The Berkut (13 page)

"Dog keeper?"

"Sergeant Tarnow. I think he was
actually part of the SS detach
ment in the bunker."

"Together you killed the bitch?"

"Yes."

"Tell me how it was done."

"The sergeant held the dog's head. I held the glass ampule with pliers. When he forced open the dog's mouth, I made the insertion and crushed the poison container. The dog expired within seconds."

"And you reported this to Hitl
er?"

"Yes."

"Then you had your discussion a
bout theoretical modes of self-
destruction?"

The doctor nodded.

"And Hider, I presume, committed suicide in this pr
ecise manner?"
"Undoubtedly. He
thought it a sound approach."

"But you did not witness the death or see the body?" Haase shook his head.

Satisfied that he had everything, Petrov abruptly left the room.

Gnedin was waiting in the hall. "I have all he knows. Make arrangements to transport him to Moscow. I want him kept alive. He showed Hitler how to kill himself."

18 – May 3, 1945, 2:45 P.M.

Rudolf cursed his luck, Germany, Adolf Hitler, Nazi big shots, the Russians and the Russian cunt who had captured and beaten him. Because his testicles were swollen so badly that he still couldn't stand, he was forced to sit on his ass in the rain with his legs apart, hoping the pain would eventually go away.

The German prisoners were in a small courtyard, or what had once been one; now it was no more than a tiny open area surrounded by sloping piles of rubble several meters high. Ivans with submachine guns sat on top of these, staring down at Rudolf and his fellow prisoners. Periodically the guards were brought coffee. He could smell the brew and was tempted to ask for some, but the Russians seemed neither forgiving nor friendly, so he kept his desires to himself.

Nearly two hundred German soldiers were pressed into the makeshift compound. They had no shelter to protect them from the rain, and to keep warm they walked en masse in a circular path, their feet digging a deep muddy track as the hours passed. They stumbled over Rudolf frequently, adding new bruises to his legs and cursing him; Rudolf cursed them back, not caring what their ranks were.

"Get up, you yellow bastard," one of the marchers, an officer, barked at Rudolf.

"Fuck you," Rudolf answered.

The man stood over Rudolf, his fists clenched tightly. He was a major. "That's insubordination. You could be court-martialed and shot."

"With what? Your skin flute? Leave me alone, you maniac." The major kicked Rudolf in the hip, but the press of the circling
marchers pushed him away before he could do any more damage. Rudolf tried to keep track of the man, figuring that he would kick him each time around. He seemed the type.

Rudolf was cold and hungry. Would the Ivans feed the prisoners or shoot them? That bitch had shown just what animals they were; he still had a bad taste in his mouth and an odor on his cheeks that he couldn't wash away even with muddy water. He leaned against the rubble pile and tried to relax.

Near dark a Russian officer entered the prison compound. The marchers stopped when he strode to the center of their area. "Sergeant Gustav Rudolf."

Rudolf heard his name, but remained silent, trying to figure what to do.

"Sergeant Gustav Rudolf, please come forward and identify yourself," the Russian said in an almost pleasant voice.

He tried to think of a way out of his predicament. He was certain

. they were going to shoot all the German prisoners. That's what they had done on the Eastern front; since then the Germans had been briefed daily on Soviet atrocities. On the other hand, this Russian neither looked nor sounded menacing. Maybe there was a chance. Could he pretend he wasn't in the group? Not likely. They'd recorded his name, rank, serial number and unit when he'd been dragged in. The Ivans
knew
he was in the compound. There wasn't any choice. "Here," Rudolf said feebly.

The Germans in front of him moved away when he answered, not wanting to be identified with anyone who was being singled out by the Russians.

The Soviet major stepped forward and looked down at him. "Ser-

geant Rudolf?"

"That's me."

"Are you wounded?"

"No. One of your officers kicked me in the balls. I can't stand up." Several of the nearby Germans laughed. The major offered his hand and pulled Rudolf to his feet. Immediately he felt dizzy, but the officer supported him and helped him walk.

"You're a fortunate man, Sergeant. We're moving you to another location," the major said as he escorted him through the security checkpoint to a truck where Bailov waited.

Bailov smiled at the German's approach. This one was weak; he'd spill his guts.
"Rudolf?"

"Yes." Bailov nodded to the major and took Rudolf's arm. Together they helped him onto the tarp-covered bed of a heavy truck. Rudolf crawled forward and lay still, glad to be out of the drizzle.

Bailov signed for the prisoner, accepted the thin file that had been started by the counterintelligence corps and verified the name of the officer who had made the capture and her unit for the Special Operations Group records.

"Thanks," Bailov said, clapping the officer on the back. Then he got into the back of the truck with his new prisoner and yelled to the driver to move out.

"Rudolf of the Reich Security Police?"

Rudolf rolled over and stared at this new man as the truck's motor snorted to life. How many times were they going to verify all this? Bailov helped him onto one of the truck benches and gave him a small flask, but Rudolf hesitated to accept it.

"Vodka," Bailov explained. "It will warm you." He smiled encouragement.

Rudolf held the flask to his lips and took a long pull. The Russian vodka exploded inside him and made him cough, but he drank again immediately.

