The Col. leaned forward and spoke in a barely audible voice. “We really do have to worry about Russian spies. If they're eavesdropping, they won't hear anything but the songsters.”
“Now,” said the General in a stage whisper, “let's get to the point. Kwiatkowski, I'm told you're an impostor. The real Kwiatkowski was killed near Warsaw.”
“That's correct, sir.”
“I want an explanation. Better still: Szymczak, you explain. Did you know about Kwiatkowski? What did you mean by bringing an impostor into my inner circle?”
“Yes, sir, I did know. I confess, General, that I'm an impostor too. I'm really Lt. Janusz Tomczak of the Polish Cavalry.”
Thereupon, Jan and Kaz described their escape from the prison camp near Smolensk, their fears that the Russians were shooting prisoners, and how two prisoners were killed during the escape. They just happened to have the extra dog tags from the Warsaw battle. They decided to use the false identities; the Russians would be less likely to shoot them if they were recaptured.
Jan was speaking more and more softly. By now, the four men were head to head; it looked like a conspiracy.
“If possible, sir, we'd like to keep our false identities. We're still worried what the Bolshies will do if they find out who we really are.”
“Well you might,” responded the Colonel. “After the end of June—when the Russians agreed to release Polish prisoners—we expected thousands of officers from the Smolensk camp, and from two others near Kalinin and Starobelsk. But as far as we know, you're the only ones who made it.”
“Just from Smolensk?” Kaz wanted to know.
“From any of the three camps. We're very concerned. We're afraid you were right—the Russians murdered the others.”
Kaz was surprised by his mixed emotions. He was appalled at the thought of all his fellow prisoners dying. But he was also relieved. He and Jan had not been responsible for the senseless death of the two would-be escapees.
The General continued the Colonel's story. “For your information—and keep this confidential—next month, when Gen. Sikorski meets the Russians in Moscow, he may ask about Katyn—the forest near Smolensk where we suspect our officers were executed. It looks more and more like a brutal massacre. Until further notice, you will maintain your false identities. We don't want to give the Russians any hint that we have two escapees among us.
“Also, we'd like the two of you to keep yourselves apart from the rest of the troops. We don't know who may recognize you. We don't want rumors going around. But it will be helpful if you are in Moscow and can give your story first-hand to Gen. Sikorski.”
General Anders reiterated his main point. “Most of all, don't give any hint of your true identities when you're in Moscow. Even at our most optimistic, we think the discussions with Stalin will be difficult.”
Not only were the talks with Stalin difficult. So were the preliminary discussions between Sikorski and Anders.
They took place at the British embassy, which provided some chance of a secure conversation. They were in the main conference room on the third floor, but even there, concerns about listening devices were in evidence. A gramophone was kept playing in the corner to disguise the sound of voices. The music was better than the barroom singers at the barracks. Perhaps as a courtesy to any Russian eavesdropper, they played Tchaikovsky's 1812 Symphony. Over and over. Kaz realized how much he preferred church bells to cannon fire.
After more than two years in captivity, Anders was eager to get his troops into action. How would they get out of the Soviet Union?
Sikorski interrupted. “That's not the first question, General. The real issue is: do we want to keep our troops in the Soviet Union, where they can roll back into Poland with the Red Army? Or do we want to get them out to help the British?”
“Let's get out, by all means, sir. We can fight alongside the British as close allies. There's too much suspicion for us to fight beside the Russians.”
“But Russia's the critical front. The Soviets are our only hope. If they collapse, it's hard to see how Hitler can be defeated. We may never have a free Poland.”
“Many of our men have had bad experiences with the Russians, sir.” Anders made a point of not looking at Kaz and Jan, who sat inconspicuously at the side of the room.
“Granted. But does that make a compelling case for leaving the Soviet Union?”
“I would certainly think so.” To Anders, it seemed obvious.
