“Where are the children?” the colonel asked.
“We’re still looking for them,” said Klaus. “My men are combing the hospital.”
Another hour passed. Report after report returned. The children were missing.
“They are probably hiding somewhere,” said Klaus.
“Sick children?” said the colonel with sarcasm in his voice. “Who didn’t know you were coming? Let’s face it, your operation was compromised, Klaus. The children are gone.” The colonel scribbled notes into his notebook, shaking his head as he did so. “This is precisely what we’ve been concerned about. It looks like you not only have a Jewish escape problem, but you have a spy in your own department working for the Poles! And you were concerned about the problems in Treblinka.”
Klaus turned to Peter. “Collect the staff. I want them all questioned until we know what happened.”
“What do we do with the rest of the patients?” Peter asked.
“Liquidate them.” Klaus turned back to the colonel. “Don’t worry. We will get to the bottom of this.”
“You had better. And quick.”
Chapter 24
Rise Up
April 1943
Warsaw, Poland
The truck sat in the darkness near the ghetto wall. Irena took a long pull on a cigarette. She checked her watch; it was nearly midnight.
“Where are they?” asked the driver. “We’ve been here far too long.”
“Another few minutes,” she insisted. “They’ll make it.”
“We’re going to be arrested,” he protested.
“One of these days. But perhaps not tonight.”
“You’re mad,” he said, only half joking.
“Look, just ahead,” she said, gesturing toward the wall. A column of two dozen children were walking down the street, led by a woman in her early twenties. Irena opened the door and moved quickly to meet them. She embraced the woman, ignoring the stench that emanated off her clothing.
“Don’t touch me!” said the woman. “I’ve been in the sewer for a day.”
“I don’t care, Sasha,” said Irena, holding the young Jewish resistance member. “You’re precious to me, whatever your scent.”
“You’re crazy, Irena,” Sasha said.
“That’s what I told her,” said the driver.
Irena looked around. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get the children to the back of the truck.”
Sasha nodded and led the group toward the rear of the vehicle. The driver removed the latch and swung the back gate down. Irena and Sasha lifted the children one by one into the covered bed.
“You must stay quiet now,” warned Sasha to the children. “This is my friend Irena. She will help you from here. Remember what I told you, you cannot speak Yiddish anymore. Ever. You must memorize the new names that Irena gives you.”
Several of the children hugged Sasha and then they pulled the gate back up.
“How will you avoid the Germans?” she asked Irena.
“egota has taken care of everything. We have a safe route.”
“When will you need me again?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Irena. “We have to get more documents together and another couple safe houses. It may be a week, perhaps two.”
“We may not have much more time,” said Sasha.
“What do you mean?”
“There are rumors flying all over that the Germans are going to liquidate the ghetto.”
“Why would they?” asked Irena. “All that’s left are the workers at their factories, besides the few thousand in hiding. They would hurt themselves if they shut down Többens and Schultz.”
“I’d like to shut down those bastards myself, with a knife,” said Sasha, spitting on the pavement.
“They’ve saved thousands of people.”
“By creating factories in the ghetto to profit from their slave labor. I won’t give them any praise.”
“But now you say they may shut down the factories?”
“That’s what I’ve heard. We are preparing for the worst, and you should too.”
“Thank you, Sasha,” said Irena. “I’ll consider your words and get back to you. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Bring us some tanks,” Sasha said, laughing.
“I would if I could.” She pulled Sasha in, holding her for a few moments. “You must take care of yourself,” she said. “The future needs women like you.”
“The future needs women like both of us,” said Sasha, smiling. “You take your own advice too, Irena. They have to be closing in on you.”
Sasha turned and moved quickly away, disappearing within moments into the darkness. “Let’s go,” said Irena.
The truck roared to life and lurched forward. Irena held a handwritten map, giving directions to the driver as they maneuvered through the streets of Warsaw, lights out. Julian had assured her the route would be safe, but there were no guarantees. She was risking everything again, as she had so many times these last few months. She thought of the orphanage, of her precious Kaji. She could not bring them back, but she’d brought out so many since then.
They arrived a half hour later in the Praga district, on the opposite side of the Vistula. The truck backed into a warehouse where several men and women waited, helping the children down. Each child was given a little bread, and then they were separated by name into smaller groups. Irena watched as the children were handed packets of paperwork: their new identities.
“Another success, Irena.” She heard the voice and turned. Julian was there, holding up a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He poured the clear liquid into one of the glasses and handed it to her. “To Irena Sendler. The Moses of the ghetto.”
Irena drank the bitter liquid quickly. “Don’t call me that,” she said. “Moses didn’t lose half his flock.”
Julian’s eyes darkened. “Don’t think about that. We are human. You’ve done your best. More than anyone else I know.”
“That won’t bring her back. Won’t return their lives.”
