The Danzig Corridor

by Paul R. E. Jarvis

  ‘Yes,’ he said excitedly.

  ‘Copies of this poster will be delivered to every military installation, railway station, and port in Poland. They will not be able to get far without someone recognising them. Do you have an idea where they could be?’

  ‘I believe they’re in a bakery on Hucisko Street, near the harbour.’

  ‘If you know where they are, Hauptmann, why do you need my help?’

  ‘I need some of your men and a few vehicles to ensure they don’t escape.’

  The officer thought for a while. He wanted to say ‘no,’ because the SS were asking, but he was an ambitious man. If he was part of the successful capture of the three prisoners, his name would be talked about, perhaps even in Berlin.

  ‘I see,’ he said, pressing both of his index fingers to his lips, pretending to think, before picking up the phone.

  ‘I can let you have twenty infantry and a couple of troop carriers. Will that be enough?’ he asked, holding the telephone’s handset away from his mouth.

  Roehm nodded impatiently.

  Terminating the call, the duty officer looked straight at him.

  ‘There is one condition,’ he said. ‘My men will not take orders from the SS. I shall come with you.’

  32

  Roehm and his borrowed army headed for Hucisko Street in the cramped truck. After a short drive through the town, the vehicles drove up the broad thoroughfare, stopping outside the bakery. The noise of the engines startled Henry as he rested in the bedroom. He peered bravely around the curtains, but what he saw struck terror into his heart.

  ‘Tommy, get out the back door now!’ he shouted.

  A metal tray clattered to the floor, as Henry jumped down the stairs, three at a time. Tommy was already outside, wearing their ‘emergency’ bag across his chest as Henry grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door. They vaulted the remains of the fence and sprinted onto the cobbles of Drzewny Road. As he ran, Tommy took off his blue and white striped apron, dumping it on the ground.

  As the two British soldiers turned onto Hucisko Street, a crowd began to gather as the German infantrymen carried out their raid. Everyone was looking the other way, allowing the two men to walk past unnoticed on the other side of the road.

  ‘Your hands are covered in flour,’ Henry whispered. ‘Put them in your pockets.’

  Roehm stood with his back to them, deep in conversation with the Wehrmacht officer standing beside him. Other soldiers ran in and out, shouting instructions while Henry and Tommy kept walking with their heads down.

  After fifteen minutes of searching, an unteroffizier came out, bypassed the SS hauptmann, and spoke directly to his superior.

  ‘Sir, the building is empty. But, it would appear someone’s been here recently. The kettle is still hot, and three of the beds have been slept in.’

  Roehm slammed through the door, uttering a stream of expletives. An upturned tray lay scattered on the floor, and the ovens were still lit.

  ‘Someone left in a hurry,’ he said to the duty officer who struggled to keep up.

  Opening the heavy, fire door between the shop and the rest of the house, he walked around the property. In the pokey kitchen, the water in the kettle on the stove was indeed warm, but so far there was no conclusive evidence the British soldiers had ever been here.

  The lounge was dark and dingy, the chairs and sofa looked quite uncomfortable. Roehm prowled from room to room, stopping in the children’s bedroom. The bed clothes were scattered untidily, but nothing out of the ordinary. Frustrated, he turned to leave when a wardrobe in the corner caught his eye. He opened the door, revealing clothes on hangers suspended from a rail. At the back was a red suitcase standing on its end. Pulling it onto the worn carpet, he popped the clasps and lifted the lid. Inside, screwed up and dirty, were two British Army uniforms.

  ‘I knew it,’ he yelled.

  ***

  Viktor watched as Gregori’s boat pulled into the harbour; one of the many ships which had docked while he had been waiting. As soon as it had moored, the crew began hauling wooden crates packed with ice and fish onto the quayside, eager to head home after several days at sea. Wholesalers and tradesmen moved through the crowds of fishermen, inspecting the catch while gulls on the harbour wall squabbled over a tasty morsel, thrown by one of the crew members. Gregori chatted to a couple of the other captains as he strolled toward the barrier where Viktor waited nervously.

