Night of Flames

by Douglas W. Jacobson

  He stared out the window overlooking the terrace. If Krakow couldn’t be defended after only two days, what did it mean for the rest of Poland?

  He stepped outside and sat down in one of the wooden chairs positioned in a neat semicircle on the brick terrace. Hunched over with his elbows on his knees, and staring at the potted geraniums, a cloud of fear descended over him. He squeezed his intertwined fingers so hard that his hands shook, trying to resist the urge to smash every one of the goddamn pots.

  Janina burst through the kitchen door and onto the terrace. “Dr. Piekarski, have you heard? The Germans are coming!”

  Thaddeus turned toward her. Strangely, the frightened look in her eyes had a calming effect on him. “Yes, Janina, I’ve just heard.”

  “Everyone is leaving! We have to get out of town! Where will we go, Dr. Piekarski?”

  “What do you mean, ‘everyone is leaving’? Who’s leaving?”

  “It’s the talk all over. At the church. In the tram. Everyone is saying we’ll have to leave or the Germans will round us up and put us in work camps!”

  Thaddeus took the plump woman by the arm and led her to one of the wooden chairs. She sat down heavily, clutching her white silk purse with both hands. “Janina, listen to me,” he said. “There’s nowhere to go. It’ll be more dangerous out in the country than here in the city. Our troops are retreating to the east of the city, and that’s where the fighting will be. German airplanes will be bombing the roads and the railroad tracks. Leaving the city now would be foolhardy.”

  “But what will we do if the Germans come into Krakow?”

  Thaddeus took a deep breath. “They will come into Krakow—and they’ll occupy the city, probably within the next few days. Nothing can stop that now.” He took another breath. The thought was abhorrent. He put his hand on Janina’s shoulder. “There are hundreds of thousands of people in Krakow,” he said, “with businesses to run and factories to operate. The Germans need those factories. They aren’t going to round us up or haul us off to work camps. They’ll take over our local government for awhile, until the British and the French jump into this thing. We’ll just have to sit tight and be patient.”

  She looked at him for a long time, and the fear slowly drained from her face. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and stood up. “Thank you. I feel a little better now. Of course, you’re right.” She started back toward the house then abruptly turned toward him again. “But, Dr. Piekarski, what about Anna and the others? How will they get home now?”

  He looked at her but did not answer.

  Janina nodded and stepped into the house.

  The next three days were beyond anything Thaddeus could have imagined. Hundreds of panic-stricken people fled the city in cars, horse-carriages, wagons, or simply on foot, carrying bundles on their backs. The railway stations were mobbed, and through all the confusion, convoys of army trucks filled with dejected-looking Polish soldiers rumbled through the city, heading east.

  But most of Krakow’s citizens decided to stay. In quiet desolation they stood along the streets or leaned out the windows of their homes and apartments, watching the exodus of soldiers and would-be refugees. Thaddeus stood among them, his heart breaking. They were being abandoned.

  Finally, an eerie quiet descended on the city. The artillery fire ceased. The bombing stopped. Now, nothing stood between the people of Krakow and the German Wehrmacht.

  When the first convoy of German troops entered the city, Thaddeus was having lunch with his friend and fellow law professor, Jozef Bujak, in a café on the Rynek Glowny. Led by motorcycles, with black and red flags snapping crisply in the wind, the motorcade descended upon the historic square—long black cars, gray canvas-covered trucks and clanking tanks, with leather-capped crewmen standing in the open turrets. Announcements in German and Polish blared from megaphones on the tops of the cars. “The fighting is over! Go about your business! There is no need to be concerned!”

  The motorcade proceeded to the center of the square and halted in front of the town hall. Several hundred people, who had been walking through the square or, like Thaddeus and Bujak, sitting in cafés around its perimeter, stopped what they were doing and watched the incredible scene unfold in complete silence.

  Two dozen Wehrmacht soldiers, armed with rifles and submachine guns, jumped from the trucks and quickly encircled the massive, gothic structure. The doors of the lead car opened, and two black-uniformed SS officers emerged, followed by a soldier carrying a large bundle. They entered the building.