“You’re right. But look at these ones,” he said, gesturing behind him. “Twenty-five more who live because of you. You’ve given them a chance when all they faced was a bullet in the ghetto or the gas chambers in Treblinka.”
Irena smiled. “Yes. We are helping these ones. But not me alone. All of us. You and egota, all the social workers, the resistance in the ghetto. I’m just a little cog in the wheel.”
“You are the wheel,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. He poured himself another shot, quaffed it, and walked away to tend to the children.
“Do you need a lift?” the driver asked her.
“It’s too dangerous,” she said.
“You’re going to spend the night here?” he asked.
“No, I have a friend who lives nearby. I’m going to try to make it to her flat.”
“Be careful,” he said, winking at her.
“I always am.”
She arrived a few minutes later at Maria’s apartment, letting herself in with a key. She fumbled her way through the darkness and made her way into Adam’s room. She climbed gently into bed with him.
“Irena, is that you?” he asked sleepily.
“Yes, my dear,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Go back to sleep.”
She felt his arms on her and he pulled her head down, kissing her on the lips. “Not just yet,” he whispered.
The next morning, they sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and eating toast. Adam was poring over a ledger.
“We need another hundred thousand zlotys,” he said. “The cost of food is rising everywhere. We have to increase the stipends to these families hiding the children.”
“I’ll talk to Julian,” she said. “Just get me the names.” She was busy filling in small scraps of paper. On each one she wrote down the full name of one of the children from last night’s escape. She then wrote down the new name the child had received in their paperwork, and the name and address o
f the family who was taking them in. This was dangerous; if the Germans ever came across these lists, they could trace each child to their new Polish family in hiding. She kept the scraps of paper in jars that were buried in a garden just outside her apartment. The risk was necessary. After the war, the Jewish parents might return, and they would be looking for their children. Without Irena’s lists, they would never find their children again. She finished the last one. Taking a sip of tea, she folded up the paper and dropped it into a jar. She screwed on the lid. She would bury the container in the garden tonight after midnight, when there would be no prying eyes from neighbors.
“How many is it now?” Adam asked.
“I don’t have an accurate count.”
“Guess?”
“Several thousand.”
The door swung open. Maria had returned. She dropped her purse on the counter and removed two cigarettes. She lit one for herself and stepped over to the table, handing the second one to Irena.
“It’s official,” she said. “The Germans are going to liquidate the rest of the ghetto.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Nobody knows. But it’s coming soon.”
Irena shook her head. “I still don’t understand why they would destroy their own factories.”
“Rumor has it they plan to relocate the workers to another camp.”
Irena nodded. “That would explain it.”
“What are you going to do?” Maria asked.
“We have to move fast,” said Irena. “I want to get as many children out as we can, along with Ala and Rami.”
“Do you think she’d come?” Adam asked.
“She will now,” said Irena. “There’s nothing left to save.”
“What do you want from us?” asked Maria.
Irena thought things over for a few minutes. “Go to Julian. And this is what I want him to do . . .”
* * *
For the next week Irena hardly slept. She had multiple meetings a day with Julian and Maria. She pressed Jan, forcing him to work long hours overtime to sign hundreds of additional documents. She met with Jewish resistance leaders, and delegates from the workers at the Többens and Schultz factories, who had heard the rumors of the imminent closure of the factories as well. These families had received special permits allowing them to remain in the ghetto. They had avoided the fall relocations and the Umschlagplatz. They’d believed they were essential, that the Germans would never come for them. Now they’d learned differently, and they were scrambling to save their children.
Irena met with these leaders patiently. She’d talked with them periodically for many months, always receiving the same smug answers. We don’t need your help, they’d told her. We are immune. Now she would have every right to turn her back on them. But she never considered it. How could she condemn people for clinging to hope, no matter how misguided? One of the cruel tricks of the Germans was to divide the Jewish community among those who had privilege and protection, and those who did not.
Now they had to get them out as quickly as possible. It would be no easy operation. Her plan was for one massive operation. They would need most of egota’s strength and that of the Jewish resistance as well. She hoped to take out as many as five hundred children at one time. She would also finally rescue her friend Ala and Ala’s daughter, Rami. Ala, resistant for these many months for entirely different reasons—for the heroic purpose of serving and saving her people—had also agreed to finally come out.
The plan was the boldest she’d ever attempted. They would attack and take over one of the gates into the ghetto. After overwhelming the guards, they would drive a convoy of trucks into the Jewish Quarter, load the children up, and drive them back out again. The convoy would be protected by a hundred resistance fighters, armed with machine pistols and rifles.
Finally, everything was prepared. She met Julian at a café in Aryan Warsaw. She’d never seen him in public before, and she wasn’t sure if this was an illustration of his confidence in her, or proof of the growing strength of the Polish resistance.
“Where are the documents?” he asked, sitting down and ordering some tea.
“Maria has them. They are hidden in her office. She can bring them to you, or you can send somebody to pick them up.”
