by Mary Nichols
They were accepted in their company as a team, the Bulldog and the Mouse, and were often given the most risky and dangerous jobs to do. Nothing was too difficult for them and they found themselves blowing up railway lines and freight trains, gunning down Nazis as they rounded people up for deportation, breaking AK leaders out of Pawiak prison, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. They were both on the Nazis’ most wanted list, but as their real identities were known only to a few, they had managed to evade capture. How long it could last they did not know and would not think about.
It was inevitable that they would become close, working together and living together as they did, and it had become more than just the closeness of friends and colleagues on the day they blew up a packed German troop train on its way to the Russian front. It had been a particularly risky operation but they had both said they could do it. The idea was to lay charges at intervals along the track, to cause the maximum disruption. Colin and Rulka were sent to a section of line that went through the forest and over a bridge where, if they were on time, two trains were expected to cross going in opposite directions.
They left the city environs by night, evading the German guards, and made their way on foot to the bridge, arriving just before dawn. It was still dark but they dare not use torches because Germans patrolled the bridge. Colin set the charges while Rulka kept watch armed with a Bren gun. It had seemed hours to Rulka, but could only have been thirty minutes, before he came back to her, carrying the detonator and paying out the fuse. ‘All done. Now we wait.’
The first train had been bang on time, its engine followed by several carriages and then some freight trucks. It rattled onto the bridge. Colin watched and waited, his hand on the plunger. ‘Where’s the other one?’ she whispered.
‘Don’t know.’ He daren’t wait any longer. The explosions, from end to end of the bridge and some along the line each side, coincided with the arrival of the second train. The result had been spectacular. Engine, wagons, carriages flew everywhere. Rulka turned to Colin, eyes alight, and flung her arms round him. ‘We did it, Buldog, we did it!’
‘Yes, let’s get out of here.’
He took her hand and they ran as fast as they could deeper into the forest, leaving behind a burning train, buckled railway lines and dead enemy soldiers. When they could no longer see it or feel its heat, Rulka stopped to bend over and catch her breath. ‘Give me a minute,’ she said.
He sat down with his back to the trunk of an oak tree and pulled her down beside him. ‘We are safe here for the moment.’
The forest had been eerily silent: no voices, no birdsong; no gunfire, no explosions. ‘It’s as though we are the only two people left in the world,’ she said.
He put his arm about here and drew her head onto his shoulder. ‘Let’s pretend we are. Let’s pretend there are no yesterdays, no tomorrows, just today.’
It was impossible to be a hardened warrior every minute of the day and Colin represented the warmth of another human being in a city where humanity seemed to have died along with so many of its inhabitants. And so they had become lovers, though they never spoke of love; that was an irrelevance, but they had the next best thing: trust.
It was obvious to everyone that the Germans were staring defeat in the face and those occupying Warsaw were twitchy and liable to shoot without provocation. The rumour was that Hitler had refused to allow them to withdraw.
‘What do you think will happen?’ she asked him as they walked to the meeting place in the crypt of the Church of the Holy Cross that July afternoon.
‘No idea,’ he said. In the two years he had been with Rulka he had learnt enough Polish to get by but his accent often had Rulka in fits of laughter. Laughter helped them to endure the terrible conditions under which they lived. ‘I suppose it depends on how much the Home Army trusts Stalin.’
‘As far as they can throw him,’ she said. ‘Arkady told me that when the Red Army have encountered units of the AK, they have disarmed and arrested them. That’s not the action of an ally.’
‘No, it’s not.’
The crypt was already crowded when they arrived, with about fifty people of both sexes; among them were several Boy Scouts, called the Grey Ranks, who acted as runners and distributors of secret underground publications. Arkady and Boris Martel were standing on the altar under which Father Karlowicz had hidden Colin. Boris was their intelligence officer and though Rulka could not be sure of it, she thought he was in direct communication with the government in London. He also seemed to have access to a certain amount of German intelligence. If not, he was singularly successful in gauging what they would do next. She suspected it was he who had told General Bór-Komorowski, the C-in-C of the Home Army, about the AK units being arrested by the Russians. It did not bode well for the future.
Arkady lost no time in outlining the situation. ‘The Soviets are sweeping all before them and will soon be on our doorstep,’ he said. ‘We have been instructed by our government in London to cooperate with them, but that comes with the proviso that diplomatic relations broken off after the Katyn affair are resumed between the Polish government and the Soviet Union, so we are once again allies.’
This pronouncement was received by some with groans and ironic laughter, and by others with cheers. ‘The Soviets have already set up a Polish government of Communists and traitors,’ someone called out from the middle of the crowd. ‘So who do we obey? The one that arrives first?’
Independent of the Western Allies, the Soviets had been preparing for the future of Poland and had formed what it called the Polish Committee of National Liberation to take over the administration of the country as soon as the Germans had been ousted. According to the Soviet Foreign Office, their objective was to help the Polish people to become once again an independent democratic state. They had, so they said, no wish to acquire any part of Polish territory.
