by Rod Rees
Dabrowski laughed. ‘So now I understand. We are being bribed: you promise us blood and we get you out of Warsaw.’
‘In a nutshell: yes,’ agreed Vanka as he took another irritatingly casual draw on his cigarette.
‘And once you’re out of the Ghetto what’s to stop you just high-tailing it to NoirVille and forgetting about us?’
‘Nothing. You’ll just have to trust me … us.’
‘Ridiculous!’ spluttered Dabrowski. ‘I cannot allow the Daemon – Miss Williams – to leave the Ghetto. It – she – is the last bargaining chip I have with Heydrich. If I surrender the Daemon I am sure that the Leader will be inclined to be more lenient.’
‘Loath as I am to contradict you, Colonel Dabrowski,’ came the calm voice of Trotsky, ‘but my own assessment is that the time for surrender is long gone. No matter what we do now, Heydrich will still destroy the people of Warsaw. We’ve resisted him and given his SS a hiding. He can’t allow us to live, because alive we’re a permanent reminder to the rest of the Demi-Monde that once people fought to keep their independence. This young man may be a little … raffish but his idea has merit. If we surrender, Heydrich will shoot us all. If we can hold out for just a few more weeks, then there is a chance.’
For over a minute Dabrowski sat in silence as he weighed his decision, then finally, reluctantly, he acquiesced. ‘Very well, Vanka Maykov, we will give you the opportunity to work your magic.’
‘Great,’ muttered Norma, ‘I’m out of this shithole at last.’
Ella wondered how Norma would react when she learnt how Vanka was proposing they get out of Warsaw. At least it would take her mind off the lice.
‘The sewers!’ exclaimed Norma. ‘You want me to escape from Warsaw by crawling through the sewers?’
Vanka nodded. ‘It is the only way. The SS are shooting anyone attempting to leave the Ghetto, and as there are twenty thousand of the bastards patrolling the walls, the chances of us slipping out that way are non-existent. The alternative, Miss Williams, is to stay here.’
‘Screw that. But what happens when we get to the end of the sewer? Where will we come out?’
‘On a scarp of the Rhine. One branch empties into the river just below the Reinhard Heydrich Bridge, the new railway bridge that Comrade Commissar Dashwood built. The SS won’t be expecting anyone from Warsaw to pop out in Odessa.’
‘What do you expect us to do then: swim across the river?’ sneered Norma.
‘Almost,’ said Vanka casually. ‘The WFA have a few sympathisers in Odessa, one of whom has a rowing boat. At night it should be possible to scull across between the river patrols. The Anglos are well organised but that is their weakness: they are predictable.’
‘But even if they can’t see us they’ll be able to smell us. After crawling through the sewers we’ll be covered from head to toe in …’
Vanka gave a snort of impatience. ‘The time for debate is over, Miss Williams. If you do not wish to take up my offer then so be it.’
For several seconds Norma chewed her bottom lip in indecision. ‘Okay, okay, but I hope you have someone leading us who knows where they’re going. I don’t want to end up being lost in a latrine.’
‘Don’t worry on that score,’ said Trixie, and beckoned to a young girl idly smoking a cigarette on the other side of the room. ‘This is Róza, the best of all the WFA’s sewer rats.’
The girl, who couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old, tossed the cigarette to the ground and wandered across to stand beside Trixie. ‘How many?’ she asked. It seemed to Ella that Róza wasn’t a great respecter of rank.
‘The two girls,’ said Trixie, pointing to Ella and Norma, ‘and the man.’ She indicated Vanka. ‘I’ll send Corporal – make that Sergeant – Josef Zawadzski with you as escort. He’s a reliable man.’ Zawadzski preened delightedly at this sudden promotion.
‘I don’t need any escort.’
‘He’s escorting the Daemon, not you.’
The girl spat on the floor. ‘Very well. But before we go, let me spell out the rules. When we are underground I am in charge. Any arguing, especially from you’ – Róza gave Norma a hard look – ‘and I’ll leave you down there. And don’t think I’m kidding. I’ll get out alive no matter what happens; you’ll get out alive by doing precisely what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Understood?’
There were nods from everybody in the group, even Norma.