  Deep in conversation, the Wehrmacht guards paid little attention to the two cousins as they greeted each other. Saying very little, Gregori handed over an indistinct envelope which Viktor placed carefully into his inside pocket.

  All the way home, he kept checking he had not lost the letter. As the sliding doors opened, he hurried onto the bustling platform and headed for home. Near the exit, he noticed a large poster on a noticeboard on the station wall. It had not been there when he had left for Gdynia. Curious, he pushed through the commuters who were boarding the tram to get a better look. Rather than an advertisement, the crude poster contained photographs of him and the two soldiers accompanied by the headline ‘Chciał!’ (‘Wanted!’) Alarmed, Viktor pulled the brim of his cap down a little lower and adjusted his scarf in an attempt to reduce the likelihood of anyone recognising him.

  Thankfully, the light had begun to fade; the darkness would help him remain unnoticed. Tired, and with his nerves in tatters, Viktor joined the mass of people walking home at the end of their working day.

  Near the city square, he was jolted from his anxious thoughts when a pedestrian bumped into him.

  ‘Act normal and follow me,’ the familiar voice whispered.

  He looked up and caught sight of Tommy, who continued past him.

  With his heart fit to explode, Viktor pretended to check the time before changing direction, following the British soldier who was now on the opposite pavement. After a hundred yards, he crossed the street, only a few steps behind Tommy.

  The soldier turned down one of Danzig’s many anonymous alleyways. Viktor followed, slowing his pace to avoid being associated with the blond man.

  ‘Over here,’ Tommy waved from the backyard of a seemingly unoccupied terrace house.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, spotting Henry lurking in the shadows.

  ‘Roehm came back with reinforcements.’

  ‘We fled out the back door,’ the sergeant added. ‘We were lucky to get away.’

  ‘Well, we can’t go back,’ Viktor said desperately. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Let’s not panic,’ Henry said calmly. ‘First, we need somewhere warm and dry to spend the night. Can you think of anywhere we can go? Some place where we can talk without being overheard,’ said Tommy.

  Viktor thought for a while. ‘There’s a church on Piwna Street. We go there.’

  ‘It sounds perfect,’ said Henry. ‘We can’t walk through the town in a group. Not now - every corner has a poster with our ugly faces on them. We’ll have to split up.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. The streets are busy,’ Tommy said. ‘We won’t have to spread out too much.’

  ‘Viktor, if you lead the way, the two of us will follow on behind.’

  ‘Oh! I nearly forgot,’ Henry interrupted. ‘How did you get on with Gregori?’

  ‘Good. I have a letter from the British Government,’ he replied, reaching inside his jacket.

  ‘Hang onto it until we get to the church.’

  33

  The Basilica of Saint Mary, a massive fifteenth-century brick church, dominated the skyline of the northern part of the city. Inside, the high-vaulted ceilings swept down to enormous stone pillars. Giant candles burnt continually, illuminating numerous ancient icons residing in dingy alcoves. From the hard, wooden pew, Henry stared absentmindedly at the two lines of chandeliers, mesmerised by their flickering candlelight.

  Despite being late, a steady stream of worshippers continued to come into the church. Tommy and Viktor sat elsewhere in the building to avoid drawing attenti
on to themselves. Henry took out the letter once again, studying every word in case he had missed a vital detail. The following morning, a Norwegian trawler called Margarite would dock in the harbour. The ship would be their passage home, but the Germans had the city in lockdown.

  A lady in a shabby, brown housecoat sat on Henry’s pew, disturbing his thoughts. He greeted her with a smile before lowering his head, pretending to pray. With his eyes shut, he soon realised he was actually praying. First, he prayed for his own safety and for their success. He thanked God for Viktor before saying a prayer for his brother.

