Chapter Nine
May-June, 1946
Colling had not expected to encounter mountains in Poland. Like most Americans, and in spite of his Polish ancestry, he had always pictured Poland as a land of flat steppes. In truth, southern Poland, called by the Poles the Mawopolska, was an alpine region. Kracow, ancient capital of Poland, lay tucked in a valley amid green hills, surrounded by distant snow-tipped ranges.
Their journey south had been as slow and tiresome as before, with frequent side-tracking and much rocking and jolting over hastily-repaired roadbeds. It was not until the morning of the second day after leaving Warsaw that they reached the main railway station on the eastern edge of Kracow. Avoiding the several horse-drawn taxis that waited at the station, they walked towards the Rynek Glowny, the famous great square of the city, keeping up the appearance of a poor refugee couple.
At a farmer’s market a few blocks from the square, they asked directions to somewhere to stay and were told that old Pani Macziewsie took in boarders and might have a vacancy in her house.
Their knock brought the gray-haired Madame Macziewsie to her door. When Colling explained that they had heard she had rooms to let, she asked if they had money. When Colling replied that they did, she ushered them over the threshold and up three flights of narrow stairs to a garret room with a single small window overlooking a roof at the rear of the house. The only article that could be said to be furniture was a small bed with ropes in place of springs. A mat on the floor appeared to be intended to provide additional sleeping accommodations.
When Madame Macziewskie smilingly told Colling the room would be 200 zlotys a day with meals, he apologized and made as if to leave, saying that he and his wife could not afford so much. The old landlady stopped him and asked in a less friendly way if 100 zlotys was too much. Colling shook his head and with eyes downcast, admitted that it was. He pulled a few of the Russian-made zloty notes from his pocket and showed her that he had only 300 zlotys left. The old woman grudgingly agreed to accept 50 zlotys for the night, but she would not feed them. Colling paid her, adding that if he could find work the next day, they might be able to stay longer.
Once Madame Macziewskie had clattered off down the stairs, they opened their suitcases and removed their money and the extra forged documents. Colling tucked the Luger into the back of his belt and found a corner in the eaves in which to conceal the box of cartridges. The cash was divided between Elizabeth’s purse and the inside pocket of Colling’s suit coat. Elizabeth pulled up her skirt and put the extra sets of identity papers inside the front of the bloomers she was wearing. They could now leave the boarding house without concern that the landlady might rifle through their belongings, but knowing that they had perhaps assumed a greater risk if they were stopped and searched on the street.
They found a food vendor in the open-air market where they had asked directions, and bought bread, sausage and cheese. As they sat eating on a nearby stone bench, Colling asked if she had an address where her uncle could be found.
“Yes. It’s not really a residence,” she said, “It’s a school where he teaches.”
“Do you have any idea where it is from here?” Colling asked.
“I think so. It’s quite a walk, but it’s early yet. A little village called Zapieskowa, south of the main part of town.”
“Do you think those shoes of yours will hold up with all this hiking?”
“They’re fine,” she said, looking down at her feet.
Zapieskowa was, by Colling’s estimate, five or six miles from where they had started, since it was well over an hour later when Elizabeth announced that she thought they had reached the place. There were no road signs of any kind, and they had had to stop and ask directions several times. They were not alone on the road. A fair number of travelers were also walking. Farmers with their horse-drawn carts, women with large bundles on their backs, couples like themselves, carrying suitcases, some with small children tagging along, all were bound for their own destinations. Bands of armed men wearing the same nondescript mixture of uniforms that they had seen on the train when they crossed the Polish border seemed to have stationed themselves at key crossroads and intersections. Those walking by were randomly stopped for no apparent logical reason. Colling and Elizabeth were asked for their identification on two occasions. The demeanor displayed towards the couple was less amicable now that they no longer wore American uniforms and their papers showed them to be Polish. While they were not searched, there was a demand each time to see their passports, and each time, Colling also handed over 100 zlotys in payment of what the men who described themselves as the militia called an “impost,” which seemed to be the only requirement to their being allowed to pass, because examination of their papers was perfunctory in both cases.
The village consisted of a number of whitewashed peasant cottages lining an unpaved dusty street. Halfway down the street, however, stood a two-story building of more substantial construction, which Colling correctly guessed was the school for which they were searching. Fortunately, there was a small park across the street from the front of the school. Colling and Elizabeth sat waiting on the single bench that was available. Few people passed by, and there was no motor traffic. They sat side by side, saying little, waiting. Colling was growing restless, and was about to suggest they leave and return later when the faint sound of a bell ringing came from the direction of the school. A few minutes later, a crowd of adolescents came down its steps and scattered in different directions. A woman came to the doorway and shouted a reminder that the students had only an hour for lunch, and must return by one o’clock.
Colling pulled his Bulova wristwatch from his pocket to see that it was noon. He had decided not to put it in the canvas bag he had sent to Prague. While his possession of the American timepiece could prove to be a problem, he kept it off his wrist and in his trouser pocket, as much to keep it from being confiscated by a militiaman as to conceal it. If questioned, he intended to say he had purchased it from a downed British flyer. If necessary, however, he would just throw it away.
Suddenly, Elizabeth pulled at his sleeve and said, “Let’s go.”
