War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 171

Chapter 26

P

eter’s heart ached with pride at his young son’s bravery, but fear for his safety took over. Jan led them into the basement and through a hole in the wall to a manhole that represented the entrance to the sewer system beneath the city.

Two men worked together to push the manhole cover aside, while Peter sidled up to his son saying, “You sure you can do this?”

“Papa, I have been through the sewers more times than I care to remember, and I will find our way to Zoliborz once we have reached the main storm sewer,” Jan said with a firm voice.

Peter nodded. They didn’t have much choice either way. Jan descended into the manhole first and Peter’s heart squeezed tight as his son’s head disappeared into the black hole. One by one, the walking wounded followed him into the tunnel. Peter descended last, pushing the manhole cover in place again. There was no need to let the enemy know they’d escaped.

He closed his eyes for a moment, sending a prayer to the heavens for those he’d brought here and those he’d left behind. It broke his heart to do so, but he had no choice. Without a weapon, even with one, it would have been a futile undertaking to try to stop the German soldiers.

Peter reached the bottom of the manhole and the rancid smell of decay attacked his nostrils. The mucky liquid filled his boots, soaking his trousers until he was submerged up to his bottom. Thankfully his wound had already healed, or he’d never survive the fever that would surely follow after exposing raw flesh to this stinking mass.

Total darkness engulfed him, and he wondered how on earth Jan would find his way. The sewer was small, only about four feet high and two feet wide, and a claustrophobic attack sent cold sweat pouring from his forehead as he crouched down to follow the others.

A high-pitched voice shrieked, the echo bellowing through the tunnel. The man in front of him stopped and Peter bumped into his grimy backside.

“Hush! Do you want to let the Germans know where we are? It’s only a rat,” Pauline scolded the person responsible in a harsh whisper.

Peter had to smile at the vehemence in the little girl’s voice. She was about the same age as Jan, and yet so mature. This war had stolen the childhoods of so many. The group stopped again, and word travelled through the line that there was an open manhole up front, guarded by Germans.

The strain, the frigid water and the disgusting smell made him lightheaded and he longed to reach the open manhole for a whiff of fresh air and light. He put his hand on the concrete embankment, feeling something soft and furry, followed by a squeak. Peter dropped his hand with fright but managed to keep his mouth tightly shut. The rat scurried away, its tiny footsteps drumming in Peter’s ears. In the next passage his shoulders bumped against the sides of the narrow tunnel and he had to hunch them forward to squeeze through. For a moment he considered turning back. The sewers weren’t meant for big men like him to cross through. He cursed and pushed on.

Thankfully the narrow passage opened into some kind of cave, dimly lit by another open manhole. The group crowded together in the cave and Peter vaguely discerned the small figure of Jan, pointing at something.

Jan jumped down out of sight. Peter struggled not to faint with fear.

Word travelled through the group to grab the guide rope and not let go no matter what. When Peter’s turn came, he stared into the whirling water of a much bigger channel that had to be the storm overflow sewer. He grabbed the rope and jumped into the black abyss where the others had already disappeared.

At least the rancid muck had been diluted with rainwater. By the time they reached the end of their journey, Peter half dragged one of the men along with him, but everyone had survived the journey.

“Quiet. I’ll check if it’s safe,” Jan said as they reached another open manhole. Moments later his head reappeared with a broad smile. “We made it.”

The Home Army fighters guarding the manhole helped the unannounced travel party to climb outside and led them to a water basin where they could wash off the worst of the muck.

“Who’s in charge of this party?” one of them asked.

“Me. Captain Antek. Commander of the Zoska Battalion.”

The man raised a brow.

“I was in the hospital with a gunshot. All these people are medical staff and patients. We escaped when the Germans captured the hospital.” Peter paused for a moment before continuing, “We had to leave the non-walking wounded behind.”

“God bless them. After the Wehrmacht leaves, Vlasov’s men come and do their ugly bidding,” the soldier said with a very pale nose.

The Kaminski Brigade?” Peter asked.

Although the Kaminski Brigade wasn’t technically part of the Russian Liberation Army that fought together with the Germans under the defected Red Army General Andrey Vlasov, the Poles didn’t distinguish between them. Both units consisted mainly of depraved Cossacks, Turkmens, Ukrainians, and Russians whose hatred of the Poles was notorious.

Peter had followed the others to the water basin, and was pouring water over his face, hands and legs when he caught a glimpse of Pauline. “Do you have a place to go?”

“Not really.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I’ll take her with me,” one of the nurses offered and Peter gave her a delighted smile. “Thank you.”

Within minutes everyone dispersed, leaving just Jan and himself.

“Come, Dad,” Jan grabbed his hand and started pulling him down a side alley.

“Where are we going?”

“To Aunt Agnieska’s place. She’ll be waiting for me already. She always gets upset when I’m late.”

Peter smiled and followed his son. Without the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he realized how much his leg pained him and he gritted his teeth to keep from groaning as he limped along the street.

Even though Zoliborz was securely in Polish hands, Peter was surprised at how normal life seemed to be behind the lines. The civilians didn’t even turn their heads at the sight of two filthy stinking insurgents. A woman came up to offer them some bread and asked about the new editions of the Information Bulletin.

