"Ah," said Martin. "I thought we did not take sides, Nurse Barrington?"

"Or the enemy's hands," said Penny.

"He was not the enemy," Tatiana said, and turned away from the others so they wouldn't see her cry.

CHAPTER FORTY.

Sachsenhausen, June 1946 MARTIN WANTED TO START the next day. Tatiana said no. They were going immediately. They were getting into their jeep and driving. Immediately.

Martin had a hundred reasons why they should wait until tomorrow. Stepanov's telegraph wire would not have reached the camps yet. They could wait for more Red Cross jeeps and go as a true convoy, the way the Red Cross entered Buchenwald after the war ended. They could have more support. They could go via the hospitals in Berlin itself to see if they needed help. They could have some lunch. The military governor invited them to lunch and was going to introduce them to the generals of the U.S. Marines stationed in Berlin. Tatiana was listening while making them sandwiches and taking all their belongings into the jeep. Then she took Martin's keys, unlocked the doors, pointed to the wheel and said, "Tell me everything, but tell me on the way. Should I drive, or do you want to?"

"Nurse! Have you not been listening to a word I was saying?"

"I've been listening very carefully. You said you were hungry. I have sandwiches for you. You said you wanted to meet a general. You will meet the commandant of the largest concentration camp in Germany in just over an hour if we hurry and don't get lost." Sachsenhausen was about twenty-five miles north of Berlin.

"We need to call Red Cross in Hamburg."

"Governor Bishop is doing that for us. It's all taken care of. We just need to go. Right now."

They got into the truck.

"Where do you think we should start?" said Martin in sulky capitulation. "Apparently Sachsenhausen has one hundred subcamps. Maybe we should start with a few of those. Show me the map. They're small, we could get through them quickly."

"Depending on what you find there," said Tatiana. "But no, we should head for Sachsenhausen." She did not show Martin the map.

"Hmm, no, I don't think so," said Martin. "On my information sheet it says the population of Sachsenhausen is twelve thousand prisoners. We don't have enough kits."

"We'll get more."

"What's the point? Why don't we just wait until we get more?"

"How long would you wait to give life support, Dr. Flanagan?" said Tatiana. "Not too long, right?"

"They've waited for us all these months, they can wait another couple of days, no?"

"I don't think they can, no."

Evgeny Brestov, the commandant of the camp was surprised, "shocked, actually," to find the three of them at his doorstep. "You're here to inspect my what?" he said to Tatiana in Russian. He had not asked to see her credentials. Her uniform seemed to be enough for him. He was an overweight, underwashed, sloppily dressed man who quite obviously drank unconscionably.

"We're here to tend to the sick. Hasn't the military commander of Berlin been in touch with you?" Tatiana was the only one able to speak to him.

"Where did you learn Russian?" he asked her.

"At an American university," Tatiana replied. "I don't think I'm very good."

"Oh, no, no, your Russian is excellent."

Brestov walked with them down the road to his administrative offices where a telegraph wire from Stepanov marked "Urgent" was waiting for him.

"Well, if it's urgent, it's urgent," said Brestov. "Why hasn't anyone brought me this!" he bellowed. And then, "Why such urgency now, I don't understand. Everything is good. We are keeping up with the new regulations. If you ask me there are too many of them. Regulations. They ask us to do the impossible, then they complain when we don't do it to their liking."

"Of course. It must be very difficult."

He nodded vigorously. "So difficult. The guards have no experience. How are they going to manage a trained killing force like the Germans? You know they put up that sign on the gate to the camp, 'Work Makes You Free' or something. You'd think the Fritzes would do a little bit of it."

"Maybe they know it won't make them free," said Tatiana.

"It might. We're discussing terms with the Germans. It certainly won't if they continue to be so recalcitrant."

"So who does the work?"

Brestov fell quiet. "Oh, you know..." he said, and changed the subject. "I'm going to introduce you to my superintendent, Lieutenant Ivan Karolich. He oversees the daily routine of the camp."

"Where can we safely keep our truck?"

"Safely? Nowhere. Park it in front of my house. Lock it up."

Tatiana looked down the wooded path and saw that the commandant's house was several hundred yards from the camp's gatehouse. "Could we park it inside the camp? Otherwise, too hard for us to carry thousands of kits. You have what, twelve thousand in there?"