The hallway of the school smelt musty, and after the bright sunshine they had left outside, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to its darkness. Elizabeth led the way to the stairs to the second floor. As they stepped into the upper hallway, voices could be heard coming from one end of the building. They walked softly towards the sound and found a small group that they surmised was the faculty sitting in a room around a table. Elizabeth surveyed the people in the room, then stepping forward, she cried out, “Uncle Karol!” to a white-haired man seated with the rest. The old man peered intently through his spectacles at the woman who had so suddenly interrupted his lunch, then stood and crossed the room, taking Elizabeth in his arms.
“Elzbieta. How have you come here?” he asked.
“Uncle Karol, it has been so long. My husband, Jan, and I have come from Warsaw to see you,” she replied, pulling Colling forward to shake hands.
Karol had to introduce each of his colleagues to the couple, hesitating over the unfamiliar name Woznica. When the greetings and shaking of hands was completed, Elizabeth asked the old man if they could speak privately.
She led Karol and Colling to the far end of the hallway where they could not be overheard.
“Uncle Karol, it is so wonderful to see you,” she said. “I have come to get you to the United States.”
“I had been told you were coming. But how is this possible?”
“Connections have been made. Everything is arranged, but we must move quickly.”
“I cannot do that, little one. If I were to leave so suddenly, suspicions would be aroused, and frankly, three of those people that you just met are Communists. If they learn the reason for your coming, they will notify the authorities immediately. And besides this, I have to notify Jan and Tomasz.”
Colling now understood why Elizabeth had had Tomek prepa
re two extra sets of papers. He did not understand, however, why she had not told him about these two men.
“Are they nearby?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes. They have been working on farms near here, waiting for you to come.”
“Wives and children?”
“As you know, my wife died two years ago. I do not know where my sons are. Jan’s wife and child disappeared during the evacuation from Oldenberg. Tomasz’s wife and children are somewhere, but he will not say. He says they are safe.”
“So there will be only the three of you?” inquired Elizabeth.
“Yes. Tomasz thinks perhaps he can get his wife and children out after he is able to get to the United States.”
Colling stood silently listening to this exchange. Aside from the fact that the number of individuals they were expected to help escape to the West had tripled, the reference to Oldenberg was puzzling. Oldenberg was in Germany, which meant that Karol and his friends must have been there within the past few months, perhaps earlier. If so, that meant that they had been there when the Nazis were still running things. Maybe they were collaborators. If so, it was understandable why Elizabeth would want to get them out of Poland. But then, by aiding them, she could find herself in deep trouble…and himself as well. He tried to think where he had heard Oldenberg mentioned. He knew there was something about the place that he had read, or someone had told him about, but he could not recall what it was.
He thought about the possibility that he could be held equally accountable for Elizabeth’s activities, if she were working to shield potential war criminals, and then he also recalled that his furlough was close to expiring, and if he weren’t back in Grabensheim within the week, he would be facing AWOL charges as well as whatever else might be in store for him if he and Elizabeth were found to be assisting wanted fugitives.
Colling suddenly realized that Elizabeth was speaking to him.
“Jan, we must leave Uncle Karol to finish his afternoon classes,” she was saying, pulling at his arm.
He mumbled a goodbye to Karol and followed Elizabeth from the school. Once out of earshot, she told him that they were to meet with Karol and the two other men at Karol’s house after dark. Colling was not enthused with the prospect of the long walk back into Kracow, but realized that it would be necessary to gather their belongings, and that to do otherwise might arouse unwanted interest on the part of their landlady and others.
He need not have worried about Madame Macziewskie’s curiosity; the old lady was waiting for them when they arrived hot and dusty at the front stoop of her house. With a hint of sarcasm in her voice, she wanted to know if Mr. Woznica or his wife had been able to find work. On an impulse, Colling told her that they had. He said that they had both been offered work on a farm to the east of the city, about ten kilometers in the country. The farmer had a room above his barn for them, and while they would not receive much in the way of wages, they would eat with the owner’s family and the other hands. He and Mrs. Woznica would be leaving as soon as they could, since it was a long walk back to their new quarters. He countered the frown growing on her face by offering her 50 additional zlotys by way of compensation for their leaving on such short notice.
After they trudged up the stairs to their room, Elizabeth dropped onto the narrow bed and said in a low voice, “Boy, you can make up a story on the spot!”
“At least I came up with an excuse for our leaving so quickly.”
“That you did. Have you always been able to make up tales like that with a straight face?”
“I’ve gotten better at it lately,” said Colling wryly, as he began packing his suitcase. Elizabeth eyed him, and without saying anything, pulled her own case from the corner and opened it on the bed.
They waited until it was nearly dark before retracing their steps to Zapieskowa. The bands of armed militia were not to be seen, and when they passed through one small hamlet, the loud sounds coming from a tavern indicated that they were probably spending the day’s impost collections. Elizabeth skirted the main street through Zapieskowa and led Colling to a cottage set back from the road among a stand of trees on the southern edge of the town.
Karol opened the door to Elizabeth’s knock and took them through a narrow hallway into the kitchen. Two men were sitting at the round wooden table in the center of the room. They looked up and watched Colling and Elizabeth as they entered. An open bottle of clear liquid that Colling surmised was vodka stood in the center of the table. Karol introduced the men as Jan and Tomasz, without mentioning their last names. Jan was the younger of the two, dark-haired and with a thin face that Colling guessed was the result of either illness or prolonged anxiety, or both. Tomasz was middle-aged and, like Karol, wore glasses. He looked fit and better fed than Jan, but it seemed to Colling that he shared with the younger man the same air of nervous anxiety.