It was a long ride to their destination and quite dark when they arrived, but the rain had let up and mist had taken its place. Rudolf wondered if he'd be sleeping outside. Bailov led him through a strange maze of triangular metal rods and various kinds of barbed wire. They entered a gray building through a huge metal door, and after it closed behind them, Bailov told him to undress. When the German hesitated, Bailov laughed. "We're going to give you some dry clothes."

Rudolf stripped. The inner steel door opened and admitted an Asian in a white smock. He was fumbling with a rubber glove, trying to put it on, and he gave an order in Russian.

Bailov translated. "He wants to check your mouth to
make sure you haven't concealed
anything."

"Just my teeth," Rudolf grumbled. The Asian ignored him and thrust a gloved finger into his mouth, gouging along his upper and lower gums, then pressing his tongue down flat in the bottom of his mouth until he gagged. When the man withdrew his hand, he slapped Rudolf lightly across the shoulders.

"Bend over," Bailov said. Rudolf stared incredulously at him, not understanding. "He wants to check your other cavity."

The Russian grabbed him by the head and pushed it down~ then signaled him to spread
his legs. Hesitatingly,
Rudolf did as he was told. The man grabbed hi
s buttocks and spread them wide,
then inserted a gloved finger. Rudolf almost fainted from the pain as the man groped around inside him.

With the inspection complete,
the inner door opened again and Bailov pushed his prisoner inside. Another armed Asiat
ic latched the door behind them,
sliding a thick steel bar into place. The one in the smock snapped off the glove and threw it into a nearby barrel. Rudolf tried to see how many other glov
es were in there,
but as he leaned forward to look he saw that they were in an open room filled with clacking typewriters. Suddenly the sounds ceased and Rudolf looked up to see that the
offices were filled with women,
who were all staring at him. He felt himself flush with embarrassment and anger. Goddamn Russians!

They were almost at the end of the room when a high-pitched voice sang out in German: "Remarkably small gun for a member of the master race."
The women roared with laughter,
and Rudolf sprinted past Bailov through another set of doors.

"Keep to your work,
" Ba
ilov warned them good-naturedly,
but he was smiling.

Rudolf wa
s taken underground by elevator,
cursorily examined by two more Asian armed guards and then shown into a small dark room. "There's
a bedroll in there on the floor,
" Bailov said. "It's not the lux
ury you Nazis are accustomed to,
but at least you will be warm and out of the rain. I suggest you sleep."

"I'm just a soldier,
" Rudolf said defensively. "I'm hungry."

"I know,
" Bailov said. "We've yet to find a single Nazi in Germany.

It's the most incredible thing. Sleep. Then you'll get a complete physical examination. After that you eat
." The door slammed in his face,
leaving Rudolf in total darkness. He got down on all fours and crawled around the cell haphazardly until he found the bedding. He dreamed of firing squads composed of smiling women.

When the cell door opened again,
Ru
dolf was already awake. In fact,
his nightmares had been so real that he had been unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Finally he'd lain
on his back with his eyes open,
fighting off sleep in order to avoid the dreams. The same Russian who had brought him in beckoned him out of the cell.

After a physical exam by a thin doctor aided by a balding fat
woman, they made him shower, and afterward doused him with delousing powder. The doctor brought him to Bailov again, who bade him sit on a stool in the middle of a small, brightly lit room. The Russian was behind a table, pen and paper in front of him. Gnedin stood in the corner with a pad of paper.

"When do 1 get to eat?" Rudolf asked weakly.

Gnedin began writing as soon as Rudolf spoke. "When we've finished here," Bailov said. "I want you to tell me everything you did from April twenty-sixth until you were captured."

"Even when 1 pissed?"
"Everything."

Rudolf thought about the order for a moment, then relaxed and told his story.

Bailov listened without interrupting. The man had a loose tongue, but no focus. More interviews would be needed. Even though he was an insignificant figure, you never knew from whom important information might surface. Bailov had hopes about this one.

When the German finished, Bailov had food brought to him. Rudolf ate like an animal, mopping the last juices from his plate with a large chunk of black bread.
"Gut,"
he said just before he emitted a sustained belch.

Bailov pushed a stack of paper and several pencils across the table

to him. "We'd like you to write your autobiography."

"My what?"

"The story of your life." "From the time 1 was born?"

"Precisely. When you've done that, we want you to give us a list of all the men in your unit and the names of everyone you remember seeing in the Chancellery in the past two weeks."

"I didn't know everybody in my unit. We had a lot of replacements."

"The names of those you knew will be enough."

"It's going to be a pretty long list. It might take a long time," Rudolf said, seeing a possible bargaining point.

"That you've got plenty of." As Bailov departed the German had already begun scratching away at the paper, quietly mumbling to himself.

19 – May 3, 1945, 5:00 P.M.

Brumm led them up and along a steep pine ridge, carefully keeping his small band on the military crest to eliminate silhouettes. Beard had spread them out in a loose box formation with Brumm on the point in front, two wide flankers and himself as the trailer providing a tear guard for the group. The remaining four girls carried the litter bearing Herr Wolf.

Ahead of them the ridge branched off in several directions. They had walked all day with only one stop-more than twenty kilometers, Brumm estimated, a remarkable performance.