"Give or take."

"Which is it, give or take?"

"Give."

"How many?"

"Four thousand."

"Sixteen thousand men!" Then with less inflection Tatiana said, "I thought the camp was built to house only twelve thousand. Did you construct new barracks?"

"No, we stuffed them all in the sixty barracks we have. We can't build new barracks for them. All the lumber we log in Germany goes back to the Soviet Union to rebuild our cities."

"I see. So can we park inside the gate?"

"Well, all right. What do you have in your truck, anyway?"

"Medical supplies for the sick. Canned ham. Dried milk. Two bushels of apples. Wool blankets."

"The sick will get better. And they're eating too much as it is. It's summer, we don't need blankets. Have you got anything to drink there?" He coughed. "Besides dried milk, that is?"

"Why, yes, Commandant!" Tatiana said, glancing at Martin, and taking Brestov's arm as she led him to the back of the jeep. "I've got just the thing you need." She took out a bottle of vodka. Brestov relieved her of it swiftly.

A sheepish Martin drove the jeep through the gatehouse and parked it on the right-hand side. "The camp looks like an army base," he said quietly to Tatiana. "It's so well designed."

"Hmm," she said. "I bet when the Germans ran it, it was cleaner, better kept. Now look at it."

And true, the walls of the buildings were chipping, the grass was sloppy and uncut, wooden planks from broken window frames lay haphazardly on the grass. The iron was rusting. It had an unpainted, dogged, Soviet look.

"Did you know," Brestov said, "and translate for your friends here, that this camp used to be a model camp? This is where SS guards were trained."

"Yes," said Tatiana. "The Germans really knew how to build camps."

"A lot of fucking good it did them, excuse my language," said Brestov. "Now they're all rotting in their model camps."

Tatiana pulled herself up to stare gravely at the commandant, who coughed in embarrassment. "Where is your superintendent?"

Brestov introduced Lieutenant Karolich, and left the four of them to get oriented. Karolich was a tall, neat man who enjoyed his food. Though he was fairly young, he had the jowly look of someone who'd been eating lard too long. His hands were meticulously clean, Tatiana noticed, as she gave him her hand to shake. How someone with such sanitized hands managed a disease-ridden camp full of unwashed men, Tatiana had no idea. She asked for a walk-through of the camp grounds.

The camp was large and though poorly maintained, the original pie-shaped design of being widest at the front and narrowest at the back made it easy to shoot at prisoners from the gatehouse all the way to the back apex four hundred yards away. The barracks, laid out in three concentric smaller and smaller semi-circles in front of the gatehouse, housed most of the German civilians and soldiers.

The hangings used to take place prominently in the middle of the first semi-circle, perhaps after morning roll call. "Where are your officers housed?" asked Tatiana as they came up to the infirmary.

"Oh, they..." Karolich trailed off. "They're in the former Allied barracks."

"Where is that?"

"Just beyond the perimeter, at the back of the camp."

"Well, Lieutenant Karolich, are the German officers so well taken care of that they don't need our help?"

"No, I don't think that's true."

"So? Let's see them."

Karolich coughed. "I think there might be some Russians there, too."

"All right."

"Well, it's a problem to let you into those barracks."

"Why? We will help them, too. Lieutenant, perhaps you misunderstand me. We are here to feed your prisoners. We are here to administer alms. The doctor is here to heal your sick and ailing. So why don't we start? Why don't you escort Dr. Flanagan and Nurse Davenport to the infirmary and leave them to do their work, and then you and I will walk through the barracks to help your men. Let's start at the officers' camp, shall we?"

Dumbfounded, Karolich stared at her. "The commandant told me you would like to have-um-some lunch." He stumbled on his words. "I'm having the kitchen prepare something special. Perhaps have a rest in the afternoon? The commandant has made nice rooms available to you and your staff."

"Thank you so much. We will eat and rest when the work is done, Lieutenant. Let's begin."

"What can you do without the doctor?"

"Why, nearly everything. Unless you need brain surgery performed, but I don't know if even our doctor can help there."

"No, no."