Karol invited Elizabeth and Colling to join them at the table. Jan poured some of the vodka into a glass for each of them. Beginning immediately with the reason for their meeting, Elizabeth explained that she had identity papers and travel authorizations for Vienna, and that the following day, they would all leave by train for Czechoslovakia, then across into Austria. The three men seemed pleased at the prospect, and were in the middle of discussing the various steps that each of them would have to take to prepare to depart Poland, when Colling interjected, “I do not think this is such a good idea, Elzbieta.”
She turned to him, her eyes narrowing, “It’s all worked out, Jim,” she said in English.
He responded in the same language, “It’s a bad idea, Liz. Let me tell you why. We were watched from the minute we arrived in Warsaw. Someone knew we were coming. And I bet they’re looking for us right now. That little red herring you dropped about Poznan won’t fool them for long.”
She tried to interrupt, and he held up his hand to silence her and continued, “If we try getting on a train to Vienna, they’ll be on us before you can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ The only reason we got out of Warsaw when we did was because we didn’t follow the pre-arranged plan. Our only chance now is to improvise.”
Elizabeth looked steadily at him for what seemed a long time. The three Poles, obviously not fully understanding what was being said, watched them expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
“My orders were to bring them to Vienna. There are people waiting there for us. If we don’t arrive, they’ll wonder what happened. They’ll probably imagine the worst…that we’ve been captured by the NKVD,” said Elizabeth.
“And what will they do if they think that?” asked Colling.
“There isn’t anything that they can do. They might make some inquiries. Maybe raise a stink with the Polish Red Cross. But I don’t think they would really do anything.”
“They’d write us off, right?”
“Probably,” she replied with an air of resignation.
“Then so what if we find another way out?” asked Colling.
“And what might that way be, pray tell?”
“I’m not exactly sure. I have to think about it for awhile. But I know that trying to get on that train to Vienna will be the end for certain.”
Reverting to Polish, Elizabeth spoke to their companions, “My husband is concerned about taking the railway across Czechoslovakia to Austria. He does not believe it to be safe. He will have another plan to offer after he has had time to devise one.”
The Poles all began expressing their alarm and dismay simultaneously, until Colling waved his hands and asked them to listen to him.
“My wife has spoken the truth when she says I have no plan at this moment, but I will have one soon. You must realize that the Russians are looking for us.”
An alarmed expression spread across the faces of all three men, and Colling was certain that they were close to panic.
He continued, “We are safe for now, but we must not do what was originally planned. I believe someone has betrayed us, actually betrayed us before Elzbieta and I ever arrived in Poland.�
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Tomasz interjected, “You are Americans. If the NKVD arrests us, you will be expelled, and we are the ones who will be imprisoned, or worse.”
Jan nodded his agreement, but then Karol spoke, “They are more likely to be shot than ourselves, Tomasz. We at least have some value to the Russians.” Gesturing at Colling and Elizabeth, he said, “These two will just disappear.”
Karol’s comment caused the hair on the back of Colling’s neck to rise. His concern about being punished for being AWOL was inconsequential in comparison with what he had just heard, but knowing that Karol and his friends needed reassurance, he forced himself to calmly ask, “Is it possible that all of us can remain a few days in your house, Uncle Karol?”
“Of course. But I am not sure what Jan and Tomasz must yet do. If they do not return to the farms where they have been working, there will be questions.”
Nodding towards the two men, Colling said, “Let Jan and Tomasz go about their business as usual. You, Uncle Karol, will teach your classes tomorrow. It will be hardest for you, Uncle Karol, to find an excuse for leaving your position. We must find one so that your fellow teachers and the headmaster will have no suspicions. In the meantime, Elzbieta and I will give thought to how this must be done.”
After Jan and Tomasz agreed that they would be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, the two men slipped out the door and into the night. Karol showed Colling and Elizabeth to their quarters in a bedroom on the second floor of the house. He explained that the school provided his housing, and that he normally shared the place with a married couple and two other teachers. The other four, however, had been called to Warsaw for a “political” purpose, as Karol described it, with a dour expression on his face. They were not expected to return anytime soon.
Their bedroom was comfortable and clean. Karol explained that the tiled laundry room on the first floor actually was equipped with a bathtub and a sink with a hand pump for drawing water. By using a bucket, it was possible to fill the small coal-fired water heater that was mounted on the wall next to the tub and have a hot bath. Elizabeth took advantage of this unexpected luxury first, and Colling followed her. The water had grown tepid, and he remained in the tub only long enough to scrub himself. As he washed the stubble on his face, he thought about how good a shave would feel. His American shaving kit had been left behind in Warsaw, and he had not asked to borrow a razor from Karol. Sitting in the rapidly-cooling water, he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to allow his beard to continue to grow, admitting to himself that unshaven, he would blend into the mass of refugees travelling across Poland.
When he slipped into bed beside Elizabeth, he intended to ask her the full names of Karol and the other Poles, but as if anticipating his thoughts, she said, “Jim, I think it’s best if you just know these men by their first names, in case you’re questioned.” Before he could say anything, she embraced him and placed her lips on his. They made love using the last of the prophylactics he had brought with him.
