Jan

by Peter Haden

  ‘Brzmi dobrze, sounds good,’ said Hedda, walking back into the kitchen and pouring water into the sink to wash muddy hands. ‘Pick up your things,’ she instructed, pointing to shoes and a pile of clothing on the kitchen table, ‘and I’ll show you to your room.’

  ‘This was where Tadzio and I used to sleep,’ Jan told her, noting the one single bed that now stood there. ‘It seems years ago.’

  ‘Come into the kitchen when you are ready,’ she said. ‘It has been kind of you not to ask, but you know that there are only two bedrooms. I should tell you that Tadzio and I share the other one.’

  Somehow, Jan had taken a liking to this half-Polish, half-German girl who seemed so practical – as much at home on the farm as with a machine pistol and partisans. ‘Tadzio to szczęściarz – then Tadzio’s a lucky man,’ he said simply.

  She touched his forearm. ‘Dziękuję za te słowa, thank you for that,’ she replied quietly. ‘Now,’ her mood brightened, ‘I’m going to tell that brother of yours to break out the wódka and a bottle of wine. Tonight, I think we all have something to celebrate.’

  Chapter 19

  They waited for two days but there was no sign of Germans. Hedda left on the third morning and returned late afternoon with Kowalski and two other partisans, all three of them armed. The other two did not offer their name.

  ‘Jak pewnie wiecie, I am here, as you probably know,’ Jan told the visitors once they were seated round the kitchen table and nursing a generous tot of bimber, ‘for two reasons. First, as a liaison officer between your group and England. We know you need weapons and supplies – I can organise an air drop. Second, I need to train up a replacement, then my job here will be done and I may have to move on.’

  Józek did not know whether any of his partisans knew Morse, let alone how to operate a radio set and use code books. Also, he confessed, he would have to consult his members on what would be the most essential requirements. They had a doctor and he knew they were desperately in need of medicines, but what exactly he would have to find out. Some food would be a great help, but other than stipulate their numbers he would have to leave that to the English. And they had some women with young babies. Again, he would have to ask. ‘But most important of all,’ he finished, ‘we need guns and ammunition – as much as you can send. Machine pistols are best, but also light machine guns, mortars, grenades, hand guns and any sort of smoke canisters that you have, for when we have to try to disengage or cover a retreat.’

  ‘Mogę zrobić wam listę, I can make up that list for you,’ Jan offered, ‘and you will also need explosives. Then the people at the other end can take a view on the right mix of goodies. But come the time, this will have to be an air drop. We are looking at several parachute loads here, because there’s no way we have a field big enough for the aircraft to land. And you should think about how you are going to move the supplies once they are on the ground. If the enemy hear the ’plane they could be here within the half-hour. You have to be able to move everything out and destroy all evidence of the drop within that time.’

  Józek thought about this. ‘Pack horses,’ he said at last. ‘We don’t have motorised transport and in any case, neither lorries nor carts would go through the forest. But with pack horses, we could strap on the loads and take the horses on a lead rein. We would only unpack later, once we are back at our base.’

  ‘Macie konie?’ asked Jan. ‘Do you have them?’

  ‘Some, not enough,’ the partisan leader replied. ‘But we can get more.’

  They were mostly locals and knew the area thoroughly. Jan didn’t bother to ask for details. ‘But one more thing,’ he added, ‘on the subject of horses. We have only one here. Hedda uses Kary when she travels into the forest, but that means that she must ride alone. It would be useful if another animal could be provided for me. Also, when I use a radio to contact London it is much safer if I don’t transmit from anywhere near the farm. Sooner or later, the Germans will pick up a signal. After that they will bring in resources to triangulate my position. So ideally, I need to be miles away. And to do that and return, a good horse would be ideal. That would leave Kary behind for Hedda – she needs him on the farm. And whether I’m out there with Hedda or on my own, on horseback, we stand a good chance of losing an enemy patrol – the Germans are generally mechanised, so they can’t jump hedges or drive through woods and forests.’

  Józek grinned. ‘Not a problem,’ he answered, ‘so how would a big hunter suit you? Are you a good rider?’

