In Their Mother's Footsteps

by Mary Wood

  In the end, though, Vlady had shown that although his opinion of Jhona had lessened, he was still loyal to him. Overnight he had arranged to have Jhona whisked away by friends of his and brought to where he was now. Influences had been brought to bear, favours called in and threats made, all resulting in a journey across Russia and the Ukraine, and he was finally dropped not many miles from this border. For that, he found forgiveness in his heart. Vlady had taken a great risk and would have to convince his organization that Jhona had escaped, as there was no way that Gevork would not report his presence to his superiors.

  It would have been easier and much safer for Vlady to have detained Jhona until the authorities arrived, and not to have cared that he faced being shot or sent to his certain death by torture, starvation or sheer hard labour in a Siberian concentration camp.

  Just before they’d parted, Vlady had said, ‘Do one thing for me, Jhona. Keep Gevork’s action a secret from the British authorities. They may think that by exposing one of their own he has shown his true allegiance to Russia.’

  Jhona had nodded and shaken Vlady’s hand, but had been puzzled by Vlady even thinking that the British would expect any less of Gevork. All he did was show Russian intelligence that he meant to carry out his duty to the letter, and that could only make him more valuable to the British, because he had already proved that he meant to do the same for them.

  As he went over everything that had happened, Jhona began to feel a little less hurt by Vlady’s actions. The business of spying was a cold-blooded one, and mistakes were punishable by death. He hoped and prayed that Vlady would be believed when he told how the British agent he’d had in his custody had escaped.

  Jhona also hoped that he would meet Vlady again when war was a thing of the past, and that they could be friends once more, but he doubted it. Vlady would always be a spy. His action in helping Jhona was probably the last contact they would ever have.

  For Jhona, there wasn’t a lot of difference being in Poland from being in Russia. Here, even though it was his own country, he was the enemy, too. He was a Jew. Jews had no hiding place. Jews were interned, murdered and forgotten by the world.

  His only hope was to try to get to the Tatra Mountains, to Baruch and the Resistance. Hopefully Elka would be there and he could be lifted out with her. Or he could serve the purpose of war and liberation by joining the Freedom Army. But first he needed to see Elka. His heart thudded at the thought of his beautiful wife. Where are you, my darling? How I long to be with you and to hold you in my arms.

  This thought weakened him. He sank down to the grass. From his vantage point he could see the beautiful city of Krakow looming in the distance.

  In the days before his exposure, Vlady had told him about the Germans’ treatment of the Jews and of their plans to pen them all in ghettos; and how the Jews were used as forced labour, and the weak disposed of. He said that he knew a lot about what went on in Poland, and none of it was good for the Jews. Jhona thought at the time that it wasn’t only the Germans who persecuted the Jews, as he knew many had also been sent to labour camps by the Russians.

  He found himself between two devils: behind him was the tyranny of the might of Russia, and in front of him was the tyranny of the German Reich. But he knew the geography of his own country well, was equipped with survival skills and had expert knowledge of many different aspects of clandestine operations. All of this would help him in his quest.

  Feeling more confident, he made for the wooded area to his left. He needed to get out of sight. Patrols of either side could come along at any moment. Once shielded from view, deep in thick undergrowth in a ditch under a hedge, Jhona scraped away at the turf next to him, drawing a map so as to focus his attention on what he must avoid and which shortcuts would help to speed up his progress to Zakopane. It was a journey of only sixty miles or so, but one fraught with danger. He would need to keep away from the main roads and travel across fields, which would make the distance much longer, as he would have to skirt Krakow. But the good thing was that the land would yield plenty for him to live off. Water would be a problem until he reached higher ground, as the many mountain streams trickled along their way to meet up with the Vistula river.

  Travel would have to be done at night, so that he would have the cover of darkness. It would be better too for breaking into buildings to steal items that he would need: a knife, a shaving kit and soap, a bottle for carrying water and a shoulder bag of sorts. He might even get lucky and be able to steal a gun and ammunition from a farm. Most farmers would have these for hunting purposes. Perhaps he could also steal a pair of binoculars, to enable him to keep watch and to check out the next part of his journey during daylight hours. They would also enable him to see patrols long before they were a danger to him, and to see in advance where checkpoints were situated so that he could avoid them.