The sound of Karol moving about the house awoke them the next morning, and they joined him for breakfast of eggs and sausage. There was tea instead of coffee, but otherwise the meal was good. When Colling mentioned that food seemed to be more plentiful in Poland than in Germany, Karol boasted that the soil of Poland was the most fertile, and Polish farmers were the most industrious, in all of Europe, and besides, they had had a few more months of peace than the Germans.
As they ate, Karol indicated that he had been thinking about how he might explain the need to ask for permission to be absent from his post. He had decided that if Elizabeth would write a letter, he would explain that his mother in Lublin had become very ill and was on her deathbed, and he would ask for a few days’ leave to be by her side. Before he left for the school, he dictated the letter for Elizabeth to write. Colling was surprised to see the ease with which she wrote the Polish cursive. Karol held the letter up and read it, and after only a few corrections and suggestions, he folded it into a square and had Elizabeth write his name on it. He then used a small circle of gummed paper to seal the letter, then tore it open. After folding and unfolding it several times, he tucked it into his coat pocket, picked up his battered briefcase, and pulling on a battered fedora, headed off to the school.
Colling had asked Karol whether he had a map of Poland, and had been told that there was one in the drawer of the desk in what was the parlor of the house. As soon as Karol had departed, Colling found it and spread it on the kitchen table. He traced the routes towards the Czech border; towards Germany; the eastern border with the Soviet Union, and even southeast to Romania. Elizabeth finished washing dishes and came to stand beside him.
“The shortest route is still across Czechoslovakia to Vienna,” she said.
“I know, but I have a feeling that that’s not the way to go. I think the Russians will be waiting for us anywhere we try to cross into Czechoslovakia, even if we’re on foot.”
Colling paused and looked up at Elizabeth, “And by the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. What did Karol mean last night when he said that they were of value to the Russians?”
“I really don’t know what he meant,” replied Elizabeth.
“Were they collaborators with the Nazis? Do the Russians want them as war criminals?”
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t have anything to do with Nazis.”
“Then what were they doing in Oldenberg?” he challenged.
She let out a long sigh, then said, “All right. You might as well know.” Pausing, she continued, “They were transported to Germany as slave laborers. I spent most of my time at Camp 146 trying to find someone who had known them there. I finally found someone who did. That’s where I got the information about their location here. They were not collaborators, it that’s what you’re thinking. They were prisoners who managed to escape towards the end of the fighting.”
“And all three are your uncles?”
“Well, Uncle Karol is. Jan and Tomasz are related to him, so they’re cousins or something like that.”
“You told me we were coming to Poland to find your uncle. One person. Then back in Warsaw, you had Tomek make up documents for three men. I wondered why, but didn’t ask. Now it’s clear you came here to find all three. What was it? Didn’t you trust me?”
Elizabeth tried to sooth him, saying, “Jim, you know I trust you. It was just that I didn’t really know about Jan and Tomasz then. I only found out about them just before we left Germany.”
“And you decided not to mention it? That’s a little strange.”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
Colling shook his head. “Never mind. What’s done is done. Now we have to figure out how to get all five of us out of Poland without getting caught.”
“Vienna is still closer,” persisted Elizabeth.
“Yeah,” said Colling, as he turned his attention once again to the map. Elizabeth left his side and he heard her going up the stairs.
When she returned, he said, “I’ve been thinking about it. Like I said, heading for Vienna is out. They’ll expect us to run to the nearest western border. Also, Romania is out. Too many Russians, and the Romanians don’t like Poles at all. If we head directly south into Czechoslovakia, we have to cross the mountains, and even at this time of the year, I don’t think your three charges are in any shape to make it. Besides, we would have to dodge the Russians and the Czechs, since the Czechs don’t like Polish refugees either. I think we need to head north. If we can get to the Baltic, we might be able to catch a fishing boat across to Sweden.”
Elizabeth frowned, “That’s a long way to go by train.”
“Not by train. We walk.”
“But that will take weeks, Jim.”
“There are thousands of people wandering back and forth across Poland. The Russians will be watching every train station. They can’t watch every road. We’ll just blend in with the crowd. It isn’t important how long it takes, just so long
as we get there.”
“How far is it?” she asked.
“Four or five hundred kilometers, I would guess. If we can make 30 kilometers a day, we should be at the Baltic in less than three weeks.”
“Won’t we stand out, five people just walking along?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. If we can get a farm cart, we can say we’re a family headed back to our home village. You know, refugees who were transported by the Germans.”
When Karol came home from work, Colling outlined his plan. Karol suggested that Jan or Tomasz might know where a horse and a wagon or cart might be purchased. He gave Colling directions to each of the farms where the two men worked.
The place where Tomasz was employed as a farmhand was closer to Zapieskowa, so Colling went there first. He found the Pole alone, shoveling manure in the barn. When Colling called out his name, he stopped his work and stepped forward to greet the American.
“Some work for a metallurgist with a university degree, heh?” said Tomasz.
Colling was not surprised at the comment. While his ability to discern nuances in the Polish language was not perfect, he had suspected from the syntax and vocabulary used by Karol’s associates that they were educated men.
“Once you become accustomed to the odor, you discover that shoveling dung is not so bad a way to keep fit,” said Colling, grinning. “I know. I have done that sort of work before.”
Tomasz laughed, then asked, “What brings you here?”
“I come seeking the purchase of a wagon or cart, together with a horse to pull the same.”
