The fearsome screeching of dive-bombing Stukas signaled that dawn had come, and the rope went slack whenever the group neared a manhole. Rabbit doused the lantern and crept forward searching for any crack of daylight and the ambush that might be waiting.
They slogged southward under Nowy Swiat, and had just passed the intersection with Jerusalem Avenue when Natalia heard the metallic clank of a manhole cover being pried off behind her.
A sudden burst of daylight illuminated the tunnel.
“Run!” Bobcat shouted from the rear. “Run! Run! Get mov—!”
A blinding flash! An instant later a searing wave of heat from a flamethrower knocked Natalia face down into the muck. She scrambled to her knees, struggling to grab the rope, but her feet slipped sideways on the greasy floor.
The rope jerked wildly. The tunnel echoed with agonized wails from those at the back of the line.
Rabbit stood frozen at the head, staring back into the tunnel, the eerie glow of the lantern reflecting the horror in the boy’s eyes. Then he turned away.
The rope surged forward. The man behind Natalia clawed frantically at her back, screaming for her to get moving. Hammer reached back and found her arm; his massive hand gripped her wrist like a vise and pulled her along.
The group stumbled forward into the darkness, slipping and sliding in the muck. The rope continued to jerk back and forth as the injured commandos at the rear lost their balance, and others tried desperately to hold them up.
Gradually the wails receded into painful moans, and there was less resistance on the rope as those not able to continue fell away. Natalia plodded on, placing one foot after the other, tears streaming down her grimy face, her heart wrenching in agony for Bobcat and the others who’d been lost. Then her mind went numb.
Time passed. The sounds from overhead became muted and less frequent. Apparently too tired to call out locations, Rabbit had fallen silent. Natalia had no idea where they were. Her legs tingled, her ankles had swollen and every bone in her body ached. Her temples throbbed, her throat was raw from the caustic fumes and her hands were so blistered from clutching the rope that she feared she wouldn’t be able to hold on for another second.
And just as she was certain she would pass out, a draft of fresh air suddenly washed over her. It became a breeze, a miraculous cooling breeze from up ahead.
“Thank God!” someone behind her shouted.
The line surged forward for a moment, then went slack, and Natalia slammed into Hammer, as she slipped on the greasy floor.
“Quiet down!” Rabbit hissed. The group fell silent.
Hammer turned back toward Natalia and whispered, “It could be a trap. We don’t know who’s up there.”
Rabbit doused the lantern. Natalia could hear him moving forward, slowly and cautiously, sloshing through the fetid water.
There was a loud clank and a heavy scraping sound as the manhole cover was dragged away. Then shouts from above—in Polish—and the commandos in the tunnel surged forward again, yelling loudly, pumping fists and clapping each other’s back. Natalia grabbed hold of Hammer’s belt and hung on to avoid getting knocked down in the rush.
Rabbit shouted for order. “One at a time! Slow down, Goddamn it! One at a time!”
Hammer took hold of Natalia’s shoulders, and an instant later she was on the climbing irons, staring up through the open manhole at the outstretched hand of an AK commando.
A half hour later, the commandos who crawled out of the sewer stood shivering around a bonfire in the middle of a wide street that ran alongside an abandoned canning plant. The building’s windows were broken out, and its roof caved in on one end. A sign hung from a rusting chain-link fence indicating that the property was for sale. Across the street stood an enormous, three-story paint factory. Natalia feared it was likely to erupt into a blazing inferno if the shelling came any closer to this area at the south end of the City Center.
But the area seemed secure for the moment. There were barricades at every intersection, and two PIAT anti-tank guns were positioned near the paint factory along with a German Panther tank that the AK commandos had somehow managed to commandeer. To the north, the sky was ablaze where the fires in Old Town raged out of control.
Fortified from a cup of bitter coffee and a thick slice of black bread that had miraculously appeared on a table near the bonfire, Natalia spotted Rabbit, sitting alone on the steps of the canning plant. She sat down next to him.