“Not so clear. Why do we have trouble with the Russians? Partly, it's history—centuries of sporadic fighting. But Communism is a big complication. Stalin wants world revolution. That means a Communist government in Poland. If we don't have an army on the ground when the Nazis are driven out of Poland, the Soviets may set up a Communist regime. That means you should stay here. Precisely because we can't trust the Russians. It's essential that the Russians beat the Germans. But it's also essential that we have an army on the ground when they do.”
“I see your point, sir. But isn't that the job of our underground Home Army?”
“Yes, but they may not be nearly strong enough. If your army joins the Home Army, our forces will be too big for the Russians to ignore.
“There's one more thing,” Sikorski continued. “It's important. President Raczkiewicz takes a much harder line on the Soviet Union than I do. When Hitler invaded Russia, the President didn't want to resume diplomatic relations with the Soviets unless they would first agree to restore our 1938 borders after the war. We had a real row. He tried to fire me—too soft with the Russians.”
Sikorski anticipated the obvious question: how could he still be Prime Minister? “I only hung on because the British Government intervened on my behalf. They put pressure on Raczkiewicz to keep me, and to restore relations with the Russians. So we need to take the President's hard line into account. He wants you here, to increase our bargaining power.”
Anders didn't much like the idea of his troops being used as a bargaining chip. In his anger, he struggled to keep his voice down. “That puts us in an impossible position, sir. Our men are brave; they're willing to face the Nazi enemy, and die if necessary. But they don't want to fight with enemies at their flanks and rear, too. If the Russians see us as a threat to their postwar plans, they'll simply put us in the most dangerous position on the battlefield. We'll be exterminated. That's why our officers here are unanimous. They want out. We can help Britain. We'll just have to trust Britain to protect our postwar interests. If they won't, our situation is hopeless.”
“Perhaps not as hopeless as you suggest.” Stanislaw Kot, the Polish Ambassador to the Soviet Union, interrupted. He had just returned from a brief absence from the room; he had left when a British secretary came in and handed him a note. “The Americans may be in our corner, too. The British Embassy has informed me that the Japanese have just bombed Pearl Harbor.”
Formalities disappeared. Everyone cheered; there were handshakes all around. America was finally in the war.
“Unfortunately, there are also two bits of bad news,” continued Kot. “The Japanese sank most of the American fleet, including almost all their battleships. And according to the British embassy in Washington, the Americans are about to declare war on Japan, but not Germany. So it's not clear how much they'll help us and Britain. They may spend their energies chasing the Japanese all over the Pacific.”
“That may also complicate our own plans,” added Sikorski. “I was in America last March, and set up a recruiting campaign among Polish Americans. Now those men will be going into the American Army.
“Coming back to the main point,” continued Sikorski, “we should also take into account Stalin's views. What does he want? Will he ask us to keep our army here, or does he want us to leave? Ambassador Kot?”
“Unfortunately, I can't help. Everybody in the Soviet government is preoccupied, trying to stop the German advance. Many are trying to get their families out, to the east. Nobody is even willing to guess at what Stalin wants. Particularl
y on a dangerous topic like this.”
Kot summarized: “The Soviets can obviously see one strong argument on each side. Our troops can help in the defense of the Soviet Union. But later, if and when the Soviets roll westward, they may look at our army as a nuisance—a threat to their plans for postwar Poland.
“Incidentally,” he added, “the Soviets are preparing a big counteroffensive against the Nazis. Somehow, their intelligence picked up the story that the Japanese were going to move south, against the Americans, British, and Dutch. That gave them an opportunity to bring troops back from the Far East. They're good. They beat the Japanese two years ago. Their new T-34 tank is first-rate—better than anything the Germans have. My guess is, Hitler's in for a nasty surprise.”
Again, smiles all around, but the reaction was more subdued this time.
“OK,” replied Sikorski. “Let's figure out what we want and how to get it. I'll have to check with the President in London. But I've modified my views; I think the attitude of officers here in the Soviet Union needs to be taken into account. Tentatively, I'm willing to go along—we should try to get our army out. The President and I will make the final decision.”