Tomasz thought a moment, then replied, “The boss of this place, Panowie Weizescie has been attempting to purchase a cart from his neighbor, but they cannot agree on a price.”
“Will such cart come with a horse, as well?”
“No. But Panowie Weizescie has two or three horses he will sell, if he finds the price to be acceptable. May I ask why you wish a cart?”
“Yes, you may. We will use it to carry our belongings when we leave this place.”
“Then we are to go on foot?”
“Yes. All will be explained before we depart.”
Tomasz gestured towards the stalls in the rear of the barn. “The horses are there.”
Horses were a mainstay on Colling’s uncles’ farms in Wisconsin, but the three that Tomasz showed him were not as large or as healthy-looking. His facial expression must have betrayed his thoughts, because Tomasz explained that the farm owner’s better horses were out being worked in the fields. These were ones that might be for sale.
Tomasz pointed him in the direction where the farmer might be found, and after a lengthy walk, Colling found a group of men and women plowing and sowing by hand. Cap in hand, he bowed slightly and asked to speak to Panowie Weizescie.
A bearded man, his clothes less threadbare than the others, stepped forward and identified himself as the Panowie.
“Your Honor, my name is Jan Woznica, and I have been told that you have a horse to sell,” said Colling.
“Yes, that is true,” replied Weizescie, sizing Colling up. “But I must have cash, Jan Woznica. I will not barter my horse for some chickens or a few bags of grain.”
“Understood, your honor. I have cash,” said Colling, pulling his roll of zloty banknotes from his pocket and holding it up for the farmer to see.
Shouting over his shoulder that the planting of the field should continue without him, Weizescie ordered Colling to follow him and began walking rapidly in the direction from which Colling had just come.
Tomasz was still shoveling when they walked into the barn. Weizescie grunted a response to Tomasz’s greeting and brushed past him. Colling followed close behind, ignoring Tomasz and acting as if he were not acquainted with him. The Panowie began extolling the virtues of a brown horse that looked to Colling to be on its last legs. Instead, Colling picked out a smaller gray mare that looked healthier and asked her price. Weizescie let out a barking laugh and said, “You are a judge of horses, Jan Woznica. This is the best of the lot.”
“And how much, your honor, are you asking?” said Colling.
“Twenty thousand zlotys. Not a groszie less.”
“That is very dear, your honor. If I were to offer fifty dollars, American, would you sell for that price?”
The Panowie Weizescie’s eyes narrowed. “How comes it to be that Jan Woznica has American dollars?”
Colling stared back confidently and said, “I have a brother in Chicago in the United States of America who has sent me some money.”
“Oh, yes,” said Weizescie, smiling slyly at Colling, “Well, then, I would say that I would sell this horse for perhaps one hundred dollars.”
Colling gave a snort of disdain and turned to walk away, saying, “Thank you for your time, Panowie Weizescie. I must look elsewhere.”
“Wait, wait, Jan Woznica. Not so fast. A man must bargain, is that not so? One does not always take the first offer.”
Colling stopped and replied, “I will pay you sixty dollars, Panowie Weizescie, for this gray horse, and not a cent more.”
Weizescie laughed. “Done, Jan Woznica.”
“And you will provide a bridle for that price, I assume, Panowie Weizescie?” said Colling.
Weizescie laughed again. “Yes, yes, Jan Woznica.”
Colling counted out three twenty-dollar bills, which Weizescie held up to the light. Seemingly satisfied, the Pole helped Colling place the bridle on the gray horse, and Colling led the animal out of the barn. He passed Tomasz as if he were a stranger, saying nothing to him.
In the farmyard, Colling said to Weizescie, “Panowie Weizescie, I need to purchase a cart for this horse to pull. I have been told that your neighbor might have such a cart for sale. Is that so?”
Colling suspected that the Panowie was not happy that his neighbor might also be coming into some American dollars through the sale of his wagon, but grudgingly, Weizescie answered in the affirmative. He provided directions to the neighboring farm owned by Petr Kazowskis, pointing in the direction of the route that would be the shortest.
The farmer Kazowskis was suspicious of Colling when he introduced himself and said that he had been told by Panowie Weizescie that there was a cart for sale. As a result, Kazowskis was more difficult to deal with, and Colling had a continuing concern as he spoke to the man that he might not be able to conclude the purchase. Kazowskis also had a multitude of questions about Jan Woznica, asking about his accent, his origins, why he needed a cart, and where he was going. Colling began to be convinced that the man would gossip about the Pole from Pomerania who had bought his wagon.
While he haggled over how much he would pay and whether Kazowskis should throw in a set of harness, Colling embellished his story considerably, telling Kazowskis how he was really buying the cart for use on the farm he had recently purchased jointly with his brother, located near the Hungarian frontier. He complained that the Hungarians had stolen everything they could lay their hands on, and if they were to get a crop planted this spring, he had to get back as soon as possible. He described his own imaginary family of a wife and three children, and added how he and his brother had to care for their aged mother, their father having died of pneumonia the previous winter. He explained away his origins near the Baltic by saying that they had been expelled by the Germans even before 1939 and remained here in the south. When he finally paid for the cart and a set of harness with fifty dollars in U.S. currency, he repeated what he had said to Weizescie about having relatives in Chicago who fortunately had been able to send money.