“Did you get something to eat?” she asked.
The boy shook his head.
She held out a chunk of the bread. “Here, take some. You certainly earned it.”
He glanced at her, then looked away. His eyes were red, his grimy face streaked from tears.
She laid a hand on his thin shoulder. “I’m sorry about Bobcat.”
Rabbit didn’t respond.
“I know that he was your—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rabbit snapped. He spit on the ground and turned away from her. A moment later he hunched forward, gripping his knees, his back arching up and down as the sobs wracked his skinny frame.
Natalia moved closer and wrapped her arm around him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Rabbit leaned against her, then slowly laid his head in her lap, covering his face with his hands.
A few minutes later, he straightened up and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. “Do you believe in God?” he asked.
Natalia was startled by the unexpected question, and it took her a moment to respond. “Yes. I do. Do you?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. If there was a God, why would he let the fuckin’ Krauts kill Bobcat? Why would he want any of this to happen?”
“I don’t think God wants this to happen, Rabbit. And I’m sure he didn’t want your friend to get killed.”
“Then why the hell doesn’t he stop it?” the boy croaked. He turned to look at her, his dirty face streaked where tears had slid down his cheek.
“God doesn’t work that way,” she said. “He doesn’t interfere.” He just lets us slaughter each other. She paused for a moment and bit her lower lip, then put a hand on Rabbit’s shoulder. “I think God wants us to learn how to live together.”
“Hah! I’ll bet God didn’t have to live with the fuckin’ Nazis.”
Natalia smiled in spite of the irreverence of the boy’s remark. “Do you go to church, Rabbit?”
The boy shook his head. “Nah, not any more. My Ma made me and my brother go. But ever since they . . . you know, since then I never went again.” He was quiet for a moment, then turned to look at her. “Do you go to church?”
“I used to, when I lived in Krakow.”
“My Ma went to Krakow once. She said it was beautiful, with lots of big churches.”
Natalia nodded. “It is beautiful. And there are many, many churches.”
“Which one did you go to?”
“My favorite is the Mariacki Church. It’s on the Rynek Glowny, right in the heart of the city. It’s a basilica. And it has this magnificent vaulted nave. The walls are painted in blue and gold and decorated with elaborate friezes.”
“Friezes,” the boy repeated. “What are those?”
“Decorations on a wall, usually sculptures or paintings. Sometimes they tell a story.”
Rabbit spat on the ground again. “I’ll bet none of those stories are about fuckin’ Nazis burnin’ kids in a sewer.”
It took a moment for Natalia to reply. Then all she could manage was, “No . . . they aren’t.”
“Did you go there often?”
“Well, not on a regular basis, not every Sunday. But I would go sometimes during the week, especially if I was troubled by something, or just wanted to think.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Maybe someday you could go there with me.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’d go with you . . . but I wouldn’t talk to God.”
They sat for a long time, Natalia with her arm around the tough young warrior who’d just lost the on
ly thing that mattered.
A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away.
She knew exactly how he felt.
Twenty
1 OCTOBER
BY THE FIRST OF OCTOBER, few buildings remained standing in the section of the City Center west of the canning plant. Natalia hobbled along a narrow cobblestone walkway and finally slumped down, exhausted, in the shadows between two of those buildings. She gingerly touched her swollen ankle, wincing in pain. She’d twisted it badly several hours earlier, running along Okrag Street looking for Rabbit and Hammer. They had vowed to stick together, but the constant artillery barrage over the last three days had created such chaos that she’d lost sight of her friends in the panicked crowds.
And now she was alone.
They’d been on the run for a month since evacuating Old Town through the sewers, and Natalia wasn’t sure she could last another day. She doubted any of them could. They were out of ammunition, there was no food or water, the streets were littered with corpses and communications had completely broken down. They were surrounded by the enemy, and the last flickers of life in the insurgency were about to be snuffed out. Natalia knew it was only a matter of time. For some units of the AK still entrenched in isolated areas, perhaps a few days. In her case, perhaps just a few minutes.
