Archangel (39 page)

There was a long burst of machine-gun fire into the snow and the women scattered like sparrows disturbed from a bird-table. Morozova saw two guards with machine-pistols a hundred metres away, on the road beside the corner of the men's fence. The guard whimpered; his arms were outstretched and his genitals were exposed and bloodied. Some women turned back towards their own compound. Two women ran away from the guards and along the stretch of seemingly empty road, but the watch-tower machine-gun found them and pitched them carelessly over. A few more women ran, hunched and bent, towards the hole into the men's compound. Morozova wondered if she were about to be sick, and she was running too, she was hunched as well.

Where was she running to?

In front of her a woman cartwheeled and there was the flash of flesh above her stockings and the white of her knickers. Another shouted as if a victory had been won.

Another wiped the blood from her hands onto the dark material of her skirt where it would be hidden.

Morozova saw the helicopter that was downed, she saw a dog that was dead. She could no longer see the other women, engulfed now by the men who had charged to meet them.

'You should not have come. You have escaped to a worse prison.'

A man gazed at her, a look of stupefaction on his round and fatted face.

'You have an Englishman in the camp,' she said. 'Where will I find him?'

'We have an Englishman . . . ' Poshekhonov shook his head and laughed. 'We also have a helicopter because we have an Englishman.'

In the Kitchen Feldstein waited on Michael Holly, at the fringe of the river-flow of men. He had twice pulled Holly's elbow for attention, he had twice been rebuffed.

'They will have photographers on the Administration block. Every man, whether or not he is involved in positive action, must have torn off the name strip on his tunic . . .

'I want the forage caps down over men's heads, if they have a scarf they should wear it across their mouths .. .

'The machine-guns should stay under Huts 3 and 6, but I want a diversion rush with anything that looks like a gun to under 1 and 4. The men with most recent military experience should be involved . . .

'I want one man into the rafters of each hut and in the roof of the Kitchen and the Store and the Bath. I want holes in the roofing, and runners to report troop movements . . .

'What is it, Anatoly? No, the distribution of food is not my concern, that is for the Committee to organize . . . No, I am not putting a guard on the huts, that's the problem of the Committee. If they want to wreck the huts that's their concern . . . In a moment, Anatoly . .. Are we winning? Go and ask Comrade Major Kypov whether he thinks he's winning . . . Everything else must w a i t . . . After the meeting, please, after the meeting of the Committee . . .'

He gestured his hands to show that enough had been said.

The men around him backed away, respectful. In the corner of the Kitchen near to the Committee were the prisoners.

They sat on the floor, with their backs resting against the wall and their hands were clasped on top of their heads.

They watched for the first signs that they would be beaten, they waited for the rush of men with sticks and iron bars, they wondered whether before the night came they would be dangling from a taut rope.

'You have the prisoners. Don't play the idiot with the prisoners. With the prisoners we can show that we are not animals.'

Holly was distracted, half-listening, threading his way between the upturned tables and benches.

'How can we show that?'

'Let the prisoners go, Holly. Let them go without condition. Release them while you are at the zenith of your power.'

'Why?'

it would be their way to shelter behind the backs of hostages. Only a coward covers himself with such a shield.'

'What if that shield saves us from a massacre?'

Holly had reached the table, eased himself down onto the end of a bench.

Feldstein spoke with a rare passion. 'You are a stranger, you know nothing of these people. You think they will allow a mutiny to continue because we hold one Colonel General, one helicopter crew? They don't give a shit about a human being. Look at this camp and tell me I am wrong.'

'Stay here, we'll listen to you.'

Holly turned away, the hands of the Committee reached out for him. A great gale of laughter blew amongst these men, and their hands slapped each other's backs, and the kisses smacked on their cheeks. Byrkin told how he had thrown a table-leg up into the hurricane of the down-blast, of the magic moment that he had seen the rope and the knotted blankets dragged away from the neat coil beside his feet. They laughed and they shouted and the noise echoed in the room.

'What will they do next?' Holly asked quietly, and the softness of his voice smashed through the bogus triumph.