‘In the sewers no one will speak except me and you will move as quietly as you can. Sound travels in the sewers and the smallest noise can be heard a long way off. Understand that we’re not gonna be by ourselves down there: the Anglos have twigged that we’re using the sewers to move around and have started to run patrols of their own. Believe me, you don’t wanna be in a firefight in the tubes.’
She accepted another cigarette from Vanka, who seemed to have taken a shine to the girl or maybe, Ella decided, they had their dislike of Norma Williams in common. ‘Okay, next thing: it’s dark down there and people have been known to panic. Anyone who panics and starts shouting or crying will be dealt with.’ Róza patted the large knife she had scabbarded at her waist. ‘Understood?’
Everybody nodded.
‘There will be no lights used in the sewers.’
‘How will you know where you’re going if you haven’t a light?’ asked Norma, a definite quaver in her voice.
‘I count: so many steps and then left, so many more steps and then right. Final point: it’s cold down there. Spring is coming and the snow and ice are thawing. The sewers are running fast and high with melt water so make sure you’re well wrapped up and that you’re wearing strong boots.’ She looked disdainfully at Norma’s shoes. ‘Not ballet slippers: wear those and you’ll not get a hundred yards. By the time you get out you’ll have lost all of your toes to frostbite.’
‘How far do we have to walk?’ asked Ella.
‘If we get lucky with the Anglos, just over a mile, if we get unlucky … who knows? It depends on how many diversions we have to make. The danger comes when we go under manholes in areas controlled by the Anglos. They have listening posts there and if they hear us they’ll toss down grenades.’
‘Wonderful,’ muttered Norma. ‘Are there any rats down there?’ she asked, shuddering at the thought.
‘No. The sewers are made of Mantle-ite and are perfectly smooth and perfectly round, so there’s nowhere for rats to nest.’ Róza studied Norma carefully. ‘You … Daemon, I hear you’ve got a smashed-up knee. Are you going to be able to walk a mile without it giving out? It’s tough down there and I ain’t carrying you.’
‘Don’t worry, Rambo, I’ll manage,’ answered Norma.
‘Okay. Once in the sewer we walk in a crocodile, the person behind hanging onto the belt of the person in front. That way no one gets lost and no one gets to fall. You’ve ten minutes to get ready. I’ve got some camphor here to spread under your nose: it won’t disguise the smell but it’ll give you a few moments to get used to it.’
Vanka leant forward until his mouth was next to Ella’s ear. ‘And I’ve got a big pot of lard …’
When they levered the manhole cover off there was a sigh as the noxious gas escaped from the sewer. It was so bad that Ella was forced to take a step back, which was difficult because of the three pairs of trousers Vanka had persuaded her to wear.
And then there was the lard that he had insisted she smear over her body.
She knew the lard made her smell like an oven-ready chicken but it was as nothing to the rancid stench that came out of the sewer. For a moment Ella thought she was going to hurl. It was a smell she remembered from chemistry class – hydrogen sulphide – but in this case the stench of rotten eggs was garnished by the odour of excrement.
She couldn’t believe she was going down there. She must be mad. The General hadn’t said anything about having to wade through a river of shit to earn her five million dollars.
Bastard.
Once the entrance to the
sewer was open, Róza was all business. ‘I’ll go down first,’ she instructed as she made a quick final inspection of her charges, making sure that their boot-laces were double-knotted and that they were wearing gloves. It seemed faintly comical for a child to be checking on the preparedness of hulking men like Vanka and the Sergeant, but Ella was so frightened that she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. ‘At the bottom of the ladder I’ll be turning left, heading in the direction of the river.’ She pointed towards the Rhine to ensure that there was no misunderstanding. ‘You, Daemon, will come next and I want to feel your hand gripping my belt all the way. Then you will come down’ – she pointed to Sergeant Zawadzski – ‘then you’ – Ella got the nod – ‘and then you, Colonel Maykov, at the back. And remember: no talking. Our lives depend on it.’
Orders given, Róza wriggled down the hole.
