She heard Bernard’s voice and opened her eyes. He knelt in front of her, next to Cynthia. “You can stay here with us,” he said, “until this all blows over. It will be too dangerous to travel by train until this is settled.”
“We came by auto,” Anna said, “my father’s car. His driver brought us here.”
“By auto? But your driver…the car?”
“Henryk has relatives in Praga. He dropped us off the day before yesterday and went to stay with them. He’s supposed to pick us up tomorrow.”
The three of them just looked at one another.
Chapter 2
MAJOR JAN KOPERNIK tightened his grip on the reins and patted the chestnut mare’s neck. The horse snorted and pawed the ground, nervous from the thundering noise of the bombers flying overhead. Jan stared at the sky, mesmerized by the awesome sight. There were hundreds of them, black droning machines, blanking out the morning sky like a giant storm cloud. That’s exactly what this is, he thought, a storm…an ugly, dark storm. The planes were heading west at high altitude, back to Germany. Of one thing he was certain: somewhere to the east, in Radom or Warsaw, people had already died in this storm.
He turned in the saddle and glanced at Kapitan Stefan Pavelka. His friend glared back at him, acknowledging the grim reality. It was starting.
Jan looked up again at the massive bomber formation, and his thoughts went back to the night he got the call, canceling his leave and ordering him to report for duty. Anna had been standing next to him when he hung up the telephone. “So, this is it?” she had asked, gripping his hand. He had wanted to tell her it was just a precaution. He had wanted to tell her that everything would work out and he would probably be home in a week, maybe two. But he hadn’t. She knew.
Something darted out from the cloud of heavy bombers. Jan reached back and pulled the binoculars from the leather pack. Settling deep into the saddle to calm the jittery horse, he dropped the reins and held the binoculars with both hands, focusing on the tiny objects that had separated from the bomber formation. There were four of them, small single engine airplanes. They banked to the north and began a steep dive toward the ground. A moment later he heard a sound, barely discernable through the roar of the bombers. It was a high-pitched, screeching noise.
“Stefan, over there,” Jan said, pointing toward the diving planes.
Stefan took the binoculars and looked up at the four airplanes. “What the hell?”
Jan looked down over the valley to the north and wondered where they were going. The brigade’s camp was more than five kilometers away, in the other direction. There was nothing down in the valley, no railroads or bridges, nothing that he could see except a small farming village. He scanned the sky and spotted the four planes again. They were rapidly approaching the ground.
“Jan, take a look.” Stefan handed the binoculars back to him and pointed toward the village.
Jan took the binoculars and zeroed in on the tiny collection of ramshackle buildings. He panned slowly to the east, his line of sight following a thin, dusty ribbon of road. Three horse-drawn wagons filled with hay plodded toward the village. Then, incredibly, one of the wagons burst apart, wood splinters and hay exploding in every direction. An instant later the next two wagons disintegrated in a cloud of fiery smoke. Jan was dumbfounded. He struggled to keep his hands from shaking and raised the binoculars, locating the four black airplanes with white swastikas on their tails. They swooped in a long arc and began climbing.
Jan watched in disbelief as the planes banked again and dove toward the village. A sudden, boiling rage swept over him as he fought off a futile urge to pull out his pistol and shoot at the bastards. He jerked on the reins, and the mare clopped backward, snorting loudly, shaking her head in protest. His rage faded into anguish when the first shabby building exploded in a ball of fire, the thumping sound of the explosion rolling across the valley, then another, and another. In seconds, the peaceful, bucolic village erupted into a roiling inferno.
Jan stared at the inconceivable scene. His mind went blank, and he slumped in the saddle, his eyes dropping to the hard, rocky ground beneath the horse. He was grateful they were too far away to hear the screams of people burning to death in the village.
They sat there for awhile. Jan looked up once or twice at the plume of smoke rising from the serene valley. The planes were gone now, swallowed up by the haze of the western sky as though they had never existed.