  The silence of the anxious crowd was broken by muted gasps as an enormous red banner unfurled from the top of the town hall. Centered in a stark white circle in the middle of the banner was a large black swastika.

  Chapter 6

  JAN SHIFTED AGAIN and leaned back against the rough wooden walls of the old barn. The smell of dung and urine was overpowering, but at least they were out of the weather. A drizzling rain had started just after dark and was such a welcome relief after the sweltering heat of the last week that most of the men had just collapsed in the fields to cool off.

  But, over the next several hours, more than a hundred tired and wet soldiers had sought refuge inside the barn. Others pitched their small two-man tents in the fields or just curled up under the few trees in the area. Jan could hear a few men snoring, but for him, and for most of the troopers of the Wielkopolska Cavalry Brigade, sleep would not come tonight. In the morning they would launch the counterattack.

  The expected confrontation with the German Eighth Army at the outbreak of the war had not materialized. Instead of a frontal attack near the city of Poznan, the Eighth Army had crossed the border in a narrow strike well to the south and made a dash for Warsaw. For the last week, the Wielkopolska Brigade, along with the entire Poznan Army, had been slogging eastward, trying to keep up with the enemy’s rapid advance.

  Jan had read the reports coming in from the other sectors, which grew more ominous every day. A large part of the Polish Air Force had been destroyed in the first two days. With no further threat of air attacks, and concentrating their forces along tight, narrow fronts, the panzer divisions of the German Wehrmacht had ripped through Polish defenses and were advancing on the ground with alarming speed. In the north, they swept through Danzig and were closing in on Warsaw. In the south, they marched into Krakow then veered north, also driving toward Warsaw.

  Jan stood up and stretched. His back ached and his knees were sore from seven days in the saddle. He looked at his watch in the thin moonbeam drifting through a crack in the wall. It was 0130. He stepped carefully around the resting troopers and made his way to the door. In one hour the Wielkopolska Brigade would ride out ahead of the main force of the Poznan Army and strike the first blows of the counterattack.

  The rain had stopped and the clouds lifted, revealing a bright starlit sky. Off in the distance, Jan could see a glow from some smoldering town left behind by the German war machine. Now, seven days into the war, he realized what they were up against. The Luftwaffe were not only bombing railroad bridges, factories and water towers, they were randomly dropping incendiary bombs on rural hamlets and farm villages. Dive-bombing Stukas machine-gunned fleeing peasants with as much ferocity as they did Polish troops. The German blitzkrieg was not just a military strategy—it was an all-out campaign of terror intent on the total destruction of his homeland.

  Jan pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and shook one out, trying to push the frustration out of his mind. The irony of their situation was tragic. Like a piercing dagger, the German Eighth Army had driven a hundred kilometers into the heart of Poland, leaving the brigade—and the entire Poznan Army—in its dust. Poland was being overrun, and they hadn’t fired a shot.

  As he struck a match to the cigarette, Jan reflected on another grim irony…the rain last evening. It had hardly rained all summer. If the antiquated and outgunned Polish army couldn’t slow down the enemy, Poland’s notoriously greasy, muddy roads and wide rivers might
have. But it was not to be. The roads were rutted, but they were dry and hard. The riverbeds were wide but shallow and easily forded. The flat, open terrain provided few obstacles for the mechanized, ever-advancing Wehrmacht.

  He leaned against a tree and took in the sight before him. Six thousand cavalrymen and another thousand support troops camped out over the high, flat plain north of the Bzura River. Their artillery was arrayed in a neat row along the dirt road, ready to be hitched to horse teams to follow the frontline cavalry troops into the Bzura valley.

  The men were starting to move around now. They gathered up their gear and saddles, and dug out their ration packs. In the fields beyond the rutted road Jan could make out the silhouettes of hundreds of horses wandering about, grazing in the wet grass. The groomers moved among them for a last check of horseshoes and harnesses. For all of them, man and beast alike, it was likely the last peaceful moment they would have.

  “You have any of those left?” Stefan’s voice startled him. He hadn’t noticed him walking down the road.

  Jan pulled the pack from his pocket and handed it to him. “Keep ’em. They’re not very good.”

