Night of Flames

by Douglas W. Jacobson

  Meier recalled his first sortie over the area and that first attack on the cavalry troops. They had spotted them galloping across a sandy field, heading for a stand of trees. Approaching from behind, the Stukas had swooped in and caught them by surprise, mowing them down like gophers. It had been exhilarating. But every sortie after that had been the same, and now the exhilaration was gone. It was becoming routine, almost boring. He kept expecting that the Polish troopers would give up, but each time out, there they were, trotting through the trees then darting at a gallop through the open fields. A few would escape, but they would kill most of them.

  The plane jolted as they passed through some low clouds, and Meier cleared his mind for the task ahead. Each day their sorties had taken them farther east as they tracked down the tenacious cavalrymen. This morning they were flying over the easternmost end of the forest, near Laski.

  As he banked the plane into a turn, Meier listened to the scratchy sound of the voice coming through his earphones. Cavalry troops had been spotted at the edge of the forest. He knew the drill. Dive in at low altitude, just over the treetops. The cavalry troopers wouldn’t hear them until it was too late.

  • • •

  As he led his squadron eastward, Stefan felt the pain returning to the small of his back. The rest stop had helped, but now his back ached and his feet were cramping again. Plodding along the uneven, rocky ground his game little mare stumbled more than she had the day before. She was nearing the limit of her strength.

  They reached the edge of the forest, and Stefan held up his hand bringing the squadron to a halt. A broad, open plain spread out before them. On the other side was Laski. He looked to his right and saw Peracki, a hundred meters away, bringing the other squadron to a halt. Jan rode alongside Peracki.

  The two squadrons waited inside the tree line, searching the sky, their horses standing motionless, breathing heavily, heads hanging. Stefan reached down and rubbed the tired mare’s neck. “One more time,” he whispered. He tightened his grip on the reins, going over the plan again. The squadrons would charge across the field simultaneously. Peracki would lead his squadron to the south, and Stefan would lead his to the north. He wished now that they had done this last night, in the dark.

  Stefan leaned forward in the saddle, scanning the sky. Nothing. He looked over at Jan and saw his hand go down, signaling the charge. Stefan jabbed the heels of his boots into the mare’s ribs, and the fatigued animal obediently bolted into the open.

  The Stuka approached the open field, and Meier saw the scene unfolding before him. Two cavalry squadrons, appearing no larger than toy soldiers from this altitude, charged across the field toward Laski, one to the south and one to the north. The group heading south had the shorter distance and would make the tree line before the Stukas got there. But the group heading north was in trouble.

  When his plane cleared the trees Meier shoved the stick down, dropping low over the field, and the doomed cavalrymen came into clear view. No banners streaming, no regimental flags snapping in the breeze, just steel-helmeted Polish Uhlans hunched low in their saddles, some wielding sabers, their horses struggling to maintain the gallop.

  The lead planes opened fire, and the cavalry troopers instantly scattered in a mad panic to escape. But Meier knew it was hopeless. They were caught in the open. He sighed as he squeezed the trigger, and the Stuka’s machine guns erupted in a clatter, dropping horses and riders by the dozens.

  He pulled up on the stick and gained altitude, following the leaders around in a tight circle then dropped in for a second pass. This time only a few cavalry troopers were still moving, and the lead planes took care of them. Meier glanced down at the carnage and shook his head. What a shame, he thought. He had always loved horses.

  Chapter 14

  THE TRAIN STATION in Ostrowiec was a mess. The clamor of a hundred conversations, crying babies and raucous children resonated off the brick walls of the ancient building. Hordes of families lugging battered suitcases and farmers toting wicker baskets laden with food, clothing and household utensils overflowed onto the street amid cackling chickens and bleating goats. German soldiers leading large muzzled shepherds patrolled the platform, shouting orders and swatting with their nightsticks anyone who happened to wander too close.

  Anna sat on the wooden seat of the wagon next to Leizer watching the chaotic scene, wondering what they were getting into. “Where are they all going?”

  Leizer shook his head. “Some are running from the Germans, some from the Russians. Most of ’em are just scared and don’t know who they’re running from.”

