First to Fight

by Roger Moorhouse

  After this ‘softening up’ from the air, the Poles were subjected to a ground assault by troops of the 7th Infantry Division, whose men attempted to fight their way into the forest, as dusk fell. But for the Germans too, as the corps diarist recorded, the battle that ensued was the stuff of nightmares, with ‘the upturned tree trunks as our enemies, which creep around, move around, leap out, which are the front and the back. In a word the forest is the ally of the defenders … It’s as if the bushes themselves could fire – a horrible entanglement of machine gun nests and undergrowth.’28 Janów would become known to the Germans as the ‘Forest of Death’.

  After holding the German attack in the forest until the evening of the 17th, the Poles began to withdraw eastward in the direction of Lwów, in the vain hope that an attack from the city might help them to penetrate the German lines. In the end, encircled by enemy tanks at Hołosko (Holosko) on the northern edge of the city, the remnants of Prugar-Ketling’s 11th Division were forced to capitulate, with only a few able to sneak through the German ring to enter Lwów. Sosnkowski, meanwhile, ordered his men to split into smaller groups and try to break into the city individually or else make their way south to the Hungarian border.29

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  By that time, of course, a new enemy was looming on the eastern horizon. General Langner was alerted to the Soviet threat by a message from the border protection corps commander at Czortków, who reported hearing the sound of engines and the neighing of horses from across the frontier.30 General Sosnkowski, then in Janów Forest, received the news from a Polish airman who had been shot down and had tried to swallow the message he was to deliver. The document, ‘half-chewed up’ and ‘stuck together in several places’, was scarcely legible, but its opening line was clear enough: ‘Today, Soviet forces crossed the border of Poland from Połock [Polatsk] to the Dniester …’ As the line was read, Sosnkowski recalled, ‘dead silence fell’.31

  Other units lacked even that information, and with radio communication at best intermittent, many were ignorant of developments on the eastern frontier, or were forced to rely instead on rumour and hearsay. In the confusion, Soviet agents and sympathisers, who were already active in Lwów, were able to exploit the information vacuum, spreading the lie that Soviet forces were coming to help them against the Germans.32 A Soviet leaflet, dropped on the city on 17 September, blamed Poland’s supposed collapse on its ‘incompetent government’ and claimed that its ministers and generals had ‘fled like cowards’, abandoning the country to its disastrous fate. Consequently, it went on, the Red Army was coming to deliver ‘working Poles … from the enslavement, ruin and defeat at the hands of the enemy’. It ended by urging Polish soldiers to lay down their arms, reminding them that resistance against the Red Army was futile, and asking for their help in delivering Poland ‘from the shackles of the landlords and nobles’. If they did so, the leaflet promised, ‘freedom and a happy life will be ensured’.33

  Hitler’s propaganda delivered a different message. A German leaflet, dropped on Lwów that same afternoon, declared that the city had already been turned into a battlefield, that further resistance was senseless and that the Red Army had crossed the Polish frontier ‘as Germany’s allies’. The note falsely claimed that Warsaw had capitulated, and demanded that Lwów follow suit, stipulating that hostilities should cease by midday on 18 September, with all Polish soldiers laying down their weapons by that time. If German demands were disregarded, the note went on, women, children and men over the age of fifty would be permitted to leave the city by way of the Winniki (Vynnyky) road until 5 p.m. After that time, ‘an attack from land and air will be carried out with all ruthlessness’.34 Needless to say, the demand was ignored by the Polish defenders.

  Later that day, General Langner received confirmation of what he had already suspected: the Red Army had crossed the border. A message from the High Command instructed him as to how he and his forces were to respond to the invasion: ‘We are only fighting the Germans,’ it read. ‘We are not at war with the Bolsheviks. On the frontier the KOP has fired warning shots to show that we are not allowing them in willingly. Do not engage them unless you are engaged.’35

