Kaz continued: “But even suppose that the Home Army picks precisely the right time—they attack the Germans in the rear as Russians approach the Vistula River and Warsaw. Things may still turn out very, very badly.”
“Why?” Sikorski asked. Kaz suspected that the General already knew, and simply wanted an independent opinion.
“Let's look at it from Stalin's viewpoint. Why shouldn't he simply hold up on the east side of the river, and let the Germans crush the Home Army? Seems ruthless, but he's already shown—with the massacres at Katyn and elsewhere—that he wants our leadership exterminated. And he did that when he was losing. Why should he have scruples once he starts winning? After all, he's the one who had his generals shot—and the prewar leadership of the Polish Communist Party, too—for reasons I still can't fathom.”
“So I shouldn't have consented to the pleas of your General Anders?” asked Sikorski. “You should have been left in Russia, to advance with the Red Army. Then you could have come to the aid of the Home Army at a critical time.”
“In my opinion, sir, the decision to leave the Soviet Union was correct.”
Korbonski spoke up. “That's where I disagree.”
“Ah, but perhaps that's because you were already in Britain. You weren't trapped in Russia.”
“That's really unworthy of you, Jankowski. I think...”
Sikorski cut him off. “It's too late to undo the decision. But why was it correct, Jankowski?”
Kaz swallowed hard. “You're familiar with the arguments that General Anders made in Moscow, sir. The impossible position of any Polish army fighting alongside the Russians—waking up every morning, wondering which way they'd have to point their guns.
“I see only one way out of our difficulties with Russia. That's if Churchill persuades the Americans to attack into the Balkans, through Crete and Greece—what he quaintly calls the 'soft underbelly of Europe.'
“I think the fighting would be tough,” Kaz continued. “But it might solve our problem. If the Allies do thrust up into Central Europe, they can help reestablish a non-communist government in Poland. Having our army in Egypt increases the chances of such an attack. We would go into the Balkans with the British.”
“I doubt the Americans would stand for such a strategy,” interjected Piotrowski.
“Let's dream a bit,” suggested Sikorski, glancing at his watch. “But not right now. When we meet on Monday, I want us to talk about a British-American invasion through the Balkans.”
The meeting was over.
Kaz went to Jan for a favor. Jan kept in close contact with Brig. Piotrowski; they were working on plans to deliver weapons to the Home Army—the AK—if the British could ever be persuaded to supply them.
“You have contacts with the AK?” Kaz wanted to know.
“Not directly. But I know somebody who does.”
“I've got to find out about Anna. Would the AK be able to get information—find out if she's OK?”
“You're sure you want to do that?”
“Of course. Not knowing, it's torture. What's the problem?”
“There's a risk someone from the AK will be picked up by the Germans. If they find out the AK is looking for Anna, they may think she's important and arrest her.”
“Hadn't thought of that.... I'm really torn.”
Jan pondered for a few minutes and added, “Why don't I check with the people here? Get their view, whether the AK can be safely asked about Anna. She was working with the Air Force Meteorological Project at Poznan?”
“Yeah. But let me think it over. I don't want to endanger her.”
Kaz struggled for several days and then got back to Jan. If they could make a low-priority, inconspicuous request about Anna, would they please try? But nothing that would endanger her.
Jan didn't quite know how to handle his friend's request. There was no zero-risk way to find out about Anna.
He did, however, get back to Kaz several months later. Members of the AK had helped a number of people at the Meteorology Project escape to Romania. But Anna wasn't among them. They had absolutely no information on her. She simply vanished at the beginning of the war.
“Damn,” thought Kaz. “She wasn't at Poznan when the war began, but at home. I should have asked them to check there.”
He would have to give this more thought. A second request might be even more risky than the first.
When Sikorski reconvened the meeting, the group had been expanded. Starzenski—Major Mumblemumble—was also present. Kaz vaguely wondered why; only a few days ago, Sikorski obviously didn't know who Starzenski was. Perhaps he was a protégé of Brig. Piotrowski or the President.
Sikorski got right to the point. “We were going to dream a bit. What are the chances of getting our ideal outcome—an Anglo-American attack through the Balkans?
“Perhaps we might break this down into two questions,” continued Sikorski. “First, what are the chances of an invasion across the Mediterranean? Second, if there is such an invasion, what are the chances it will be in Crete and then Greece?”