  Anna turned around and glanced at Irene who sat on a hay bale in the back of the wagon, her arms wrapped protectively around Justyn. Irene had kept Justyn close ever since Warsaw, perhaps as much for her own comfort as Justyn’s. Anna reached back and touched her friend’s arm. “I’ll go and find out about tickets. You and Justyn stay here with Leizer.”

  For over an hour, pushed and jostled from all directions, Anna stood in the queue at the ticket window, hoping they were doing the right thing. Leaving the comfortable womb of the Berkowicz farm had been the most difficult decision she had ever made. But with the news of the Russian invasion, something inside her screamed that they had to leave now or they might never have another chance. Irene had been terrified at the prospect of leaving, and Beata Berkowicz begged them to stay. In the end, it was Dr. Simanski who convinced Anna they had to leave.

  She recalled the somber look on the old doctor’s face the day before when he had ridden out to the Berkowicz farm to deliver the news. They sat around the kitchen table for an hour, drinking coffee from tin cups, Irene sullen and quiet, Beata struggling to hold in her tears and Justyn glancing around at all of them, his eyes wide with anticipation.

  “I’ve just come from Ostrowiec,” Dr. Simanski said. “The fighting has moved off to the north. There’s some talk of rail service to Krakow starting up again.”

  “Perhaps we should just stay here,” Irene mumbled, staring at the floor.

  The doctor reached over and put his hand on Irene’s arm but he spoke directly to Anna. She remembered every word. “Anna, you’ve studied history. Poland has been occupied for much of its history, by both Germans and Russians. Life under German rule in a city like Krakow may be difficult. But the Russians ruled this part of Poland with an iron fist for over a hundred years—and they will never forget the humiliation of defeat in 1920.”

  Anna nodded slowly. “Saving Civilization from the Bolsheviks. I was fifteen, I remember the banners. Both of our husbands fought in that war. Now they’re cavalry officers. If they’re captured by the Russians…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Or if their wives are captured,” the doctor whispered.

  “We could protect them,” Leizer said, “or hide them.”

  Anna took the old man’s gnarled hand and smiled. “No, Leizer, you couldn’t. Everyone in the area knows who we are. They’d find us, and you’d all be killed—or worse.”

  Dr. Simanski gripped his coffee mug with both hands and closed his eyes. For a long moment he was quiet, his head moving slowly from side to side. Then he took a deep breath and looked at her.

  At that moment her decision was made. Anna knew she would never forget the sadness in the old doctor’s eyes when she whispered, “We cannot be here when the Russians come.”

  When Anna finally reached the ticket window the haggard railway agent informed her that he had no idea when, or if, there would be a train to Krakow. “Civilian rail service was suspended at the outbreak of the war,” he said in a weary, bureaucratic monotone. “A few trains have formed up within the last several days, but we never know when. You’ll just have to take your chances.” Anna shoved some zlotys through the window, took three tickets and pushed her way out of the station.

  Leizer would not leave them. He rigged a cover over the back of the wagon with an old canvas tarp, and they sat on hay bales, nibbling on the boiled potatoes and brown bread that Beata had sent a
long. That night, Anna lay awake for a long time, listening to the voices of peasants singing Polish folk tunes around a campfire, thinking about Jan. Perhaps he was sitting near a similar campfire, surrounded by his men and their horses, out of harm’s way. Perhaps. It was a nice thought…a thought she would try to keep.

  Late the next afternoon an ancient, steam-hissing locomotive chugged into the station pulling four passenger cars, and hundreds of pilgrims charged the platform, overwhelming the German soldiers whose curses of “Polish swine” were drowned out in the stampede. Anna and Irene followed closely behind Leizer, who gripped Justyn’s hand and forced his way onto the platform, pushing to the front of the pack. When the train halted and the door opened, the old man shoved the three of them into the car. Struggling against the crush of the throng, Anna reached out for Leizer’s hand. The old man looked at her with tears in his eyes and said something in a hoarse voice that she couldn’t make out. Then the crowd swept them into the car, and he was gone.

