With the shortage of horses, the cavalrymen were now as many as three to a single horse, although each of the wounded was carried, as gently as possible, on a horse with only one other rider. The small force was no longer fit for combat; they left their mortars and last machine gun behind. Kaz made some quick calculations of the distance back to the river, estimating their current position as best he could. If there were no interruptions, and if the horses held up under the strain, they might make it back to the Bzura River by daybreak.
They did. Just as the first glimmer of dawn lit the eastern sky, they arrived back across the River. Kaz had sent several men ahead, shouting in Polish through the dark, to avoid being mistakenly attacked by their countrymen.
The defenders were in an increasingly desperate situation. In concert with the pocket of troops around Poznan, they had surprised the Germans with their counterattacks; an estimated four thousand Germans had been killed. But it had not taken long for the Germans to respond. Kaz's experience had been typical: German planes had strafed many of the intruding Polish groups. German artillery on the western side of the Bzura was now retaliating fiercely to the fire from the Polish guns. Even more devastating were the attacks from Stuka dive-bombers.
By now, however, many of the Poles had seen the ruthless hand of the German invaders, and were determined to hold out. When would help come from the West? When would the French distract the Germans by launching an assault?
On Sept. 17, just two and a half weeks after the start of the German invasion, the Poles had an answer—of sorts. The French were doing nothing. The Poles, not the Germans, would have to fight on two fronts. Hitler's new ally, Joseph Stalin, played his part as the jackal, attacking the dying Polish state from the rear. Four columns of Soviet troops thrust rapidly through the light defenses into Eastern Poland. The position of Kaz and the other defenders along the Bzura River now became untenable; the order came to withdraw to Warsaw, to strengthen its defenses.
When Kaz got back to the Polish lines after his incursion around the German flank, he was relieved to find Jan still alive; many officers had been killed. Kaz was promoted to captain because of his successful raid. Together with Jan and two young infantry lieutenants, Karol Kwiatkowski and Edward Szymczak, Kaz was to command a group of about 120 men during the retreat.
When they reached Warsaw, many buildings had been destroyed by bombing and artillery. Fires raged out of control in several sectors of the city; the fire department was overwhelmed.
Kaz, Jan, Karol, and Edward took up defensive positions with their men in a group of buildings and newly dug trenches. In their exposed position, Kaz expected the worst, but he was lucky: the Germans apparently wanted to avoid the casualties that would come with house-to-house fighting, and intended to bombard Warsaw from the air and with artillery until it surrendered.
Several days later, as the bombardment continued, Kaz and Jan were summoned to headquarters several kilometers to the southeast, to report to Army Intelligence. When they arrived, they were met by Maj. Zagorski, a middle-aged officer with a droopy mustache and sad eyes:
“I wanted to ask you about your recent forays around the German flanks.”
Jan responded first. “We ran into a German patrol almost immediately, sir. In the ensuing fire fight, four of our men were wounded. I sent them back across the river, escorted by three uninjured men. Although we were left shorthanded, we succeeded in ambushing three supply columns, destroying ten trucks, two of which exploded.
“Any evidence of German atrocities?” Major Zagorski wanted to know. “We want information to pass on to the French and British. They might actually bestir themselves.”
“Yes indeed, sir,” Kaz reported. “One of my patrols came back with a report of the SS locking two hundred Jews in a synagogue, then lighting it on fire. We also entered a town where two dozen boy scouts and a priest had been murdered by the SS; I personally counted the twenty-five bodies.”
Maj. Zagorski carefully wrote down the details, repeatedly licking the end of his pencil to keep it writing on the grimy paper. Kaz also mentioned the military units identified by Krueger. He did not report what had happened to Krueger. The Major did not ask.
Kaz was interested not only in giving information, but also in finding out what was going on. “I understand that German atrocities are common. Is this correct, sir?”
“Yes, there have been many, most carried out by the SS. They add up to a barbaric, dreary picture. There are also some very strange events.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The oddest—Heinrich Himmler has begun to travel around Poland in his special train, which he has modestly labeled the Heinrich. His men have begun to separate the Polish population into groups: those of German ancestry, Jews, and Slavic Poles. It all fits into the Nazi idea of racial superiority.
“But something bizarre has happened. The Lebensborn—their 'Fountain of Life' organization, aimed at preserving the purity of the German race—has been kidnapping blue-eyed, blond children from our orphanages. They're being taken to Germany, to be raised as Germans. So much for our racial inferiority.”
“Darwinism gone mad,” said Kaz, shaking his head.
In fact, it was even odder than they thought. Himmler couldn't help but notice that the kidnapped foundlings were closer to the blond, blue-eyed “Teutonic ideal” than his very own children.
Kaz got back to the war. “The French and British aren't putting much pressure on the Germans, sir?”
“That's an understatement,” replied the major bitterly. “The French army did cross the German border. They inched their way forward for ten kilometers, along a twenty-kilometer front, boldly seizing a dozen deserted villages. The conquering heroes thereupon took up defensive positions, preparing to withdraw if the enemy attacked. When the Germans failed to appear, the French withdrew anyhow. As far as I know, that's it.
