The Berkut (53 page)

Such abstract thinking was not typical of Ezdovo, and that Pogrebenoi had served to launch it was further evidence to him of her uniqueness. To reason through what the attraction was did not interest him; it sufficed that the longer he worked beside her, the more he cared about her and the more they trusted each other. Also etched in Ezdovo's mind was the memory of their one night in each other's arms.

Petro v visited them several times during the winter to examine their search grid and the results. Technically Bailov was assigned to them but they saw little of him. Gnedin drove down from time to time to visit, never on business, and they enjoyed his company. During the doctor's most recent visit they'd all become light
-headed under the influence of P
ertsovka, and Bailov, who had returned unexpectedly, took the opportunity to pull Ezdovo aside and grill him about his partner.

"An interesting woman, eh, comrade?" Ezdovo ignored the remark.

"Have you-?" Bailov joined his thumb and forefinger and used a fountain pen to complete the crude gesture.

Ezdovo flared, partly in embarrassment, but more in anger. Grabbing Bailov, he wrestled him roughly to the floor, then leaned close to his friend's ear. "No, comrade, I haven't.
In
my part of the country, women look like musk oxen. We prefer nubile young men like you." He buried his tongue in Bailov's ear and sent him scrambling wildly out of the Siberian's hold. He laughed as Bailov kept a fair distance from him while he brushed dust off his clothes.

"The party doesn't like degenerates," Bailov muttered.

"Keep your mouth shut about Pogrebenoi. She's a good soldier." The weather
broke in March,
and Petrov's single-craft air force went aloft again. Over a period of several days they flew their grid methodically, photographing unusual landmarks and mapping routes in and out of certain natural formations.

Over the winter Talia had made a note to explore the narrow little valley they had seen, but she did not try to talk Ezdovo into abandoning the overall plan in order to pursue her instinct. The search had to be done the way Petrov wanted it. In time they would get to the valley and would take a close look at it then. She was a patient woman.

The day was sunny and warm, and the two Russians were anxious to be airborne as they inspected the aircraft. Often they had discussed where their adversary might be hiding. Ezdovo was of the opinion that it would turn out to be easily defended from the ground, an isolated spot where there was little chance of accidental discovery, and probably an area with a limited entry. When they saw it, he told her, he would know it for what it was.

They were on their first long pass over the narrow canyon. It was Pogrebenoi who spotted someone sitting on a large boulder just above the valley floor holding something loosely across his legs; it looked like a rifle, but she couldn't be certain. She fired the camera as they passed over and knew she had gotten a good picture.

When they overflew the spot again moments later, there was no sign of any life below. They began to sweep the valley in earnest, flying up and down its length. Ezdovo kept them right at treetop level, always on the verge of a stall to slow them down, so that periodically the struts or propeller cut pine branches from the upper reaches of the mature pines. Pogrebenoi showed no fear; her eyes were riveted on the ground. She trusted Ezdovo as much as he trusted her. As they climbed out of the valley near noon to prepare to make a last pass, she tugged at his arm. "The main tributary of the stream down there widens about a kilometer from where we saw the man this morning. Can you drop below the tree line at that point? I'd like to take some shots with the side camera." During the winter they had mounted a motion-picture camera on a small platform outside Talia's window, and another on the belly. She operated them from inside, using a crude T-handle device to activate the cameras. The devices were spring
loaded, so that when she released the pressure they shut off automatically.

"Show me where," Ezdovo shouted loudly over the clatter of the small motor.

They descended below the valley rim, paralleling the contour of its steep, rough northern wall. As they came up on the location he leaned over to see it. "Not this time," he said, shaking his head. "I'll come around again."

They flew back outside to the other end of the valley. "When we pass that last outcropping I'll cut power, slip to the right and drop
the nose for a few seconds," Ezdovo told her. "Then I'll give it full power and pull out over the trees on the other side. No room for an error or a thermal," he warned.

She touched his face with her long hand and held it tenderly. They were flying along the wall again. He pulled the throttle back to the edge of a stall and the tiny aircraft almost hovered over the trees. If the maneuver worked, they were going to have only feet to spare on the other side, he told himself. The outcropping of rock was almost dead ahead, and they were a good fifty meters below the rim as he eased around it. "Camera ready?"

"Go," she said firmly, but the tiny Arado was already in its turn, nose down. For a fleeting instant she had a feeling of the ground rushing up to meet them, almost as if it were trying to grab them, but even in her moment of fear she activated the cameras and clutched the triggering device tightly. She held her breath as the starboard wing threw a shadow over the water below, but even when Ezdovo rammed the throttle full forward and the plane shuddered wildly, she did not panic.

"We're not climbing," he said calmly. "Yes, we are."

He checked the needle. The angle was so steep that it only seemed that they were level. They were climbing but still slipping forward on their tail. "We're either going up or into a stall," he told her. Without warning he jammed the stick to the left. The back of the aircraft struck something and the nose pitched forward, but he got it up again and banked right into a level climb. Dead ahead, less than a kilometer away, was the end of the valley, a huge threatening wall of stone that was looming larger. Talia knew they were too low, but there was no room to turn around. "It was a good try," she said calmly. She could see that they were going to die, so she leaned close to Ezdovo and gently held his arm.

