Gerda finished hurrying the cows into the pasture and left. I turned over on my back and rested some more. I wanted to give the leg all the help I could. I'd be needing it soon enough. A scream almost made me sit bolt upright. I rolled over on my stomach and peered out the barn doors. I saw Vanuskin and his crew, all six of them. Two of them were holding Emilie and as I watched, Vanuskin slapped her again across the face, using the back of his hand. Emilie cried out again. Another of the Russians was holding Gerda by the arm. Then I saw what Vanuskin held in his other hand, a bundle of blood-soaked cloths. I put the picture together at once. They'd been snooping around and found the cloths Emilie had used to bandage my leg. She had put them into the garbage pile, probably, instead of burning them. I cursed myself for not having thought to tell her.
"Where is he, bitch?" I heard Vanuskin snarl. He was furious. He'd probably been catching hell from Moscow for letting me get away and now he had his first, real opening.
"Strip her and tie her to that tree," Vanuskin ordered one of his men, pointing to a young oak nearby. While Gerda gasped, they ripped the clothes from Emilie and she was dragged to the tree and tied to it. Her face had grown scarlet in shame and embarrassment as she stood helplessly naked. She had, as I'd guessed, a full-blown figure, heavy by American standards, but properly proportioned, large, heavy hips balancing the heavy breasts and legs that were shapely enough. Like her face, it was an old-fashioned kind of figure, girlish and womanly together. I saw one of the Russian heavyweights take off his leather belt at Vanuskin's direction. The Russian drew back his arm and lashed out with the belt. It slammed across Emilie's stomach, and she screamed in pain. A red welt appeared instantly over her white skin.
"That was only a sample," Vanuskin said. "Where is he? Where have you hidden him?"
"He's not here," Emilie spit out. "I don't know anything about him." Vanuskin signaled with a flick of his finger. The Russian with the belt stepped forward and swung again. He followed it with another and then another, beating the woman with a sadistic pleasure. I watched, teeth clenched in anger, as Emilie's white skin became a mass of ugly red welts and bruises. She screamed constantly now. Vanuskin ordered a halt and I saw Emilie's head fall forward, her body quivering in sobs.
"You are ready to talk now?" he demanded, pulling her head back by the hair. Emilie looked at Gerda, who had stood still in the Russian's grip, transfixed by horror and fear, her cheeks tear-stained.
'Tell them nothing, my darling," Emilie shouted. "These are the land who killed your father."
I saw the child suddenly tear her arm loose and twist away from the Russian's grab. She raced off, straight toward the barn.
"Let her go," I heard Vanuskin order. "Well get what we want to know from her mother. Go to work on her again."
Emilie's screams mingled with the heart-rending sobs of the child as she ran into the barn to stand for a moment almost directly below me, holding her hands to her ears, trying to shut out her mother's anguished screams. I'd have to act. Emilie wouldn't crack, there was steel-like determination behind that gentle exterior; but soon her lovely, full body would start to rip apart under the lash. She'd bear scars that time could never heal. I called to Gerda, who had run into one of the stalls to cower there. She looked up in astonishment.
"Up here, Gerda" I whispered. "Come here, quickly." She scrambled up the ladder, eyes wide. Desperate moments bring desperate plans. I had been studying the ravine I'd noticed to the left. It was about ten feet deep and not more than eighteen feet across, I guessed. That was fine. The tighter the fit the better. It ran about fifty feet or more.
"We're going to save your mama," I said to the child. "But I'll need your help. You've got to do exactly as I tell you, understand?"
She listened intently, and we descended the ladder together, Emilie's screams had halted for a moment. They were questioning her again. I couldn't ignore the searing pain of my leg but hate made me disregard it. While Gerda raced out of the barn back to the house, I clambered aboard the tractor attached to the four-disc farrow plow. The Russian with the belt had his arm upraised to start beating Emilie again when the child raced onto the scene.
"Stop it," she screamed. "I'll tell you where he is. He ran down into that ravine over there. He's hiding down there in it."
Vanuskin's smile was triumphant. He started for the ravine at once, gun in hand. The rest of his crew followed at his heels. I waited while they clambered down the steep sides. I wanted to give them time to get deeper into the ravine. Then I put the tractor into gear and roared out of the barn. It jounced down the steep sides into the ravine, nearly toppling over on me. I turned the disc plows on high speed and their whirring, whirling motion set up a hum. Running the plow down the steep sides of the ravine didn't do it much good, I knew, but it was either a bent plow or a broken body. I figured Emilie would prefer the former. The Russians were racing through the ravine, spread out in a horizontal line, when the crash of the tractor coming into the ravine made them whirl as one. I set the tractor on high, lifted the whirling blades about a foot and a half from the ground, and locked them in place. I lay flat on the seat of the tractor, letting my legs hang down over the back of the seat. Reaching up with one hand, I steered the tractor more by instinct than sight. I heard the shower of bullets ping into the metal of the plow and the tractor, richocheting off the frame of the plow. Too late, Vanuskin and the others saw what was happening. They tried scrambling up the steep sides only to fall back again. The plow was on them now, the whirling steel disc blades humming with their circular motion. I felt the blades as they struck human flesh and bone, heard the cutting, crunching, grinding sound and listened to the terrible screams of men being cut into pieces. It was sickening and my hand was tempted to pull back the lever stopping the whirring blades, but I thought of a woman who died because she cared about the world, of a wonderful old man crawling across the floor, of eight brilliant minds reduced to idiocy.
I lay flat and let the tractor go forward, pushing the whirling, circular blades before it. When there was silence, when the last of the broken screams had ended, I put the tractor into reverse and backed down the ravine. The blades had done their work. The scene ahead of me was not for the sensitive. I backed to the end of the ravine and climbed out.
When I reached the house, Gerda had already untied her mother, thrown a robe over her and helped her into bed. Emilie's body was still quivering, still shaking, and her sobs filled the room as I entered. She looked up at me and fright was still fresh in her eyes.
"It's over," I said. "They won t be back." I didn't need to say more. I sent Gerda to tend to the cows with orders to stay away from the ravine. Pulling the covers back from her, I let my eyes rove across Emilie's soft, full body, reddened with raised welts and ugly marks. She had her eyes closed but she reached out a hand and clasped my arm, I got towels, hot water, and bathed her tenderly with hot compresses. I kept her in bed and when Gerda returned later, I fixed dinner for us.
"My time to play nurse," I said. I asked if there was a lake nearby other than the one I'd hit when I leaped out of the train. She said there was a river to the north, about ten miles, that ran swiftly through the mountains. After midnight, I took the Volkswagen panel truck and drove to the ravine. Using a shovel and a blanket, I loaded up the remains of the NKVD group, drove them to the river and dumped them in. It was a grisly business.