to the prepared position. Once there you will dispose yourselves in your allotted sections as indicated on the map, and await assault. But you will also await the order to withdraw. When this comes, you will do so, leaving your positions in order of deployment. You also will move south-west into Bosnia. We will retreat as separate units to lessen the risk of heavy casualties to air attack, as we must expect the enemy to harass us in every way possible, but we will keep in touch and reunite as soon as it is practical. As I have said, our ultimate destination is the town of Foca. This is situated on the River Drina, about sixty kilometres south-east of Sarajevo on the eastern slopes of Mount Lilija. This means that it is defensible not only in a tactical sense but in a strategic one as well, while its proximity to Sarajevo will enable us both to keep in touch with what is happening and to obtain supplies. I know there are German forces in the city, but they will find Foca a harder nut to crack than Uzice.’
‘Can we expect any local support?’ someone asked.
‘I believe we will be well received by the locals, and those hills will provide good concealment. Now there is one thing I need to make clear. The Germans are coming here to destroy us. It is our business, our duty, to remain in being as an army, in order that one day – hopefully one day soon – we may be able to counter-attack and avenge ourselves. Thus we cannot, under any circumstances, allow ourselves to be destroyed. By that I mean there can be no delays, or gallant last-minute stands, to assist our wounded. The orders I gave earlier still stand. Those who can walk will be taken along. Those who cannot must be abandoned to fend for themselves, with sufficient food and water and ammunition for survival, if possible. You should advise them against allowing themselves to be taken prisoner.’ The assembled officers listened, stony-faced. ‘I know this will be an intensely difficult decision to take, both for you and for them. But they must understand that if they are captured they will in any event be shot by the Germans. After being tortured to reveal our whereabouts and dispositions. As I have just said, the preservation of the army is paramount. Any questions?’
‘What is our response if we are not well received by the Bosnians, General?’
‘It must be as low-key as possible. Bear in mind an old Chinese saying: a guerilla force is like the fishes in a river; the river can exist without the fish, but the fish cannot exist without the river. We want no clashes with the local population. We want their support. You have all been issued with money, both paper and gold. Pay for what you have to obtain. And there are to be no reprisals. Dismissed. Colonel Davis.’ Tony waited as the other officers left the room. ‘I have placed your regiment in the rear of the army. That means you will be the first to pull out.’
‘Do you not suppose my women have proved themselves in combat?’
‘Indeed they have. By their action at Kragujevac they have bought us the time we need.’
‘Then are they not worthy of a fighting role?’
‘I have given you the most important part of all to play. No matter how well Asztalos carries out his task, you will still be the first across the front of the right-hand pincer, therefore you will be taking the most risk. When the retreat begins, you will no longer be the rear of the army, but the advance guard. You will also be self-contained; there can be no doubt that to have your women integrated in the midst of our men would have a bad effect on their fighting ability – the men’s, at any rate. Your girls have proved their ability to sustain casualties, and remain in being as a fighting force; I do not know if my men could maintain the same resolve when a handsome young woman is shot down at their side. Even more do I doubt the resolve of my men to abandon a wounded woman to the mercy of the enemy. Therefore I am sending you on a more northerly route than the rest. This means not only that you will have further to travel, but also that you, together with Asztalos’s regiment, will in effect be the right wing of the retiring army. But he will still be a march behind you.’
‘What of the severely wounded we brought in with us?’
‘They will have to remain here. Place them with local families. Make sure they have no weapons and no uniforms to give them away, and that they understand that their survival will depend on how well they can act their roles.’
‘And their wounds?’
‘Will have been suffered in the German attack. There will be civilian casualties, after all. But there is another, and even more important, reason for your women to lead the retreat. That woman, Sasha Janitz, is a Bosnian. Her father is actually mayor of a village there. I do not remember which one, but she will tell you. She will therefore be returning to friends, and she will pave the way for our acceptance.’
‘Do you think she will do this?’
Tito grinned. ‘Persuade her, Tony. Make her your adjutant, in place of Sandrine.’
Tito had raised the subject. ‘And Sandrine?’
Tito sighed. ‘If she has not yet come in, we must assume that she is dead.’
‘Or taken by the enemy.’
‘I do not believe that someone as capable, and as realistic, as Sandrine would allow herself to be captured. Do you?’
‘No,’ Tony had to admit. ‘She would never allow herself to be captured.’
‘So she is dead. We will remember her, and we must hope that she took as many of the bastards with her as she could. But Tony, all of us, and you and Sandrine more than anyone, have been living on borrowed time for the past six months. If any of us survive this war we will count ourselves fortunate beyond belief. But that is not going to stop us from fighting for as long as we can. Now go about your duty. And kill Germans.’
Tony rejoined the women, who were sitting or lying around their barracks waiting anxiously for their orders; the sound of the approaching panzers was now clearly audible. ‘We pull out at dusk,’ he told them, and looked at his watch. ‘That is, in one hour from now. You will draw rations for one week, and make sure your canteens are full, although there should be no shortage of water. There will be an issue of a hundred rounds per woman. Questions?’
‘Why are we leaving instead of fighting the Germans?’ someone asked.
‘The entire army will be retreating,’ Tony told her, ‘as soon as we can no longer be overseen from the air. We are the advance guard.’
‘Can we take our wounded?’
‘Anyone who can walk and be
ar arms. The others will be taken care of.’ They exchanged glances, rightly not believing him. ‘Get to it,’ he said. ‘Time is passing. Captain Janitz.’ Sasha came to him. ‘As of now, you are my adjutant,’ he told her.
Her mouth made a delightful O. ‘You mean …’
‘I mean that Sandrine is regarded as dead.’
For a moment she gazed at him. Then she said, ‘I am very sorry.’
‘Are you?’
Her nostrils flared. ‘I will replace her as best I can.’
‘Thank you. I have every confidence in you. Our first business is to get to Bosnia. Are you happy about that?’
‘Does it mean the war will be carried into Bosnia?’
‘There already is a Nazi occupying force in Bosnia, as I am sure you know. But this war will now certainly spill over.’
‘Then I cannot be happy about that.’
‘But you will do your duty.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will do my duty.’
‘Which, in your case, will include persuading your people to help us.’
‘Even if it means their deaths?’
‘This is war, Sasha, to the death. Or all Yugoslavia will die. I am particularly thinking of your father. Which village is he mayor of?’
‘Wicz.’
‘Is it on our line of march from here to the Bosnian mountains?’
She nodded. ‘Virtually. You are asking me to sacrifice my own family.’
‘Hopefully not. But we will need their help.’
Her eyes glowed at him. ‘What do I get in return?’
‘What do you wish?’
‘To replace Sandrine.’
‘I have just appointed you to her rank.’
‘I wish everything she had.’ They gazed at each other. But he had known it would come to this. She was still excited by yesterday and last night. And he, not to mention the entire army, needed her. And Sandrine? Sandrine was dead, dead, dead, all of that exquisite femininity lying in a crumpled, bloody mess, no doubt already being attacked by ants. All he had left was vengeance. And to accomplish that successfully, he needed the total support of the people he had been appointed to lead. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You will have everything Sandrine had.’
Murder's Art Page 15