The wagon was a four-wheeled conveyance of typical Polish design. The rough wood from which it was constructed had weathered to a dull gray color, but the axles and wheels were solid and well greased. With a little help from Kazowskis, Colling managed to get the little mare between the cart’s traces and harnessed, but rather than immediately driving the horse to pull the unfamiliar cart, Colling chose to instead lead the little mare by the bridle and wa
lked beside her back to Karol’s.
He turned the horse loose in a small fenced pasture behind the house, after unhitching her from the wagon in a shed that seemed to have been made to hold a carriage. Elizabeth was seated at the kitchen table, and he joined her. She brought him a glass of hot tea, and he recounted his experiences with the Polish farmers as he sipped the sweet liquid. She laughed at the autobiography he had concocted for Kazowskis, and repeated her amazement at his ability to construct plausible stories on short notice. She admitted that despite her initial misgivings, she had thought about his plan and concluded that attempting to reach the Baltic was perhaps the approach most likely to succeed. Together they decided that they should start their journey on the day after next. It would be Saturday, market day, and the roads would be busier than usual, providing more of a crowd into which they might blend.
Rather than heading towards Krakow, they took the road eastward until they reached the first place that was worthy to be called a town, where they joined the crowd thronging its market. There they purchased bread, sausage, cabbages and beets. Elizabeth picked out an assortment of pots, pans and cheap metal plates, cups and eating utensils. Colling bought a keg that he lashed to the side of the cart and filled with water from the town well. Some pieces of canvas to serve as ground cloths and a blanket apiece were also added to the cargo in the back of the wagon. As an afterthought, Colling purchased a dozen sacks of potatoes and threw them in on top of their luggage. If asked, they could say they were returning from market or going to market, as might be appropriate under the circumstances. The last items to be added were a canister of tea, a small bag of salt, some black pepper and several other spices that Elizabeth said would be essential if she was to be able to cook decent meals for all of them. To avoid arousing undue curiosity or calling attention to themselves, they used Polish currency for all their transactions.
Fully provisioned, they left the town by a route that Colling guessed would lead them in a northerly direction. Karol indicated he was somewhat familiar with the area, and following his advice, by mid-afternoon they found themselves on a road that a passing farmer assured them would take them northwest to Lodz.
They continued to encounter bands of armed militia that had posted themselves at every crossroads and junction. They, like everyone else, were halted every few kilometers, questioned and asked to pay for the privilege of passing. Their papers were never closely examined, even when they were asked to produce them. On a few occasions, Soviet trucks roared past, leaving clouds of choking dust in their wakes. The roads were like rivers of humanity, filled with thousands of people heading in different directions; walking, riding in carts, some on bicycles, and a rare few in motor vehicles. Colling, Elizabeth and their three charges were an unremarkable and unnoticed part of it all.
Each day blended with another. They arose early each morning and were usually moving shortly after the sun was above the horizon. When late afternoon arrived, they would begin searching for a place to camp and spend the night. There always seemed to be an unoccupied copse of trees to be found, sometimes with a stream or river nearby. When no water was available at their camp-site, the keg on the wagon would be filled from a town fountain or well. They found that food could be purchased from the farms they passed along the way to supplement what they carried with them, and Elizabeth managed to turn simple fare into passable meals in spite of the difficulty of cooking over an open fire. Colling estimated that they were covering only 20 to 25 kilometers a day, but there seemed to be no way to increase the distance they were able to travel from sunup to dusk, given the number of times they were stopped, and the generally slow pace of the others using the road. Moving with any haste would have made them stand out from the crowd. Colling lost track of the number of days that had passed, but he was certain that May 10 was one of them, and that he was officially AWOL.
They had been traveling for more than a week when they spent a night camped in a grove of trees about a hundred meters off the road. At first light, Colling partially awoke when some sub-conscious part of his mind failed to hear the sounds of Elizabeth preparing their breakfast, and then a shout caused him to sit up suddenly, his blanket still wrapped around him.
A man with a rifle in his hand had his arm around Elizabeth’s throat, almost lifting her feet from the ground. Tomasz and Jan were held at bay by another man pointing his rifle at them as they crouched where they had been sleeping. Karol was standing, and a third man was threatening him with his rifle as well. All three men were wearing the shabby remnants of Wehrmacht uniforms, and Colling recognized their weapons as German-issue Mausers.
The man holding Elizabeth waved his rifle at Colling, shouting in German and broken Polish for him to stand up. Because of Elizabeth’s struggles, he was having difficulty holding onto her and aiming the Mauser at the same time.
Colling’s hand closed on the Luger that had been at his side during the night. He feigned ignorance of what the man was saying, trying to give the impression that he was not fully awake as he struggled to free himself from the blanket. Once he pushed aside the blanket, he slowly stood, the pistol held concealed along the seam of his baggy trousers. When he was fully upright, he quickly raised the Luger and shot the man holding Elizabeth through the head. Almost reflexively, he turned and put a second bullet into the chest of the man guarding Karol. He had started to bring his aim to bear on the third German when the man bolted, crashing away through the underbrush as he tried to put distance between himself and Colling. Colling ran after him, quickly gaining ground. The man he was pursuing was slowed by the pack he was wearing and the rifle in his hands. Colling caught up with him as he slid down the side of the gully to the bank of the stream where they had drawn their water the previous evening.