'What any commander would do when he is beaten by an inferior force,' Byrkin said. 'He withdraws, he regroups, he waits for reinforcements, he attacks again . . . '

'How long?'

'Before tonight, before darkness,' said the man from Hut 4 with the mole on his nose.

'The reinforcements are available?'

'There are more than a hundred thousand men behind the wire of the Dubrovlag, from Barashevo to Pot'ma,' said the hunchback from Hut 6. 'There is a division of M V D along the railway line, there is always a regiment of regular army in reserve. They have more than a division to stamp on us.'

'A division .. . and we have two machine-guns . . . '

He sat with his back to the door of the Kitchen. He heard Poshekhonov's voice shouting the length of the Kitchen hall.

'The Chief has a visitor. A young lady has called to seethe Chief.'

She looked the length of the wrecked Kitchen, and felt like an interloper. The men who sat on the benches began to turn, and she saw the annoyance in their faces at the interruption of their debate. He was the last to turn. She saw the sunken eyes of exhaustion and the pursing of the forehead in surprise.

His face lightened. In place of strain there was the half grin of amusement. She felt she had made an idiot of herself.

'Morozova, yes?'

'I am Morozova, Irina Morozova.'

'There are more people looking for a way to leave this camp than to join it.'

'There was a hole in our fence. I came before the guards blocked i t . . . I don't know your name.'

'Michael Holly.'

'I wanted to thank you for what you said to m e . . . when I was in the SHIzo block.'

His eyes had narrowed. 'I accept your thanks. You should go back to your Zone.'

it's wired now. If I wanted to I couldn't.' She tossed her head back, and her thick, black hair wavered over the collar of her tunic. She jutted her chin, she rose to her toes to add to her stature.

'The compound will be attacked this afternoon . . . '

'I'm going to stay.'

Holly shouted the length of the Kitchen. 'Morozova, if you stay, if you go, I don't care. This Committee is preparing to fight an army. We have two machine-guns. I haven't the time to talk. I'd like to and I can't. Go away, go away and hide yourself. Find me again after the attack, find me if I am here.'

'This is not the man who spoke to me through the walls of the SHIzo,' she shouted back in anger.

it is the same man. The same man but a different moment

. . . ' Holly turned back to the Committee. 'Feldstein wants to say something about the prisoners.'

'I have two and a half hours more of light. I have the Procurator flying from Moscow tomorrow. I have a compound armed with two machine-guns and five hundred rounds minimum. I have a Colonel General as a hostage to inhibit me. What do I do, what do we do?'

Kypov paced the short carpet of his office. With him now were his Adjutant, and the Major who had come from Yavas and who had now assumed command of the regular Company.

'I'm not going in there against machine-guns, not without armour. And where do I find tanks? Where?'

The Adjutant had been silent. His intervention now was quietly spoken, if you were thinking of tanks, how many would you need?'

'One, but there are none in Mordovia.' said the Major.

The Adjutant was not to be deflected. 'There is one tank, on the parade ground at Yavas.'

it's a T34 - a museum piece. Has it even an engine?'

'There's an engine,' Kypov said. 'They rolled it out last May Day and trundled it past the General. Bloody near choked him with all the smoke out of its arse.'

'Get it here, Major, that's my suggestion. Get it here before dusk,' said the Adjutant mildly.

The Major flipped the pages of his notebook for the number of the Duty Officer at Yavas, then reached for Kypov's telephone, banging the receiver sharply for a line.

The bolt slid back.

'Get up, Adimov.'

The very sight of the man made Rudakov feel unclean.

His dealings with the criminals were rare. This one he had not met before,

'Yes, Comrade Captain.'

Adimov watched the KGB officer with suspicion. Why should the Political Officer concern himself with Adimov?

'I have a job for you.'

'What job, Comrade Captain?'

'You are to broadcast to the camp, to tell them of the futility of further resistance. Tell them that if there is immediate return to normality only the leaders will be punished.'

'Why ask me?'

'You have influence in Hut 2.'

Adimov whined, 'You know why I went out, Comrade Captain?'