Jan gathered up the reins, and the mare moved to the left, still shaking her head and snorting. He glanced at Stefan. “We’d better get back. The briefing will be starting soon.”
They rode down the embankment to the dirt road that led back to the camp. “What do you know about those planes?” Stefan asked.
“They’re called Stukas. We had a briefing on them last month. They’re dive-bombers. The Luftwaffe first used them in Spain to attack infantry troops—and cavalry.”
“Cavalry? That’s just great. First we hear they’ve got a thousand tanks and now they’ve got dive-bombers. We won’t know whether to look up or down.” Stefan removed his flat-topped capszka, ran a hand through his curly black hair and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “I guess the bastards have also decided to use them to attack hay wagons and farm villages.”
“You heard the sound they made?” Jan asked.
“Yeah, that high screeching noise? Pretty strange.”
“The intel’ officer at our briefing said the Krauts actually created that noise intentionally, as a terror tactic.”
Stefan looked at him and shook his head.
They reached the dirt road and kicked their horses into a canter. Jan had known all along that it would come to this, but now that it had, he was surprised by his emotions. Wasn’t this precisely the moment he had been training for, preparing for, his entire adult life? Shouldn’t he be relishing this moment, this opportunity to lead his men into battle? Was it fear? He had been in combat before and he hadn’t been afraid. He didn’t fear the Germans. His men were well trained and morale was high. He knew he could count on them in a fight.
They crossed an old wooden bridge and slowed to a trot. The creek below them was dry, the ground hard and cracked. The camp was just a kilometer ahead. Moving easily with the rhythm of the horse, Jan closed his eyes. Anna was there. She was standing on the platform, smiling at him as the train pulled out of the station in Krakow. It was windy, and she brushed her long red hair out of her eyes. She waved. Then she was gone. It was fear.
The field headquarters of the Wielkopolska Cavalry Brigade was set up in the railroad yards near the town of Srem, in the Poznan region of western Poland. They were less than a hundred kilometers from the German border.
The rail yard was teeming with activity when Jan and Stefan returned. As they trotted across the vast compound, Jan was relieved to see that several trains had pulled in while they were gone. Hundreds of soldiers and horses were arriving. Uniformed men piled out of passenger cars, tossing their duffel bags on the dusty ground, and groomers led snorting, prancing horses down wooden ramps from boxcars. A long line of two-wheeled howitzers, heavy machine guns and Bofors anti-tank guns had materialized.
It’s about time, Jan thought. The officers had been mobilized in secret a week ago, but the fools in the government had delayed the general mobilization. Hoping for negotiations to begin, they kept saying. It was all bullshit—and now the Germans were bombing his country.
They dismounted near one of the makeshift stables, handed off their horses to a groomer and set off on foot, joining the line of officers heading to the headquarters tent. Anna’s image flashed through Jan’s mind again: her soft red hair and liquid brown eyes. Just two years, that’s all the time they’d had together. He forced the thought from his mind and stepped into the tent.
It smelled of a mixture of canvas and kerosene from lanterns that had been burning all night. A large map of Poland hung from support poles along the far wall. A soldier stood in front of the map, attac
hing red arrows at locations along the German border, and the deputy brigade commander, Colonel Adam Romanofski, sat at the center of a long wooden table, his head down, studying a smaller map. Two staff officers stood behind him, one of them pointing emphatically at the map. Behind the table sat a wireless operator, busily transcribing a message.
Positioned at equal intervals across the center of the tent were five flagpoles displaying the brigade’s regimental banners. Jan took up his position at the head of the officers standing behind the banner of the Twenty-ninth Uhlans. He glanced at his watch. It was 0700.
Colonel Romanofski stood up, and the room instantly fell quiet save for the muted tapping of the wireless. The staff officers took their seats, and Romanofski stepped around to the front of the table. The colonel paused for a moment, looking over the group of officers, then spoke in a calm, steady voice. “Gentlemen, about two hours ago the German Luftwaffe initiated bombing raids over Warsaw. We are now at war with Germany.”