  The following day, Langner consulted with his commanders. Hard information on Soviet intentions was still scant. It seemed that the Red Army had generally refrained from engaging Polish forces to the east of Lwów, and claimed to have arrived to fight the Germans, but the general was under no illusions about Soviet ‘fraternity’ and did not believe in their ‘friendly intentions’.36 Yet, Langner had to make a decision. He considered ordering a night-time withdrawal towards the south-east, but bolstered by the presence of two armoured trains – the Śmiały and the Bartosz Głowacki – which had arrived in the city, and anticipating the arrival of General Sosnkowski from Janów Forest, he decided to continue the city’s defence.37 The order was given for a volunteer defence corps to be raised, martial law was proclaimed and makeshift defences were erected. ‘There was no asphalt, they had pulled up the cobblestones and pavement slabs to make barricades against tanks,’ one soldier recalled. ‘Not even a single German could get into Lwów that way. The young people made petrol bombs; everything that lived fought for Lwów.’38 For some, however, the battle was already taking its toll: ‘It is hard to live,’ Alma Heczko wrote in her diary. ‘Life is neurotic. Continually listening for aircraft, the whistle of shells flying overhead, being thrown out of bed at night. All of this affects one’s mood.’39

  On the morning of the 19th, another German envoy approached Polish lines on Gródecka Street to demand capitulation, stating that the city would be subjected to a massive bombardment if the garrison did not comply. Langner confirmed receipt of the note but was not prepared to capitulate.40 That afternoon, though air raids were temporarily halted, there were concerted ground assaults from the south-west, the north and the east, which were only held off with heavy casualties. In truth, the Germans were already preparing their withdrawal, ceding the city and the wider region to Soviet rule, as prescribed in the Secret Protocol to the Nazi–Soviet Pact. It seemed that the 1,000 or so Gebirgsjäger killed in the attempt to take Lwów had given their lives on a fool’s errand.

  While the Germans made one last attempt to force the city’s surrender by threats and brute force, the Soviets tried cunning. Early the next morning, the Red Army spearheads arrived in the eastern suburb of Łyczaków (Lychakiv), announcing themselves by driving towards Polish positions and then promptly withdrawing eastward without firing a shot. Other units would soon follow. The teenager Janina Król witnessed the odd comings and goings that morning to the east of the city. ‘An army came on some tiny horses,’ she wrote.

  Very strange, they looked like a band of ragamuffins. We were all terrified, because the Germans had been so elegant, so refined when they came, but these looked awful, like bandits. Will they murder us all? The village was struck with fear … Where they’d come from or why, we did not know. We were bewildered.41

  While the fighting continued in the west, a German envoy brought another surrender offer. In recognition of the heroic Polish defence of Lwów, the note read, the garrison would be honoured and the officers would be permitted to keep their side arms. Again Langner refused.42 To the east, meanwhile, a Polish delegation travelled to meet the Soviet vanguard. The resulting talks were bewildering. ‘Why have you come?’ the Polish colonel, Bronisław Rakowski, asked a Red Army colonel. ‘You must have read the papers,’ the Soviet officer replied. When Rakowski told him that the city was besieged and no papers got through, his response was: ‘So maybe you’ve heard on the radio what has taken place?’ Rakowski understood the sinister turn of events very well, and fully appreciated why his ‘wholly unintelligent’ counterpart ‘could not muster the courage’ to tell the truth: that the Red Army had come as invaders and allies of Hitler. Enjoying the moment, however, he told the colonel that the radio was dead after the Germans had cut the power. Then he repeated his original question: ‘So, why are you here?’ The Soviet
colonel squirmed for a moment and then announced that they were there to fight the Germans. ‘Oh, that’s good,’ Rakowski replied, pretending to believe him and immediately showing him the German positions on a map. The Red Army man interrupted him: ‘But we wish to enter the city.’ Rakowski declared that this was impossible, and that he had no authority to discuss it. His counterpart now asked if they might be given ‘observation points’ for artillery, but added that they would still like to enter Lwów. Rakowski was not fooled, however. ‘Something odd is taking place,’ he mused later that day. ‘But one thing is certain, both enemies want to break into the city.’43 As if to confirm the strangeness of events, German and Soviet forces briefly clashed that morning near Winniki, east of Lwów, with both sides suffering losses of men and materiel before the Germans withdrew.44

