We are as well as can be expected. After we were taken by the Russians we were put in Balyastok prison, where we were separated, and in February 1940 we were put on wagons and sent east, to collective farms in Siberia. We did not see each other again for almost a whole year, although we later discovered we were near each other but at different collectives. Somehow, we survived. It was bitterly cold at first and the Bolsheviks did not give us enough food or clothes, or rugs at night, but we both managed to keep our health, and in August 1941 – a whole year ago – we were released and, with a number of other Poles, told to make our way south.
Can you believe it? I saw your mother again at a railway station in Pechora, a God-forsaken town, somewhere in the Russian steppes. You can only imagine our reunion! Your mother was a lot thinner and her beautiful black hair had begun to grey, but she was still my Anna. She said I too had aged, but what can one expect? It was a small price to pay for being alive and together once more!
Together we made our way to Guzar in Uzbekistan, where your mother became gravely ill with typhus, but she is a strong woman, the doctor and nurses who tended her were good, and she made a full recovery. We had to wait for a passage to Persia – the young men were the priority, but eventually we got a boat and crossed the sea, finally off Soviet soil and into Persia, and on to Tehran. Three months later we are still here, slowly but surely building up our strength.
And now this wonderful news. My darling Tanja, you are alive! Our boy may have gone, our home may have gone, but we have survived and one day when this terrible war is over we can rebuild our lives. Hope has sustained us through these long months. That same hope will continue to sustain us.
We wonder when we will see you again. The thought of looking at your beautiful face once more fills me with more joy than I can ever put into words. Write to us, Tanja, tell us your news. You must be doing wonderful work in Cairo, but we can only imagine the hardships you have had to face since we last saw you. We are proud of you, Tanja, so proud. The news that you are alive has made us very happy.
Your ever loving father,
Nikolai Zanowski
Tanja held the letter tightly, then reread it, silent tears running down her cheeks. She was scarcely able to believe what she was holding in her hands. Sweet Papa! She kissed the paper – paper he had touched with his own fingers. They were alive. Alive!
‘Tanja?’ said Sophie, a hand on her shoulder. ‘Is it bad news?’
‘No, no,’ Tanja said, turning towards her. ‘No, it is wonderful news. My parents – they’re alive!’ She laughed, and wiped her eyes. ‘They’re alive, Sophie! They’re alive!’
Sophie held out her arms. ‘I am so happy for you,’ she said, embracing her.
Tanja showed her the letter.
‘It’s incredible how so many survived,’ said Sophie, softly.
‘Those Russian bastards,’ said Tanja.
‘Paddy Leigh-Fermor and Billy think they will win,’ Sophie said.
‘How do they know?’ said Tanja, more sharply than she had intended.
She shrugged. ‘We were talking about it last night. The Germans have been pushed back from Moscow. They still haven’t taken Leningrad and the Russians have counter-attacked again. It’s September in two days’ time. Winter comes quickly in Russia. If the Germans can’t beat them now, they never will because the Russians are getting stronger all the time.’
Tanja felt quite light-headed. She gripped her chair to steady herself.
‘And they also think we will beat Rommel now. The Americans are in the war. All those young men, all that money. If we beat Rommel and knock the Axis from North Africa, then Italy will probably collapse too. They think the tide has turned already.’ She shrugged again. ‘I do not know. I suppose it depends what happens when Rommel attacks. Billy thought it might even be today.’
Tanja sat down, her hand to her head. We will beat Rommel.
Sophie crouched beside her, and took her hand. ‘This news. It is marvellous, but it is a shock, I know.’
‘It is.’ Tanja smiled.
‘Go out for a bit. Or go home and lie down.’
‘I think I’ll ring Alex.’
Sophie squeezed her hand lightly and left her. Tanja put a call through and was connected first to the GHQ exchange and then, after a minute’s wait, to MO4.
‘Yes?’ snapped a voice.
‘Could I speak to Major Vaughan, please?’ Please be there.
‘Just a moment.’ A clunk, muffled voices, footsteps, then Alex’s voice.
‘Hello?’
‘Alex, it is me.’