The German regained his feet and looked back at Colling standing above him on the edge of the embankment. He raised his rifle and fired wildly, then turned to run again when Colling shot him in the back of the thigh. He went down screaming, and was writhing on the ground, holding his leg, as Colling dropped down into the gully and walked over to him. Colling was dimly aware that Elizabeth was saying something to him when he fired his next shot into the German’s face. Suddenly, she was beside him, holding his arm, her breath labored from running after him.
“Good God, Jim!” She said, “You didn’t need to do that.”
Colling looked at her dully, the smoking Luger again held at his side. He began to shake, and he recognized that he was experiencing the after-effects of the rush of adrenaline that had begun when he shot the first German. He forced himself to control the involuntary physiological reaction, and the shaking began to subside. When Elizabeth put her arms around him and started to lead him back to the campsite, he stopped and said, “No, wait. We need to search him and get his rifle.” He returned to crouch over the dead man and, while Elizabeth watched, he began rifling through the pockets of his jacket, turning up the man’s army paybook, some snapshots that Colling consciously did not look at closely, a worn Wehrmacht-issue Polish phrase book and a tattered Esso map of Poland.
Colling next emptied the man’s rucksack onto the ground. There were a few items of dirty clothing, some canned food, and a half-eaten loaf of stale bread. Colling shook out the rolled blanket strapped to the bottom of the pack, but found nothing. In the rucksack’s side pocket, Colling found a little over two thousand zlotys, some reichsmarks, a few pieces of Wehrmacht military currency and a cloth bag full of jewelry, mostly gold wedding rings. Mixed in with the trinkets were a half-dozen or so gold tooth fillings, the sight of which made Elizabeth wince.
Colling pocketed the money and returned the food to the pack. He went through the ammunition pouches on the German’s belt and removed the cartridges and dropped them into the pack. Picking up the Mauser, he took Elizabeth by the arm and led her back to the camp.
He found that the three Poles had completed their own search of the bodies of the other two dead men. Jan was sitting cross-legged by the fire eatin
g from an open can of what Colling guessed was some kind of meat stew. Karol and Tomasz had just finished wrapping the bodies of the Germans in the water-proof ground-cloths they had taken from their backpacks. A blanket had been piled with the items that they had turned up in their search of the two men. They consisted of money and jewelry, some food, and the usual identification documents.
The shots that had been fired did not appear to have aroused anyone’s curiosity. Colling guessed that gunshots in the Polish countryside were not all that unusual.
He said to no one in particular, “It is best that we bury these bodies. Did one of them have an entrenching shovel, by chance?”
Karol held up one of the short-handled tools, saying, “Yes. This scum had one. Probably used it to bury their shit. Now we use it to bury him and his comrades.”
Elizabeth reminded them, “Someone must bring the other man’s body here to be buried, as well.”
“Just so,” said Karol. “But not here. We must take all three to the edge of that field over there. The ground has been recently plowed and will be softer, and the decay of their bodies will not pollute the stream. Their remains will serve to enrich the soil of Poland, so there will be at least one good thing that will result from their having come to this place.”
Tomasz and Jan volunteered to fetch the body from the gully, and Colling helped Karol drag the other two to where Karol proposed to inter them. The digging went quickly with the four of them taking turns, but the sun was well up in the morning sky when the last spade-full of earth was tamped into place.
When they returned to the campsite, they found Elizabeth had prepared a breakfast made in large part from the canned goods that the Germans had been carrying. As they ate, they speculated that the dead men had been deserters who had found it more attractive to remain behind as bandits in Poland than to try and walk back to Germany. Colling could sense that Elizabeth was still upset with him for killing the third man, and even when the three Poles began relating tales of German depredations and atrocities, the expression on her face told him that she had not accepted what had happened.
The dead men’s papers and the gold tooth fillings were buried with them. Colling was uncertain as to the wisdom of keeping the looted jewelry, which might have to be explained at some point, but in the end, he decided that having gold to trade outweighed the risk. The zlotys would be useful, of course. The reichsmarks and Wehrmacht currency were burned to ashes in the campfire. The rifles and ammunition were hidden in the bed of the wagon. Oddly enough, the possession of German firearms would cause little stir in a country where so many had served as partisans against the occupation forces.
In the immediate aftermath of the encounter, Colling found little time to ponder what had happened. His initial adrenaline rush had quickly subsided, and his thoughts and actions were concentrated on the urgency of burying the bodies, breaking camp, loading the wagon and resuming their journey as unobtrusively and quickly as possible. The physical and mental exertion involved in being constantly on the alert to their surroundings, made more acute by his recent experience with the men he had killed, provided a distraction that lasted throughout the day’s journey. It was not until he wrapped himself in his blanket and tried to sleep that he began to relive what had happened and question his actions. He thought back to how uncertain he had been of whether he would be able to use his M-1 during the raid on Frau Bergheim’s farm, and tried to reconcile that with the ease and efficiency with which he had used the Luger to kill three men within a matter of a minute or two. He attributed his reaction to the first two Germans to a combination of seeing Elizabeth in danger and the time he had spent on the firing range under Zinsmann’s tutelage. But that left the third German, and he wondered why there had been no hesitation in killing the wounded man. Recreating the scene in his mind, he realized that he had felt no fear, only what seemed to be an automatic concentration on aiming and firing without hesitation. He slept fitfully, unable to rid himself of the recurring vivid images of each of his shots striking home.
