War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 160

Chapter 15

P

eter spoke on the telephone, trying to negotiate with the Polish government-in-exile in London for some form of support.

“Five days have passed, and nothing has happened. Why on earth is the Red Army stalling on the other side of the Vistula River? Even the constant pounding of their artillery has stopped. What is going on there?”

“We don’t know. The Soviets claim their army is stuck on the other side of the river and doesn’t have sufficient resources or equipment to make a crossing. They are waiting on reinforcements themselves,” his counterpart said.

“And you believe them?” Peter couldn’t believe his own ears. Despite assurances to the contrary, nobody gave a shit about Warsaw’s fortunes.

The man on the other end sighed. “We don’t have any proof to the contrary. Stalin is as committed to defeating Hitler as Churchill and Roosevelt are.”

“We urgently need reinforcements and weaponry. Can’t you at least parachute weapons into the city?”

Another, longer sigh on the other end of the line. “We have proposed this, but the Soviet High Command won’t permit us to use their airfields to refuel nor to fly over territories occupied by them. This severely limits our options.”

Peter ran a hand through his cropped hair. In the last few days, all involved parties had spun an intricate web of lies and the Home Army was right in the middle of it. To some extent, he even preferred the Germans. At least they’d always been unequivocal in their intentions: subdue the Slavic race and take Polish soil for themselves.

“We understand your situation, but right now our hands are tied. The best I can offer are airlifts from bases in Southern Italy, but the long distance will limit the capacity of cargo.”

“We’ll take anything we can get,” Peter said with a tired voice and disconnected the call. He’d barely slept in the past five days and his eyelids drooped every time he sat down somewhere.

“And?” Marek asked him.

Peter shook his head. “It looks like Stalin is deliberately stalling. We won’t get help from that quarter anytime soon. But the other Allies will airdrop weapons starting tonight.”

Colonel Mituk stepped forward, saying, “This is no reason to despair. We’ve had some fantastic successes and the civilian population has come to our aid. The entire city is united against the Germans.”

“Tonight, we’ll receive the first airdrops, which should help us arm our troops,” Peter said.

“I’ll have guards on watch to recover them before our enemy does,” Mituk assured him.

Colonel Romek entered the room bursting with enthusiasm. “Our technicians have managed to hijack the public loudspeaker system. Everyone’s in for a nice surprise. Go outside and listen.” The Nazis had installed a network of loudspeakers on lampposts across Warsaw and pestered the populace for five long years with their propaganda and public service announcements.

Everyone went outside and moments later the national anthem “Jeszcze Polska Nie Zginęła”, Poland Is Not Yet Lost blared from the speakers. Peter couldn’t help but fight a burst of emotions and when he looked left and right he saw damp eyes all round.

After one hour

of much needed sleep, Peter and Marek were ordered to combine their troops and liberate the Gesiowka concentration camp.

“That’s impossible. The guards are heavily armed and have a vantage point in their high towers from where they can shoot at us,” Marek said.

“You won’t say this after you’ve seen my gift for you,” Mituk grinned and took them to the backyard of a former automobile workshop.

“Wow!” Peter gasped as he saw two German Panther tanks standing in the yard and several mechanics cannibalizing one of the tanks to mobilize the other one.

“They were captured two days ago, and the mechanics swear one’s running again and they know how to drive it,” Mituk said.

“Knocking on the door with their own tank, I’m sure they’ll let us in,” Peter chuckled.

“Her name is Magda,” one of the mechanics said.

Marek glanced at Peter and rolled his eyes whispering, “Magda? Who gives a Panzer the name of his sweetheart?”

For one moment, Peter felt the old friendship between them return, but Mituk destroyed the moment with his next words, “You need to act fast, before it gets dark. Remember the Germans don’t like fighting at night.”

Peter gave the mechanics instructions where to go and prayed that they actually could handle that monster and wouldn’t accidentally rotate the turret towards their own troops before discharging. About an hour later they joined their battalions, which hoorayed over the excellent booty the Panther represented.

“This is Magda.” One of the mechanics grinned as every man in the unit wanted to touch the now Polish tank. Most of them had never seen one except in photographs.

“Let’s get to work,” Peter said and outlined the plan to his men.

Magda set course for the heavy iron gate of the concentration camp and just like they had planned, the Germans didn’t fire at first, assuming it was their relief coming in. That is, until Magda forced her way through two barricades erected in front of the iron gate. Within moments, heavy fire came from all eight guard towers.

The insurgents sought cover behind a building, but Magda was unfazed by the enemy fire and kept her course, crushing the iron gate to the ground and incessantly shelling the towers, until all of them were demolished.

Peter waved at his men to leave their cover and follow the tank inside the camp, capturing the remaining SS guards, firing at those who tried to escape. The skirmish didn’t last longer than thirty minutes. Then silence fell over the large compound that had been erected on top of the ruins of the Warsaw Ghetto, which had been razed to the ground a year ago.

In the silence, Peter noticed a skeletal person scurrying from one of the buildings and shouting back inside, “They’re Home Army. We’re free.”

More emaciated figures emerged from the buildings, hesitant at first, garnering courage when they saw nothing to fear. Peter watched one of the most extraordinary spectacle in his life unfolding right in front of him:

At least one hundred prisoners rushed to the gathering place to form up military-style in two long ranks. “Attention. Eyes left,” someone called out and everyone followed the order.

The leader of the group approached Peter and saluted, “Sergeant Henryk Lederman,” he reported, “ and the Jewish Battalion ready for action.”

At a complete loss for words, Peter could only nod, while chills of admiration and humbleness travelled down his spine. These brave people had not only withstood the Nazis’s attempt to exterminate them, but also they’d refused to be broken and had managed to organize a battalion to fight for their freedom should the opportunity arise.

In the end more than three hundred Jewish prisoners stood in the gathering place and cheered at their liberators. Most of the freed Jews from all over Europe didn’t hesitate for a moment, and joined the ranks of the Home Army to fight the abhorred Nazis.

For a moment, Peter was transported back in time and remembered his first wife Ludmila and his son Janusz. A single tear slipped down his cheek. He’d never see them again. He hadn’t been able to save them. The rescue of three hundred others provided nothing more than a band-aid on his wounded soul.

Marek showed up and glanced at Peter, for once not mocking him about taking the easy way out. He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about your family.”

Peter nodded and ordered about half of his men to stay behind and get some rest, while the others would use Magda to secure a communication link between the Wola district and the Old Town.

Later, in their night quarters, a Boy Scout messenger arrived. The young boy brought the newest edition of the Information Bulletin.

“How old are you?” Peter asked him.

“Twelve.”

“Take care,” Peter said, taking the newspapers and giving the boy a message for headquarters in return.

“Yes, sir.” The boy smiled and rushed away.

Peter couldn’t help but be reminded of his own son, who’d be of the same age by now. Would he have the same lanky figure as this young boy and the same cheeky smile? Would he also have joined the Grey Ranks and volunteered to become a courier for the fighting units?

Over my dead body.

That thought sobered him. Deep-rooted grief bubbled up. He hadn’t been there for his family when Janusz had been deported to a death camp two years earlier. From all that Peter knew about the Nazi camps in Poland, children were gassed immediately upon arrival.

His stomach churned, and he hoped his son didn’t have to suffer before dying. Despite the nostalgic thoughts, Peter’s eyelids drooped, and he gave in to the exhaustion. He fell into an uneasy sleep, haunted by the face of his son. Janusz had inherited the dark brown hair and high cheekbones of his Jewish mother, but Peter’s glacial blue eyes.