  ‘If it’s a horse and it’s got four legs and a tail,’ Jan answered confidently, ‘I can ride it. But could you find a mount for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the immediate reply. Then another wicked grin. ‘Although a certain bigwig landlord is going to miss it. But he’s a collaborator – all-be-it probably unwilling. He will be told that if he reports the loss, the partisans will destroy his property and he will be executed. That should be enough to persuade him to keep his mouth shut.’

  Hedda, who had been listening but not taking part in the discussion, refilled their newly acquired glasses. ‘Do you want to stay here for the night?’ she asked. ‘We have food – you would be welcome to some supper.’

  Józek shook his head. ‘It will be safer to travel back in the dark,’ he told her. ‘But if you have a few rations that we could carry, for the women and children, that would be appreciated.’

  After about ten msinutes, another glass and with bulging pockets, Józek and his two men set out into the night.

  He was as good as his word. The following evening, Jan, Tadzio and Hedda were about to close up for the night when Józek walked into the yard leading a magnificent chestnut gelding. ‘I put on his tack and saddle but didn’t fancy my chances at riding him,’ Józek confessed. The only other animal of this quality that Jan had seen was in the Raschdorf stables, but he was quite confident that come the morning he could ride the big hunter. ‘Let’s put him in the barn for the night,’ Jan suggested. Hedda walked quickly into the kitchen and came back with a carrot. Holding it out on a flat hand she let him take it then spoke softly to the horse, gently touching his nose. To the surprise of the men it meekly allowed itself to be led off. ‘I’ll give him a rub down and some feed and water,’ she called out over her shoulder. ‘You three can go into the kitchen – and take your muddy boots off at the door.’

  ‘Nazywa się Huzar, his name’s Huzar,’ Józek called out to her as Hedda disappeared into the barn, ‘and he has almost 173 centimetres at the withers.’

  ‘I have a list,’ Józek went on once they were seated round the table. ‘And I am to tell you that we have managed to gather fifteen animals to take away the supplies.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll encode the message and transmit tomorrow,’ Jan told him. ‘It’ll be a near full moon in about ten days’ time, so that’s when I would expect the drop, but as soon as we know I’ll be in touch.’ Józek accepted gratefully a glass of wine from Tadzio but had finished it and was long gone before Hedda returned from the barn. She promised to retrieve his radio and code books first thing in the morning.

  Jan fashioned a backpack with straps so that his hands would be free to guide Huzar. With the radio and a small, hand-cranked generator it was heavy, but the extra weight would not worry the big gelding. Ideally, he would have liked an assistant, but in training they had spent hours turning a handle and simultaneously keying the message or writing down a reply. Jan’s set operated on a Morse key only – there was no voice facility – and its range was about five hundred miles maximum. He had no idea where his message would be received, nor did he need to have. For all he knew it could be in Denmark or Sweden. With the equipment on his back, he would take only a revolver, which he secured inside his jacket. In a perfect world he would have liked to take a practice ride on Huzar but he needn’t have worried – the horse had been well schooled and seemed to sense that it had an experienced rider.

  He w
alked and cantered for a couple of hours, by which time he was so far from the farm that any detection would be meaningless. Settling into a copse which also served to conceal his mount, nevertheless he lowered a stirrup in case he had to move out in a hurry. Calmly he rigged his aerial and cranked up the generator. Seconds after his contact “send” he had an “ack”. Minutes later, message transmitted and signed off, he was ready to return to the farm. Nine days later, a BBC radio broadcast told them that the drop would take place in forty-eight hours’ time.

  Flight Lieutenant ‘Riggers’ Rigson listened to the mission briefing. Behind the squadron leader was a map of northern Europe. Riggers’ other two crew members sat either side of him. His navigator/bombardier would handle the drop, with the assistance of the third crew member who doubled as telegraphist and air gunner.

  The squadron leader, who had also planned the mission, knew that the Mark IV Bristol Blenheim fighter/light bomber, introduced into service in 1937, had a maximum speed of two hundred and sixty-six miles per hour and a range of just under fifteen hundred miles. ‘Enough to get you there,’ said the Squadron Leader, ‘but unfortunately not all the way back again. So, you will take off from RAF Milltown, which is about a hundred and fourteen miles north of Edinburgh, fully loaded and armed. We have arranged for you to be refuelled as necessary by the Danish air force – they will be expecting you.’ He gave the navigator the co-ordinates for the field in Denmark.

