Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (15 page)

“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 fi nds 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 fl ickering fi re, 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 Night of Flames

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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 fi red, 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 fi eld, but something held him back. He struggled. He had to get to the fi eld. He heard a voice behind him, yelling. He struggled harder. The voice yelled.

“Jan, wake up!”

Jan snapped awake. Peracki was leaning over him, shaking his shoulder.

“You were dreaming again,” Peracki grumbled and returned to his bunk.

Jan sat up and swung his legs over the side of the narrow bunk. He was drenched in sweat. He sat for a few minutes listening to the sounds of the other men sleeping then fumbled around for his pack of cigarettes, pulled on his boots and walked to the door.

The chill breeze blasted his wet body like a thousand icy daggers, and his hands trembled as he struck the match. He knew it was no use trying to go back to sleep after the dream. He’d had the same one half a dozen times since Stefan was killed in the fi eld outside Laski.

Jan followed a dirt pathway between crude wooden barracks to the perimeter of the camp. He walked alongside a fl imsy barbed wire fence and took a drag on the cigarette, recalling the Hungarian border guards who had welcomed them when what was left of his regiment trudged out of the forest the day before. He smiled as he remembered the conversation with the young Night of Flames

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offi cer who had explained that it was his duty to take their weapons and confi ne them to the camp. “I can assure you, Major, your men will be well fed and any sick or wounded attended to,” the offi cer had said in a confusing mixture of Polish and Hungarian.

“Where is your commanding offi cer?” Jan demanded.

The young offi cer became fl ustered and said something about his commander being away on an inspection trip of the border.

Jan had remained on his horse, one of the few still able to carry a rider, looking down on the offi cer and the group of nervous border guards in their snappy, clean uniforms. His regiment was down to less than a hundred men and, though they were battle-weary and hungry, he knew they could have overwhelmed the Hungarians in a few minutes had he given the order.

Now, walking along the fence line in the moonlight, Jan looked around at the poorly constructed, haphazardly guarded internment camp, still feeling confi dent that they could break out if they had to. He approached the main gate and spotted two guards sitting on a wooden bench, their rifl es propped against the fence. He stubbed out his cigarette, walked a few steps closer and coughed to get their attention. The guards scrambled to their feet and stared at him. Jan joined them and said in Polish, “Couldn’t sleep.”

The guards looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
Jan asked.

The taller of the two nodded, and Jan repeated what he had said in German.

The guard laughed and explained to his partner in Hungarian. He turned back to Jan and, speaking passable German, asked, “Have you been to Warsaw?”

Jan nodded.

“Was it bad?”

“We arrived just before the end,” Jan said. “The city was in ruins, thousands of civilians dead.”

The German-speaking guard translated for his partner. The partner said something in Hungarian and they both nodded.

“What did he say?” Jan asked.

“He wonders who’ll kill us fi rst, the Germans or the Russians.”

The next day Jan was summoned to the camp commander’s offi ce. When he entered the small cabin, a lanky offi cer with slick black hair and a pencil-thin mustache stepped around from behind a desk and extended his hand. Speaking 92

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Polish, the offi cer said, “Welcome, Major Kopernik. I am Colonel Sebastian Tolnai, commanding offi cer of the Second Hungarian Hussars.”

Jan shook his hand.

The Hungarian colonel smiled. “Please, Major Kopernik, have a seat. I have heard about your brigade. You fought in the battle of the Bzura River, if I recall correctly, and then you went on to Warsaw?”

“That’s right,” Jan replied.

Colonel Tolnai offered him a cigarette and lit it for him. “Please, tell me what happened.”

Jan leaned forward, looking down at the fl oor. The vision of Stefan caught in the open fi eld fl ashed through his mind. He wouldn’t talk about that. “The last few days around Warsaw were completely chaotic,” he said. “The bombardments were nonstop, and it was impossible to keep the brigade together. We were practically out of ammunition, and completely out of food and water.” He leaned back in the chair, wiping perspiration from his forehead. “The city was a mess, fi res everywhere, no running water, thousands of corpses . . . women . . .

children . . .”

Jan stopped and ground out the cigarette in the ashtray. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the rows of wooden barracks. “Just before the city capitulated, we received orders to get our units out of the area. We were ordered to head for Hungary or Romania and then to France.”

Colonel Tolnai picked up a document and glanced at it. “Have you heard that the Polish government-in-exile has moved on to Paris? General Sikorski is now in charge.”

Jan shook his head. “I didn’t know. But Sikorski’s a good man.”

The colonel motioned to the chair, and Jan sat down again. “So, Major, as you headed south how did you manage to avoid capture by the Russians?”

“I guess we were lucky,” Jan said. “We traveled mostly at night, tried to keep off the main roads. We’d lay low during the day and send out a few men at a time to scrounge for food. The cold and the rain in the mountains were the worst part.”

“You are the senior offi cer?”