‘Tanja!’
‘I need to see you, Alex. Can you get away?’
‘Why? What’s the matter? Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes, quite all right. I will explain when I see you.’
‘It’s eleven thirty now,’ he said. ‘It’s too hot to be outside, so let’s meet at the Continental in, say, half an hour? Noon sound all right?’
‘Thank you, Alex.’
‘And you’re sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes. I will tell you everything when I see you.’
She left immediately, her mind reeling. As she walked the short distance to the Continental, she was barely aware of the hordes of people, the mass of animals and vehicles, the blaring horns, the tram that rang its bell as it clattered past. The letter was such wonderful news – yet their pride in her now seemed so misplaced. She had got to Cairo by spying for the Germans. It was the Germans who had given her money, paid her passage, enabled her to rent her flat. She had spied for Germany for Tomas, for Stanislaw and for Poland, and because she believed the Russians had murdered her parents too. Anger and grief had driven her, but the anger was spent. A vision of a new life had emerged through the smoke of chaos and destruction.
Now it seemed the Germans would lose, not just a battle out here in the desert but the whole war. The war against the Soviet Union.
She sat alone, in the large bar of the Continental, with its high, curving arches and square columns, its whirring fans and potted palms. The usual mix of suits, khaki and patterned cotton were on display but she barely noticed them. And then Alex was standing before her, looking so handsome, concern etched on his face. Her heart leaped out to him, and she wondered whether the enormous lie that stood between them could ever be overcome.
‘Tanja,’ he said, and she stood up, wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly.
‘Steady on.’ He laughed. ‘Now tell me, darling girl! Whatever is going on?’
The tears had begun again. I used to be so good at holding them back, but now … ‘I had a letter this morning – from Tehran.’
‘From Tehran?’
‘From my parents, Alex! They’re alive!’
He smiled and clasped her to him. ‘Just when you think the war brings nothing but bad news,’ he said, ‘something wonderful happens.’
He sat her down, taking the chair next to her at the table, and keeping hold of her hands. ‘I’m so happy for you, Tanja. Really I am. What will you do? Try to get to Tehran? Or bring them to Cairo?’
‘Would that be possible?’
‘I don’t know. Iran’s under British control. There are plenty of flights from Cairo to Tehran.’
She shook her head. ‘It is still too much to take in. But, Alex,’ she said, turning to him, ‘I wanted to ask you. Do you think Germany can still win in Russia?’
Vaughan looked surprised. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Sophie was talking about it. She has two friends – Billy Moss and Paddy Leigh-Fermor.’
‘I know Billy. A Coldstreamer like me. I didn’t know he was in town.’
‘They say that Russia will beat Germany now.’
‘It’s likely. The Red Army has lost vast numbers of men by all accounts but they have far greater resources than Germany, and now they’ve got American and British help as well. I think Billy’s right. If Germany were going to defeat the Soviet Union, they needed to
do so quickly. A couple of months ago, when we lost Tobruk, I’d have said it was all over. I honestly thought the Germans would take Leningrad, then push on against Moscow and probably take it too. I’m afraid I was thinking defeatist thoughts, because I was pretty certain Egypt would fall too. But it hasn’t happened. If we survive the battle to come, we’ll beat Rommel for good, I’m sure.’
‘And in Russia, it’ll soon be winter.’
‘Yes. Even in this modern age, it’s very hard to fight a war in snow and ice and temperatures well below freezing.’
‘If Russia wins, what will become of Poland?’
‘I’d like to think that we in the West will insist it’s returned to the Polish Government in Exile and the Polish people.’
‘But you do not think that will happen, do you?’
‘I don’t know, Tanja. I’m just a major in the British Army.’
A quick lunch, but then Vaughan had to leave her: there were no leisurely siestas for the men in the DMO’s office. But Tanja’s mind was still too full of conflicting thoughts for her to work so she walked back to her flat and lay in her dark bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Everything had changed with the arrival of her parents’ letter. What had begun with growing doubt as, first, Rommel had been halted and then she had begun to fall in love with Alex, had now, with the letter from her mother and father, become an absolute conviction. Her betrayal of Britain and the Allies would not help Poland. She saw now what a catastrophic mistake she had made. And she wondered how on earth she could ever put right what she had done so terribly wrong. There was one way, and one way only.