Tatiana was too tense to smile. She continued. "Everything pertaining to the sick and wounded, I can do. I can stitch, and wash and bandage, I can administer blood and morphine, treat any kind of infectious disease, prepare medications, make diagnoses, treat lice, reduce fever, shave heads to prevent further problems." She patted her nurse's bag. "Most everything I need is in here. When I run out, my jeep is full of additional supplies."

Karolich muttered something unintelligible, mumbled that the camps didn't need blood, or morphine, they were just internment camps.

"Nobody has died in your camps?"

"People die, Nurse," Karolich said haughtily. "Of course they die. But you can't do much for those, can you?"

Blinking, Tatiana didn't reply, flying fleetingly back to all the people in her life she had tried to save and could not.

"Tania," Martin whispered, "the commandant had mentioned lunch, no?"

"Oh, yes," she said, taking her nurse's bag. "But I told them we just ate." She leveled Martin with a look. "Dr. Flanagan, we did just eat, didn't we?"

He stammered.

"I thought so. You and Penny head right to the infirmary barracks. I will start with the officers' barracks and see what I can do there."

Since Tatiana was the only bridge between the cultures and the nations and the languages, she was the only one in charge. Martin and Penny went to the infirmary.

She and Karolich came back to the jeep and opened the back doors. Tatiana stared at the medical kits, at the food parcels, at the apples, trying to get her bearings. She turned away from Karolich for just a few moments because she was afraid. She didn't want him to see her fear. Without looking at him, she said, to stall for time, to give herself another moment, "Do you have an adjutant? I think we need an extra person. Also maybe a handtruck." She paused. "To carry the medical kits and the apples."

"I'll carry them," Karolich said.

Now she turned to him. She was calmer, more in control. "Then who will carry the machine gun, Lieutenant?" They stood silent in front of each other for a few moments, until Tatiana was sure he had absorbed the meaning of what she was getting across to him.

Karolich flushed uncomfortably. "The men are all right, Nurse. They won't bother you."

"Lieutenant Karolich, I don't for a moment doubt that in another life many of them were decent men, but I've also had four months of reality and three years of nursing the German POWs on the American front. I have few illusions. And I think it's bad form for a nurse to brandish her own protection, don't you?"

"You are completely right." He wasn't looking at her anymore. Asking her to wait, he retrieved his assistant, a sergeant. They precariously loaded a bushel of apples and thirty kits onto a wobbling handtruck and set off for the officers' barracks.

The sergeant waited outside with the kits. Tatiana, lugging a burlap bag full of apples in one hand, walked through the first two barracks, holding on to Karolich's arm with the other. She didn't want to, but she suddenly realized that if she saw Alexander on one of those nasty, filthy, too-close-together bunks, she might not be able to hide what was inside her.

She glanced through the bunks, two men per bunk, handed them an apple and moved on. Sometimes, if they were sleeping, she touched them, sometimes she pulled back their blankets. She listened to their calls, their banter, to the sound of their voices. She ran out of apples very quickly. She didn't open her nurse's bag once.

"What do you think?" Karolich said, when they stepped outside.

"What do I think? Terrible," she said, deeply breathing in the fresh air. "But at least the men were alive."

"You didn't stop to examine any of them."

"Lieutenant," she said, "I will give you my full report when we have gone through all the barracks. I need to write down the few I have to come back to, the few that require immediate medical attention from Dr. Flanagan. But I have a method for doing this. I can tell by the odor who is sick with what, who needs what, who is alive and who is dying. I can tell by the temperature of their skin and by the color of their face. I can also tell by their voices. If they, like those men were, are calling out, shouting things in German at me, reaching out for me, then I know things aren't too bad. When they don't move, or worse when they follow me with their eyes but don't make a sound, that's when I start to worry. Those two barracks had live men in it. Have your sergeant give out the small medical kits to each and every one of them. Next."

They went through the next two. Not as good here. She covered two of the men lying in their beds and told Karolich they needed to be taken out and buried. Five men had raging fevers. Seventeen had open sores. She had to stop and dress their wounds. Soon she ran out of bandages and had to return to the truck to get more. She stopped by the infirmary on her way back and got Penny and Dr. Flanagan to come with her. "The situation is worse than I thought," she said to them.

"Not as bad as in here. The men here are dying of dysentery," said Martin.