"Come on." They led him toward the ridge. "We can't stay here. It
isn't safe. There must be hundreds of them all around here."
The three of them pulled him up the side of the ridge, sliding and
slipping on the ash. The woman reached the top and stood waiting for
them.
"The forward command," Hendricks muttered. "I came to negotiate with
the Soviet--"
"There is no more forward command. _They_ got in. We'll explain." They
reached the top of the ridge. "We're all that's left. The three of us.
The rest were down in the bunker."
"This way. Down this way." The woman unscrewed a lid, a gray manhole
cover set in the ground. "Get in."
Hendricks lowered himself. The two soldiers and the woman came behind
him, following him down the ladder. The woman closed the lid after
them, bolting it tightly into place.
"Good thing we saw you," one of the two soldiers grunted. "It had
tagged you about as far as it was going to."
* * * * *
"Give me one of your cigarettes," the woman said. "I haven't had an
American cigarette for weeks."
Hendricks pushed the pack to her. She took a cigarette and passed the
pack to the two soldiers. In the corner of the small room the lamp
gleamed fitfully. The room was low-ceilinged, cramped. The four of
them sat around a small wood table. A few dirty dishes were stacked to
one side. Behind a ragged curtain a second room was partly visible.
Hendricks saw the corner of a cot, some blankets, clothes hung on a
hook.
"We were here," the soldier beside him said. He took off his helmet,
pushing his blond hair back. "I'm Corporal Rudi Maxer. Polish.
Impressed in the Soviet Army two years ago." He held out his hand.