  The trip took a day and a half. The train stopped so often that Anna gave up trying to keep track of where they were. They stopped in the middle of the countryside and sat for hours with the hot sun beating down on the suffocating, overcrowded cars. They were diverted onto sidings while other trains loaded with armaments and German troops roared past in the opposite direction. At one point, Anna watched with some amusement as a conductor tried to push his way through the crowd, collecting tickets. Halfway down the car, the beleaguered man retreated and never returned.

  It was almost midnight when they finally arrived in Krakow. As the train rolled slowly into the station, passing stoic German soldiers standing on the platform with rifles and submachine guns, a blur of emotion and anxiety raced through Anna’s mind. Would her father be at home? Was he safe? What if the house had…

  The train jerked to a halt, and the throng of frustrated, weary travelers erupted in a mad rush to get out of the hot, smelly car. Anna gripped Irene’s and Justyn’s hands, struggling to stay together as the crowd pushed them toward the door and belched them onto the platform.

  The scene out on the street was chaotic. Hundreds of people hurried about, some leaving the station and some trying to get in. There were no taxis and only a few buses, all of which were crammed with people and bound for towns outside the city. Anna spotted two armored cars parked directly across from the station. A group of German soldiers stood in front of the massive vehicles, smoking cigarettes and joking with each other, seemingly oblivious to the teeming mass of people around them.

  When they had extricated themselves from the confusion at the station, Anna led the way along familiar streets toward Ulica Basztowa where they caught a tram at the stop across from the gates of the old city. As the tram clacked along the rails, Anna looked out the grimy window, thinking that the city appeared pretty much the same as it always had—except for the German soldiers and army trucks they passed every few blocks. She was certain that she would never get used to that.

  Half an hour later they stood in the doorway of her father’s home. The door opened, and Anna stared into her father’s astonished face. She felt a weakness in her knees, then his strong arms around her waist as darkness closed in.

  A week later, Thaddeus sat alone in his study, staring blankly into a cup of cold tea as Poland’s last glimmer of hope was extinguished. It was the twenty-seventh of September, and Radio Warsaw played Chopin’s “Death March” as the besieged capital capitulated. The government fled to exile in Romania, and Poland was once again partitioned by Germany and Russia.

  That evening Anna came to dinner, as she had every night since her return. Thaddeus invited his friend Jozef Bujak and his wife, Elaina, to join them. Food supplies were already limited, but Janina had gone to the butcher shop early in the morning and managed to purchase some sausages, which she prepared with beets and boiled cabbage.

  The nights were getting cooler. After dinner Thaddeus lit a fire in his study and poured glasses of cognac from a half-full bottle that was his last. Bujak took a sip of the smooth liquor and asked Anna about her ordeal in Warsaw.

  A knot formed in Thaddeus’s stomach. He had broken into tears when Anna told him the story the morning after her return. Now he listened once again to the grim tale of the bombing, the harrowing auto ride and Henryk’s violent death. When Anna told about the peasants singing Polish folk songs around the campfire at the train station, Bujak slapped his hand on his knee. “That’s what they’ll never take from us,” he snapped, “that spirit, that will to survive. They don’t understand—the goose-stepping Nazi fascists or the slovenly Bolshevik mongrels—neither of them, they don’t understand that we’ll never just lie down and die.”

  Bujak got up from the leather chair and looked down at Anna. “Have you heard anything from Jan?”

  Anna shook her head.

  “Our prayers are with him,” Bujak said.

  Anna managed a smile. “Thank you.”

  Bujak lit a cigar while Thaddeus refilled their glasses. He blew a cloud of smoke in the air and glanced around the room. “Have any of you heard about the order issued by Field Marshal Smigly-Rydz?”

  Thaddeus looked at Anna and shrugged.

  “I had lunch with Fryderyk Wawrzyn today,” Bujak said. “Anna, do you know…?”

  “Yes, I think I know who he is. A legal counsel for the city?”