Natalia leaned back against the brick building and closed her eyes, thinking about Adam. She knew where he’d gone that night on Dluga Street, just before she followed Rabbit into the sewer. A commando in one of the last groups to escape had seen him entering Raczynski Palace, the makeshift hospital where hundreds of wounded AK commandos were trapped. Trying to protect them from the SS was a suicide mission. But considering the torment in Adam’s heart, the hatred and revenge that had driven him for years, she knew why he went there.
A week later she heard the news. When the Germans moved into Old Town, the SS stormed Raczynski Palace and murdered everyone—doctors, nurses, patients in their beds. She had cried that night, cried for what might have been.
She heard a noise.
It was the all-too-familiar clanking of tank treads, and she slid backward on her rump, deeper into the corner between the two buildings where the late afternoon shadows provided some cover.
The same chaotic streets that had separated her from her friends a couple of hours ago were now suddenly deserted as the grinding noise of the enemy tanks drew closer. The moment the artillery barrage ceased, those who were still standing knew what was coming next. They abruptly vanished, scurrying into cellars and alleyways like rodents before a flood.
The rumbling diesel engines and creaking treads escalated into a deafening crescendo. A shiver ran down Natalia’s back as she scrunched against the building. The noise echoed off the buildings, and the ground shook violently as the monstrous machines approached.
A loud bang jolted every bone in her body.
Another bang!
Then guttural shouts in German: “Raus! Raus! Fucking Polish Dogs! Raus jezst!”
Natalia crouched, frozen with fear as a blur of black-uniformed SS troopers flashed past the walkway, tossing grenades through cellar windows.
Screams and belching smoke filled the air. Doors flew open, and terrified civilians raced up the cellar stairs and into the walkway, faces blackened with soot. A man with his clothes on fire rolled on the ground, screaming. A woman clutching a baby drenched in blood wailed in agony, then sank to her knees.
Natalia struggled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ankle, as a squad of SS storm troopers charged into the walkway, sealing it off from the street. The people who had fled the cellar suddenly fell silent, huddling together, moving backward, shoving Natalia against the building.
The SS troopers advanced.
A thunderous burst of machine-gun fire reverberated off the brick walls.
The people screamed in panic and clawed at each other.
A hot, piercing pain shot through Natalia’s forehead and dropped her to her knees. The man in front of her grunted and collapsed backward, knocking her flat. Someone fell on top of her and jammed her face into the ground.
Then it was quiet.
Natalia lay still, her head throbbing, the dead weight of the bodies on top of her threatening to crush her ribs. She struggled to turn her head to the side and get some air. Boots scraped on the cobblestones as the troopers kicked at the bodies. They grunted German phrases and laughed. Then the boots walked away.
Through the tangle of bodies, Natalia caught a glimpse of bloodstained cobblestones in the fading sunlight. A puddle of blood had pooled in a depression; red slowly faded into brown as the liquid soaked into the earth between the stones. The puddle blurred and then smeared into darkness.
Twenty-One
2 OCTOBER
MOVEMENT AWAKENED HER. Natalia opened one eye. Her other eye, pinned against the cobblestones, was crusted shut. She heard voices—heavy, crude voices—laughing and cursing.
Ukrainians.
She caught a glimpse of their boots in the dim light. It was daylight, but probably early, she thought, just after dawn. They were shabby boots, dusty and worn, holes in the soles. How many are there?
The pile of corpses on top of her shifted, and the weight on her ribs lightened a bit as the Ukrainians pulled off one of the bodies. She could understand only a few words, but enough to realize they were looters. It sounded like there were two of them. As another body was dragged onto the cobblestones, Natalia wished now she’d been killed by the Nazi machine gunners.
The body lying directly on top of her moved, and Natalia closed her eye, playing dead, praying they wouldn’t touch her.
But she knew what would happen.