Korbonski obviously didn't want to play second fiddle again. He launched in.
“The British will push hard for a landing somewhere on the Northern side of the Mediterranean next year. They need to do something to reduce pressure from the Russians to attack across the Channel into France. They won't be ready for a cross-channel invasion. Premature action might lead to a catastrophe. The fiasco at Dieppe showed that.
“Now that the Americans have landed in Algeria,” Korbonski added, “we're in a good position to drive the Jerries out of North Africa. I think Churchill has won this round. Next year, the invasion will be across the Mediterranean, not across the Channel.”
Sikorski looked at Starzenski. “I agree,” said Mumblemumble.
Kaz nodded.
“Well, that was easy,” observed Sikorski. “General agreement. So let's look at the three Mediterranean options.
“One is Sardinia and then Corsica, followed by a landing in Southern France. Second is Sicily and then the Italian mainland. Third is our dream—Crete and then Greece. Let's start in the west: Sardinia-Corsica. For the moment, let's confine ourselves to military considerations; we can get back to the politics later.”
Kaz took the opportunity. “The Sardinia/Corsica route has a big advantage, sir. We might get into France quickly. And France is the gateway to Germany. We might even avoid an invasion across the channel, with its horrible risks. It would create defensive nightmares for the Boche. Once we take Corsica, we would threaten a huge stretch of the coast of mainland Europe—all the way from the Spanish border to Rome.”
“What about the disadvantages?” Sikorski was looking at Korbonski.
“There's a big one, sir. Our invading forces would be subject to attack from several sides—not only from the islands themselves, but also from France and Italy.”
Kaz slipped in a final word. “The Sardinia-Corsica route became more feasible recently. The French scuttled their fleet at Toulon, to prevent it from falling into Nazi hands.”
“O.K. What about Sicily/Italy?” Sikorski was addressing Mumblemumble.
“It also has attractions, sir. When we get to the mainland, we might once more avoid the risks of a big cross-channel invasion. But I doubt it. If we're trying to get at Germany, going through Sicily and Italy is a long, hard way 'round.
“To start, there's the invasion of Sicily itself. Germany's been using Sicily as its base for supplying North Africa; enemy forces there are much stronger than in Sardinia or Crete.”
As Mumblemumble paused, Sikorski looked at Korbonski.
“The fight up through Italy might be very tough, sir—a narrow front in mountainous country. A moderate-sized enemy force might pin down a large Allied army.”
“How about the third option—Crete and then Greece?” This time, Sikorski was addressing nobody in particular.
Korbonski jumped in with enthusiasm. “It has a huge advantage, sir. Once the Allies bec
ome established in Greece, they'll be able to launch air attacks on the Romanian oil fields. And, once they get to Romania, they'll completely cut off Hitler's oil. Without oil, his tanks and planes can't move. And the eastern Mediterranean is a backwater; Crete isn't nearly as heavily fortified as Sicily.”
“The disadvantages?” asked Sikorski.
Neither Korbonski nor Mumblemumble seemed eager to answer.
Kaz picked up the challenge. “Most important, sir, is the problem of supplies. The lines to the eastern Mediterranean would be long. They'd also be vulnerable to attack from planes operating out of Sicily. It might be a real mess, unless we use the route around Africa and through the Suez Canal.”
Sikorski sat thinking, then asked. “What's the bottom line?”
“Crete-Greece is most likely, sir,” Korbonski replied quickly. “The Romanian oil fields are critically important for the Nazis. And, if we push the Americans and Brits, I think we can increase the chances.”
“I agree,” mumbled Mumblemumble.
“A tough call,” said Kaz. “Big military advantages and disadvantages to each. My guess: The three options are about equal. One third chance for each.” He paused. “If I had to pick one, I'd go with Sardinia-Corsica. The least risky way into France. But I'm looking at it from the Anglo-American perspective, putting aside the advantages we see in Greece.”
Sikorski looked toward Piotrowski. “It seems, Brigadier, that we can no longer avoid politics.”
Piotrowski responded. “Churchill's enthusiastic about the Balkans. He's said that, if an army is sent up through the Balkans, 'we can crush the retreating right flank of German armies and save middle Europe from the Russians.' But Stalin would be apoplectic. For exactly the same reason it appeals to Churchill and to us—it would a way to check postwar Russian power in central Europe.”
