While filling in the roadway, he was shocked and mildly depressed at how many craters there were in nearby fields and just how many bombs had fallen nowhere near their targets. Bombing, he concluded, was a very inexact art.
Tony stumbled and swore. “Quiet,” Vaslov hissed. They looked to where the fat little Russian guard stood. He was not looking at them and had heard nothing. Both men thought of him as Ivan the Hog.
Tony tried to recall just what he had said when he almost fell. Probably nothing more than a grunt instead of something in English that might have given him away. He had spoken no English out loud since the Russians had swept them up.
It was only good fortune that Tony had been wearing German civilian clothes while they foraged, and that they had earlier hidden their weapons and the uniform they’d taken from the NKVD officer. In a fit of brilliance, Vaslov had told a Russian that Tony was an Italian worker the Germans had drafted and transported to Berlin for use as slave labor. Since Tony could speak passable Italian, and the Russians none at all, the ruse had worked so far, as Tony obligingly jabbered away incomprehensibly. Vaslov had told Ivan the Hog that he would look out for the imbecile Tony, and the Russian had shrugged his shoulders in disinterested agreement.
Tony looked up. The guard had walked away. “We gotta get out of here. I can’t take this too much longer.”
“Who can?” Vaslov whispered bitterly. “I think we are almost done with this section of road. If that is the case, security might be a little lax. Perhaps we can slip away tonight.”
“Where do you think the others are?” Of the band of ten, only he and Vaslov were in this particular work group. Tony was less concerned about their personal safety than he was about the others getting captured and talking about the American who was their nominal leader.
Once again Tony glanced about to see if anyone had heard him speak English. He knew that any number in the crew of dozens of Germans and other nationalities would gladly sell him to the Russians if they found out, and the strain was beginning to tell on him. He was particularly concerned about a dark-haired man in his late twenties who, while thin, looked healthy and appeared to have been doing all right by himself until recently. This man would periodically stop and glare at Tony.
A whistle blew and they all froze. What now? It was far too early to quit. Nothing good was going to come of this. With abrupt gestures, the Russians urged them to form up in a semicircle. When they were gathered, a line of nine men and three women were led in front of them and forced to their knees. Their hands had been tied behind their backs and they were all linked like human sausages by a long rope. Tony gasped as he recognized three of them as his people, two of the Jews and one Pole. Even worse, a Russian officer with the now-familiar NKVD insignia stood off to the side with a swarthy-looking man who was obviously a high-ranking officer, maybe even a general.
The NKVD man began to speak. His voice was a flat, ominous growl that needed no translation to communicate its threat. He identified himself and introduced the general, someone named Bazarian, who was in charge of the area. These people, he said as Vaslov whispered a translation, had been caught either stealing or sabotaging Russian equipment. The NKVD man also said that they had admitted to signaling the location of Russian targets to the American bombers.
Tony looked at their bruised and swollen faces. They had been tortured and doubtless some would have agreed to anything to stop the beatings. But what about the two Jews who had been with them? Had they told the Russians anything about the group? One of them looked up and appeared to make contact with Tony through blackened and swollen eyes. The man’s mouth distorted slightly in what might have been a smile and he lowered his head.
The NKVD man finished speaking. He drew a pistol and began walking down the line. At each prisoner, he paused for a ghoulish second before he fired once into the back of each person’s head. He paused only to reload. When he was done, the workers were ordered back to their tasks. No effort was made to pick up the bodies. They lay there swelling and stiffening in the summer heat.
As he passed the rest of the afternoon working, Tony’s eyes would unexpectedly begin to water. The two Jews had not said a word. They had not told on him, not even to save their lives or end their suffering. What had he done to deserve that loyalty?
At night, they were given bread and thin soup. After everyone was asleep, Vaslov turned to him and nodded. It was time. They stood and walked to where the stinking latrine trenches were. They looked about and saw no Russians, although they could hear them carousing nearby, hopefully drinking themselves into a stupor, and continued walking. Their escape was absurdly easy. They just walked away.
Very soon, they found themselves in the middle of a small Russian motor pool. Tony paused and began unscrewing gas caps.
“What are you doing?” Vaslov hissed. “We’ve got to get going.”
“I’m fucking up their cars. This is for the two Jew boys.”
Vaslov looked aghast, then chuckled and began to help pour dirt into the gas tanks. With only the smallest amount of luck they would ruin about a dozen Russian jeeps and trucks.
Vaslov left the motor pool and dashed across an open field first while Tony watched. Just as Tony was about to rise and sprint away, he felt a hand on his mouth and the blade of a knife on his neck.
“Don’t move,” he was told. “Make a single sound and I’ll slice your throat. If you understand me, nod.”
Tony nodded. It was only then he realized that his captor had spoken in clear English.
CHAPTER 18
Sirens went off just as the sound of machine guns shattered the night. Logan jumped off his cot and tried to orient himself. Yeah, he was in the bunker and it was the middle of the night.
More gunfire, and it was coming from the lakefront. It was in their rear. Dear God. Had the Russians gotten behind them?
Dimitri burst in. “Logan, I’ll take over here. You find out what’s happening. The radios are in chaos with everybody yakking away.”
Logan dashed out of the bunker and grabbed a bicycle. With gas and vehicles at a premium, many civilian bikes had been confiscated. He pedaled as quickly as he dared. The roads were cratered and the only light came from the sky, although explosions improved visibility as he got closer to the waterfront.
Searchlights from both sides of the Havel swept the area and illuminated scores of small boats heading toward him and coming from the Russian side. The Reds were attacking what they hoped was the vulnerable American rear. A lot of people had said the Commies wouldn’t attack across the water, and they were very wrong.
Logan spotted a very anxious General Miller giving orders. Several of the Russian craft had been hit and were either sinking or burning, but the remainder were pressing on. In the inconsistent light, it was impossible to figure out how large an attack it was. A Sherman tank rumbled beside him and stopped. The main gun fired and the shell landed between two boats filled with Russian soldiers, spilling them into the water. The tank’s machine guns raked several other boats. Logan gulped, recalling his crossing of the Elbe. That could have been them when they’d crossed that river an eternity ago if the Germans had tried to contest the crossing.
More American tanks arrived and joined in, while additional infantry with machine guns and BARs began to rake the Russian boats. There weren’t as many as before and the survivors were turning back. It was over.
Jack pedaled back to the bunker and his captain. After hearing the brief report, Dimitri nodded. “We were lucky. We were able to send our reserves to the water rather quickly. What do you think might have happened if the Reds had been smart enough to coordinate that attack with a land one?”