  Riggers had no great anxiety about the supply drop. Making a broad northern sweep around Germany they would be unlikely to meet opposition, and although his aircraft could be vulnerable to the Messerschmitt Bf 109s and 110s, his Browning machine guns in the port wing and dorsal and under-nose blisters meant that they were not completely defenceless. ‘Should be a milk run,’ he told his crew after the briefing. Firing up the two Bristol Mercury XV nine hundred and twenty horse power radial engines, Riggers lifted off from the south of England for Scotland, Denmark, the Baltic and Poland. In the bomb bay were thirty packed reinforced canvas cylinders, padded at the bottom to absorb the landing and tied into pairs. Four cylinders were rigged under each parachute, except for one load of two containing the heaviest items – boxes of mortar bombs and ammunition. ‘We’ll make two passes,’ he told them, ‘one north-west-south-east, then the other in the opposite directions. After that we scoot for home.’

  Flying low over the Baltic and the coast to avoid enemy radar, as they approached the drop zone the navigator instructed the pilot to bring the Blenheim up to twelve hundred feet. From just ahead came the recognition signal – the dot, dash-dash-dash for “J”. A second, continuous light shone to make the centre of the target area. Riggers flicked his landing lights on and off and throttled back to safely above stall speed, automatically leading into a turn to port with a touch of rudder and stick, making a slow full circle to give his crew time to have the bomb doors opened and stand by. ‘Make sure you are harnessed up,’ was his last message. ‘I don’t want either of you doing a pier-head jump by accident.’

  ‘Roger out,’ said the Navigator.

  ‘A finna, Skipper,’ came the sing-song lilt of his Welsh gunner. Riggers tried but failed to suppress a grin. On their first sorties as a crew, Taff Thomas, or “T.T.” as he had become known, would have added ‘That’s me too, Skipper.’ Countless times, Rigby told him to stick to English. Which he always did, if the message was urgent. But if it wasn’t, T.T. ignored him and started with Welsh. Eventually, and not too much against his will, Riggers began to learn a few words of the language.

  Not that he minded: air gunners suffered the highest mortality rate of all crew in the Royal Air Force. ME 109 fighters usually attacked from astern. It took a lot of courage to sit in that dorsal bubble and return fire with muzzle flashes from two wing-mounted M17 7.92 mil machine guns blazing at you. And once the gunner was gone, the Blenheim was almost helpless. But T.T. was a country boy, who loved nothing more than shooting game birds on the family farm in North Wales. As such, he was a master of the “lead-off”. His rounds were aimed not at the enemy aircraft but where it would be by the time they arrived. The irrepressible Welshman already had three kills to his credit. Which meant that he had probably saved them all the same number of times. And so, in the end, Riggers was content to indulge his squadron fly-half.

  ‘Four gone,’ Riggers heard in his headset. Throttling up, he raced from the field to pull a tight one-eighty, then slowed again for the second pass.

  ‘Good drop, mid-field,’ confirmed the navigator.

  Another slow pass, a second on-target drop, and it was mission accomplished. With bomb doors closing, Riggers slammed the throttles forward and dived for the coast.

  On the ground men raced to the parachutes. Others led the horses, two to each drop and one hefty animal to the last. Sharp knives cut the bindings of seven loads into pairs, so that in seconds two canvas containers could be thrown astride each animal.

  Józek Kowalski could scarcely conceal his excitement. Grinning at Jan and Hedda, he pumped their hands with delight. The whole operation, from the time they had first heard the aircraft to when the head of the line left the field, had taken barely ten to twelve minutes. ‘Do zobaczenia za kilka dni, see you in a couple of days,’ he said breathlessly, before turning to follow the convoy of horses. Jan and Hedda walked quietly back to the farm.