  The presence of two enemy armies outside the city did little for civilian morale. As the diarist Alma Heczko wrote: ‘It seems that we Poles are doomed. I think the defence of Lwów is futile when we are surrounded by enemies on every side.’ Enemy propaganda was especially wearing: ‘Both the Germans and the Soviets want to create a mood of helplessness, and that’s why they are threatening us when they write that the Polish government has fled, nobody cares about us, that Warsaw is in ruins … But we will fight for our city.’45

  Langner was forced to face reality, however. Feeling obliged to limit the human and material damage to which the city would be exposed in the event of an all-out assault, he called another meeting with his commanders, to ‘determine the conditions of further resistance’. Opening the discussion, Langner explained that he was unable to fight two enemies, and could not ‘go against tanks with his bare hands’.46 The conclusions that he reached were bleak. He had received no relief from outside the city, and now expected none to arrive. Ammunition and food reserves were low; water and electrical supplies had already failed. What was more, though morale among the army’s Polish soldiers was good, the arrival of the Soviets had compromised the loyalty of its Byelorussian and Ukrainian minorities; mass desertion, it seemed, was now a very real prospect. So, despite some misgivings, and no little sorrow, Langner’s commanders concurred with the general’s view that there was no other option than to negotiate a capitulation with the Soviets. With that, a meeting was arranged for the following morning, 22 September, in Winniki.47

  Langner came well prepared. His legal advisors drew up a list of conditions to be presented to the Red Army’s negotiators, including the right of Polish officers to choose their place of residence, the right of other ranks to be released and return home, and the right of military families and civilians to have their property respected.48 While these conditions were accepted by the Soviets without demur, a wider set of terms suggested by the city mayor, Stanisław Ostrowski – including continued autonomy for city institutions, the maintenance of Polish law and language, and freedom of religion – were all rejected.49 With that, the surrender of Lwów was agreed, scheduled to take place that same afternoon at three o’clock.

  Returning to his command, Langner heard the first objections of some of his soldiers, when a group of officers and NCOs, led by a Captain Różycki, marched into the defence command, pistols drawn, and demanded that the city continue the fight. Intercepted by a colonel, en route to Langner’s office, Różycki was finally persuaded of the argument for capitulation. But even that colonel was not convinced of his case. Later in life he would write: ‘Perhaps he was right, perhaps we should have fought to the end.’50

  That afternoon, Langner finalised the text of his addresses to his men and to the city, announcing the surrender and giving instructions on the procedures to be followed: all equipment was to be abandoned, and while the other ranks were to march, four abreast, towards specified collection points, officers were to gather at the city command before being marched ‘to the east’. Discipline was to be maintained throughout.51 In his address to the garrison, Langner declared that the defence of Lwów had been a ‘glorious page in the history of warfare’. The men had bravely withstood the technological superiority of the enemy and as they left their posts, they were to know that they were not surrendering to the Germans; rather, he said, ‘we were handing over the city to the Soviet Army, with which we did not fight, and with which we were ordered not to fight’. He closed by thanking his men for their blood and toil, and vowed that the country would not forget their heroism.52 To the civilian population, he expressed his thanks for the sacrifices that they had endured and gave voice to his belief that Lwów would ‘for ever remain faithful and heroic, and … will remain Polish for ever’.53

  Then Langner departed for Tarnopol, 110 kilometres to the east, where he met the Soviet front commander, Marshal Semyon Timoshenko, to ensure that the surrender terms were kept. From there, he travelled on to Moscow to discuss matters with Marshal Boris Shaposhnikov, the chief of staff of the Red Army.54 Throughout, he was told that the conditions agreed would be adhered to and that his officers would be safe, because – as the then Communist Party chief in Ukraine, Nikita Khrushchev, reassured him – ‘Russia always kept her obligations’.55 Langner was not convinced. He had tried to do his best for his men, but already at the end of his time in Moscow, he felt that he had been duped. He suspected that his presence there had been engineered solely so that he could be pressed for information on the Germans. Moreover, he was dismayed to see that the map hanging on Shaposhnikov’s office wall clearly showed that Poland was to be partitioned once again.56

  While Langner was absent, the people of Lwów began to witness the dark reality of Soviet occupation. One eye-witness recalled the Red Army’s entry into the city with a shudder. ‘I was walking across Akademicki Square’, He wrote:

  when loudly rattling tachankas [machine gun wagons] and tanks rode by. Men … clasped their guns tightly and looked suspiciously at the crowd … The despondent and dense multitude slowly trickled home. At the corner there stood a weeping janitor. They had killed his 12-year-old son for having smiled at the sight of the wretched tachankas and the grimy soldiers.57