They walked north, and the pleasant days of May passed one by one. Traffic became heavier and Russian troops more evident as they drew closer to Lodz, and they decided that it would be best if they would swing in a wide circle around the city. Militia bands continued to be present on all the country roads they traveled, and their store of zlotys was steadily depleted as they paid the required imposts at each stop. Eerily absent was any sign that the Soviet authorities were looking for them, and they passed the two Red Army checkpoints they encountered without incident, even though the Russians were much more thorough about checking their identity papers. It was all so effortless that Colling began thinking that perhaps there was some grand plot in place to trap them at the time and place that would be most to the NKVD’s liking.
They purchased food in the markets in the villages they passed through, but they avoided the larger towns and continued to make camp each night. Most of the time they found a place among the trees, and were frequently joined by other travelers. When the only suitable place to stop was near a farm, they were careful to ask permission before starting their cooking fire and spreading their blankets. Colling found that his sleep was disturbed by intrusive thoughts and dreams with less frequency as the days passed.
Their little procession continued northwards, and crossed the main east-west rail tracks more than twenty kilometers to the west of Lodz. They then began to turn westward in a curve that would take them to the Vistula and northwest to Danzig. On the second day after leaving the rail line behind them, Colling noticed that there seemed to be fewer people passing them in the opposite direction. They also encountered a declining number of the improvised checkpoints manned by Polish militiamen.
One such day, as they rested in the shade of a tree beside the road, eating their mid-day meal, a man came walking from the direction in which they were headed. He ambled up to where they were seated on the ground and dropped down beside them with a tired, “Dzién dobry.” He looked fatigued and hungry. Colling offered him water from their keg and Elizabeth put some slices of ham between two pieces of bread and handed it to him. The man thanked them profusely, offering to pay, but Colling refused his money.
Between mouthfuls, the Pole informed them that things were not good on the road ahead of them. He himself had turned back. The Russians were asking for papers, and anyone who did not live close to where they were stopped was being rounded up. It was his guess that they were being sent to labor camps. He thought it looked as if the Russians wanted to put an end to all the refugees wandering across Poland. He was from the eastern region that had become part of the Soviet Union in 1939, from near Dubno, and he wanted nothing more to do with the Russians. His plan now was to head for Warsaw and look for work, and he advised them to do the same.
When the Pole said he thought he had best resume his travels, Elizabeth gave him the remains of a loaf of bread, and a piece of sausage. When he had departed, Colling asked everyone to gather around so they might discuss what they should do.
Elizabeth was the first to offer her opinion, “I think we must continue as we have, but move carefully and avoid the Russians.”
Karol and his friends nodded in agreement.
Colling interjected, “We can go on as we have only with the greatest risk. It will be only a matter of time until we will be stopped by the Russians and required to produce our papers. When that happens, it will be a great surprise if we are not arrested.”
Elizabeth started to speak, but Colling held up his hand and continued, “We must find a place where we might stay for awhile. To learn what lies ahead. Where the Russians are, what roads they are watching, and so on. I think we must head north to the Vistula, then follow it towards Danzig. Certainly we will come to a farm or a cottage where we can find shelter.”
Karol and his two colleagues responded by voicing their strong objections to Colling’s plan. Jan complained of his fatigue after having walked so far and believed the best cours
e was to continue northwestwards directly towards Danzig. Tomasz reminded everyone that they had easily passed through previous Russian checkpoints, and it was possible their guest was mistaken. They would be going out of their way; it would waste time; and they were tired. Karol expressed his belief that it was unrealistic to expect that anyone would allow them shelter without payment, and their money could not last indefinitely.
Elizabeth called for silence. She then said to the three Poles, “All of you must realize, as I do, that Jan Woznica here has kept us from the Reds. I have given it much thought, and I must now admit that if we had ridden the train to Czechoslovakia, as I had wished, we would all now be in the hands of the NKVD. I am willing to trust now in his judgement. Let us look at the map and see what is the best way to go to the Vistula.”
Karol and his friends murmured their assent, although Colling sensed that it was less than enthusiastic. He unfolded the Esso map and they gathered around as he traced a possible route from where he thought they were to the river. As best he could determine, it appeared that they were a few kilometers south of the crossroads village of Krosniewice. If they turned northeast, it appeared that in two to three days, with luck, they would be on the banks of the Vistula. The route he proposed to take was shown on the roadmap as following narrow blue lines labeled “local roads,” which, in Colling’s mind, meant there was less chance of encountering Russian patrols or checkpoints.
Wary of entering Krosniewice, they left the main road before they reached the town in favor of a rutted track that led eastward. Over the next three days, they passed through several poor villages, but no market towns. The roads were of even worse quality than those they had been traveling, and their little gray horse struggled at times to pull their cart over their uneven surfaces. Without markets, there was no opportunity to replenish their supplies, and their breakfast on the morning of the day they reached the river consisted of boiled potatoes.
Colling had pictured the Vistula as having the sort of river-banks he was used to. He was surprised when they instead encountered the outer fringes of the reed marshes that bordered the river. The Esso map did not offer a clue as to where they might find access to the Vistula itself, without traversing many meters of muddy grass. It appeared that towns in either direction were located on the river, but Colling feared that entering them would mean encountering Russian troops. Instead, he said they should set up camp where they were, while he went on a scouting expedition towards the village west of them. He promised Elizabeth he would keep to a path that skirted the marshes, and not go into the town if he saw anything suspicious.
Dog Robber: Jim Colling Adventure Series Book I Page 10