  Roughly half way between Stettin and the Free City of Danzig, Frederic Armbruster was on night duty. Too old to be conscripted for the front, he had volunteered to join the coast guard. All his life he had been a fan of flying – a ground-based aeroplane buff. He heard the noise, then for a few seconds it was silhouetted against a good moon. To his amazement, it was not one of their own. In fact, illogical as it might seem, he was certain it had been a Bristol Blenhiem. He knew they were making them under licence in Finland, but no way should that machine have been streaming low, without lights, out over the coast. He radioed in his sighting and included it in his post-patrol report.

  A few days later Józek was convinced that the drop had not been observed. There were no additional patrols or any signs of curiosity from the invaders. He spread out a map on the kitchen table. ‘Chcę z wami omówić to, o czym myślę – I want to talk over what I am thinking,’ he told the three of them.

  ‘I didn’t mention this before,’ he went on, ‘because there was no point. And in any case, I thoroughly approve of what you did. You might like to know that we eventually retrieved the motorcycle, and very useful it’s been. But the fact is, the Germans shot four innocent men, civilians from the nearest village, in retaliation.’ Tadzio and Hedda looked aghast, but Józek held up both hands, palms towards them. ‘Not your fault, you couldn’t have known,’ he sought to reassure them. ‘But we have to learn from this – in future, partisan action will have to take place as far as possible from any Polish community.’ He smiled, but not warmly. ‘In fact, I have a plan to teach them a lesson,’ he said grimly.

  ‘One advantage we have here is that we are not far from the border,’ he said, pointing a grubby forefinger at the map. ‘I want to take out a convoy – partly so that we can steal food and weapons, but even more so to make it clear that the enemy will have to use scarce troops and resources if they want to secure their MSR – the Main Supply Route. There are no Polish villages near the border, only German ones on the other side, so what are they going to do: shoot their own people?’ he asked wickedly.

  ‘Podoba mi się – I like it, said Jan. ‘It’s far enough away from anywhere, and the escort won’t be fully alert till after they have crossed into Poland. So where do we come in?’

  ‘We have been watching the convoys, admittedly inside our own border, for a few weeks now,’ Józek told them. ‘Usually there’s an armoured car in the front and a half-track at the back. In total about ten soldiers in the half-track plus all the vehicle drivers, who are an unknown quantity.’

  ‘Ilu ludzi możesz zebrać?’ Jan asked. ‘
How many men can you muster?’ Up till now he had deliberately avoided being too inquisitive about the partisan group, if only to build mutual trust and confidence.

  ‘Maksymalnie czterdziestu, może pięćdziesięciu,’ Józek replied. ‘Max, forty or fifty, but I want to leave some behind with the women and children. So, I plan on an attack force of about thirty – mostly men, although some of the women are just as good and all of them have every reason to hate the Germans. But to answer your first question, we need you to guide us there. You have unique knowledge of crossing the border safely and you know the lie of the land in detail. Maybe you can help me choose an ambush site off the map?’

  Jan knew a wooded area not far from the border, well north of the Raschdorf estate, where there were plenty of bends in the road.

  ‘The convoys prefer to cross into Poland in daylight,’ Józek observed, ‘so we are looking at moving from here before last light and waiting to put in an attack some time the following morning.

  ‘Can we start from your farm?’ he asked. ‘It’s much nearer to the border and if we lie up by day we can start out rested and fresh.’

  ‘Nie ma problemu,’ said Tadzio. ‘Not a problem. It’s highly unlikely that we will see any Germans around here, but if we do all trace of them will have to be eliminated.’

  ‘So, when do we move?’ asked Hedda.

  ‘According to my sources, the next convoy is due in three days’ time,’ Józek told her. ‘I need Jan with us, also for the explosives, and I would like you to come too, Hedda, but I want Tadzio to stay here.’

  At first Tadzio resisted. If Hedda went, he was going, and as far as he was concerned that was that. The palm of his hand slapped the table to drive home the point.

  ‘Look, we desperately need this farm as a supply base,’ Józek replied. ‘In the unlikely event that you have a visit whilst the operation is under way, everything must appear normal. That won’t be the case if a German patrol turns up, there’s no-one here, and then all of a sudden a convoy is wiped out and you are back the next day.