  Bujak nodded and continued. “According to Wawrzyn, the Field Marshal sent an order to all Polish troops still in the field to seek sanctuary in neutral countries. He has ordered them to make their way to France where the Polish army will re-form and fight on.”

  Thaddeus watched Anna as she stared at Bujak for a moment then stood and took a few unsteady steps toward the fireplace. He jumped up to help her.

  “No, Papa, it’s all right. I’ll be fine.” She placed a hand on the mantel and turned toward Bujak. “I know that Jan will…” She stopped and wiped her eyes, leaning against the brick fireplace. Thaddeus took her hand. “I know that Jan will do whatever he’s ordered to do,” she said. “Nothing will prevent him from doing that if…he’s…”

  The room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire. After a moment, Elaina asked, “Anna, how is your friend Irene?”

  Anna squeezed her father’s hand and wiped her eyes again. “Not very well, I’m afraid. I see her every day. She’s terrified.”

  “Has she gone back to work?”

  “Yes. She’s working at the pharmacy that Stefan managed. The owners have been very kind to her, but they’re concerned about their business. They keep hearing rumors about the Germans closing Jewish businesses. Just this morning, when they opened the shop they found Jude painted on the front window.”

  “Have you heard what’s happening in Lublin?” Bujak asked.

  “No,” Anna said.

  “Wawrzyn told me this as well. The Germans have been rounding up Jews in Prague and Vienna and are transporting them in railroad boxcars to Lublin.”

  Thaddeus was stunned. “My God, what are you talking about, Jozef?”

  “Wawrzyn is part of a city delegation that was called before the Gestapo. They were told that the German Reich has begun to transport Jews from the occupied countries to Lublin.”

  “That’s crazy,” Anna said. “What are they going to do with them in Lublin?”

  “Wawrzyn said they’re setting up some type of camps for Jews. Probably work camps.”

  “Why Lublin?”

  “Who knows? Probably because it’s far enough east that it’ll be years before anyone else in Europe ever finds out.”

  Thaddeus glanced at Anna. He knew she was thinking about Irene and Justyn. “Does he think this will happen in Krakow?” he asked Bujak.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Bujak said. “You know what Hitler is like.”

  Thaddeus pulled another log from the wood box and placed it on the glowing embers. “Does Wawrzyn know anything about the Krakow police?”

  Bujak waved his hand dismissively, �
�They’re under the control of the SS and the Feldgendarmes. They can’t be trusted. We’ve all got to be careful dealing with the police now, especially Jews.” He looked at Anna. “Your friend has to be very careful.”

  Anna stood facing the flickering fire, shaking her head. When she turned around her eyes were wet with tears. “I watched a woman get machine-gunned on the streets of Warsaw,” she said, her voice quaking. “Henryk was killed trying to keep us alive, and God only knows what’s become of my husband. Our country has been gobbled up by Germans and Russians and now Jews are being sent to work camps. We can’t just sit here and do nothing, can we?”

  Thaddeus felt Bujak staring at him. Bujak had not brought up the Resistance movement again, but Thaddeus was certain that it had gotten started and that his friend was involved. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would be brought into it himself. He also knew Bujak’s passion—he would recruit Anna in a heartbeat. Thaddeus met Bujak’s gaze and imperceptibly shook his head.

  Bujak sighed, glancing at his watch. He motioned to his wife. “Well, it’s late. We’d better be going.” At the door, he kissed Anna’s cheek and said, “What all of us can do is keep up our spirits. Your husband and others like him will get to France and join our allies. Our enemies will be defeated, one way or another. I’m certain of it.”

  Chapter 15

  HE WATCHED AS THE PLANES CIRCLED around and dove in again, mowing down the last of the troopers caught in the open. Horses and riders fell…screams, shouts…blood. He pulled out his carbine and started shooting, shooting at the planes, the ugly, stub-winged black planes. He sighted in on one plane and fired, again and again, aiming at the glass canopy, at the goddamn pilot. He could see the pilot’s face. The face looked back at him. It was Stefan. He tried to run into the field, but something held him back. He struggled. He had to get to the field. He heard a voice behind him, yelling. He struggled harder. The voice yelled.