Ella watched Norma and Sergeant Zawadzski disappear from sight, then it was her turn. She walked over to the manhole and taking a deep breath – which was a mistake: despite the camphor spread under her nose she nearly gagged on the foul smell – she started to climb down the ladder that had been moulded into the side of the tunnel. The sewer seemed to be covered in a layer of slimy, slippery ooze that soaked through the leather of her gauntlets and made it difficult to grip the rungs. She was just thankful that the darkness prevented her seeing what it was that was smearing itself over her hands.
It was that dark. Not the darkness of night, not the darkness of a bedroom, but the same total, absolute, unrelenting darkness that she imagined a blind person must experience. Except for the thin light coming from the lantern Trixie Dashwood was holding over the open manhole, the sewer was a Stygian black. Ella looked down and saw the lantern’s light flickering and dancing on the water streaming below her feet. It looked like a river of thick, black treacle. For an instant she didn’t know if she could do it, didn’t know if she had the courage to enter that dark world. Sure she had PINC to guide her if things went wrong, but even that reassurance wasn’t enough to quell the feeling of panic rising up inside her. And then her foot was in the swirling water.
Fuck, it’s cold! No, not cold: it was absolutely fucking freezing.
Only with a real effort of will was she able to force herself to step off the ladder and into the water, the fast-running stream of filth maybe three feet deep, swirling up around her waist. She stood for a moment in shocked paralysis, letting her body come to terms with the numbness that was invading her legs. It was difficult to stand: the current was unbelievably strong and the curved bottom of the sewer was slick with an inch-thick layer of something indescribably horrible and very, very slippery. To make matters worse there were stones and other flotsam and jetsam washed down from the streets above banging into her legs as the water streamed past. For an instant the buffeting threatened to send her tumbling.
It was the thought of falling into a river of diluted shit that brought Ella to her senses. She fastened her hand onto Sergeant Zawadzski’s belt and pressed her other arm against the sewer wall for support.
Splaying her legs against the current, she tried to stand up straight, managing to bash her head painfully against the top of the sewer as she did so. The sewer tube could only have been five foot or so in diameter, so she had to crouch to shuffle forward. How she was going to endure walking cramped and crooked in this hellish place was beyond her.
She heard a splash – and a whispered ‘fuck’ – as Vanka waded into the water. Above her the manhole cover was replaced and in that instant Ella was enveloped by a total and unrelenting darkness. It was like being buried alive. And to make things worse it seemed that the walls of the sewer glowed with a faint but very eerie green luminescence.
She felt PINC trying to tell her things, trying to explain about LunarAtion, trying to orientate her but she was so scared and so fucking cold that she ignored it. She felt dizzy, weak, helpless. Ella had never had any real sympathy for people who claimed they suffered from claustrophobia, but now …
A hand grabbed her belt from behind, steadying her. Vanka’s mouth was at her ear. ‘It’s okay, Ella. I’m here. Take deep breaths.’
Thank God for Vanka.
The crocodile began to edge forward, shuffling and sliding in the fetid blackness.
It was a nightmare. Twice Ella fell – each time stumbling over a brick or a stone lodged on the floor of the sewer – immersing herself in the shit-thick water, desperately struggling to keep her mouth closed, trying not to swallow the effluent that now so liberally coated her hair and face, spitting away the despicable taste on her lips. And both times it was Vanka who hauled her up by her belt and back onto her feet.
She had no idea how long they walked; time had no meaning in that terrible darkness. All she knew was that they had been walking long enough for her to be numb from the waist down and covered in shit and sweat from the waist up. She was tired to the point of exhaustion.
Suddenly she felt Sergeant Zawadzski slither to a halt in front of her and a moment later his voice whispered at her ear. ‘We’ve got to cross a junction. Keep very, very quiet. Róza will be lighting a lantern for a moment. Pass this message on to the Colonel.’
Ella did as she was told and then waited in the darkness. And as she stood she realised that the sound of rushing water that had been the only accompaniment to their progress had been augmented by a low rumbling noise coming from overhead. The SS, she guessed, must be moving steamers around on the surface. She could hear the pounding of the heavy wheels on the cobbles, could feel the thud of their huge pistons as they passed, could imagine the weight of the enormous, heavy vehicles pressing down on her.
A light flared.