  Feeling much more positive, Jhona lay back. The damp of the turf beneath him seeped through his clothes, but he didn’t care. He was free, and he had to concentrate on remaining that way. As his eyes closed, he hoped with all his heart that Elka had found his letter before she’d left for Poland again. Then she would know where he was and might feel confident that Vlady would keep him safe.

  The news that he hadn’t checked in with his contact might have set off alarm bells back at base by now. If it had, then he hoped the news hadn’t reached Elka. Not yet. All he needed was time. A week at the most, and copious amounts of luck, and he could be by her side again. Please God, make that possible!

  A sound woke him. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, and was surprised to find the light was fading when he opened his eyes. He sat upright, immediately alert.

  As he peered around him, a movement to his left caught his attention. A figure darted from one tree to the next. Jhona swallowed. Apprehension prickled the hairs on his neck. He waited, not moving a sinew of his body. The figure moved closer to him, repeating his dash between the trees. Jhona wondered if the man had spotted him sleeping and was creeping up on him. Was he German, or a Russian soldier?

  The figure moved again. This time Jhona saw that he held a rifle in front of him. A twig snapped beneath the man’s feet and a squeal split the air. Jhona looked towards the sound and saw a wild boar running away. The man chased after it. Relief flooded Jhona, but he also realized that he was within yards of a gun. Yes, it was a hunting rifle, but any gun that he could get hold of would increase his chances of reaching Baruch.

  Climbing out of the bush on the opposite side to the hunter, Jhona kept his head down and ran in the same direction as him, moving as fast as his bent position would allow him to.

  The crack of a shot rang out. The echo of the explosion deafened him and sent flocks of birds soaring high in the sky, increasing the noise level with their squawks of fear.

  Jhona fell to the ground and waited.

  In the silence that descended, the smell of sulphur told him he was near his quarry. Rising, he ran ahead once more. His tread was soft and soundless on the lush grass of the hedgerow. He spotted a hole big enough for him to crawl through. It was just what he needed. Nearby, he saw the back of the hunter as he bent over the dead pig. The knife that the man drew from his belt glinted in the weak rays of the sun that filtered through the trees. When the hunter slit and bled the pig, Jhona rushed forward and jumped him.

  ‘What the . . . ?’

  Jhona held the hunter in a lock from which he couldn’t escape, before swiftly executing a move that rendered him unconscious.

  Working at speed, he carved a leg off the beast, took off his belt, tied it around the leg and slung it over his shoulder. He felt satisfied that he had meat to eat tonight, but had left plenty for the hunter to take home to his family, or to sell on the black market. The knife would be useful to him. He smiled as he tucked it into his pocket. This chance encounter was proving a godsend.

  It was then that he heard the rumble of wheels and a heavy engine. Fear once more made him alert. It must be a patrol! What if they’d h
eard the rifle shot?

  The engine sound came nearer and then died. Jhona dropped the pig’s leg to the ground. He didn’t want to leave a trail of blood that could lead people to him. Grabbing the gun and rifling through the ammunition belt, he stuffed as many bullets into his other pocket as he could and ran. His body slammed against the side of the nearest tree that would put him out of sight. Voices came to him – Russian voices. Working as silently as he could, he loaded the gun, praying that the noise they were making would cover that of snapping the gun closed over the bullet he’d inserted. Trying to control his breathing, he listened.

  ‘Come out, Mikhail, we know you are there. Show yourself. Share whatever it is that you have caught.’

  The command wasn’t aggressive. It was obvious as they came nearer that they were in a jovial mood. It seemed, from what they were saying, that the hunter often tried to elude them, so that he didn’t have to give them some of his spoils.