Jan’s stomach tightened. He stared at Romanofski as the squat, balding colonel addressed the assembled cavalry officers, his bearing confident and determined. He was a good man, Jan thought. They had known each other for a long time—since 1920, when Jan and Stefan had run away to join the cavalry and fight the Russians. Romanofski had been their squadron leader. It seemed like another lifetime.
The colonel picked up a pointer and thumped the map. “We’ve been getting reports of Wehrmacht troops crossing the border since 0500 this morning.” He pointed at two of the red arrows near the top of the map. “In the north, at least two panzer divisions have crossed the border near Chojnice, and infantry units are crossing over from East Prussia.” He slid the pointer to the arrows at the bottom of the map. “In the south, we’ve gotten reports of another panzer division and as many as three infantry divisions crossing over from Gleiwitz down to the Jablunka Pass.”
Romanofski turned to face the silent group. The news got worse. “Two waves of bombers have already attacked Warsaw, and more are on their way. We’ve also gotten reports of bombing raids in the areas around Krakow, Lodz and Radom where the Luftwaffe are going after our airfields.”
Jan stared at the arrows on the map. His skin crawled and his hands felt clammy. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He had expected a fight but this…this was so sudden…so big. It was an all-out assault on a scale that was difficult to comprehend.
Romanofski tapped the map again. Jan blinked and moved his feet, shifting his weight. The colonel pointed to the middle of the long border between Poland and Germany. “We expect that the Germans will also launch an offensive aimed at the center of our defense perimeter here in the Poznan region.” He set the pointer on the table and stepped forward, his beefy hands on his hips. “As you know, the mission of the Wielkopolska Cavalry Brigade is to provide mobile firepower, support and reconnaissance for the Poznan Army. Our recon units have already been deployed. General Abraham will be arriving this morning to assume command of the brigade. It is expected that we will engage the German Eighth Army within the next twenty-four hours.”
Jan heard the shuffling of feet behind him. He wanted to look around, to make eye contact with Stefan and his fellow officers. But he stood transfixed, staring at Romanofski.
Slowly and deliberately, the colonel looked at each of his five regimental commanders.
Jan felt the man’s steely eyes boring into his soul.
When Romanofski spoke again his tone was crisp and resolute. “You have your individual orders. You are well trained, highly skilled professional soldiers. Your troops, horses and equipment are arriving as we speak. By this time tomorrow the brigade will be at full strength: six thousand of the finest cavalrymen in the world.” He paused, his eyes scanning the entire assemblage of officers. Abruptly, he stiffened.
Jan and the other officers snapped to attention.
“Gentlemen, we are going to throw the Huns back where they came from!”
Chapter 3
IN THE SIMOWITZ’S CELLAR another hour had passed, and it remained quiet. Anna was daydreaming, random images of Jan, her father and her students at the university flitting through her mind. She heard a sound from outside and looked across the room to where Bernard sat with Cynthia. The sound became louder. Truck engines and clanging bells, squealing brakes, men shouting.
“Fire trucks,” Bernard said, as he got to his feet. Anna followed him along with another man, up the stairs, through the hallway to the front door. Bernard pushed the door open, and they stepped outside into bright sunlight.
It took a moment for Anna’s eyes to adjust, but the sight before her made her gasp. Plumes of gray smoke billowed from the charred windows of the shattered building where Irene’s mother had lived. The roof had collapsed leaving behind just a few blackened timbers. The building next to it was reduced to rubble, nothing more than a massive pile of bricks, shattered glass and broken wood. A crater in the street gushed with water from a broken main.
Anna looked to her left where the fire truck stood in front of a building in flames. She doubted that it could be saved. To her right, past the crater and up the block, the street, which earlier had been swarming with terrified people, was now deserted—except for a solitary man. Anna took a few steps closer and held her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. The man was stocky and broad-shouldered with a thick black mustache. He stood next to an automobile. The auto…it couldn’t be. She blinked and looked again. “Henryk!” she yelled, waving her arms. “Henryk!”