  ‘Just keep him safe,’ he muttered in an inaudible whisper. ‘Just keep him safe.’

  Henry’s legs felt stiff, so he sauntered to the back of the church towards an insignificant side door. His curiosity got the better of him. He turned the handle and snuck into what appeared to be a classroom containing an upright piano, presumably to accompany choristers while they practised. At the far end of the room, an archway led to a flight of stone stairs.

  After a tiring climb, Henry found himself at the top of a tower. The paint peeled from the walls, and there was an overwhelming smell of bird droppings. Clearly, this part of the church was rarely used. He stood with his arms on a windowsill, staring through the glassless hole, taking in the nighttime view of the city. In the distance, he could see many lights, shining brightly in the harbour with the black void of the Baltic beyond them.

  When morning came, the sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, disturbing Henry after an uncomfortable night’s sleep. Looking around, Viktor and Tommy were spaced out among the pews, clearly asleep. His stomach groaned. The supplies in their emergency bag had not lasted the night. Someone passed his pew—he assumed it was another member of the public—paying little attention. A wave of nausea rose up inside him as a young man wearing a Wehrmacht uniform crept respectfully down the aisle. He fought the temptation to run, cursing the tiredness numbing his senses.

  Taking a seat, a couple of rows in front of him, the soldier began to pray. After ten minutes, the man left without paying much attention to him or his companions. The fact an enemy soldier had walked into the church without them noticing caused Henry concern. How could they have been so sloppy?

  He rose from his seat, pretending to admire an icon in the alcove near Tommy.

  ‘I’m going up into the tower again,’ Henry said. ‘Come with me.’

  Tommy’s eyes flickered open. He yawned and then nodded.

  The two men climbed to the top of the stairs, standing in silence as they admired the view.

  ‘We need to be more careful. If that soldier had been looking for us, we would not have stood a chance,’

  ‘Sorry, boss,’ Tommy said. ‘I fell asleep.’

  ‘It is noon,’ a soft voice said from behind them. They turned to see Viktor standing on the stone steps. ‘I get us food. You safe up here.’

  ‘Okay, but don’t be long,’ said Henry quietly.

  The Pole nodded.

  ‘Viktor,’ Henry said, causing his friend to turn back. ‘Be careful out there.’

  They waited until they heard the heavy outer door of the church close behind him.

  ‘How are you doing, Tommy?’

  ‘This is hopeless, Sarge. I’m fed up of waiting, my nerves are shot to pieces, and my belly feels like it hasn’t seen food for a week.’

  ‘I know what you mean, but it is going to be fine. There’s not long to go now. We need to sit tight until this evening. After that, we’re on the homeward straight.’

  ‘We’re so close, but I keep thinking we’re not going to make it.’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ Henry said reassuringly. ‘We’ve come this far, and we’ve overcome everything we’ve encountered.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Tommy said with an unconvincing smile.

  ‘He won’t be much longer. You’ll feel better with some food in your belly.’

  Viktor carried a brown paper bag full of bread, cut meats, and tomatoes up the stairs of the basilica tower. They sat on the steps at the top of the draughty tower, picking at the items he had brought back with him. The impromptu meal was delicious, but an unacknowledged tension hung over them.

  ‘One thing’s bothering me,’ Tommy said, talking with his mouth full. ‘How are we going to get into the harbour?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Henry. ‘You can bet your lift it will be heavily guarded. Viktor, are they any backways into the port?’

  ‘No,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘I guess we’re going to have to find a way when we’re there.’

  ***

  He woke with a start, his eyes darting around, not knowing how long he had slept for. From the poor light coming through the windows, Henry deduced it was early evening.

  ‘What time is it?’ he whispered, sitting down in front of Viktor.

  ‘Nearly six. Did you have well sleep?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ Henry blushed. ‘I think it’s time we left.’

  He looked across at Tommy and waved him over.

  ‘Are we going?’ the blond soldier asked as he approached.

