The Gold of Troy

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The fighting had reached the western edge of the city; the shattered buildings, the burning trees of the Gruenwald, the tilted telephone poles, dangling wires, all testified to the ferocity of the battle, now approaching the Elbe. The troops under the command of Captain Mikhail Sudikoff had borne their share of the attack, and the captain heard with relief from his radio-man that his battered company had been detached from the fighting and were to retire to the larger of the two bunkers at the Berlin zoo, now firmly in the control of Russian troops, for rest and what little recreation they could find.

The bunker lay like a huge obscene blister on the crater-filled area of the zoo; the last of the many paintings that had been stored there by the Nazis — depriving residents of the city precious space during the air-raids — were in the process of being removed. The young Russian lieutenant in charge of the operation smiled at Sudikoff and made a welcoming gesture.

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