“The British are almost as hopeless,” he continued. “The RAF has attacked naval ships in German harbors. But other RAF planes have been wandering around Germany dropping leaflets, urging the Germans to overthrow the Führer. Apparently they believe that the Germans are basically civilized; they will get rid of Hitler as soon as they find out what a barbarian he is. The British are under the illusion that this war will be fought according to the Marquis of Queensbury rules. Gentlemen don't bomb cities.”
On cue, there was a thunderous explosion as a bomb hit the building next door. Part of the ceiling fell, hitting the table between the major and the two younger officers.
“What are our chances, sir?” Kaz wanted to know. “Frankly.”
“Not good,” replied the major. “Particularly now that the Russians have attacked from the East. Our government has already withdrawn to Romania; it looks as if they will be going on to Paris to set up a government in exile. I don't see how we can hold out more than a few days. Don't risk unnecessary casualties.”
“We'll have to surrender to the Nazis?”
“As the end comes, those who can escape into the countryside should try. We're beginning to work on an underground home defense army. But basically, it will be every man for himself.”
“All in all, I think I'll take my chances with the Russians, sir; I've seen what the Germans do. We're quite close to the river, and should be able to slip across into the Russian occupation zone. What do you recommend?”
“Sounds reasonable,” replied the major. “But it's a tossup. After all, Stalin shot the leaders of the Polish Communist Party last year, and I suppose he won't mind shooting the rest of us if it suits his fancy. If you do head east, you may have a chance—you may then be able to turn south and get to Romania.”
When they got back to their unit, Kaz and Jan found their small command post in a shambles. It had been hit by a shell and their two new comrades—Karol and Edward—killed. Sorrowfully, they removed the dog tags from the dead men. Kaz put Karol's tag around his own neck to avoid losing it, and Jan did the same with Edward's.
The major
's pessimism was well founded. Within a few days, organized resistance collapsed. Kaz, Jan, and most of his men made it across the Vistula River. Then they broke into small groups, to make them less conspicuous as they headed southeast toward the safety of Romania.
The major had also been right on another score. The Russians, too, could be barbarians.
9
Goodbye
As soon as the Mercedes disappeared around the corner, Anna realized her mistake. She should have dressed quickly and gone to the station with Josef. She urgently needed to get back to Poznan and her colleagues.
She rushed up to her room, threw a few possessions into a small suitcase, and went back down to the front steps to wait for the chauffeur to return. Her mother was still there, waving weakly and tearfully to a car that had long since disappeared. Anna sat down on the top step. Her mother sank slowly down beside her. Anna drew her mother's tearful head toward her until it was resting on her shoulder.
“Oh Josef, Josef, my beloved Josef. May God be with you,” her mother repeated, over and over.
Then she noticed her daughter's suitcase. “Surely you're not leaving too, Anna?”
“I'm sorry. I have to.”
“But what will become of us?” Her mother caught herself; she still hadn't gotten used to the idea that her daughter was a married woman. “Are you going to meet Kaz somewhere?”
“I only wish. But I have to get back to my job in Poznan.”
“But why? With the invasion, research will be in chaos—or will be abandoned altogether.”
“I haven't told you before, mother, but we're working on a special project for the Air Force. With the German attack, it will have even higher priority.”
“But what can be so important about weather forecasting, at a time like this?”
Anna found herself repeating the story she had told Kaz on their first meeting. Forecasting was particularly important during wartime. Air Force planes had to fight in poor weather—but not such bad weather that they were unable to land. The line was a fine one: when would the weather be barely good enough to operate? Anna was following the security rules. But, even more, she didn't want her parents to know what she really was doing. It would protect them—and her—in case they were interrogated by the Germans.
“Please don't worry, even if you don't hear from me. We may flee to a neutral country or to England. I may be unable to contact you.”
“But what about Kaz? You'll leave him behind?”
Suddenly, Anna's tears were flowing even more freely than her mother's. The two women, hugging and weeping as they sat on the top step, were interrupted by the crunch of the Mercedes on the driveway, returning from the station.
Anna pulled herself away. “May God be with you. We'll come through it somehow. Poland has survived disasters before.” She gently loosened the grip of her mother's arms around her neck. She was afraid that, if she didn't leave quickly, she might not be able. As she closed the door of the Mercedes, she waved to her mother. Unlike Josef, she continued to wave through the car window until her mother and her home were hidden behind the trees.
When she got to the station—a small, red, wooden structure, with only one ticket agent—she found it jammed with a mixture of civilians and men in uniform. She went directly to the ticket counter; surprisingly, there was no line. The agent looked up, and, without a word, pointed to a crudely printed sign beside the window:
MILITARY PERSONNEL ONLY
“I'm with the Air Force,” Anna protested, an edge of desperation in her voice. She slid her identification card across the counter. The agent studied it; he obviously was puzzled.
“But aren't you still a civilian?”
“Yes.” She immediately regretted her answer; she should have lied.
“Sorry. Rules are rules. Next.” The agent nodded to an army lieutenant who was now directly behind Anna. The lieutenant seemed more than willing to wait. But the agent insisted.