A large, calloused hand grabbed her collar and jerked her up. She yelped as her swollen ankle was dragged across the stones.
The Ukrainian bent down and grabbed her hair, forcing her head back. He had a round, almost boyish face, blue eyes and a shock of unruly brown hair. He laughed and said something to his partner, his breath stinking of onions and tobacco. Natalia couldn’t understand him, but it didn’t matter.
The Ukrainian grabbed her by the lapels of her uniform jacket and hoisted her to her feet. The pain in her ankle almost caused her to pass out. His partner now appeared in her field of vision. This one also looked young, though taller, with broad shoulders and a dark, stubbly beard. Both of them were grinning like children with a new toy. The round-faced one reached under her jacket and fondled her breast, then rolled his eyes and spat on the ground. The bearded one jostled him out of the way and reached for her belt.
Natalia twisted her body, trying to back away, but Round Face slapped her, sending a searing bolt of pain through her forehead where the bullet had grazed her. He grabbed her by the hair again and jerked her head back.
Someone shouted from the other end of the walkway. At first Natalia couldn’t make out the words. Then she heard them again. “Halt! Stoppen Sie!”
Round Face’s grip loosened, and his hand fell away.
Two soldiers marched toward them from the street.
Natalia’s stomach tightened as she realized they were Germans.
The one on the right, an officer, glared at the two Ukrainians. “Raus!” he commanded and jerked his thumb toward the street. “Raus! Schnell! Mach schnell!” He reached for the pistol strapped to his waist and shouted again, louder. “Raus! Schweinhunds!”
The Ukrainians made a wide circle around the two Germans, then bolted for the street.
Natalia slumped to the ground.
The officer put a hand on her shoulder. “Can you stand?” he asked in German-accented Polish.
Natalia flinched.
“Yes, I know,” the officer said. “I get that all the time, a German officer who speaks Polish.” He looked to be in his fifties with a narrow face, and a pencil-thin, gray mustache. His uniform was Wehrmacht. Though Natalia could barely breathe, she was thankful that at least he wasn’t SS.
“I was a military attaché to Poland i
n the thirties,” the officer said casually. “I lived here in Warsaw for six years. So, can you stand, or do you need help?”
Natalia swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t . . . it’s my ankle.”
The officer barked a few terse commands to his subordinate, who turned and jogged back toward the street. Then he knelt down and touched her ankle gently. When Natalia flinched again, he took his hand away.
The younger soldier reappeared carrying a canvas pack and a crutch. “Unteroffizier Brunkhorst is our company medic,” the officer said. “He’ll take care of that ankle.” Then he brushed back her hair, examining the bullet graze on her forehead.
Natalia’s skin crawled, and she had to fight the urge to slap away his hand.
But he withdrew it, as though sensing her anxiety. “I’d say you were pretty lucky, young lady. Brunkhorst will clean that up as well.”
The medic gently removed Natalia’s boot and began to tape her ankle. He appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties, with a fair complexion and short, stubby fingers. His uniform was soiled with dirt and blood, but his young face was clean and so smooth it appeared he hadn’t yet started to shave. He glanced up at her once, then blushed and looked back down at his work.
The officer lit a cigarette and studied the bodies of the civilians lying in the walkway, shaking his head. “My SS colleagues get a bit carried away at times, but this insurgency is a bad business.” He exhaled a perfect smoke ring, holding the cigarette delicately with his little finger extended. “It’s a shame. I loved my time here; it was a magnificent city. Are you from Warsaw?”
She shook her head. “Lwow.”
The officer raised his eyebrows. “Lwow? That’s too bad. The Russians are such brutes.”
Natalia stared at him, feeling like a prop in some bizarre stage play. Who is this character, and what the hell is going on? Suddenly she was aware of something very strange. There was no shelling, no grinding tank treads, no gunfire.
The officer smiled again. “You’re wondering why it’s so quiet?”
The Katyn Order Page 13