The cell stank. No slopping out that morning.

'Why?'

'My woman is in Moscow. She is dying of cancer. I went out to see her.'

'I am sorry, Adimov, believe me. Do this for me, Adimov, and there will be a rail-warrant and parole, that I promise.

And there will be a sentence review.'

'I will do it.'

Adimov and Rudakov left the SHIzo block together, a smelly zek and a Captain of KGB.

'Have there been any letters for me?'

if there is one I'll get it for you.' It would cost Rudakov nothing, a small package of kindness.

Inside the Administration block, Rudakov went first to the Post Room. In the pigeon hole for 'A' there was a letter addressed in a crude, inexpert hand. They went together down the corridor where they had to edge their way past men in combat fatigues, and at the far end of the corridor was the tube of a n o m m mortar lying on a pile of four stretchers, and some of the floor space was littered with a heap of gas masks. Rudakov held Adimov by the arm, Adimov held his letter tight in his fist.

'Wait here . . .'

Rudakov knocked and opened the door to the Commandant's office. The officers were bent over Kypov's desk and a plan of the camp.

'Commandant, the prisoner Adimov will broadcast to the compound when you wish; he will urge surrender.'

'There's a T34 coming up from Yavas. It'll be here by four. If it's to have a wasted journey you'd better back your man up for before that. They'll have a chance to respond, after that they're blasted.'

'At five minutes to four I'll put Adimov on the loudspeakers. Will you want to address the camp yourself?'

'No.'

Rudakov stepped back out of Kypov's office. Beside him in the corridor a soldier handed back a single sheet of paper to Adimov. There were five lines of writing. Adimov gazed at him impassively.

'We'll wait in my office, we'll have some coffee,' Rudakov said. 'You'll broadcast in thirty-five minutes.'

is Holly involved?'

i don't know.'

Feldstein had finished, he stepped back from the table. For the first time since he had come to the camp he had spoken of his beliefs. He had preached the warfare of the turned cheek.

Now the storm burst amongst the men of the Committee.

'The Jew had no right to speak. If he wants fucking non-violence let him go and sit in the fucking SHIzo . . . '

'They're the only card we have. Stick them out in front, let the bastards shoot right through them . . . '

'We can do a trade. No reprisals for the Colonel General's life . . .'

Holly slammed his fist into the table. The words, the swearing, the hate, had sapped him. Morozova was sitting at the far end of the Kitchen talking with Poshekhonov. Silly old bugger, trying to pretend he was a big man down on the Black Sea when he was just a zek with half a regiment waiting to shoot out his guts.

His fingers tingled from the impact.

'I say they go free.'

if they'd been ordered to, they would have killed you happily,' said Chernayev softly.

'You know why they have to go, Chernayev.'

'What do we gain?'

Holly struggled for the words, if we keep them and we do not use them, then there is no point in our having kept them.

If we keep them and we use them, then we are the savages that they believe us to be. If they go out, then we will never be forgotten, we will be remembered as long as the camps exist.'

is that what you want, Holly, to be remembered?'

'I want all of you to be remembered. If the Colonel General goes out then the memory of you all will be burned in their minds. If you are never forgotten, the power of the Dubrovlag is broken.'

Chernayev, unfamiliar in anger, spat across the table.

'And the boy who died from dysentery, where does he fit into the scheme of memories?'

Holly surged up from the bench seat, his fist leaped the table's width, he caught at the throat of Chernayev's tunic.

'There is a man in the condemned cell at Yavas. Don't sneer at me about memories.'

Gently, Byrkin eased Holly's hand loose. 'So be it, Holly, take them to the gate.'

In a rush Feldstein came to Holly. His spindly arms were round Holly's shoulders. The girl came after him, but shyly and her hand rested hesitantly on his arm.

The clock on the wall, above the food hatch and below the broken frame of the photograph of the President, showed twenty minutes to four.

The tank had rattled out of the barracks at Yavas.

It slewed onto the main road north, skidded towards a parked car. It would take the driver several minutes to familiarize himself with the driving sticks that he had not handled for nine months.