  Stefan nodded and lit one of the limp, hand-rolled cigarettes.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Jan asked.

  Stefan blew a cloud of smoke in the air and shook his head. “I haven’t slept much at all since we heard about Krakow.”

  Jan looked down at his scruffy boots. They’d gotten the word about Krakow two days earlier. “Well, at least there won’t be any fighting there. We can be thankful they’re not getting bombarded like the poor devils in Warsaw or Lodz.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. But they’re sitting in a city controlled by fuckin’ Nazis. Irene must be—”

  Jan took a step closer to his friend. “Look, don’t dwell on that. There’s nothing we can do about it except to try and get out of this mess alive and get home.”

  “You know what they think of Jews, Jan.”

  Stefan had reason for worry. They had all heard about Jews in Germany losing their jobs, Jewish children being expelled from the schools, and synagogues being vandalized in Munich and Nuremberg. But Jan needed Stefan to stay focused on the mission. “The Allies will be jumping into this any day, Stefan. They’ll force some kind of settlement. We’ve just got to hang on.”

  Stefan took a breath to speak then looked over Jan’s shoulder and stopped.

  Jan turned and stubbed out his cigarette as Colonel Romanofski approached along with two other officers. Jan and Stefan joined them and headed for the brigade officers’ briefing.

  “Any news from Warsaw?” Jan asked.

  “Latest news from the runners is that it’s bad,” Romanofski said. “Water towers are all blown to hell, and the rail yards are gone. Communications are down, and there are fires everywhere—hundreds of casualties. And that’s as of yesterday afternoon. It’s probably a lot worse by now.”

  Jan glanced at Stefan and shook his head. That last comment said as much about their situation as anything. The Polish army still relied almost entirely on messengers or civilian telephones for communications, and one of the first objectives of the Luftwaffe had been the destruction of the telephone lines. Now, with tens of thousands of terrified civilians fleeing their towns and choking the roads in every direction, communications were in chaos.

  As Jan and the other officers filed into the headquarters tent, the brigade commander, General Roman Abraham, stood behind a table at the front. He was a tall, severe-looking man with thin gray hair and icy blue eyes. His field officer’s uniform was immaculate: crisply pressed khaki coat with leather belt descending across his chest, and brown leather knee-height boots.

  When they were assembled, the general began speaking. His voice was quiet, his tone somber. “Gentlemen, we have received our final orders to launch the counterattack. All other Polish forces have been ordered to fall back to the Vistula River for the defense of Warsaw.” He paused and looked over the silent group, his countenance stark and forbidding in the flickering light of the kerosene lanterns. “The situation is serious. The northern and southern army groups are under constant artillery bombardment and are being harassed by air strikes. They are in danger of being surrounded. To make matters worse, the roads are clogged with refugees. It’s doubtful they’ll get to Warsaw in time.” He paused again, staring straight ahead. “Our counterattack from the rear represents the only chance of slowing down the enemy’s drive toward Warsaw.”

  He glanced at one of the staff officers, who rolled out a map. The officers closed in around the table. The general pointed to a spot on the map and continued. “The Poznan Army has halted here, just outside the railroad junction at Kutno. At dawn, their infantry divisions will strike along the Bzura River valley and attack the northern flank of the German Eighth Army.”

  The general stepped aside, and Colonel Romanofski moved forward as the staff officer unrolled a second, more detailed map of the area. “Glowno is critical to the success of our counterattack,” the stocky colonel said, jabbing at a spot on the map twenty kilometers south of the Bzura River. “It is being held by the enemy’s 210th infantry division. At all costs, the 210th division has to be contained and prevented from coming to the aid of the rest of the German Eighth Army. The job of crossing the Bzura and taking them out of action has been assigned to us.”

  Romanofski glared at each of the officers then bent over the map again. Jan edged in closer, studying the map, as the colonel continued. “The road from the Bzura River to Glowno passes through this village, Walewice.” The colonel looked up, locking eyes with Jan. “Major Kopernik will lead the Twenty-ninth Uhlans into Walewice and secure it to block any escape of the Germans from Glowno.” Romanofski turned to a reconnaissance officer who was standing off to the side. “Kruzak, what do we know about Walewice?”