Soon they arrived at an apartment building and climbed up four floors. Jan knocked on the door three times, counted to four, and then knocked two more times. The door opened, and a face Peter had thought he would never see again appeared. A worried frown on her face turned to a look of stunned disbelief when she saw the two of them standing there.

“Jan? Who…Piotr? Is that you?” Peter’s sister-in-law grabbed the doorjamb as her face blanched, and she looked like she might faint.

Oblivious to her shock, Jan pushed his way inside, pulling his father after him. “I found him at the hospital, Aunt.”

“You’re hours late and I’ve been so worried. But Piotr…we thought you were dead!”

Peter took her arm and led her over to a chair. “Sit down and I will explain.” He gave her a brief version of the past few years before his strength began to fail him.

“Jan, go and heat some water so your father can clean up. I will find you some clean, dry clothing,” she said to him before disappearing into the single bedroom in the apartment. A few moments later, she returned with a bathrobe and handed it to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t have men’s clothing in your size. That’ll have to do until I wash and dry your uniform.” She showed him the bathroom. “Clean up and change. I will prepare something to eat. You look unwell.”

“He was shot in the leg,” Jan said.

“Shot? Today?” Agnieska gulped.

“No, weeks ago. It’s mostly healed, but I have to confess our trek through the sewers has aggravated it.”

“One more reason to wash and change. You too, Jan,” she said with a stern voice, seeing that the boy had slinked into the kitchen in his filthy things.

Several hours later, Peter awakened to find his late wife’s sister in an armchair opposite to his, staring at him. “I fell asleep.”

“You needed the rest.” She smiled. Her pretty face reminded him so much of Ludmila, the woman he’d fallen in love with when he was but seventeen. He hadn’t allowed himself to grieve for her, but now the emotions came rushing back, threatening to overwhelm him.

“Where is Jan?” he asked.

“Soundly asleep in the other room. I was hoping we could talk.”

“I’m listening.” Peter nodded and scrubbed a hand over his beard.

“So much has happened since you left us with your family and went to fight the Germans. Where do I start?”

“Jan told me about your escape from the Ghetto. What about my siblings?”

“Jarek is dead,” she said, swiftly picking up the teapot as if to hang onto something. Her eyes cast downward, she took her sweet time pouring tea for both of them.

Peter swallowed. The twin brothers Jarek and Stanislaw were four years younger than him, but he’d been very close to them. “And Stan…?”

“Last time I saw him, he was alive and well. He was the one to arrange for our fake papers and the passage to Warsaw. He’s with the partisans in Lodz.”

Of course Stan would have joined the partisans. His temper was a force to be reckoned with. Jarek had always been the calmer, more rational one of the twins.

“The farm was torched, but Katrina and Richard managed to escape. I believe they’re with one of Stan’s partisan friends, helping his mother on her farm.”

“Who’s Richard?”

“The German soldier who helped Jan and me escape from the Ghetto,” she said. “He and your sister are in love. And before you get all angry,” her look landed on his balled fists, “Jan and I owe him our lives. I have it on good account that the Ghetto was closed down mere days later and every remaining resident deported to one of the camps.” She shuddered despite the warm night.

“She’s barely seventeen. She’s much too young for a boyfriend,” he growled.

“Look who’s talking! If I remember right, both you and Ludmila were seventeen when you impregnated her.”

“Those were different times. And at least Ludmila didn’t fall for an enemy. Why on earth does it have to be a German?” Peter dug his fingers deep into his palms, ready to hate the German who’d dared to touch his baby sister.

“Love doesn’t care where you were born or what race you belong to,” Agnieska said with a smile.

Peter wanted to argue with her but remembered his love for Anna and closed his mouth. Changing the subject, he said, “You can’t let Jan go out on those messenger missions anymore. They are becoming too dangerous. The Germans are taking more ground each day.”

“If only I could, but like father, like son. I have as little chance of stopping you from returning to fight as I have with Jan.” She stood up with a smile. “It’s time to celebrate.”

She walked into the kitchen and, after digging around in the back of a cupboard she returned, holding up a bottle of wine in triumph. “I’ve been keeping this for a special occasion. I think this qualifies.”

Peter opened the bottle and waited for her to rejoin him with two glasses, before he poured them each a portion. “What are we drinking to?”

Agnieska was silent for a moment, staring at the dark red liquid in the glass. When she met his eyes again, he noticed the indomitable strength and thanked God that Jan was living with her.

“How about to those that have survived, and those that have gone before us?” she suggested.

“And to a successful end of our revolt,” Piotr said, raising his glass. The soft liquid touched his tongue, a multitude of highly nuanced scents exploding in his mouth, sending pure pleasure down his throat. His mind returned not only to his brother, but to his beautiful wife, Ludmila. “I hope she didn’t suffer.”

“She got sick, it didn’t take long…” Agnieska broke off and tried again. “She loved you and Jan more than life. I still miss her, and I know Jan does as well.”

“I miss her, too, every day…but…there’s something you should know,” Peter said, doubt creeping into his mind about whether it was wise to tell her. “…I remarried. In Berlin. A German woman named Anna.”

Agnieska observed him across the rim of her glass, swirled the wine, inhaled and savored another sip. “It must run in the family.”

“What must?”

“Falling for the Germans.”

Peter paused with his glass half-raised and nodded. He couldn’t feel any guilt over marrying Anna. He loved her. Not in the same way he had Ludmila, but no less and no more.