“I’ll send someone. Are you ready for this?” he asked.
“Are you?” She noticed a nervousness about Julian she’d never seen before.
“This is the biggest operation we’ve ever tried,” he admitted. “If we fail . . .”
“If we fail then we will lose some people, and we will rebuild. We have to try, Julian; we are talking about hundreds of children.”
“I agree entirely,” he said. “I only wish we’d had longer to plan. I’m not worried about getting in, I’m worried about getting back out. After we take the gate, the Germans will respond. The question will be whether they can seal off the ghetto before we can escape. If they do, then we’ll have a hell of a fight to escape.”
“You just be there with the trucks on time. I’ll get us back out again, one way or another.”
He laughed. “I knew you’d tell me something like that.” His face turned serious. “When are we going?”
“Tonight,” she said. “At midnight. I want to catch them sleeping.”
He nodded. “And there’s enough paperwork?”
“Yes. There should be ample. I’ve kept Jan busy for days now.”
“I bet he enjoyed that. I still don’t know how you turned him. A right-wing heel-clicker like that. I thought he was a spy for the Germans for the longest time.”
“I had my own reservations. But he’s done as much as anyone to help our cause.”
Julian finished his tea and rose. “I’ll see you tonight, Irena. We’ll pick you up in front of the department.”
Irena returned to her office and spent a restless rest of the day. She tried to sort out some paperwork but finally gave up. She couldn’t concentrate. There was too much at stake tonight.
“Why bother,” said a voice from the hallway. She looked up and saw Jan there, smiling. “Are we still on for tonight?” he asked.
“Jan!” she protested. “Not so loud.”
“What difference does it make?” he asked, shrugging. “The whole building is in on our operation by this time.”
“There are still things we should not say out loud.”
“Fine,” he said. “Have it your way.” He whistled. Putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out a pipe and lit some tobacco, taking a few deep puffs. “Five hundred,” he said to himself. “That’s really something.”
“They aren’t out yet,” she said.
“You’re in charge,” said Jan, turning away. “They’ll get out.”
Another couple of hours passed. She checked her watch. It was nearly five. She reached into her drawer to retrieve the dinner she’d packed. She still had another six hours to wait before Julian would be here with the trucks.
She took her first bite when she heard it, a rumble, then another. She rushed out into the street, sprinting to an intersection so she could have a proper view. Another thunderous explosion rocked the air. She turned, and her worst fears were confirmed. Smoke billowed out of the ghetto. She was too late. The Germans were already there.
Chapter 25
The Bright Light
April 1943
Warsaw Ghetto, Poland
Klaus stood in the middle of Zamenhofa Street with SS General Stroop and Colonel Wagner. As they watched, a Panzer IV tank rolled down the avenue a few hundred meters in front of them. A platoon of soldiers followed close behind, spraying the windows on either side of the street with machine gun fire.
A man appeared in one of the windows and hurled a fiery bottle down toward the pavement. He was shot immediately from below, but the Molotov cocktail exploded in the middle of a group of German soldiers, spraying them with burning liquid. Two soldiers writhed in fiery pain, screaming as their comrades tried in vain to save them.
“That’s what we’ve been facing for a week now,” said Stroop. “These bastards have no fear. They are more than happy to trade their own lives for one or more of us. What I’d like to understand,” said the general, with a glance toward Klaus, “is how they were allowed to arm so heavily right under your nose.”
The colonel looked at Klaus. “Yes, we all want to know that.”
“What were we supposed to do?” asked Peter, standing behind his commander. “Five hundred thousand people and seventeen blocks of ghetto. You can’t watch all of them with a few hundred men. They were bound to get in and out, some with food, some with weapons.”
“Peter, be quiet,” Klaus ordered. He appreciated his assistant’s loyalty, but he knew that nothing they said right now would make any difference.
“Excuses,” said the colonel. “For months now that’s all we’ve had. This is a bunch of civilians. Unarmed, and starved. How they got one gun under your watch is a mystery to me. We’ve had no problems in Kraków or Lwów. Why are all the issues with your ghetto?”
“We had the biggest to deal with,” said Klaus. “You have to expect more complications.”
The colonel gestured at the burning bodies. “These are more than complications. I’ve been recommending a change in this department for months now,” he said. “Unless you can get this situation under control in the next day or two, I am confident you will be relieved.”
“Why wait,” said General Stroop. “He should be replaced right now.”
“It’s not my decision,” said the colonel. “Otherwise I’d make the call immediately.” He turned to Klaus. “I’m going to remain here with the general and coordinate operations. You may return to your office and map out what you’re going to do to fix this. I want an action plan by eight o’clock tonight. Is that understood?”
“Jawohl,” said Klaus, giving the Hitler salute. The colonel turned, failing to give the return gesture. Klaus stormed off, followed closely by Peter. They didn’t speak until they were in the staff car and driving out of the ghetto toward headquarters.
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