“Assuming you decide that we should leave the Soviet Union, sir, how do we deal with Stalin?” Anders queried. “Do we take the initiative, or do we wait for him to express his views first?”
Sikorski looked toward Kot; he wanted his opinion. Kot obliged. “I'd be inclined to go first. If Stalin says what he wants first, and then we go for the other side, he may dig in his heels. He's pretty insecure. Otherwise, why would he shoot so many people around him? Looking good in front of his colleagues is very important.”
“Fine,” replied Sikorski. “Let's work on our opening statement this evening. Regarding Stalin's sensitivities, there's a much touchier issue. I'm under explicit orders from the President to ask about the missing Polish officers from the prison camps near Smolensk, Kalinin, and Starobelsk. Our people in London have prepared a list of 4,000 officers who we know were in one or other of those camps. The President wants an explanation.”
There was sober silence. Sikorski passed two copies of the list around the table. Some of the officers passed it quickly on; others leafed through it, looking for familiar names.
“That will give us even more to talk about this evening,” Sikorski said, looking first at General Anders and then at the Ambassador. The meeting was over.
As some of the participants milled around the room, Kaz managed to get his hands on the list. As he looked through it, he saw many familiar names. Two particularly caught his attention: Kazimierz Jankowski and Janusz Tomczak.
The meeting with Stalin, which had been scheduled for the next day, was delayed more than a week. Stalin was unavailable. With the Germans at the gates of Moscow, he was struggling with the immediate crisis. He would not see the Poles until his winter counteroffensive had been launched.
For the Poles, the interim was more than worthwhile. They were able to consider their approach to Stalin in great detail, and they joyfully received news that would change the course of the war. Hitler declared war on the United States.
Kaz couldn't understand why. Didn't the Führer learn anything from the First War? Why would he want to fight America again? True, he had a treaty with the Japanese. But he was obliged to help only if Japan were attacked. There was no mystery, who did the attacking at Pearl Harbor.
“If you go looking for enemies,” he mused, “there's no counting the number you'll find.”
“Maybe it was Hitler's strange sense of honor,” Jan suggested wryly. It was the best reason they could dredge up. But they didn't really need an explanation. They could rejoice that they now possessed the time-tested secret of military success—the blunders of their foes.
The interval also gave Sikorski the opportunity for a detailed talk with Kaz and Jan. He wanted to know how they had escaped; if anyone else had escaped; and what made them suspect the Russians were shooting prisoners. Partly, it was the conversation between the two guards that Jan had overheard. Partly it was the peculiar way the Russians were taking 200 prisoners away each night without any explanation. But it also was just a vague, uneasy feeling, perhaps the result of a general suspicion of the Russians.
Sikorski repeated Anders' instructions: they were to maintain their false identities and not give the Russians the least hint of who they really were. Jan wanted to know, should their two names be deleted from the list? No, came the answer. They couldn't be sure that the list had been kept from spying Russian eyes. If their names were omitted now, the Russians might wonder why.
When Stalin did appear, the signs of the crisis were on his face. He looked much older than his sixty-two years. His graying mustache drooped. His face was dotted with pockmarks, in sharp contrast to the airbrushed portraits so prominently displayed around Moscow. His uniform was an odd mixture—baggy trousers covered on the top by a crisp, carefully tailored tunic, and on the bottom by boots polished to a mirror-like shine.
Kaz was surprised, how short he was, and, for that matter, how short his aides were. There was one exception: a tall general who carefully took his place at the end of the table, far from Stalin. Kaz couldn't help noticing. Stalin briefly greeted most of his aides, but carefully stayed away from the general.
Stalin began with a short opening statement of only a few sentences, welcoming the Poles to Moscow.