  Peeping around the tree, Jhona’s heart sank. The men were Russian soldiers. One caught sight of Mikhail and stopped in his tracks, before shouting to the others. ‘Get down. Get down, I tell you. Look, someone has attacked Mikhail!’

  The three hit the ground. Jhona held his breath. If he moved, they would hear him; dry pieces of branch and dead foliage that would snap under his step were strewn all around him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his face. A fly played around his bloodied jacket, and was quickly joined by another. Their buzz sounded to him like the engine of an aeroplane as more joined them, setting up a frenzy of activity that made him fear they would attract attention to him. He had no choice but to go on the offensive.

  ‘Stay down or I’ll shoot!’ His command was obeyed, but Jhona felt sick at the thought that this is what he would have to do. He’d never killed a man in his life, and now he would have to kill three.

  ‘Throw your guns away from you – now.’ Jhona could see them from his vantage point behind the tree. One of the soldiers looked up and asked, ‘Who are you? If you are Russian, why would you want to kill us?’

  ‘Shut up and throw your gun away from you. Do it!’ His internal conflict was agonizing. He prayed: Please God, forgive me.

  The blast assaulted his ears, rendering him deaf. The head of the soldier who had questioned him splintered into a bloodied mess. The other two made as if to get up and run. Jhona reloaded and fired, and his accurate aim meant that the second soldier died in the same way as his comrade. Ready in seconds to take his third shot, Jhona looked down the sight of the rifle and no longer saw a soldier – his enemy – but a young boy of no more than sixteen years of age on his feet, begging, ‘No, no, don’t kill me.’ His face held a terror the like of which Jhona had never seen before, and he knew as he squeezed the trigger that it would remain with him until his dying day.

  Tears blinded him as he reloaded and stepped out from behind the tree. Stealthily he crept towards the prostrate body of the man he now knew was called Mikhail. He appeared still to be unconscious. If that was so, and as he hadn’t seen Jhona and so couldn’t describe him, he could be spared.

  Jhona thrust the barrel of the gun into the man’s ribs. It was not possible for Mikhail not to react, if he was faking. There was no reaction. With a cold calculation that he wouldn’t have been capable of a couple of months ago, Jhona removed the bag Mikhail had slung over his shoulder, then searched him for anything that might be of use. He found a sling, more ammunition and a water bottle. Finally, picking up the pig’s leg that was still attached to his belt, he left the scene.

  Stumbling blindly through thicket, catching and tearing his skin on brambles and tripping on the protruding roots of trees, he tried to put as much distance as he could between himself and the carnage he’d caused. How was it that he – a gentle person, a man who loved people – could turn into a killer? Would he ever again be the same man he had been? At this moment he didn’t feel fit to be the husband of his beautiful Elka. He’d killed, and for no other reason than to save his own skin.

  When he thought he’d put enough distance between him and the scene, he sat down. Trying to get his thoughts into order, he went over the options he might have had, but none of them would have guaranteed that he would still be alive and free. Wasn’t it his duty to remain so? Didn’t he owe that much to Elka and his family? And yes, to his country? All those who could fight must try to remain alive to do so. Those soldiers would have killed him, or taken him prisoner, which would have meant that he’d have been sent to a concentration camp and his ultimate death.

  These thoughts put strength back into him. Getting up, Jhona continued on his journey, knowing that he was now fully in the German-occupied territory of Poland. But he also knew that his fellow countrymen would not, or could not, offer him protection. He had to look to himself for this, and be prepared to tackle whatever was necessary to survive and to carry on to fight another day and, above all, to get back to his beloved Elka.

  24

  Brendan

  London, July 1940 – A Strength to Admire

  Seeing the dejected figure of Elka step from the plane caused Brendan’s heart to flip. In the short time he’d known her, Brendan had become very fond of Elka and felt responsible for her. Now he had to face telling her that Jhona was missing.

  Edith had asked to come with him to meet Elka, but Brendan hadn’t been able to let her, as the plane was coming in to Biggin Hill and only authorized personnel could go there.