Ella flinched, screwing her eyes tight shut before cautiously opening them. By the lantern’s flickering light she saw that they were at a crossroads of the sewer system, a junction where two sewers met, the two streams merging to form a heaving rapids, the waters swirling in a turbulent whirlpool. Ella shook her head: no one – well, no one as tired as she was – would be able to pass across that maelstrom without being washed away.
Obviously Róza had anticipated the problem: she delved down under the water and hauled up a long steel pole that had been pre-positioned there. She laid the pole across the mouth of the sewer set at right angles to their route. ‘Hold hard to the pole,’ she whispered. ‘Put your weight against it, it’ll stop you being taken by the current. And for the Spirits’ sake, be quiet: the Anglos are right above us and they’ll be listening.’ The girl beckoned Sergeant Zawadzski forward and with him holding tight to the end of the pole, Róza used it to shimmy across the whirlpool to stand at the opposite side of the crossroads. Once settled she waved to Norma to follow her.
The girl did her best, but even in the lantern’s uncertain light Ella could see that she was scared witless. She was about halfway across when disaster struck. Thinking about it later, all Ella could suppose was that one of the bricks skittering about in the churning water had smashed into Norma’s damaged knee but whatever it was the girl screamed and her leg buckled. In that instant she lost her footing, was caught by the current and was gone, washed down the sewer to their right. Instinctively Ella made to lunge forward to grab her but Vanka yanked her back.
‘She’s lost …’ he shouted but any further debate was ended when the manhole cover directly above their heads was wrenched back and a lantern on a rope lowered down.
‘There!’ yelled a voice. ‘A Polish sewer rat.’
There was an ear-splitting explosion as Sergeant Zawadzski fired his revolver: the lantern exploded in a shower of glass and the sewer was plunged back into darkness.
‘Retreat,’ Sergeant Zawadzski snarled, and before Ella quite knew what was happening she was being hauled along the passage they’d just marched down. There were more thunderous blasts of gunfire, yellow and red light flared in the tunnels, the tang of cordite mingling with the stench of excrement. Suddenly there was a mighty explosion and a shock wave of sound bellowed through the sewer, sho
ving Ella over, throwing her into the fetid water. She was dragged to her feet by Vanka as Zawadzski loosed off shots, the flashes as the revolver fired blinding her. Ella could barely think as she staggered, gasping and spluttering, after Vanka and Sergeant Zawadzski.
Behind her she could hear shouts of men in pursuit and every now and again a bullet whined overhead, flicking from side to side as it caromed off the impervious Mantle-ite of the sewer wall.
Sergeant Zawadzski, lost in the pitch-black labyrinth, pulled a lantern from his bag and lit it. It was a suicidal thing to do. Without light they were running blind, but so too were the pursuing Anglos. Immediately the lantern was lit there was a fusillade of shots from the SS.
As she desperately tried to duck away from the bullets, Ella realised that thanks to PINC she was a natural sewer rat herself, a sewer rat who didn’t need light to know where she was going. ‘Douse the lantern,’ she ordered. ‘I know the way … follow me! Keep the current at your back! This branch of the sewer circles around under Odessa. Get there and we’ll be able to pick up another route that gives out on the Rhine near the new railway bridge.’
‘You go on,’ said Sergeant Zawadzski. ‘I’ll hold them here.’
‘Don’t be fucking stupid, this is no time for heroics,’ shouted Vanka. ‘Make a stand and they’ll settle you with grenades. Our only hope is to run.’ He grabbed Ella by the arm and dragged her down the sewer shaft. The current was behind them now, pushing them forward, threatening to topple them over. The frigid water was deeper too; it raced past Ella at chest height, making her gasp with the pain as the cold invaded her body.
Another explosion.
The Anglos were throwing grenades in front of them as they advanced. The noise of the explosions was louder … nearer …
‘To the left, to the left,’ she shouted. ‘Move, for the love of the Spirits, move!’
Bullets snarled around them. Suddenly Sergeant Zawadzski pitched forward as though he had been kicked in the back.
Scrabbling around in the darkness, Vanka tried to pull Zawadzski to his feet but it was useless. ‘Dead …’ Vanka pronounced, then wrenched the Sergeant’s pistol from his hand and passed it to Ella. ‘Fire at them. Make them keep their distance. Don’t let them get near enough to lob a grenade.’