“And the Americans?” Sikorski wanted to know.
“They don't want to alienate Stalin, sir,” replied Piotrowski. “They don't want a repeat of the First World War. The Soviets made a separate peace; the Germans then concentrated their full fury on the Western Allies.
“In sum,” concluded Piotrowski, “the chances of an invasion somewhere in the Mediterranean are high. The chances of it being Crete and Greece: not good.”
“Jankowski?” Sikorski asked.
“I agree about the Russians; they'll be dead set against it. But the Americans, I'm not sure. You've been to America, sir, and have a much better understanding than any of us. The Yanks are presumably just as committed as the Brits to a non-communist Poland. Not to speak of all those Polish voters in Chicago.”
“Korbonski?”
Korbonski paused; apparently he didn't know quite how to answer. He had complained to Kaz, how difficult it was to figure Americans out. They were, well, so non-European; they didn't seem interested in power politics. At least, not the down-in-the-gutter version practiced in Europe.
Finally he responded, again encouraging his superiors to support the eastern invasion. “I think the Americans can be brought along. And if the Americans and Brits are in favor, that's good enough. They don't need Russian approval; it will be their show. In other words, I think we have a more-than-sporting chance to get the Crete-Greece option—particularly if we push our case with the Americans.”
Once more, Sikorski looked back toward Piotrowski.
“I reiterate. The Americans will back the Russians on this one. You don't need to be reminded, sir, that you've repeatedly asked Roosevelt for support in dealing with Stalin. Each time he puts you off—says he's 'evaluating the situation.'”
“Greece is still our best hope,” said Korbonski quickly. “We might even be impertinent enough to remind the British why they went to war in the first place—to defend Poland's independence.”
Sikorski paused thoughtfully before summing up. “We'll encourage the British to invade through Crete and Greece. But in a low-keyed way. We won't press the Americans unless they specifically ask our opinion. Anything we say may simply draw attention to the way our interests differ from those of the Soviets.
“And, oh, yes. Jankowski, Korbonski, Starzenski. You will leave discussions with the British and Americans to Brig. Piotrowski and me. If any American or Brit asks you about these matters, you will simply say it's above your pay grade. No comment—impertinent or otherwise.”
“No, sir,” replied Korbonski.
“Yes, sir,” said Kaz at exactly the same time.
They looked at one another and chuckled. It broke the tension. They meant precisely the same thing: they understood Gen. Sikorski's instructions perfectly.
Unfortunately for the Poles, the Balkan option went nowhere. The target of the invasion was agreed: Sicily. Thus faded the last, fleeting hope for a non-communist Poland.
20
The Cruelest Month
The only winner in the war of 1812 was Tchaikovsky.
Solomon Short
April is supposed to be the cruelest month. For Anna, it was March. March 1943, to be precise.
She thought she had become hardened to her routine: reading grim stories in the newspaper over breakfast; then reading the even grimmer details when she got to work and skimmed the intercepts. But she was not prepared for March 1943.
Early in the month, she noticed a small piece in the Times: Jews in the Warsaw ghetto had taken up arms against their Nazi tormentors. But, from the Enigma intercepts, she already knew that, regardless of its heroism, the uprising was doomed. The Jews had acted in desperation, in response to ever-tightening harassment and murder at the hands of the Nazi tyrants. They were woefully under-equipped for a fight with the German army, with its machine guns, artillery and tanks.
She did not have information from Gestapo messages; the Gestapo version of Enigma still stubbornly resisted all efforts of the codebreakers. But she did have intercepts of messages from the SS divisions in Poland, and from these, she could deduce the sad truth: Himmler had ordered the “liquidation” of the ghetto.
Anna thought sadly of her Jewish friends at the University, particularly a young couple—Shimon and Sarah Persky—who were members of the mathematics club. She remembered how they had enjoyed working on puzzles together, how she had laughed at Shimon's understated humor. She recalled how the three young mathematicians had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, trying to trisect an angle geometrically. They thought they had succeeded, but then, in the cool rationality of the morning, they detected the flaw: they, too, had failed. Anna realized how few Jewish people she had met until she got to the University.
As she was lost in thought, she casually glanced at an intercept of German traffic at the top of her inbox. It immediately brought the war home to her.
TOP SECRET. IMMEDIATE AND URGENT.
