by Jana Petken
“Group who?” Paul asked.
“Group 13. There was talk of these people when I was in the Łódź ghetto. The Trzynastka Yiddish Network was a Jewish collaborationist organisation. The Underground knew about them, but they couldn’t get to them because they were based inside the Warsaw ghetto. It was said they worked for the Germans to curtail the black market, but they were the biggest racketeers of them all. They used everything from blackmail to extortion and murder. They even ran their own prison.”
“Good God. No, I’ve never heard of them.”
“Probably because most of them were executed by the Germans last year in one of their cleansing operations. We’re still after one of its leaders … a man called Abraham Gancwajch. He and a few surviving members of the group re-emerged posing as Jewish Underground fighters. We caught and interrogated some of them and found out they were still working for the Germans … still working for the people who wiped out most of the members of their group … unbelievably stupid people, clinging to the hope they’ll be spared for being traitors to their own kind.”
“Were they spying on the Underground?”
Kurt sipped his coffee and grimaced. “Scheisse – shit, Paul, this tastes worse than it smells.” Then he continued, “Yes. They were spying and hunting down Poles hiding or supporting Jews. We believe Gancwajch is somewhere in Warsaw and receiving his orders directly from the Gestapo. We have a kill on sight order for that drecksack – dirty bastard.”
Kurt’s foot shot out in anger again, this time disrupting the stones around the fire’s ashes. “Fucking barbarian. I’ll spit in his treacherous face when I find him – betraying his own kind…”
“Kurt, you’re wanted. You too, Lekarz.” Darek joined the men at the fireplace and gave Paul’s foot a playful kick. “Come on, breakfast is over.”
Kurt raised his eyebrow at Paul, and uttered, “Lekarz?”
“They’ve stopped calling me derogative German names. I’m just plain doctor now,” Paul shrugged good-humouredly as he threw the remains of the coffee onto the last of the cooling ashes.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Fifteen men, including Romek, were already assembled at their command centre a short distance from the main campsite. Romek, who was in deep conversation with one of the men about a recent mission, spotted Kurt and Paul arriving and called them over. “We’ll finish this after the meeting, Jan,” he told the Pole he’d been speaking to.
“Good morning, Lekarz – Kurt. Good to see you both,” Romek said, shaking Paul’s then Kurt’s hand.
Darek said, “This must be important, Romek. We haven’t had a meeting like this in a long time. How did you manage to get everyone in the same place?”
“With great difficulty, Darek – great difficulty.”
Romek raised an eyebrow at Paul, then nodded with approval. The latter’s rifle was slung over his shoulder. He wore a pair of cotton jean trousers and a threadbare blue shirt. His hair was longer, his stubble thicker, and he no longer looked like a German officer or a frightened rabbit, as he had the first time he’d been in the company of hardened Polish soldiers. “Paul, don’t go far. I want a word with you in private when the meeting ends.”
Paul nodded. “Yes, Romek.”
Romek then turned his attention to the men who had travelled long distances over dangerous terrain controlled by the Germans. Every man present, apart from Kurt and Paul, had gone through some measure of SOE training at Audley End in England. Romek had recently spent a week at the training facility, completing an advanced explosives-handling course. It was run by the Polish section of the SOE, and they guarded their autonomy as they would gold bars. Unlike other national sections, the Cichociemni – created in Britain to become the elite, special-operations paratroopers of the Polish Army in exile, ceased to be SOE soldiers as soon as they touched down on Polish soil – instead, they came under Home Army command.
Romek looked at the men forming a semicircle around him. He was their equal, not their leader, but his job was markedly different than theirs. His superiors called him a liaison officer, but he saw himself as a glorified messenger going between the Polish leadership in Poland, the Government in Exile, and the Allies. He wondered, how will these fighting men take the good and bad news today? How can I uplift them but also make them hate the Germans even more? Both positive and negative emotions made for more determined soldiers.
“I know the risks you’ve taken to get here, but I have news that needs to come straight from my lips to your ears,” Romek began the meeting. “I’ve come from the Delegatura. Our supreme political body is finally expanding its operations and financing more programmes. Since last year, it has granted over twenty-nine million zlotys to the Żegota Organisation, which assists Polish Jews, and it will continue to provide for them.”
While the men murmured their approval, Romek sneered, “The British and their allies have their fingers up their arses and will do nothing to help the Jews or non-Jews in Poland; yet our countrymen, even under German occupation, have managed to find and deliver the money to assist thousands of extended Jewish families.”
Romek had started the meeting with good news, but as he swept his eyes across the line of tired-looking men who battled the behemoth German occupiers daily, it was hard to imagine them being uplifted by anything else he might say. All Poles were shrouded in yet another layer of grief after the uprising by the Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto in April and May had ended in total defeat for the Jews and other minorities who lived there. Since then, the Germans had liquidated the ghetto and sent thousands to the death camps.
He cleared his throat and informed the men, “Szmul Zygielbojm, the Jewish member of the National Council of the Polish Government in Exile, committed suicide last month.”
Some of the men gasped but made no verbal response.