‘London,’ Arkady answered. ‘That is the government we have obeyed since 1939 and we shall go on doing so.’
‘It is thousands of kilometres away,’ someone else said. ‘Do they know what is happening here in Poland?’
‘Yes, they do,’ Boris told them. ‘We are in constant communication with them. And the Western Allies have promised their support.’
‘The kind of support we had in ’39, I suppose.’ The speaker spoke bitterly.
‘It is different now. Britain is no longer on the defensive and the Americans are with us,’ Arkady went on. ‘But there is one thing we must do and that is free Warsaw before the Soviets arrive. Our flag must be flying everywhere. We have to welcome them as allies and not occupiers.’
‘You know what happened to the Jews,’ another reminded him.
When, in April the previous year, the skeletal inhabitants of the Ghetto had tried to rise up with stolen rifles, home-made bombs, sticks and stones they had been crushed mercilessly with tanks and flame-throwers. If they were not burnt in their cellars and tenements, they had been shot as they tried to escape and their bodies piled in the streets and burnt on massive funeral pyres. Those that managed to survive were herded into cattle wagons to die in the camps. Rulka and Colin had saved as many as they could, hiding them and feeding them and sometimes supplying them with false papers to hide their ethnicity. The Ghetto, the largest in Poland, was no more. It had been completely destroyed.
‘We are better prepared than they were,’ Arkady told them. ‘Britain will drop supplies and Polish paratroopers to help us fight and they will bomb all the airfields in the vicinity so the shkopy cannot use them. General Bór has also asked for the transfer of Polish bomber and fighter squadrons to Poland.’
‘Jan,’ Rulka murmured to herself. Was he with them? Did it mean they might soon be reunited? Her heart missed a beat. Could it happen? But she still had no idea if he were alive, so what was the point of getting excited about something that might never be? It was more important to set aside personal feelings until the war was won.
‘What did you say?’ Colin w
hispered as everyone began discussing possibilities.
‘Nothing, just praying it’s true.’ Close as they were, he did not know about Jan, nor her real name. And she knew no more about him than he had revealed when he first arrived.
‘The Home Army is to be recognised by the Allies as a legitimate combatant,’ Arkady went on. ‘We will no longer be an underground army, we will be out in the open.’
‘When?’ someone shouted.
‘When everything is in place and the time is right. In the meantime we stockpile weapons and ammunition, carry on with sabotage operations, and gather as much information about enemy troop movements as we can. If you have hidden weapons or know anyone who has them, make sure they are made serviceable and available.’ Then he brought the meeting to a close. One by one, they drifted away, mingling with the populace taking the early evening air. They knew that similar meetings were going on all over the city.
Colin took Rulka’s hand as they pretended to be a courting couple out for a stroll, but they were wary and their glances darted left and right and occasionally he stopped to turn and kiss her, while at the same time looking back to see if they were being followed. They reached the cellar in Jasna Street without incident. In winter the cellar had been icy cold but in the warm days of July it was like an oven. With no windows, all they could do to let in a breath of air was to prop the door open at the top of the stairs. It was risky, so they only left it open while Rulka was cooking.
‘I wonder what the Nazis will do,’ she said, setting about making dumplings stuffed with a couple of boiled potatoes and some mushrooms Colin had gathered in the Kampinos forest just to the north of Warsaw. He often went there to confer with partisans who lived there in hiding and visit the elderly couple who had befriended him when he first escaped. It was because they were so poor and had little enough for themselves he had left them to come to Warsaw. ‘Perhaps they will withdraw and let us take our city back unmolested.’
‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’
‘No, just wishful thinking. I think we are in for a battle.’
‘Not only here,’ he said. ‘In France, Holland and Belgium. It is a long way from Normandy to Berlin.’
‘Surely Hitler will give in before that happens, then we won’t need to welcome the Soviets.’
‘I doubt it,’ he said.
‘But the end can’t be far off.’
He came and stood beside her as she dropped the dumplings into a pan of boiling water. ‘Then what will you do? In the end, I mean.’
She turned to face him. ‘I don’t know. We can’t make long-term plans, can we?’
‘No,’ Then he lapsed into English. ‘Let’s eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.’
‘Is that an English saying?’
‘Yes, though I don’t know who said it first.’
‘Let’s eat anyway,’ she said, dishing the dumplings onto two plates while he climbed the stairs to shut and bolt the door.
‘Colin,’ she said, as they were eating. ‘Is there anyone in England who should be told if anything happens to you?’
‘My parents. Boris knows how to contact them. What about you?’
‘No one. All dead.’ It sometimes helped to say it aloud in order to make herself believe it. It was better that way.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Not your fault.’
‘Hey, I thought we were going to be merry,’ he said, fetching half a bottle of vodka and two mugs from a cupboard. ‘Let’s drink to …’ He looked up from pouring the drink. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘To us,’ she said.
‘You mean you and me?’
‘Yes, why not?’
‘To us,’ they said together, clinking the mugs against each other, and drank.
‘Confusion to our enemies,’ he added and refilled the mugs.