Sikorski responded by stating how much he appreciated meeting the Soviet leader, and looked forward to fruitful talks. He congratulated Stalin on the success of the counteroffensive, and on the valor of the Soviet troops. He began what promised to be an extended, flowery statement. Stalin brusquely interrupted him. Time was short. Would Sikorski get down to business?
“Our governments have agreed,” responded Sikorski, “that the main issue before us is the role of the Polish troops in the Soviet Union. I convey the appreciation of my government, that these troops have been permitted to recommence their training.” In expressing his thanks in this way, Sikorski was laying down a marker: the Government in London was the legitimate government of Poland.
Stalin grunted.
“Now that our troops are close to being battle-ready,” observed Sikorski, “the question arises as to how they might be most useful in promoting the allied cause.
“Now that we have a new American ally,” he continued, “the prospects for invading France in the next year or two now seem much brighter—a second front that will distract Hitler from his attacks on the Soviet Union. Together with the glorious, heroic actions of the Red Army in the East—first on the defensive, and now attacking the invaders—actions in the West can contribute to the eventual defeat of the Nazis. It is the view of my government that our troops can make the greatest contribution by joining our British allies, hastening the time of the second front.”
Sikorski was laying it on a bit thick, but he wanted to be as persuasive as possible. Kaz was impressed at the General's skills, particularly as a withdrawal from the Soviet Union was not his own personal preference.
Stalin thoughtfully puffed on his pipe, then took it out of his mouth and began to stoke it. He put on quite a performance, poking away at the tobacco. He put the stem back in his mouth, lit several matches, and half smiled as the puffs became larger and thicker. He turned to Molotov, Commissar for Foreign Affairs, and the two conversed briefly.
“Conditionally agreed,” said Stalin. “The details will have to be worked out—when and how you will leave, and payments to be made for the supplies you have used and will use in the future.”
“I understand,” replied Sikorski. Stalin clearly didn't want to fuss with the details; they would be dealt with later. Sikorski guessed from Stalin's quick agreement that he wanted to get rid of the Poles. One more reason to be worried about postwar Poland. “We were thinking of a move to the south. The British have asked for reinforcements in their battle for North Africa.”
Stalin began to rise, indicating that the meeting wa
s over.
“There is one more matter,” Sikorski quickly added. “My Government is concerned about the disappearance of thousands of Polish officers captured by your forces between September of 1939 and this past June. We have a partial list.”
He slid a copy of the list, typed in both Cyrillic and Roman letters, across the table. Stalin seemed briefly taken aback. He disdainfully glanced at the list and tossed it aside to Molotov.
Kaz held his breath. He thought Stalin might simply leave, without any response. Then Stalin replied brusquely.
“We're overwhelmed with our own problems. It's impossible to know where they are.”
Sikorski looked impassively but directly into Stalin's eyes. Kaz could taste blood. He was biting the inside of his cheek to maintain his expressionless face.
“They've run away,” Stalin finally said.
“But where could they have run to?” asked Sikorski, coolly.
"Well, perhaps to Manchuria.” Stalin got up, tipping over a chair as he moved toward the door.
The Poles sat in stunned silence.
Later, when they had a chance to compare notes, Kaz found that Jan had also noticed the short height of the Russian leadership.
“We can take some consolation in that,” observed Jan.
“Hunh?”
“Hitler may think that the Third Reich will last a thousand years, but the Soviet Union certainly won't.”
“What in the world does that have to do with the height of its leaders?”
“Very simple. Apparently, there's an unwritten rule: Soviet leaders must be shorter than their boss. Within a thousand years, the Soviet dictator will be no more than two feet tall. Somebody will step on him before that.”
17
ELL of a Problem:
The Strange Case of the Missing L
Bismarck was not the last gift of the Luftwaffe. During the North African struggle in 1941-42, Rommel's messages to Hitler went through Field Marshal Kesselring, Commander-in-Chief South. Kesselring was an Air Force officer; the Luftwaffe transmitted Rommel's plans. They were quickly decrypted and forwarded to British headquarters in Egypt.
THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel Page 20
