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broken as far as I can tell, but the back of her leg is badly lacerated and she’s losing a lot of blood.” Natalia shot a quick glance at Alida. “Tighten that belt!” Blood was already soaking through the makeshift bandage, and Natalia motioned to Zeeka. “Help me roll her onto her back again, gently, and we’ll get that leg elevated. We’ve got to get her to a medic fast or she’ll—”
    Her voice was drowned out by a thunderous roar from across the street as the wall of flames engulfed the lower two floors of the eight-story PAST tower, climbing rapidly, blowing out windows in a relentless upward thrust. Dozens of shrieking German soldiers, their clothes ablaze, stumbled out through the main entrance or tumbled out first floor windows. The flames rocketed upward, engulfing floor after floor until they reached the top where dozens of men were trapped in the tower.
    Natalia watched, dumbstruck with horror, as German soldiers leaped to their deaths, dark silhouettes flailing against the fire-lit sky.

Nine
    21 A UGUST
    N ATALIA DIPPED A CLOTH in a pan of cool water, wrung it out and laid it gently across Berta’s forehead. She placed the back of her hand against her friend’s cheek. It was warm, but not hot, and that was good. Though it had been more than twelve hours, she knew Berta was still in danger. The few remaining doctors in Warsaw were all working round-the-clock in makeshift hospitals. But Zeeka had somehow managed to dig up a stretcher and then find a medic, as the others carried Berta from what was left of the PAST building to the women commando’s quarters on Trebacka Street. It had taken almost two hours and fifty stitches to close Berta’s leg wound, but there were no antibiotics and Natalia knew that the greatest danger over the next few days would be infection.
    Fortunately the medic did have morphine. He’d given Berta two shots to get her through the procedure, and she had slept fitfully through the rest of the night and most of the next day. Natalia stayed with her, dozing on and off, and holding Berta’s hand whenever her friend woke up. By evening the morphine had worn off, and Berta was awake, groaning whenever she moved her leg. “God . . . damn it,” she muttered in a mushy, slurred voice, “of all . . . the . . . rotten luck.”
    Natalia set the cloth aside, brought over a bowl of weak vegetable soup and fed her a spoonful.
    Berta grimaced. “Ach, that’s . . . horrible.”
    Natalia nodded, “Yep, same as always. But it’s all we’ve got, and you’ve got to keep up your strength.” She lifted the sheet and examined Berta’s leg, which was elevated with her left foot resting on a wooden crate. The jagged line of stitches ran up the back of her thigh, ending just under the buttocks. The medic had done an adequate job, but her leg was badly swollen. The skin on either side of the stitches was taut and deep red with a yellowish puss oozing from the wound.
    Berta looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “So, former medical student . . . how does it look?”
    â€œYou’re lucky it didn’t get your knee,” Natalia said half-heartedly, knowing that wasn’t Berta’s real problem. More than half the deaths among the AK commandos were the result of infections from the unsanitary conditions and lack of medicines.
    Berta gripped Natalia’s hand. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “You can’t . . . stay here . . . and nursemaid me. Go get some rest. I’ll be fine.”
    Natalia smiled at her, wiped her brow again and picked up the spoon. “Shut up and eat some of this delicious soup.”
    Ula and Zeeka arrived a little after ten o’clock that evening. Ula was carrying a white cotton shirt that she handed to Natalia.
    â€œMy God, where did you get this?” Natalia exclaimed, taking off her coat and slipping on