"Freeze, motherficker!" Rodgers screamed, his M-16 aimed at the man's chest, and everyone's ears ringing from the thunder of the three round burst. "You okay, skipper?" It was the first time they had called him that.
"Yeah." Edwards got to his feet, letting Rodgers precede him as he backed the Russian up. The man was exposed below the waist, his pants hobbling his ankles. The lieutenant picked up the pistol the Soviet had dropped and looked down at the man he'd knifed. There was no doubt that he was dead. His handsome Slavic face was contorted with surprise and pain, and his uniform blouse was soaked black with blood. The eyes might have been marbles for all the life they contained.
"You okay, ma'am?" Rodgers asked, briefly turning his head around.
Edwards saw her for the second time, sprawled out on the wooden floor. A pretty girl, her woolen nightdress torn apart, barely covering one breast, and the rest of her pale body, already red and bruised in several places, exposed for all to see. Beyond her in the kitchen Edwards saw the unmoving legs of another woman. He went into the room and saw a dog and a man, also dead. Each body displayed a single red circle in the chest
Smith came in. He looked around the room, then at Edwards. The wimp had fangs. "I'll check the upstairs. Heads up, skipper."
Rodgers kicked the Russian down to the floor and placed his bayonet point in the small of his back. "You move and I'll fuckin' cut you in half," the private snarled.
Edwards stooped down to the blond girl. Her face was puffing up from blows to the jaw and cheek, her breath coming in shudders. He guessed her age at twenty or so. Her nightdress was destroyed. Edwards looked around and, pulling the cloth off the dining room table, draped it over her.
"You okay? Come on, you're alive, honey. You're safe. You're okay now."
Her eyes seemed pointed in different directions at first, then they focused and came over to the young lieutenant. Edwards cringed to see the look in them. His hand touched her cheek as gently as he could.
"Come on, let's get you up off the floor. Nobody's going to hurt you, not now." She started shaking so violently that it seemed the whole house would join her. He helped her up, careful to wrap the tablecloth all around her. "Come on."
"Upstairs is clear, sir." Smith returned, holding a robe. "You wanna put this on the lady? They do anything else to her?"
"Killed her mom and dad. And a dog. I imagine they were going to do her, too, when they got finished. Sarge, get things organized. Search the Russians, get some food, anything else that looks useful. Move quick, Jim. Lots of things we gotta do. You have a first-aid pack?"
"Right, skipper. Here." Smith tossed him a small package of bandages and antiseptics, then went back out the door to check on Garcia.
"Let's get you upstairs and cleaned off." Edwards wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and helped her up the steep old wooden steps. His heart went out to the girl. She had china-blue eyes, obscenely empty of life though even now they caught the light in a way certain to attract any man's attention. As they just had, Edwards thought. She was only an inch shorter than he, with pale, almost transparent skin. Her figure was marred by a slight bulge at the abdomen, and Mike had a good idea what that was, the rest of her figure was so perfect. And she'd just been raped by one Russian, paving the way for a long night of it, Mike Edwards thought, enraged that once more this foul crime had touched his fife. There was a small room at the top of the twisting stairs. She entered it and sat on the single bed.
"Wh-wh-who-' she stammered in accented English.
"We're Americans. We escaped from Keflavik when the Russians attacked. What's your name?"
"Vigdis Agustdottir." The slightest sign of life in her voice. Vigdis, the daughter of Agust, dead in the kitchen. He wondered what Vigdis meant, sure that it wasn't pretty enough.
He set the hurricane lamp on the night table and broke open the pack. Her skin was broken along the jawline, and he swabbed disinfectant there. It had to hurt, but the girl didn't wince at all. The rest of her, he'd seen, was just bruised, maybe some scrapes on her back from the hardwood floor. She'd fought hard to defend herself, and taken a dozen punches. And certainly she was no virgin. Just a bloodied face. It could have been far worse, but Edwards's rage continued to grow. Such a pretty face desecrated-well, he'd already reached that decision. "You can't stay here. We have to leave soon. You'll have to leave, too."
"But-"
"I'm sorry. I understand-I mean, when the Russians attacked, I lost some friends, too. Not the same as your mom and dad, but-Jesus!" Edwards's hands shook in frustration as he stumbled through the meaningless words. "I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner." What is it that some of the feminists say? That rape is the crime that all men use to subjugate all women? Then why do you want to go downstairs and-Edwards knew that something almost as satisfying was in the works. He took her hand and she didn't resist. "We're going to have to leave. We'll take you anywhere we can. You must have family around here, or friends. We'll take you to them and they can take care of you. But you can't stay here. If you stay here, you're sure to get killed. Do you understand?" He saw her head nod jerkily in the shadows.
"Yes. Please-please leave me alone. I must be alone for a little."
"Okay." He touched her cheek again. "If you need anything, call us." Edwards went back downstairs. Smith had taken charge. There were three men on their knees, blindfolded, gagged, and hands tied behind their backs. Garcia was standing over them. Rodgers was in the kitchen. Smith was sorting through a pile of stuff on the table.
"Okay, what d'we got here?"
Smith regarded his officer with something akin to affection. "Well, Sir, we got us a Russian lieutenant with a wet dick. A dead sergeant. A dead private, and two live ones. The lieutenant had this, sir."
Edwards took the map and unfolded it. "Damn, ain't that nice!" The map was covered with scribbled markings.
"We got another set of binoculars, a radio-shame we can't use that! Some rations. Looks like shit, but better'n nothin'. We done good, skipper. Bag five Russians with three rounds expended."
"What do we need to take, Jim?"
"Just food, sir. I mean, we could take a couple of their rifles, and that'd double up our ammo load, y'know? But we're already loaded pretty, heavy-"
"And we aren't here to fight a war, just to play scout. Right."
"I think we oughta take some clothes, sweaters and like that. We taking the lady with us?"
"Have to."
Smith nodded. "Yeah, makes sense. Hope she likes walkin', sir. Looks like she's in decent shape, 'cept for being pregnant. Four months, I'd say."
"Pregnant?" Garcia turned. "Rapin' a pregnant girl?" He muttered something in Spanish.
"Any of them say anything?" Mike asked.
"Not a word, sir." Garcia answered.
"Jim, take a look at the girl, and get her down here. Her name's Vigdis. Easy on her."
"Don't worry, sir." Smith went upstairs.
"The lieutenant's the one with it hanging out, right?" Garcia nodded and Edwards went around to face him. He had to remove the gag and blindfold. The man was his own age. He was sweating. "You speak English?"