"Hold tight," he said tensely. She felt the plane bank hard to the right and then level off again. He had miraculously lengthened the valley with the slight turn, but it still looked to be not enough. Only at the last moment did she realize what he was trying to do. Ahead and slightly above them was a huge rock formation that resembled a shallow dish turned slightly on end. Ezdovo pointed the Arado straight for it and, as it filled the windscreen, guided their wheels onto the granite, keeping the tail up. The aircraft skipped across the formation as if taxiing at high speed. As the downward angle of the rock increased, the aircraft descended into the depression, and, gathering speed, lifted, then dipped; the wheels struck the upslope on the other side hard, but there was enough lift now, and they flew off the top as if launched from a ramp. Suddenly the plane burst off the rock formation over the edge of a neighboring valley, sank, and finally began climbing to a safe altitude.

Pogrebenoi stared straight ahead, gasping for air. It was some time before she realized that their cameras were still rolling. When she released the T-handle and removed her gloves, she found deep red marks on the palms of her hands.

"I didn't think it would be
that
close," Ezdovo said as she threw her arms around him, and the little airplane immediately began to lose altitude again.

70 – March 24, 1946, 12:05 P.M.

Eventually the winter storms stopped coming from the north and spring began to force its way into the mountain valleys. The snow thinned to a delicate crust; vegetation began to fight its way up through the openings. The group's members were all well and strong, and their food supply was still adequate for considerably longer, but Brumm knew it was time to begin preparing for their departure. A particularly warm stretch in late March evaporated the last remnants of snow, and they moved outside again, doing more of their work in the warm sun.

It was some time before Brumm noticed the change that had begun after his conv
ersation with Herr Wolf. The Fü
hrer's attitude toward Razia Scheel was shifting. Before, he had treated her like a young daughter, or even a pet; now his attitude seemed different.

Brumm's first inkling of it had come when he found Herr Wolf eating alone in the large living area in the early morning after the girls had gone out to train and do their chores. "She's sleeping," Herr Wolf said quickly, anticipating Brumm's question. "I didn't want to wake her." The SS colonel did not really comprehend until later. Herr Wolf had begun separating himself from her.

On another occasion, after one of Herr Wolf's nightly lectures, he suddenly launched into a long-winded appraisal of the beauty of the girl Stefanie and of her classic Aryan qualities. He also pointed out how well she listened and how intelligent her questions were. It was true that Stefanie asked questions. At first all of them had attempted to do so, but only she had persisted, and for her trouble all she got was scowls from the others, mixed with an occasional angry lecture from Herr Wolf on her lack of decorum. For months Scheel had lorded over the German girls. When she felt it was time for bed, she would tug gently at Herr Wolf's arm and he would immediately rise and end the lecture for the night with the same declaration: "Well, that's enough. Sleep is important to good health. The party demands that we keep our bodies strong, so I shall do my duty." The speech never varied.

On this particular occasion, however, Herr Wolf ignored the woman's signal and told her to go to bed if she was tired. This came after the incident of eating alone and again did not register with Brumm until later.

After the rebuff Razia stormed out of the room, and Herr Wolf continued his glowing appraisal of Stefanie. When eventually he went off to bed, the other girls teased her. "Perhaps you'll win the wager. Maybe you should go to the pool and wait for him to come to you," one of them said.

"Silence," Beard growled. He raised his eyebrows at Brumm, as if to say, Children-there's nothing you can do with them!

Afterward Brumm and Waller went for a walk outside. "What was that all about?" she wanted to know.

He wasn't sure, so he didn't answer.

With the clear weather, air traffic over the mountains resumed.

Most of the planes passed high above them, but not long after the warm spell set in, a small craft began making low-level passes over the ridges. It returned several times over a period of days, crisscrossing methodically, circling every now and then over formations that apparently caught the pilot's eye.

Both the colonel and the sergeant knew aerial reconnaissance when they saw it. "It's here for a reason," Beard said matter-of-factly.

"Yes."

"Do you think they've found us yet?"

"No, not yet; they're still searching too carefully. When they stop coming back, that's when we have to worry," Brumm said. "It's time to go."

That night they told their small group that they would soon leave the valley. All the girls except Waller wanted to know where they were going. "Better you don't know," Brumm said. He carefully explained what they were to take and how they were to act. For two nights he rehearsed them for possible encounters with the authorities. They took the exercise as a game and did well. They were bright girls, and most of all they were loyal, a trait that he valued above all others. The pretense of their preparations saddened him.

It was midday, and Brumm and Beard had walked up to the far end of the valley, ostensibly to fish. Beard was caught in the open with his fishing rod across his lap as the plane buzzed down low below the rim, wobbling along just above the trees. For a moment they thought it would crash; the motor was coughing and missing badly and heavy oil smoke poured out of the carburetor vents on the side cowling.

From the shadow of a rock outcropping, they watched as the craft made pass after pass into the valley. It was so low that they could see the two people inside, and the glint from a camera mounted under the struts of one wing told them that their refuge was being photographed.

"It's one of ours," Beard said when the plane had gone.

"No, we no longer have an air force," Brumm reminded him. "Now they know. We can't wait. Tonight we prepare; tomorrow we go at first light."

"I'll get them ready," Beard said.

"Hans, my friend. We can't all go. The flood of refugees has subsided, and we would be too conspicuous and vulnerable in a large group."

The sergeant major swallowed hard. "Duty," Brumm said quietly.

"My honor is loyalty," Beard answered, repeating the motto of the
SS
. "All of them?"

Brumm nodded. "All of them."

"Even Gretchen?"

Now Brumm swallowed too. "Her, too."

71 – March 24, 1945, 1:00 P.M.