“You’re dressed,” the Red said, “and the woman is not. Now, that’s strange. So strange that I’m going to ask both of you to come with me.”
Natasha was behind him—but then she was oh top of him. She jumped on his back and circled his neck with her arms and the blanket slipped off her to the floor.
“Run!” she cried. “Run!” She fought like a tiger, clawing and scratching’, arid the blond soldier cursed as he writhed around the room in her grasp, blood trickling down his cheeks from where her nails had raked them.
By the time he threw her clear, depositing her in a sobbing heap on the floor, and then kicking her to make sure she remained that way. Skinner had his .45 out and pointing straight at the Red’s belly. “Put your hands oh the back of your head,” he said quietly. “Clasp them there. If you move a muscle, I’ll kill you.”
NIGHT IN Pinsk. The first really cold night of the year, with a bitter autumn wind howling in from the Marshlands. And three figures fighting that wind as they cut across the last paved street and set out upon a dirt road that twisted into the swamps east of the city.
“What can we do with this Red?” Natasha demanded.
Skinner shrugged himself more deeply inside the overcoat which had belonged to the girl’s father. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “We couldn’t leave him in the city. He’d have them hunting for us without wasting any time about it.”
“Well, I know what I’d,do, were I in your place.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
She spat. “He’s a Red, Isn’t he? And he can get you into trouble can’t he? I’d kill him.”
Skinner couldn’t see the soldier’s face in the darkness, but he knew it must have lost a shade or two of color just then. “We can’t kill him,” Skinner said. “Not in cold blood.”
“No? You’ll learn. Listen, Nikolay—I’m not in the underground out of any whim. The Reds killed my brother, and my mother died soon after that. You’ll learn.”
Skinner had a problem, all right. He had the Red’ helpless at gunpoint now, but as soon as he released him, the man would go scampering off to warn his fellows. Also, Natasha would find herself in a lot of hot water. Still, the alternative was murder….
The Red. Army youth had not lost his arrogance. “How far do you think you can go in the swamps at night? Why don’t you turn back and give yourself up, Nikolay? At least you’ll have a warm bed to sleep in, eh?”
“I slept in the marshes last night, and I can do it again tonight. That is, Natasha, if you’ll sit guard duty with me.”
She nodded eagerly, almost too eagerly. Skinner thought. But hell, he had nothing to worry about as far as the girl was concerned. He’d better concentrate on putting as much distance as possible between them and the city. And then they’d worry about sleeping.
SKINNER HAD no watch, guessed that it was after midnight when they stopped. “This ground looks as dry as any,” he shouted over the wind.
He paced back and forth for a time while the Russian stretched out on his back and Natasha eased herself down against a tree trunk. “Try to get some sleep,” the American told Natasha. “I’ll stand, the first watch.”
“All right—if you promise to wake me so I can do my share.”
Skinner said he promised, but he wasn’t so sure. He’d as soon spend the whole night on guard himself; but in the end he decided to leave it up to his ability to remain alert. If he grew weary, time enough to awaken the girl then.
The soldier slept restlessly, tossing and turning, trembling in the cold. Natasha seemed somewhat more comfortable, but Skinner heard her moan in her sleep more than once. For his own part, he walked a little circle for himself in the clearing, beating his chest briskly to fight off the cold. They’d have about as much of a chance to start a fire in this dank mess as they’d have in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but seaweed for kindling.
The minutes dragged by, lengthened into hours. It seemed to grow even darker, and the wind’s fury increased. Would dawn never come?
“Nikolay?”
“Huh?”
“You go to sleep now. I will watch.”
“Listen,” he tried to stop! a yawn, couldn’t, “I feel wide awake, and—”
“And nothing. I will watch now, that’s all.”
Wearily, Skinner agreed. Sleeping in this cold would be no picnic, but it would give. him a little more strength for tomorrow, and they’d both need that for the trek ahead of them. He gave Natasha the .45, watched her get up, a shadow among shadows in” the darkness, heard her flip the gun open.
“Loaded,” she grunted with satisfaction and then Skinner Kit the ground. He was asleep almost at once.
HIS LEGS were numb from the cold when he awoke. A gray dawn had seaped into the Pripet with the morning fog, half-hiding the girl and the soldier. They were both standing five or six paces from Skinner, and they were speaking in heated whispers. The Red looked very frightened.
Suddenly, he turned and ran off into the swamps. Natasha did not try to stop him. Instead, Skinner heard the girl counting: “One, two, three, four—”
“What the hell’s going on?” Skinner cried.
“Later. Five, six, seven—”
“Damnit, I said what’s going on!”
“Eight, nine, ten.”
Natasha cocked the .45 and plunged into the swamp.
Silence. Skinner swore softly to himself.
A scream—not a woman’s voice, but a man’s. After that, more silence, for perhaps the space of a heartbeat. Then Skinner heard the .45 roar once, and once only. In a moment, Natasha appeared again in the clearing, handed Skinner his gun butt first. She said hot a word.
“Well?” Skinner demanded.
“Well what?”
“Suppose you tell me what happened.”
“Won’t it be enough if I say you don’t have to worry about the Red?”
“No. What happened?”
“Well, we couldn’t go on this way. He’d get us into trouble sooner or later.”
“I know that, but I saw no way out.”
“I did, I saw one. We played a little game, and I won. Oh, the Red didn’t want to play it at first, but I was very firm. I gave him ten seconds to escape, and then I ran after him with your gun. Don’t you think it was fair?”
“Then what happened?”
“I said” you don’t have to worry about the Red any more. You don’t.”
Anger washed over Skinner in a wave. “Then you murdered him?”
The girl snorted, “Murder, he says! Look, Mr. Nikolay Mironov Smith or whatever your American name is, don’t you know we’re fighting a war? The Polish underground has been fighting it a long time because the Nazis and the Reds, occupied my country at the same time. Other undergrounds fight too—and whoever sent you in here didn’t send you in to twiddle your thumbs. When you fight a “war you kill, and it’s hot murder. You kill to protect your home, your. people, your—”
Abruptly, she was sobbing. She threw herself at Skinner, burying her face against his shoulder, crying softly, over and over, “I had to kill him. I couldn’t help it. I had to kill him….”
“We’ll get out of here when you’re ready,” Skinner said. He did not want to argue. He couldn’t argue with the girl’s logic. She’d done more for the Russian than he’d have done for her had. the situation been reversed. At least she’d given-him a chance. Skinner knew a long road lay ahead of him, and suddenly he found himself wishing that he had some of the girl’s spirit, some part of her ability to accept facts bleakly and coldly for what they were. He realized he would need that in the long days ahead.
“WE’RE ON the frontier now,” Natasha said.