Romek continued, his sorrow mirroring that of most of the men while he explained what had happened to those who didn’t know who Zygielbojm was. “After years of protesting against the Allied governments’ indifference toward the destruction of Poland’s Jews and minorities, he found out that his wife and son had been killed during the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. Before Zygielbojm took his own life with an overdose of sodium amytal, he wrote a letter that condemned the Allies’ blatant disregard for the genocide we are witnessing in our country.”
Romek’s anger and disgust grew every time he acknowledged his failure to stir the British into action over the horrific slaughter of Poland’s Jews, as well as, now, the many Polish non-Jews. “I have also tried everything to wake up the British and Americans. I showed them pictures. I handed over microfilm and eye-witness testimonies that Kurt and our German doctor, Paul, wrote in detail. Nothing came of my efforts.”
Romek’s hands were shaking as he took out three folded pieces of paper from his trouser pocket. In them were lists and copies of official encoded communiques that he had already deciphered and would later re-read carefully, so as not to miss anything important. “We are not Polish Jews, but they are our brothers and sisters. They have no outside help, apart from that which comes from our Polish Government in Exile, but let no man here be in doubt that we will punish the German collaborators who report on Jews in hiding and the people who are helping them.”
Romek waved the page in his hand. “Our government has reinforced our mandate with this decree.” Then he began to read an excerpt:
Any direct and indirect complicity in the German criminal actions is the most serious offence against Poland. Any Pole who collaborates in their acts of murder, whether by extortion, informing on Jews, or by exploiting their terrible plight or participating in acts of robbery, is committing a major crime against the laws of the Polish Republic…
“…it is signed by General Władysław Sikorski, our Prime Minister and Commander-in-Chief of the Polish Armed Forces, and dated, May 1943.” Romek held up the page again for effect. “This cannot bring back the men, women, and children who perished in the ghetto, nor can it bring back the upri
sing survivors who were taken to Auschwitz – God help them, they are probably dead by now – it cannot stop the SS from imprisoning Christian men and women who refuse to join the baudiensts when requested. We all know these forced labour battalions are nothing short of enslavement of the Polish people. And this decree cannot stop the Third Reich’s attacks on Catholic priests in the Wartheland where it is estimated that almost nine hundred Polish clergymen have either been shot or imprisoned in Germany’s Dachau camp.”
Romek, a Catholic who had always attended Mass on Sundays with Klara, had been dismayed to read the Home Army’s latest statistics on lost clergy. His face reddened as his anger grew with every word he spoke. “I have the statistics right here. The Catholic Church is being decimated! The Germans have confiscated properties and funds, and lay organisations have been shut down. In almost every arrest of any clergy, monks, diocesan administrators or officials of the Church, a collaborator has testified against them or reported them to the Generalgouvernement for aiding and hiding Jews.”
The men, silent and wholly focused on the information being given to them, were as enraged as Romek, which was precisely what he wanted to see.
“We are on the front line, and as such, we must act on behalf of our government and for all the Szmul Zygielbojms who no longer have voices. People acting against the Jews or their rescuers, whether blackmailers or others using extortion or other means, must be punished by death.”
“Yes. Agreed – death!” some of the men echoed Romek.
Again, Romek paused to give the men time to take in this nasty piece of business. His eyes settled on Darek, who was whispering to Kurt and probably discussing more of what had been said. Both men were nodding, not only with apparent satisfaction but also with enthusiasm.
Romek now changed the subject. It was time to mix in some positive news. “Since our amalgamation with the Związek Odwetu and Wachlarz groups at the end of January this year, our new Kedyw Unit has grown to over two hundred thousand men and women in arms. With this growth in our army, we can no longer base ourselves solely in towns but will now be forced to set up more forest camps like this one. We’re also going to organise bigger and more central weapons and munitions factories, military schools, intelligence, counter-intelligence, field hospitals, and a communication network…”
“Will we still have time to kill Germans?” Darek chuckled.
“Yes. Our commander, Brigadier-General Fieldorf has decreed that Operation Heads will also be stepped up.” Romek answered Darek. “But we can only be successful with the continuing cooperation of the Związek Harcerstwa Polskiego – the Grey Ranks in the Underground Paramilitary Scouting and Guiding Association. They are essential to our operations and plans for our eventual uprising in Warsaw and other major cities. Be heartened, all of you. We are now taking the fight to the Germans in a way they have not yet experienced. We’re going to send them back to their Fatherland with their dicks up their arses!”
Again, the men nodded and murmured their desire for action.
“We can do this,” Romek continued his upbeat message. “We have already proved to the Germans that we will not bend to their will. Who would have thought it possible that we could achieve what we did in March in Warsaw, eh?”
Romek paused again when he noted some puzzled faces. Some of the men had evidently not yet heard of that successful operation. “We sent in twenty-eight members of the Grey Ranks, along with SOE trained agents, and not only did they meet their objective, they surpassed it. Their mission was to free one of our troop leaders and his father from the hands of the Gestapo. When the Scouts attacked Pawiak Prison, Jan Bytnar and his father were in a prison van outside awaiting transport to Gestapo headquarters at Szucha Avenue. The assault took the Germans by surprise, and our people freed Bytnar and twenty-four other prisoners with him.”