6 MARCH, 1943.
FROM: 112 INFANTRY DIVISION, SMOLENSK
TO: GEN. KARL SPEIDEL, GENERAL STAFF, BERLIN.
SUBJECT: MASSACRE IN KATYN FOREST
ACTING ON INFORMATION PROVIDED BY CAPTURED ENEMY SOLDIERS, WE HAVE BEGUN A LIMITED EXCAVATION OF A MASS GRAVE IN THE KATYN FOREST, EAST OF SMOLENSK. WE HAVE DISCOVERED BODIES OF POLISH OFFICERS DRESSED IN WINTER UNIFORMS. THE STATE OF THE BODIES, AND ACCOMPANYING SCRAPS OF NEWSPAPER, INDICATE THAT THEY WERE KILLED BETWEEN JANUARY AND APRIL OF 1940. ACCORDINGLY, IT APPEARS THAT THE EXECUTIONS WERE CARRIED OUT BY SOVIET FORCES.
HOWEVER, WE URGENTLY WARN THAT BULLETS FOUND IN THE BODIES ARE GERMAN, SPECIFICALLY FROM THE WALTHER 2. INSTRUCTIONS REQUESTED. SHOULD WE PROCEED WITH THE EXCAVATION, OR REBURY THE BODIES WE HAVE ALREADY DISINTERRED?
VON WAGENHEIM.
The next page provided the decoded reply:
TOP SECRET.
7 MARCH, 1943.
FROM: GEN. KARL SPEIDEL, GENERAL STAFF
TO: GEN. EMIL VON WAGENHEIM, 112 INFANTRY DIVISION, SMOLENSK.
PRELIMINARY INQUIRIES INDICATE THAT GERMAN FORCES WERE NOT INVOLVED IN ANY MASSACRE IN THAT AREA. WE ARE PUZZLED THAT THE BULLETS ARE FROM A WALTHER. ARE YOU CERTAIN THAT THEY WERE N
OT FROM A SIMILAR SOVIET MODEL?
RECOMMENDED ACTION: LIMITED EXCAVATION, INVOLVING AS FEW TROOPS AS POSSIBLE. REPEAT. AS FEW TROOPS AS POSSIBLE. TERMINATE EXCAVATION WHEN YOU HAVE A GENERAL ESTIMATE OF THE NUMBER OF BODIES. SAFEGUARD ANY EVIDENCE THAT CONFIRMS AN EXECUTION DATE OF EARLY 1940.
THE EXCAVATION SHOULD NOT BE CONSIDERED A PRIORITY AS LONG AS THE GROUND REMAINS FROZEN. BUT IT SHOULD BE CARRIED OUT, AS SPECIFIED ABOVE, AFTER THE SPRING THAW.
Anna sat silently reading and rereading the messages. A tear trickled down her cheek; then others. She buried her head in her hands.
“Oh, Kaz, Kaz. Why did it have to end this way?”
She reread the intercepts. Was there any hope for Kaz? Not really. That was the camp where he had been held. She had already checked and rechecked with the British Eighth Army, to see if he was among the Polish soldiers who had left Russia for North Africa with Gen. Anders. He was not.
Through the next two weeks, Anna felt as though she were sleepwalking through the day. She couldn't contribute at work; she thought of taking time off. But wartime travel was difficult, and she didn't want to spend her days curled up at home nursing a bottle of gin.
Yvonne began to sense that something was terribly wrong; she came to Anna's office to chat. As tears ran down Anna's cheeks, she told Yvonne about the Katyn massacre. Kaz was dead.
She felt weak and helpless. Many of her friends were losing loved ones without coming apart. Gradually, the pain began to ease. One weekend, while watching a mindless war movie at the local cinema, she decided that her life had to go on. The next day, she dropped a short note in the mail.
Ryk had now been in combat almost three years, with only one extended break. The time had come to be rotated to less hazardous duty; he was reassigned to a reconnaissance squadron. Three times a week, he would fly along the Norwegian coast, taking pictures of the fjords to make sure that the Tirpitz and other heavy German ships were still holed up. The navy wanted to know where they were; it didn't want them to surprise one of the convoys making the long, dangerous voyage around Northern Norway to Murmansk, carrying supplies to the Russian allies. Bomber Command was working up another plan to attack the Tirpitz, hoping to put it out of action and, with luck, sink it.
THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel Page 24