“Yes. Our brigade commander, General Abraham was wounded and taken to a hospital. The deputy commander, Colonel Romanofski, was killed by a sniper.”

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Colonel Tolnai leaned forward, his hands folded on the desk. “As a fellow offi cer, you have my admiration, Major Kopernik.” He hesitated a moment, then cleared his throat and continued. “You understand, of course, that my government’s offi cial position in this confl ict is one of neutrality. I am under orders to hold you and your men in confi nement. Your men will be well taken care of. They will be in no danger.”

Jan looked into the colonel’s eyes. “And I’m sure you understand, Colonel Tolnai, that I, too, have orders. Those orders are to get my men to France.”

Colonel Tolnai stood up and walked around the desk. “This is a temporary border camp. Polish troops have been arriving for the past week. We have sent most of them on to the permanent camp at Putnok.” He extended his hand.

“Perhaps, Major Kopernik, you and your men could remain here for a while.

I can make no promises but, for the time being, accept our hospitality, such as it is.”

Jan stood and took the colonel’s hand. “My men are tired. They need food and rest. For the time being, Colonel, we accept your hospitality. But I have my orders.”

Chapter 16

Thaddeus wasn’t surprised when it was announced that the beginning of the fall term at Jagiellonian University was being postponed. The heel of the conqueror had come down hard as the German Wehrmacht pulled out and the SS moved in. Bombardments gave way to executions. Villages were burned to the ground. The borders were sealed. Newspapers and radio stations were shut down. Hitler’s destruction of Polish society had begun, and Thaddeus could only imagine what must be happening in the Russian-controlled regions.

He was in his offi ce, going through the morning’s mail, when a brown envelope caught his eye. Leaping out from the upper left-hand corner was the eagle and swastika. The envelope was addressed to
Dr. Thaddeus T. Piekarski,
Professor of Law, Jagiellonian University.
He held it in his hand for several minutes, turning it over, considering the possibilities of its contents. Finally, he slit it open and inside found a card from the
Offi ce of the Governor.
He read the card in astonishment. It was an invitation. He was asked to attend a seminar on
The Philosophy of the German Reich toward the Sciences.
He reread the incredible document. The seminar was being held next week, right here at the university—the university the Nazis were threatening to close.

Baffl ed by the implausible piece of mail, Thaddeus walked down the hall to Bujak’s offi ce. His colleague was on the telephone so Thaddeus stood in the doorway impatiently until Bujak fi nally hung up. Thaddeus held out the invitation. “Did you receive one of these?”

“Yes, incredible isn’t it?” Bujak replied.

“What do you suppose it’s all about?”

“I haven’t a clue. Perhaps they want to convince us that they’re not complete barbarians.”

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“Like hell,” Thaddeus snapped. “They’ll probably bring in some phony Nazi scientists and try to ‘educate’ us about the superiority of the Teutonic race. Are you going?”

“Our attendance is mandatory.”

“Oh, really?”

“From the Rector himself. He told me about an hour ago. Anyone who gets this is required to be there. I’m sure you’ll hear from him yourself.”

“Do you know who got these?” Thaddeus was thinking about Anna.

“According to the Rector, only full professors, department heads, and ‘others of special standing’ received them.”

“‘Others of special standing’? What does that mean?”

Bujak shrugged.

“Well,” Thaddeus said, with some relief, “they probably didn’t invite Anna.

She’ll be spared the problem of refusing to attend.”

Thaddeus spent the rest of the day trying to keep busy with paperwork, but the bizarre invitation continually crept back into his mind. A little after three o’clock in the afternoon he looked up to see Anna standing in the doorway of his offi ce. Her eyes conveyed a need to talk. He fi nished fi lling out a requisi-tion form for new textbooks—as if he would actually need them—and they left the building together. It was a damp, chilly October afternoon, and the sun was already low in the western sky as they walked in the direction of Anna’s apartment.

“Irene called me about an hour ago,” Anna said when they were alone on the sidewalk. “She’s beside herself.”

“What happened?”

“Two Krakow policemen and a German SS offi cer came into the Ginsberg’s pharmacy today and shut it down.”

“What?”

“That’s only the beginning.”

Thaddeus stopped and looked at her.

“They demanded to see Irene’s ID card,” Anna said, “Mr. Ginsberg’s also.

He was the only other one in the store at the time. She said they stamped a large black J on the front of each card and threw them on the counter. She . . .” Anna stopped and took a deep breath. “She said the SS offi cer told her to carry the card with her at all times. If she was ever caught without it or if she tried to alter it she would be shot.”

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“For the love of God,” Thaddeus said, running a hand through his white hair.

“Irene said they were ordered out—couldn’t even get their coats. They told Mr. Ginsberg that if he tried to come back he’d be shot.”

They started walking in silence. After several minutes Thaddeus said, “I think Irene and Justyn should move into the house with me.”