  Henry nodded.

  ‘If we don’t have a chance, Viktor, I’d like to say a huge thank you. You’ve been really helpful, and without you, we wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘Good luck getting home.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What will you do now?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘Nothing here. I’ll go back to Olsztyn,’ he replied. ‘It will take me several days.’

  ‘I hope you make it back safely,’ said Henry.

  The three men exchanged hugs and handshakes.

  ‘You have a friend in Poland,’ Viktor said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  With one final goodbye, they walked out of the church and down the stone steps. At the bottom, without making eye contact, Viktor turned right and the two British soldiers turned left.

  34

  The Danzig trawler fleet was visible through the chain-link fence which ran between two low buildings. The few boats preparing to set out to sea had their lights on, while the rest languished in darkness. Their crews ashore were enjoying the delights of Danzig’s nightlife.

  ‘One of those must be the Margarite,’ Henry whispered.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Can you see a way in?’

  Without warning, Tommy pulled him into the shadow of the nearest building as a cone of torchlight passed on the other side of the fence.

  ‘That was close,’ Tommy said once the guard had passed.

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  Tilting his head back and letting out a sigh of relief, Henry spotted a window occupying the upper part of the whitewashed wall.

  ‘Give me a lift up.’

  Tommy cradled his hands together, giving his sergeant a boost up to the large, stone sill. From his elevated position, he had a good view of the whole expanse of the harbour. Steadying himself on a guttering bracket, he helped Tommy up before they scrambled onto the roof.

  Lying face-down on the cold slates, they peered over the ridge of tiles. The numerous torches of the guards moved about, illuminating pockets of the vast complex. Once in total darkness, the two British soldiers shuffled over the apex until they lay above the quayside. Henry studied the ships with their lights on. Most were Polish, but alarmingly, quite a few bore the war ensign of the Kriegsmarine, the German Navy. He could not identify two of the fishing boats. The Margarite had to be one of them, but which one? With the two unidentified trawlers moored at opposite ends of the port, if they went to the wrong one, they would not have enough time to get to the Margarite before it set sail.

  Henry scrutinised the nearest of the two ships, but frustratingly, the boat was too far away for him to read the name. A southerly wind picked up, causing a Norwegian flag to billow in the bright glow of the deck lights. That must be it.

  Lowering themselves from the roof onto the quay, they were now close enoug
h to see the warm breath of the crew making their final preparations before putting to sea. Although Tommy and Henry only had to cover a relatively short distance, the large number of guards inside the harbour complex meant they would not be able to walk to the Margarite without being seen.

  A giant, rusting boom from a trawler rested against the side of the building, providing a perfect hiding place for them as another guard approached. Among the lobster pots and other discarded fishing equipment, Henry found a tiny, flat-bottomed raft, the kind used by sailors to reach their ships moored in the middle of the docks. An idea formed in his mind. If they couldn’t walk there, perhaps they could paddle there. Presumably, the guards would not be expecting them to be in the water. Hopefully, they would only be looking for intruders on the land.

  Henry bent over and examined the small boat in the poor light. It appeared seaworthy, as much as he was able to tell. Tucked inside was a single short-handled oar. The craft had once been painted white, but the majority of the paint had worn away, leaving the wood beneath to become heavily weathered. Once the guard had passed, the two British soldiers carried the raft down a nearby slipway, placing it at the water’s edge. Tommy steadied the small vessel as Henry climbed aboard. The little boat was only designed to carry one man, so as both of them put their weight onto it, the raft became perilously low in the water. There was no time to make two trips, so they would have to hope they could stay afloat long enough to complete the short journey to the Margarite.

  Henry knelt at the very front of the boat, while Tommy squatted on the back with the oar. As they set off, water splashed over the bow, and it started sinking. Henry carefully readjusted his weight, spreading it more evenly, causing them to rise slightly in the water. Tommy continued to paddle gently into the darkness, making as little noise as possible.