Anna wandered to the middle of the room, perplexed; what should she do now? The lieutenant was soon beside her. “I have a pass to Kolo. I'll try to get you on the train with me. As my wife.”
“Good. That's on the way to Poznan, where I'm headed.”
“Things are chaotic. You should be able to stay on the train as it goes on to Poznan, even after I get off. I suppose, if we're supposed to be married, we should at least know one another's names. I'm...”
He was interrupted by an announcement.
“The train that left 15 minutes ago was attacked by a German airplane about 5 km to the east. It's disabled. Some of the passengers are wounded. Those with friends and relatives on the train: wait for further information.”
Anna didn't wait. She was immediately out the door, even forgetting her suitcase. There was Zambrowski, standing beside the Mercedes. He had been patiently waiting, to make sure she actually got on a train.
She hopped into the back seat.
“The last train's been attacked. Joseph may be on it. We've got to get there. Five kilometers east.”
She had barely slammed the door when Zambrowski gunned the engine; Anna had never seen him drive so fast. She was terrified as the tires screeched around corners, but nevertheless found herself urging him on.
“Faster, Zambrowski, faster.” She closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the ceiling strap.
The train was a wreck. The attackers had concentrated on the locomotive. One of the engineers was dead, his body slumped over the side of the cab. The other was lying on a patch of bloodstained ground.
The German plane had also made one pass along the length of the train, firing its machine guns. Broken glass and splinters of wood were strewn along the side of the track. Luckily, most of the passengers had survived. They had left the train and were sprinkled along the embankment, the uninjured aiding the wounded as best they could.
Anna and Zambrowski passed along the line. They quickly found Josef. He had been cut by flying glass, and was still in the process of bandaging himself with strips of his undershirt; one of his boots was off, and he had a bulky bandage around his left foot. Anna cried out in joy to see him. She and Zambrowski put his arms around their shoulders and began to help him back toward the car.
“Others need help more than I do. Ryk is here somewhere.”
Soon, the Mercedes was crowded with six wounded, including Josef and Ryk. One, with only superficial cuts, lay in the trunk, with the lid propped open.
The most severely wounded soldier had a bullet through his left shoulder. He was in obvious pain and danger; his comrades took turns applying pressure to stem the flow of blood. Zambrowski headed for the nearest hospital. It was crowded, and would accept only the one most severely wounded soldier. At any rate, all the others wanted to get back to their homes.
Zambrowski dropped Anna, Josef, and Ryk off at the Raczynski Estate—Ryk because his parents had left their home that morning. The chauffeur then headed out into the countryside to deliver the other casualties to their families.
Now that the others had gone, Anna could see that Ryk was more seriously wounded than she had realized. A splinter had been driven deeply into his right calf. Anna's mother began helping the maid, setting up an informal operating room in the parlor. They retrieved four wooden boxes from the wine cellar; they placed one below each leg of the table, raising it to a comfortable height for surgery. They then softened the oak table with two blankets, covered with clean sheets. Anna quickly had knives, needles, and a few carpentry tools—mainly pliers—boiling in a pot on the stove, with a sheet, torn into strips, bubbling in a second pot.
Anna and her father acted as surgeons. Even with pliers, they couldn't extract the splinter; it seemed to be barbed, like a fishhook. As they tugged and twisted, tears welled in Ryk's eyes. The muscles on his cheek stood out as his jaws clamped on a thumb-sized oak stick. Anna's father probed with his fingers, but still couldn't find the obstruction. Reluctantly, he picked up a carving knife to enlarge the wound. Anna held Ryk's head up, t
urning it slightly to the side so she could pour more vodka past the stick and between his lips. She kissed him lightly on the forehead, murmuring words of encouragement.
Finally, Anna's father proclaimed success, holding up a jagged splinter, dripping with blood. Unprofessionally, he took a large swig from the vodka bottle, and then turned back to the wound, probing with his fingers and drawing out half a dozen smaller splinters. Anna poured the all-purpose vodka into the wound and began to sew it up.
The operation was over. Anna wiped the sweat from Ryk's forehead while her father removed the oak stick from his mouth. He had bitten most of the way through it, and her father snapped it easily, with a flourish. Anna offered Ryk another drink of vodka. He shook his head, and mouthed the word “water.” Within a few minutes, he was sound asleep.
They were afraid the wound might not heal. Ryk was feverish, and by the next morning, the whole of his lower leg was inflamed. They finally prevailed upon the local doctor to come by to see him. The doctor made an incision, and a stream of yellow-green pus oozed out into a basin. The doctor left some pills, and explained how they would be able to tell if pus was building up again, requiring another incision to drain it. If so, they would have to manage by themselves. He could not promise to return; he was overwhelmed by the large number of wounded.
Within a few days, Ryk began to improve. His fever disappeared and he began to limp around unsteadily. One morning at breakfast, he looked across the table at Anna, and announced that the time had come for him to try to get out of the country.
“But you're scarcely able to walk.”
“I wasn't planning to walk,” he joked. “I can't stay. The Germans may be here within a few days. I don't fancy a prisoner-of-war camp.”
THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel Page 10