Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

The younger soldier reappeared carrying a canvas pack and a crutch. “Unteroffizier Brunkhorst is our company medic,” the officer said. “He’ll take care of that ankle.” Then he brushed back her hair, examining the bullet graze on her forehead.

Natalia’s skin crawled, and she had to fight the urge to slap away his hand.

But he withdrew it, as though sensing her anxiety. “I’d say you were pretty lucky, young lady. Brunkhorst will clean that up as well.”

The medic gently removed Natalia’s boot and began to tape her ankle. He appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties, with a fair complexion and short, stubby fingers. His uniform was soiled with dirt and blood, but his young face was clean and so smooth it appeared he hadn’t yet started to shave. He glanced up at her once, then blushed and looked back down at his work.

The officer lit a cigarette and studied the bodies of the civilians lying in the walkway, shaking his head. “My SS colleagues get a bit carried away at times, but this insurgency is a bad business.” He exhaled a perfect smoke ring, holding the cigarette delicately with his little finger extended. “It’s a shame. I loved my time here; it was a magnificent city. Are you from Warsaw?”

She shook her head. “Lwow.”

The officer raised his eyebrows. “Lwow? That’s too bad. The Russians are such brutes.”

Natalia stared at him, feeling like a prop in some bizarre stage play. Who is this character, and what the hell is going on? Suddenly she was aware of something very strange. There was no shelling, no grinding tank treads, no gunfire.

The officer smiled again. “You’re wondering why it’s so quiet?”

Natalia nodded.

“They’ve called a ceasefire.”

It took a moment for her to process the thought. “A ceasefire… I don’t understand… when?”

“Your General Bor and our high command agreed to a ceasefire beginning at 0700.” He glanced at his watch and nodded. “Ah, right on time.”

Natalia was stunned. Just like that… it’s over? Then she remembered the Ukrainians and shuddered: she might have had her throat slit by those filthy brutes on the very day the nightmare finally ended. “What happens now?”

The officer shrugged. “As soon as Unteroffizier Brunkhorst has you fixed up, you can use that crutch and walk out of here. But, of course, Brunkhorst and I will leave first.” He pointed to the soiled red-and-white armband on her right sleeve. “After all, it wouldn’t do for me to be seen assisting an enemy combatant, would it?”

Natalia sat quietly as Brunkhorst finished wrapping her ankle. Then he carefully cleaned the graze and bandaged her forehead. His touch was so gentle that she had to smile, which made the boy blush again. She thought about Rabbit. Perhaps in some other world, he and this young German boy might have become friends. When the medic was finished, he held out the crutch and, with a firm grip on her elbow, helped her to her feet. Natalia sighed with relief and hobbled around a bit to get her balance. “It feels much better. Thank you.”

The boy smiled briefly, then knelt down to close up his pack.

“Well, we shall be on our way now,” the officer said. He looked at her for a moment, then saluted smartly. He turned on his heel, and the two Germans marched away.

Cautiously negotiating the uneven cobblestones on her crutch, it took Natalia several minutes to make it to the end of the walkway. When she reached the street, she stopped, dumbfounded.

AK commandos milled about openly, laughing and joking, passing around bottles of vodka and hand-rolled cigarettes under the watchful eyes of German soldiers, who stood near their tanks yet kept their distance. Natalia scanned the faces of the Wehrmacht soldiers but didn’t see either the officer or the young medic. She looked down at her wrapped ankle and felt the bandage on her head, reassuring herself that she hadn’t just imagined the whole thing.

She hobbled around for a while, smiling at some of the commandos she recognized, accepting a swig of vodka from an outstretched hand. An exuberant teenager slapped her so hard on the back she almost fell. A young woman hugged her. Finally she stopped near a couple of commandos she recognized from the escape through the sewers.

“The AK’s been disbanded, and we’re all civilians now,” one of them said. He was a stocky, bearded man whose name she couldn’t recall. His tattered army uniform was streaked with dirt and blood, his right arm in a sling.

“Yeah, and I’m Jesus Christ!” his friend retorted. “You just watch. The fuckin’ SS will show up any minute, and we’re all dead meat.”

“Bullshit! I heard from—”

He was interrupted by a weary-looking AK officer banging a steel bar against the side of a dented oil drum. The drum held a blazing bonfire.

“I have an announcement from General Bor,” the AK officer croaked, his voice breaking with emotion. “This announcement is being read by officers in every sector of Warsaw still held by the AK.” The crowd fell silent as he unfolded a single sheet of paper and began to read. “All military operations of the AK in Warsaw shall cease immediately. All AK personnel will be afforded combatant status and will be under the control of the German Wehrmacht as prisoners of war under the terms of the Geneva Convention.”

The crowd instantly erupted into a cacophony of voices, some cheering and waving red-and-white AK flags, others shouting loudly that they’d been sold out.

The officer banged the iron rod against the drum again. When the crowd quieted down to a ripple of murmurs, he continued. “As military combatants—and not insurgents—you are ordered to march out of the city beginning at 0700 tomorrow, weapons shouldered, wearing AK armbands and carrying banners. At the city limits you will surrender your weapons to the German Wehrmacht and will be interned as prisoners of war according to the convention.”

The crowd broke into dozens of animated conversations, though less boisterous this time. Questions and opinions flew back and forth from group to group. Natalia recalled that the mysterious German officer had referred to her as a combatant and not an insurgent. She wondered if that helped explain his actions. Or, was he just someone doing a good deed?

“Natalia!” a familiar voice shouted.

She turned around and saw Zeeka pushing through the crowd with Hammer and Rabbit right behind her. Natalia hobbled toward her comrade-in-arms, whom she hadn’t seen in over a month. “My God, you’re still alive!”

“I’ve been in the Mokotow District,” Zeeka said breathlessly. “Colonel Stag sent me down there with Ula and Iza on a demolition mission. We were almost finished when we got surrounded…” Zeeka’s voice tailed off, but the look in her eyes told Natalia what had happened to the others. “I heard about Berta,” Zeeka added quickly.

Natalia nodded. The remorse was still there, though it now seemed as if it had happened a long time ago.

“These two have been looking all over for you,” Zeeka said. “By some miracle, I ran into them just a few minutes ago.”

Natalia dropped her crutch and reached out to Rabbit. The boy wrapped his arms around her while Hammer hung back, nodding and running a thick hand over his bald head. But she noticed that the big man’s eyes were moist.

Hammer picked the crutch off the ground and looked it over before handing it back to Natalia. “Nice crutch,” he grunted. “Did you steal it from the Germans?”

Natalia felt her face flush and absently touched the bandage on her forehead, thinking that someday she might tell the story… but not now. “I didn’t steal it, but the medic who taped my ankle probably did.”