The Katyn Order by Douglas W. Jacobson

gathering a bowl of water, a few clean rags and tweezers, Natalia painstakingly extracted the bits of dirt and gravel, and cleaned the boy’s wound. Tears trickled down his cheeks and he gritted his teeth the whole time, but he didn’t cry. She wrapped his forehead with the last clean scrap of cloth she could find, wishing again for antibiotics. She stayed with him for a while, telling a few stories, until he seemed to fall asleep.
    She checked on Berta, but her friend was also asleep. Her face was flushed, her brow furled with pain. Natalia decided to let her rest, and spent the next three hours doing what she could to help the priest and two nuns in what was clearly a futile effort.
    Dozens of people—many of them no older than Rabbit—lay semiconscious on blood-soaked cots, with mangled hands or feet, chest wounds, burns or shrapnel wounds. They groaned and twitched. Sweat dripped from their ravaged, soiled bodies. Natalia knew most of them wouldn’t survive more than a few days without real medical attention.
    Finally, Natalia wiped blood from her hands and sweat from her forehead, and went back to see Berta. She edged her way through the line of cots, carrying a tin cup half full of precious, scarce water.
    Berta’s eyes were open now, and she managed a smile when Natalia knelt down and took her hand. “How do you feel?”
    â€œAwful,” Berta croaked. “It’s so damn hot . . . I can barely . . . breathe.” Her face glistened with perspiration, and Natalia put a hand on her forehead. The cellar was sweltering. Natalia was so hot herself it was impossible to tell if Berta’s fever had worsened. And even if it had, there was nothing they could do about it.
    Natalia held the cup of water to Berta’s lips. She took a sip and laid her head back on the stained, wafer-thin pillow. “When can I get out of here?” she asked. Her voice was little more than a croaky whisper, her eyes glazed and distant.
    Natalia smiled at her. “As soon as you can put some weight on that leg, I’ll get you out of here. Maybe a day or two.”
    â€œYeah, sure. Nice try.” She pointed at Natalia’s face. “What happened to you?”
    Natalia had to think for a second, then remembered how she must look. “Oh, it’s nothing. I bumped into a post.”
    â€œLooks like someone . . . took a poke . . .” Berta’s eyes closed. “It’s . . . so hot in here . . .”
    Natalia glanced around. The elderly nun was on the other side of the room changing the dressings of a severely burned young girl, who was mercifully unconscious. Natalia cursed under her breath. She had to get back to her unit. But she didn’t want to leave Berta. One patient with an infection wasn’t going to get any special treatment in this makeshift hospital with virtually no staff and no medications. Berta couldn’t walk, and even if she could, where could she take her? Now that they’d abandoned the apartment on Trebacka Street, Natalia and the rest of the commandos in her unit hunkered down wherever they happened to be, like the rest of the AK now trapped in Old Town. As crappy as this place was, at least Berta was off the streets.
    â€œDo you remember . . . when we first met?” Berta had opened her eyes again.
    â€œYes, I doubt I could ever forget it,” Natalia said, remembering the gruesome incident on the train. “You were the strong one that day. I’m not sure if I could have continued on if you hadn’t been there for me.”
    Berta reached over and took her hand with a surprisingly strong grip. “You’ll survive this.”
    Natalia’s eyes clouded up. “So will you, Berta. We’ll survive it together. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
    â€œDon’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Like you said . . . in a day or two.”

Twelve
    26 A UGUST
    A DAM KNELT with his elbow resting on the sill of the