  Kruzak coughed and produced a tattered notebook. “Our scouts have spotted a small contingent of German troops in the town. They’ve also gotten information from a few of the local farmers. No machine guns or artillery have been reported. We estimate it’s just a small unit—two or three rifle platoons, probably not even on alert.”

  “How old is this information?” Jan asked.

  “Most of it is from late yesterday morning, twelve to fifteen hours ago,” Kruzak said.

  “OK, that’s the situation,” Romanofski declared. “Jan, it sounds like these guys in Walewice are just sittin’ on their asses. Take the Twenty-ninth in there and secure it before they can radio any alarms. You’ll have surprise and darkness on your side so go in hard and fast. When you’ve got it secured, leave one squadron behind and head down the road to Glowno to cut off any Krauts trying to head north.”

  Romanofski turned to the other four regimental officers. “The rest of the brigade will launch the main assault on Glowno.”

  Jan only half listened. He wondered about twelve-hour-old scouting reports. Then put them out of his mind. They were all the information he was going to get.

  When the briefing ended, Jan headed for the Twenty-ninth Uhlans’ staging area. Kapitan Lech Peracki, one of his squadron commanders, came up alongside him. “Shit, Jan, it sounds like we’re going to miss all the action.”

  Jan glanced at the younger man. He was a good officer, perhaps a bit eager, but fearless in battle and completely dependable. “There’re plenty of Germans out there, Lech. We’ll get our chance.”

  “I hope so,” Peracki said, with a grin. “We’ve chased the bastards halfway across the country.”

  Jan watched as Peracki moved on, and thought about the exchange. He understood Peracki’s disappointment at not being part of the main assault on Glowno. Yet, his own reaction had been concern over the scouting reports on Walewice. The cavalry meant everything to him, it always had. This was their big moment. What the hell was wrong with him?

  • • •

  At 0215 the buglers gave the call to saddle the horses and, fifteen minutes later, the call to mount and form up. Sitting astride his horse, Jan
looked left and right across the lines. It was, indeed, an impressive force: six thousand horsemen grouped in tight regimental formations, sabers at the ready and standards rippling in the night breeze. His mare pawed the ground, and he turned in the saddle, glancing at Stefan, Peracki and his third squadron commander, Karol Bartkowicz. Stefan and Bartkowicz stared straight ahead. Peracki gave him a “thumbs-up.”

  At the front of the brigade Colonel Romanofski raised his saber. The buglers sounded the call to move out, and twenty-four thousand hooves pounded toward the Bzura valley. Jan leaned forward in the saddle, settling into the rhythm of the powerful horse. Invigorated by the rush of crisp night air, his anxiety about Anna faded, his fears of what lay ahead displaced by the sheer exhilaration of the moment.

  The ground shook beneath the galloping horses as the brigade entered the flat plains of the valley and separated into attack formations. The night was clear, the ground dry and hard having easily absorbed the short evening rain, and they made good time. The Twenty-ninth Uhlans arrived at their final attack point just before 0300.

  When Jan sighted the Bzura River, he brought the regiment to a halt. The map of the area and the tactical plan were etched in his mind. The Bzura River ran east–west at this point. On the other side, less than two kilometers farther south, was the village of Walewice. The terrain between the Bzura and Walewice was flat and open. Another river, the Mroga, flowed north into the Bzura and would be on their left as they headed into the village. The Mroga River formed the eastern boundary of Walewice, and the road from Glowno passed over a bridge at the edge of the village.

  With his horse prancing nervously, Jan turned and shouted to the squadron commanders. “The village is about two kilometers south of the river. We’ll split up here and ford the river. On my signal, we go in at full gallop right to the edge of the town before dismounting. Stefan, First Squadron will go in on the left flank, along the Mroga and directly to the bridge. Bartkowicz, you’re leading Second Squadron with me up the middle, straight into the town. Peracki, Third Squadron will cover flank on the right. We’ll be going in fast so be alert. We’ll have surprise on our side but stay sharp. If it’s wearing a uniform…kill it!