On a day that had brought so much joy, Tanja now felt consumed with sorrow. Bringing her knees to her chest, she could not contain her tears. Lying there, crouched and broken, she wept as she had never wept before.
In the desert, the men along the southern end of the line had watched aircraft flying over much of the day – usually in small formations, high in the sky, dark dots that would glint as sunlight struck. And this time the enemy seemed to be responding to the probes, angrily engaging when a week before there had been little sight of the Axis air forces.
Speculation and anticipation had been mounting all day. Tanner had spent much time cleaning and recleaning his weapons, then, whenever an aircraft was spotted, clambering up on to the escarpment above their positions and watching what was going on.
There had been briefings too, around the battalion command truck and signals lorry. News of the massing enemy armour had reached Battalion Headquarters. Reconnaissance photographs suggested that as many as three thousand vehicles and at least a hundred tanks were concentrated behind the German minefields. Late in the afternoon, the ration wagon came up again, this time with compo packs – composite rations packed together in one box – which were handed out and stacked away in each of the vehicles.
At seven, Peploe called the company together for a briefing. It was still hot, flies buzzing incessantly. He stood in the back of his truck, Tanner beside him. ‘Chaps, it looks like we’re going to be in a battle in the next few hours,’ he said, raising his voice so that he could be heard by the hundred and twenty men gathered around him. ‘The enemy have massed most of their armour and vehicles some twenty miles to the west of here and we’re expecting them to start moving towards us. Now, this will make a hell of a noise but don’t be intimidated. They’ve only got a hundred or so tanks, and most of the rest are soft-skins – trucks, half-tracks and other lorries. Our job is to hold them up for as long as possible. We’re not expected to stop them in their tracks but to delay them.’ He paused.
Tanner gazed around at the men, bronzed faces glistening with sweat. This was the worst bit: the hanging around, waiting for it to start – nerves and nausea. Once it began, well, there was too much else to think about. Fear slipped away as adrenalin took over.
‘Battles are very confusing and especially so in the desert,’ Peploe continued. ‘As well as the noise, there’s a hell of a lot of dust and smoke and it can be damned hard to see what the hell is going on. The enemy will try to force a way through our minefields. The Rifle Brigade and the KRRC will be hammering at them with their six-pounders and we must support them. In A Company, we’ll be towards the bottom end of the line, behind the KRRC. Once it’s dark, we and B Company will move down to Himeimat, then lie up there until it’s time to move out. When the enemy are at our minefields, keep moving, hammer them with the Brens and take pot shots where you can, particularly at their sappers. If and when they break through, keep harrying them, then fall back. We don’t all have radio, so where possible, stay in your platoons, and if in doubt, get out of the way. We’ve got the Kiwis on Alam Nayil and then both 22nd and 8th Armoured Brigades, so let them do the bulk of the firing. And when we do fall back, it’ll be eastwards, clear of Alam Halfa, not north between Halfa and Nayil. That way we can keep snapping at their heels.’
‘It’ll seem chaotic,’ added Tanner, ‘but keep your heads. Think calmly and clearly and you’ll be all right.’
‘Exactly,’ said Peploe. ‘And there’s one other thing I should tell you. The Desert Air Force is primed and ready, and I hear her medium bomber squadrons are at full strength. The AOC has been deliberately holding them back and intends to give the enemy an absolute pasting. But what I would add is this: when our boys fly over, get out of the way. I don’t want any of us to be hit by our own side.’
After his talk, the men were dismissed to eat their supper while they could. More planes buzzed overhead, but otherwise a strange calm seemed to have settled over the desert.
‘When do we move out, sir?’ asked Phyllis.
Tanner looked at his watch. ‘In about an hour.’
Phyllis sighed. ‘I wish we could go now. We’ve been waiting all day. I just want the bastards to get a move on.’