  He stood on the grass verge outside one of the hangers. Around him air-force pilots sat in groups on the grass or on upturned oil drums, enjoying a respite from their rigorous training. None of them looked older than twenty years of age. All were seemingly relaxed, though all were fully kitted out and ready to go. Each, he could see, constantly looked to the skies. There had been intelligence that the Germans were planning to annihilate the airfield and destroy its fleet of aircraft, before invading Britain. It was a red-alert situation.

  What these men faced, and the burden upon them, was great. If they failed, then Britain wouldn’t stand a chance. And yet Brendan didn’t feel despair. Yes, the task would be enormous; and yes, it was known that the Luftwaffe had almost twice as much air power as the British did; but he felt confident that with the excellent radar system Britain had in place, and with the skill and courage of these men, Germany would not succeed.

  As he waited, he looked back to see Elka walking towards him. He dreaded what he had to tell her, but her demeanour told him something else had hit her in the gut. She looked like a defeated woman. What had happened to cause this change in her? As he went forward to meet her, he held out his arms, not caring how it would look. When she came into them, a cheer went up, but he couldn’t acknowledge the teasing joviality of the watching airmen. Something was very wrong. Elka slumped into him. Her body shook with sobs.

  ‘Elka, what is it? What has happened? You’re injured? How? Come on, let’s get you through security. I have a car waiting to take you to London. We have to go straight to HQ, but then we can go to your mother. She can’t wait to see you. I had the Devil’s own job stopping her from coming to meet you.’

  ‘I – I’m glad that you did. I have terrible news. I can’t bear it, Brendan, I can’t.’

  The fear of what was weighing her down kept him from saying the one name he was certain was the cause. Ania. Please God, no! Please don’t let the news be that Ania has been caught.

  Leading Elka through the security checks, he was glad when they finally walked towards his car. He’d commandeered an official vehicle with a driver, so that he could sit in the back with Elka and gently break his news to her. Now he wished that he was anywhere but here, and had anything other than what he had to impart, as he could see that Elka was already struggling to cope.

  As they settled into the deep red-leather seats, Elka eased herself painfully into a position where she could look at him. Her voice trembled. ‘Ania is dead.’ The breath she had sucked in came out on a moan. ‘Ania, Ania – Ania.’
Her head shook with each reciting of the name, and her face had the look of someone hearing, and attempting to absorb, terrible news.

  Her eyes opened wide, giving her the appearance of having just witnessed a horrific act. ‘They killed her! They dragged her through degradation – made her the dregs of the gutter. Then they killed her.’ As she took another deep breath, her voice deepened into an angry growl, causing spittle to spray from her mouth and shattering Brendan’s perception that she had been talking about the Germans. ‘We have to kill them. Betray them to the Germans and let them die the slow death of torture. Help me to do that, Brendan. Help me.’ Her body jerked violently. Spittle ran down her chin.

  Alarmed and afraid for her, Brendan leaned forward and spoke to his driver. ‘Take us straight to the nearest hospital, please.’

  ‘That’s about twenty miles away, sir, the Kent and Sussex.’

  ‘Just do it, and as quickly as possible.’ Leaning back, he held Elka to him, trying to soothe her without causing her more pain. As he stroked her hair she became calmer. Using his handkerchief, he wiped her face and eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Brendan. I – I have so much pain knotted inside me.’

  ‘Don’t try to talk. Rest your head on my shoulder, that’s right. Close your eyes for a little while, we’re taking you to hospital.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. Get me back to my mother. She will take care of me.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Please, Brendan. You know that Mother is a doctor – she is the best one to give me care. I need to be with her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you have your debriefing to go through before you can go home. Even if we go to the hospital, guards will be placed around you until we can speak to you.’

  As Elka slumped back in the seat, Brendan wanted so much to take her to her mother. They needed to be together, to share the grief that would be as devastating to Edith as it was to Elka. But he had to follow orders. ‘If you feel up to it, we will go to HQ and speak to Colonel Wright, who is expecting us.’