Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [107]
Ernestine spun under the impact of the blow, landing hard in the dirt. It went into her mouth and nose and eyes. The world whirled crazily. She clawed at the wet ground to stop the spinning ... saw her own blood dripping, herself sinking into it ... and slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position, holding her head, groaning. Another punch from the shaggy one knocked her flat on her back. He grabbed her arms and pinned her down to the earth digging his knees into her wrist. The blond one knelt over her grunting, his trousers down.
An hour later Ernestine knocked almost soundlessly on the trap door. It creaked open. She dragged her body over the edge, spilled down the steps, and lay crumpled on the floor. Her dress was in shreds, both breasts bared, both eyes swollen shut. Blood gushed from her mouth. She gurgled a single long groan, and then blessed darkness rendered her unconscious.
Bruno Falkenstein reached under his pillow, snatched his luger pistol and lunged for the steps. His wife threw her arms around his legs. “No! Don’t go outside armed!”
“I’ll kill those bastards!”
“Bruno! Give me the gun and find Dr. Hahn! For God’s sake listen to me! She may be dying!”
The locating of Dr. Hahn became a monumental task. Falkenstein lost his watch to the first Russian, a second roughed him up for not having a watch, and a third beat him for the sport of it. Several times he was ordered to go back, forcing him to use round-about methods. When at last the doctor was found, he was treating a nine-year-old girl who had been raped by six Russians. The child was mutilated and in shock. He promised Falkenstein to come as soon as he could.
It was yet another long hour before Dr. Hahn was able to get to the Falkenstein cellar.
“The little girl?”
“Dead. They’re going crazy up there. There’s no end to it.”
The physician who had brought both Ernestine and Hilde into the world as well as their brother, Gerd, knelt alongside Ernestine’s cot. He rolled her over gently, forced her swollen eyelids apart, and flashed a light into her pupils. The blood from her mouth had caked dry; heart and pulse were weak but steady; there were massive cuts and bruises. He ministered to the wounds from his diminished supply of drugs, cleaned them with a solution, and then waved an ammonia stick under her nose. She groaned to a sort of consciousness.
“Ernestine. It is Dr. Hahn.”
She shook her head that she understood.
“I want to probe for breaks. You will tell me how badly it hurts.”
He probed about her body, then remained in utter frustration for a long moment. “She is not in shock and that is good. The ankle is not broken, only sprained, but I suspect a couple of ribs fractured and perhaps a concussion. Needless to say she is badly off from the beating and violations. I don’t know what we can do about either food or medicine ...”
Everyone froze simultaneously at the sound of feet shuffling overhead.
“Lord! We forgot to close the trap door,” Bruno whispered.
“Quiet!”
The sounds above became more pronounced ... laughter ... talk in a strange language ... something was kicked over and crashed. Frau Falkenstein grabbed Ernestine beneath the armpits and rolled her under one of the cots as the candle was doused.
Falkenstein wanted to go for his pistol, but the footsteps were just above them now! The ray of a flashlight probed through the trap-door opening, along the walls, and stopped as it found Hildegaard’s face. She shrieked!
A soldier dropped to the floor, whirled his submachine gun at them, called up to the others. Three more followed. They were Mongols, short and squat with yellow skin and long, drooping moustaches. They were ragged and foul-smelling from drink. The last of them carried a square canvas filled with loot: clocks, silverware, porcelain pieces, candlesticks.
The leader, swaggering and nearly senseless from alcohol,