‘They’ll be waiting for it to get dark, Siff,’ said Tanner, ‘just as we are. Go and write a letter or play some cards or something. Have a kip.’ That, he knew, was unfair. No one was in any mood to sleep. ‘Look, nothing’s going to happen for an hour or more yet.’
Phyllis wandered away from the truck to where Hepworth and Smailes were playing cards.
Sykes joined Tanner by the tailgate, lit two cigarettes and passed one to him.
Tanner glanced up from the map he’d been studying. ‘Cheers, Stan,’ he said, as he took it.
Sykes inhaled deeply, his cigarette held between finger and thumb. ‘A few nerves?’ he said.
‘A few,’ said Tanner. ‘I’m with Siff. I just wish Jerry’d get a move on. How about you?’
‘I’ve got through this war so far with barely a scratch – you’ve been bashed around a lot more than me. I’m worried my luck’s about to run out.’
‘Knock it off, Stan. It doesn’t work like that and you know it. Fate, superstition – it’s all bollocks. You’ll be fine.’
‘I hope so, mate.’
*
Guns had begun booming to the north soon after dusk, but along the southern end of the line, no one was fooled into thinking that the sound of battle in the distance was anything other than a feint.
At around eight thirty, A and B Companies moved out, heading south towards the Himeimat Feature, two dark beacons on the horizon up ahead. Peploe led them behind it to where already considerable numbers of vehicles – mostly the KRRC’s gun tractors, soft-skins and carriers – were sheltering.
‘Now what?’ said Phyllis.
‘Try to listen, Siff,’ said Sykes. ‘What do you think?’
Phyllis shrugged. ‘We sit and wait?’
‘Exactly. So why ask?’
‘In case I was wrong.’
‘You usually are, Siff,’ said Brown, ‘but, amazingly, you got it right this time.’
‘Time for a brew,’ said Sykes.
It was not until around ten thirty that they heard them. A low rumble, far off in the distance, but then the night breeze dropped and it disappeared again, overshadowed by the fighting to the north. A little while
later they heard it again. Half an hour later and there was no mistaking it: a constant deep drone.
‘That’s them coming, isn’t it, sir?’ said Phyllis, climbing into the truck.
‘I reckon so,’ Tanner replied, but after a further half-hour there was still no sign of them, and the rumble seemed only fractionally louder.
‘Why are they taking so long?’ Phyllis asked.
‘Because they’ve got to get through their own minefields,’ explained Tanner. ‘They’ll have cleared passages, but it’s still a funnel through which they’ve got to get three thousand odd vehicles.’
‘They’re definitely getting closer, though,’ said Sykes, who was brewing up a second round of char beside the truck. ‘I can see the moon rippling in my water.’
Just then Tanner heard a faint squeak – the tell-tale sign of tanks on the move.
‘What’s surprising me,’ added Sykes, ‘is why they’re not stonking us to hell already.’
‘Maybe they’re trying to surprise us.’ Tanner grinned.
He had barely finished his sentence when the familiar rush of oncoming shells cut through the air. They all took cover, but most seemed to be falling a short way to the north and to the west of them. British guns retaliated. The ground shuddered, and in the gaps between the artillery fire, the squeak of tracks grinding their way across the desert became gradually more distinct.
Despite the shelling, Sykes handed round the tea.
‘Good on you, Stan,’ said Tanner, meaning it. It was what they all needed: something to do, and some hot, sweet liquid in their stomachs.
The squeaking and the rumble of engines now was growing steadily louder, while the artillery fire was now directed at their own minefields ahead. The scream of incoming shells was deafening, the ground trembling, but Tanner had heard worse. The front held by 7th Armoured Brigade was thirteen miles long, a wide stretch of mostly flat, open desert. The enemy were going to need more artillery laid down on the British minefields if they wanted an easy passage through. He glanced round at the men. Most wore woollen sweaters now or, like Tanner, their battledress jacket. Brown was sitting at the wheel, tapping it; Sykes was smoking another cigarette, as was Mudge. Smailes was biting a fingernail, while Phyllis had his Thompson across his lap and his hands over his ears.
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