Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [121]
From me far away,
Await my love ...
A strange sound stopped his song; he cocked his head to listen. Something was rustling about in the bushes of the garden. Perhaps a stray cat. No, wait! He went to the rail ... a heavy thrashing ... angry grunts of a man’s voice, then! a short sharp cry of a woman!
Igor hand-sprang the rail and dropped gingerly to the ground. A fierce struggle was going on.
“Kumm frau!”
Igor sprinted to the place and pushed the bushes aside. In the semi-darkness he could make out a man in Russian uniform atop the writhing figure of a woman pinned to the earth. Igor swung his boot up, kicking the soldier on the side of the head, knocking him off the woman. The soldier crawled to his hands and knees, dragged himself up to receive a thunderous fist in his mouth. The soldier went down again flat on his back. Igor glowered over him.
“Animal!”
He reached down, gripped the dazed man, jerked him upright, and dragged him into the light. Feodor! “Oh Mother of God! Not you, too, Feodor! You who were too good to touch a German woman! Not you, too, Feodor!”
Feodor wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Igor flung him to the ground, enraged, kicked his ribs, and jammed the heel of his boot into the pit of his back. “Get out of my sight!”
Feodor crawled off as Igor tried to hold back tears of rage and disgust. The woman thrashed and groaned. He went to her and knelt beside her.
“Are you all right?” he said abruptly in German.
She answered with a whimper. He helped her to her feet and braced her as they walked into the light. She stood swaying ... trying to hold together her ripped clothing. Igor took her face firmly in his hand, turned it to the best light, and examined the cuts and bruises. She was very young, and although quite dirty and bloody he could see that she was extremely pretty.
“You are just a child,” he said. “All right, stop your babbling. I am not going to hurt you.”
The girl began to regain her self-control, gulping great gobs of air and shuddering. “What the devil were you doing inside these gates?”
“I could smell the bread baking.”
“You are so hungry?”
“I haven’t eaten in three days.”
“That is quite unlikely. You could go to the soup lines.”
“I did. Two soldiers pulled me out of line and took me into the rubble. I did not go back.”
Igor reacted with a grunt of revulsion. “Very well, I’ll give you something to eat and have a car take you home.”
“I have no home. Your soldiers took it.”
“Parents?”
“They were both killed in an air raid by the Amis three months ago.”
“Friends? Relatives?”
“My relatives all live in Dresden. Friends are all scattered. It is not easy to get around these days. We stay off the streets. I don’t know where most of them are.”
Suddenly she toppled in a dead faint. Igor caught her, swooped her into his arms, and walked toward the house. The questioning eyes of Ivan Orlov met him at the front door. “Are you going to bring her in here?”
“What do you propose, Orlov?” He shoved past the captain harshly, then turned. “You have time enough to run to Azov and report this. As for now, have my orderly prepare something warm to eat and see if there is woman’s clothing in any of the closets.”
Feodor was waiting before the colonel’s door. “I am so ashamed,” he whispered.
Igor spat at the young officer’s feet, entered his bedroom, and laid the girl down. He wiped the back of her neck with a damp cloth, applied smelling salts, and as she came to, made her sit on the edge of the bed and put her head between her legs.
“Come along, child. You are all right.”
The girl’s hand trembled so badly Igor had to feed her at first. He made her sip slowly from the hot cabbage borsch filled with chunks of meat. Her shrunken stomach rebelled at the sudden onslaught of food.
“Don’t eat so quickly or you’ll throw it all up.”
She nodded, then ate until she thought she would burst. She pushed the dark rich bread around in the bottom of the bowl.
“What is your name, girl?”
“Lotte. Lotte Böhm.”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Well ... how do you