  There were other reprisals. In one case, all the men in an apartment block were rounded up after the dead body of a Red Army soldier was found in the courtyard. Despite having tried to save the man, they were accused of murder and shot, in front of their wives and children.58

  Meanwhile, Mayor Ostrowski met some of the 2,000 or so Polish officers, who gathered outside the defence command and asked him what they should do. The mayor replied bluntly that they should make themselves scarce. He was right. As they spoke, Soviet tanks arrived and Red Army infantry began occupying every building. The assembled officers and men were then marched out of the city, eastward, in long columns. Over the following days, countless others followed them into captivity, some bound, beaten and stripped of their boots, their epaulettes and their dignity.59 For many of them it was a journey that would end in the burial pits of Katyń.

  As the strange skirmish at Winniki had demonstrated, relations between the Red Army and the Wehrmacht were not always cordial. There were other clashes, whether by accident or design. According to Colonel Adam Epler of the Polish 60th Infantry Division, confrontations between the two were not uncommon, especially towards the end of the campaign. German tanks were engaged by Soviet bombers, he recalled; and in one instance ‘we saw a German bomber shot down by two Soviet fighters. Our outposts fought Germans and Bolshevists at the same time.’ ‘Queer allies they were,’ he concluded.60

  Crucially, the arrangement between the Germans and the Soviets was not an alliance. The Nazi–Soviet Pact had been a non-aggression treaty, which – though it opened up the opportunity for a collaborative strategic relationship – did not signify the start of a formal alliance between the two states. Even though Berlin and Moscow shared the aim of destroying Poland, they operated largely in isolation from one another that September, with the notable exception of the Soviet radio station in the Byelorussian capital, Minsk, which repeatedly introduced the city’s name into its broadcasts, to
aid Luftwaffe navigation.61 Beyond this assistance, the Soviet position in the ongoing conflict was officially one of neutrality, a fiction that Stalin was very keen to maintain. His commanders were therefore instructed that Soviet and German forces – however closely their objectives were aligned – were to maintain a 25-kilometre distance from one another.62 Evidence of active collaboration would gravely compromise Stalin’s cause.

  Nonetheless, a degree of coordination between the two armies was essential, and instructions were duly distributed to Soviet army groups on procedures to be followed to avoid ‘friendly fire’ incidents. German troops were to display a spread white cloth to approaching Soviet units, and fire green and red flares to identify themselves. In addition, the German command requested that the Red Army avoid night-time attacks, a tactic favoured by the Poles. Given that the Germans had already advanced beyond the line stipulated in Moscow the previous month, a staged withdrawal was agreed, with the German side promising to return any lost Red Army soldiers that they encountered to the nearest Soviet unit, and promising to treat those that were wounded.63 On occasions when the two sides met, German troops were instructed to send an officer to deliver the following rather plaintive message: ‘The German army welcomes the army of the Soviet Union. Both the officers and the soldiers of the German army would like to be on good terms with you. The Red Army is expected to maintain this friendliness in return.’64

  Given that the Nazi and Soviet regimes had spent much of the previous decade vilifying each other, such caution might have seemed justified. Old habits and mindsets could be difficult to change, and neither side made much effort on an official level to do so. Indeed, as Nikita Khrushchev later confessed, it had been ‘impossible to explain … the idea of joining forces with Germany … to the man on the street’.65 The same applied, it seemed, to the Red Army soldier. For some, it was not the Polish army that they worried about, but their ostensible allies, the Wehrmacht. One Red Army major-general later recalled his concerns about where and when his men might meet German forces, adding that despite the pact with Hitler, ‘we all understood – deep in our souls – that the German fascists were still the bitterest enemies of Soviet rule’.66 Such feelings were often reciprocated. In one example, a diarist in Białystok noted that the Germans were ‘terrified of the Bolsheviks’ and kept telling the civilian population not to stay in the city, but to withdraw westward with them. When the time came to hand over the city to the Soviets, she wrote, the Germans ‘practically fled’.67