Romek observed the men. Used to hearing appalling news, they now looked like schoolboys celebrating a victorious football match. If they were not worried about making a racket, they’d yell a victory song right now, to add to their backslapping and handshakes, which were just as encouraging.
To keep the men’s feet on the ground, Romek finished on a low note. “Bytnar died four days after the rescue due to injuries sustained at the hands of his interrogators … but as a free man.”
Darek piped up, “And not without being avenged. Last month, the Scouts assassinated both Gestapo officers involved in Bytnar’s torture. Romek is right, we cannot only protect our Jews and fellow Poles by punishing collaborators; we can also beat the Germans.” He looked apologetically at Romek. “Sorry for interrupting you, Romek.”
It is wonderful to see the men in such high spirits, Romek thought. Even Paul, who seemed to understand most of what was being said, looked enthusiastic about killing Germans. “Darek is correct, we will be victorious, but we also have a long, dangerous road ahead of us. Selected Kedyw patrole – the scouting patrols, will now carry out missions across the country. You will continue to operate in small groups, and meetings like these will become rare. Most of our current operation objectives will remain the same but will be on a bigger scale. We will sabotage railroads, bridges, roads, and supply depots, primarily near transport hubs in Warsaw and Lublin. We will burn trains and fuel depots, destroy weapons factories working for the Wehrmacht, and liberate hundreds of prisoners and hostages, and we will do all those things under the Germans’ noses because we can.”
Given that it could be one, two, or even three months before the unit leaders reunited again, Romek wanted them to have one more reason to hate the Third Reich. The information he was about to give them was not new, but the scale in which these German atrocities were growing had shocked even him.
“Comrades, it’s no secret that the Germans are abusing and raping our women, but I think you will be as outraged as I am when you hear this…” Romek’s throat was dry, and his voice was hoarse from continuous talking and with emotion. “Mass rapes are being committed against Polish women and girls before they are shot in punitive executions. Large numbers are being rounded up and forced to serve in German military brothels utilised by German soldiers and officers. I intend to free as many of our women as we can by carrying out raids on the brothels and by stopping the transports being used during the mass captures in our cities.”
Romek appealed to his men’s visible outrage. “I have not received orders to target these establishments, but our Government in Exile doesn’t need to know every single operation we carry out. Think of your sisters, your daughters, your mothers losing a child as young as fourteen to a German pig who’ll hump her until the day of her eventual execution. We will begin these missions in Łódź. Are you with me?”
There was a resounding yes from the men.
******
After the meeting, Romek spoke to the men individually. As officers, they would take their orders from central command back to their units. Romek passed on specific target lists for sabotage operations and attacks on depots and small supply convoys, and, in some cases, he gave coordinates and times for supply and weapons drops in their areas.
Finally, he got to Paul, Kurt, and Darek. “Operation Heads has a new target.” Romek looked at Paul. “Captain Wójcik, who will run the operation, has already filed a report about Gestapo Kriminalinspektor Manfred Krüger to Commander Fieldorf, and the Special Court of our Underground State has sentenced the Kriminaldirektor to death.”
Paul’s eyes widened with surprise and pleasure, but then his conscience woke up. It’s good news, but am I a rotten doctor to feel happy about a plan to murder Krüger? At times, it was hard to reconcile who he’d been with who he was now…
“Well, Paul. This is what you wanted, no?”
“Yes, it is. Glad to hear Krüger’s promotion will be short-lived.”
“Excellent news. When?” Darek asked.
“You’ll leave for Łódź today, and you will be taking Paul with you.”
“Are you out of your mind? Paul doesn’t have the
experience or the know-how!” Kurt looked horrified.
“But he does know the target. His insight into Krüger might be useful.”
Darek, seemingly not bothered whether Paul was going or not, asked, “Who else is going on this one?”
“A platoon of one of the Scouting battalions will carry out the execution. You and Kurt will be giving cover fire, and Paul will deal with any wounded.”
Paul, curious about the timing of this assassination, asked, “Is there a reason why you’re targeting Krüger now?”
“Yes. Krüger is still policing the Łódź Ghetto and prison, but since his promotion, he’s increased the number of public executions and civilian roundups outside the ghetto wall. His police force is sealing off whole streets and trapping anyone who’s in them. Tram and trainloads of people, regardless of work documents, are being herded into trucks. We believe he’s sending them to concentration camps, including Auschwitz. Every day, he’s publishing lists of his hostages to be shot in reprisal for civil disobedience or attacks on German soldiers. We want rid of him.”
“I’ll be happy to kill that bastard,” Darek spat.
Paul’s smile was wide with satisfaction.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Paul was both excited about and dreading his first combat mission. Accustomed to staying behind at the farmhouse or in the forest, he wondered how he’d handle the violence up close. He was glad he was going to witness the assassination first-hand, but he was also terrified of returning as a German traitor to the city he’d escaped nine months earlier.