Bernard came alongside of her, an incredulous look on his face. “Anna, is it—?”
“Yes!” She yelled again. “Henryk!”
The man looked across the street and spotted her. He waved a thick hand and began stepping carefully over the debris and around the crater. Anna’s eyes clouded as she watched him approach. A bit of her fear melted away.
They stayed in the cellar the rest of the day, listening to the sporadic thumping sounds of bombs falling in the distance. As darkness approached, Henryk sat down next to Anna. Quietly, he said, “I think we should set out for Krakow.”
Anna looked at him uncertainly. At this moment, Krakow seemed very far away.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Traveling at night will be safer, especially if we keep to the back roads.”
“But what if Krakow has been bombed or if we get attacked along the way?” For one of the few times in her life, Anna felt unsure of what to do.
Henryk’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced around the room. He leaned closer and whispered. “It’s possible that Krakow has also been bombed, perhaps other cities as well. But, I think we both know that no place in Poland is a bigger target than Warsaw.”
Anna nodded. Of course he was right. She looked over at Bernard and Cynthia, and the others, sitting quietly, lost in their thoughts. What would happen to them? She glanced at Irene. Her friend’s black hair was speckled with dust and chips of plaster, her thin face white, her eyes hollow, ghost-like. Justyn was asleep on her lap. Anna rubbed her temples, trying to push the fear out of her mind, grateful beyond words for Henryk’s presence, the man who had been her father’s driver, gardener and handyman for as long as she could remember. Right now he was a rock.
As Henryk drove through the dark, chaotic streets of Warsaw, Anna stared vacantly out of the car window. Fire trucks roared past with sirens blaring. Thick, acrid smoke billowed from burning buildings, but it barely registered. She was so tired, she could hardly keep her eyes open, but she was terrified to close them and have the visions return.
She tried to focus, to help Henryk find the way out of the city, but she couldn’t concentrate, overwhelmed by the enormity of what had happened: the destruction, the injured people, the blood. How could this be happening so soon? Was her father safe? Was Jan? Oh, God, Jan!
She felt Henryk’s hand on her arm and turned to look at him. The stocky man seemed to sense her thoughts. The look in his eyes said, “He’s a good soldier…he’ll survive.”
; Chapter 4
HENRYK STOPPED THE CAR and jumped out to flag down a mounted policeman. “We’re heading to Krakow,” Henryk shouted as a fire truck roared past, siren blaring and bells clanging. “Do you know if they’ve attacked anywhere else?”
The policeman struggled to keep the nervous horse under control. He shouted back, “I don’t know about Krakow, but we heard reports that both Lodz and Radom were bombed. I’d stay away from there and stay off the main roads.” He waved and trotted off.
“What now?” Anna asked when Henryk got back in the car. “Don’t we have to go through one or the other to get to Krakow?”
Henryk reached over and pulled a map and a flashlight from the glove box. He studied the map for a few minutes then held it out for Anna to see. “If we cross over to the east side of the river and head south out of the city it looks like there’s a back road that goes through Garwolin to Deblin. From there we can cross back over the river and then head southwest toward Krakow. I’ve never gone that way and I doubt if the roads are very good, but at least we’d be off the main highways.”
“Well, we’re sure not staying here,” Anna said. Having a plan, as vague as it was, rejuvenated her a bit. She looked into the backseat at Irene. “Is that OK with you?”
Irene stared at her with a blank expression and shrugged her shoulders.
Anna turned back to Henryk. “Let’s go.”
They made their way out of the confusion of the city and headed south, but it was slow going. Hundreds of people trudged along the side of the asphalt road, some lugging suitcases, pulling carts or leading children by the hand. A line of cars, trucks and creaking, horse-drawn wagons crawled along, all heading in the same direction, out of Warsaw.
Night of Flames Page 2