‘And peace. And freedom,’ she said. ‘It will happen, won’t it? In the end, I mean.’
‘Yes, my love, it will happen.’
She was startled. He had never called her love before. ‘Colin, I—’ She stopped, undecided what to say.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to make fulsome protestations of undying love, but here and now it’s what I feel, and here and now is all we have.’
She rescued her hand and picked up the plates to wash them up, turning away from him. Over the years since she had said goodbye to Jan and buried her parents, she had not allowed herself to cry, but now tears were streaming down her face and she could not stop them. He came to stand beside her and took her shoulders to turn her towards him. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.’ He put his forefinger under her chin and tipped her face up to his. She looked into his face, thin as hers was, grey with fatigue too, but there was concern in his blue eyes. ‘Give me a smile.’
She sniffed and managed a watery smile. ‘I don’t deserve you.’
‘Nonsense. You are the deserving one. For a little’un you pack quite a punch.’
‘I don’t understand that.’
He laughed suddenly. ‘Never mind. It’s time for bed.’
To the dismay of the Varsovians, the German troops prepared to stand and fight. German civilians and wounded soldiers were evacuated and they mingled with hundreds of refugees, blocking the roads to the west. In the city the Nazi administration set about making bonfires of their files. Governor Fischer decreed that all able-bodied Varsovians were to assemble in the main squares to help build defences, with the threat that if they disobeyed they would be punished. They were offered extra rations as an inducement.
‘If we go, it will leave us without men to fight,’ Arkady said at a second meeting in the crypt. ‘But if we don’t, there will be the usual bloodthirsty reprisals.’
‘On the other hand,’ Colin said, ‘the foolish man is inviting us to congregate, something he has never allowed before. He must be desperate.’
‘And desperate men are dangerous men,’ Rulka added. ‘When do we rise?’
‘When we hear from London that help is on its way. Colonel Monter is to be in command of the rising and he has called a state of alert.’ Arkady went on to outline everyone’s role, which unit was to take which objective and who was to supply support services such as radio communications, medical aid and food. Already communication rooms, kitchens, first-aid centres and workshops had been established in the city’s warren of cellars. The Grey Ranks would hold themselves in readiness to convey the order to assemble. With that he called the meeting to a close. One by one they dispersed, careful to avoid German patrols.
The next day, which was a fine, sunny Saturday, Colin and Rulka watched in silence, along with hundreds of others, as reinforcements arrived for the beleaguered Germans in the form of a Panzer division which marched through the streets and crossed the river with their tanks, making for the front line. ‘He’s not going to give in, is he?’ Rulka murmured, referring to Hitler.
‘No, but then he thinks he’s indestructible.’ An attempt on the Führer’s life by his own officers had recently failed and the plotters were being hunted and executed.
They turned to go back to their cellar. On the way, Colin ripped a poster from a lamp post which was leaning at a crazy forty-five degrees. ‘What’s that all about?’ he asked, handing it to Rulka. Unlike German proclamations, it was not in German and did not have the German Eagle at the top of it. It was in Polish and headed with a red star. ‘The Polish government in London has been disbanded,’ she translated. ‘The Union of Polish Patriots is assuming command of the underground. All patriotic Poles are expected to join them in cleansing the city of its Fascist invaders.’
‘For patriots, read Communists,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ The Union of Polish Patriots had replaced the pre-war Polish Communist party which had been dissolved when, according to both the Nazis and the Soviets, Poland had ceased to exist. Now it had become politically expedient for Moscow to admit it did exist after all. ‘It’s
worrying.’
‘Let’s tear them down.’
They began systematically going from street to street, pulling down the posters but they wondered if the damage had already been done. There were a great many people on the streets, enjoying the sunshine, trying to pretend all was well; the sound of guns was not yet near enough to drive them into shelters. They could not fail to see the posters.
Colin and Rulka had just turned into Jasna Street when they heard the sound of aircraft coming from the east. They ducked into the remains of a building already destroyed by German bombs and waited with their heads down, expecting Russian bombs. But it was not bombs the aircraft dropped but leaflets, repeating what had been said on the poster and calling the people to arms.
‘If we don’t move now, we never will,’ Colin said. ‘Let’s go and find Arkady.’
They found him at his apartment listening to a broadcast on behalf of the Polish Committee of National Liberation, now based in Lublin. ‘Soviet forces are advancing on Praga. They are coming to bring you freedom. People of the capital to arms! Strike at the Germans. Blow up their public buildings. Assist the Red Army in crossing the Vistula …’
He turned it off when they arrived. ‘London cannot help,’ he told them flatly.
‘Why not?’ Colin demanded.
‘They say that even if they had sufficient aircraft with a long enough range to transport troops, there is nowhere they can safely land them, or drop parachutists. To attempt it would be suicidal.’
‘What about fighters?’ Rulka asked, thinking of Jan.
‘Same thing. Can’t get here, can’t land. Nowhere for them to be kept and maintained. And they have to fly from Italy over German occupied territory. Previous flights have proved unacceptably costly.’