Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

Then, a gunshot!

A shout in Russian.

Another gunshot, from the direction of the trail.

“Over there!” someone shouted in Polish. It sounded like Piotr. Then a heavy blast from a shotgun, two more rifle shots and a loud, deep voice bellowing in agony.

Adam peered into the trees, cupping his hand behind his good right ear, and listened. Then he turned back to the clearing, brought the rifle up to his shoulder and searched for movement.

Nothing.

Several minutes passed before two men staggered into the clearing: Piotr, his shirt soaked with blood, and Zygmunt, his arm around Piotr.

Adam scanned the periphery of the clearing, searching for riflemen, but they were concealed from his lines of vision. Piotr and Zygmunt reached the people tied to the rope and slumped to the ground. Piotr crawled over to Krystyna and embraced her.

Then a loud voice echoed through a bullhorn in fractured English. “Attention, Mr. Nowak! We know you here. I order you come out and show yourself.”

Adam recognized Tarnov’s voice but didn’t respond.

Tarnov bellowed again. “Come out now, or we shoot another these people.”

Adam raised the rifle and peered anxiously through the scope, scanning the corners of the remaining two cabins where he thought the sound came from. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He gritted his teeth. Just a glimpse, that’s all I need. Just a—

Adam blinked at the crack of the gunshot and looked up. The man tied at the end of the rope was splayed out, face down in the grass, the top of his head gone.

Piotr struggled to his feet, shouting obscenities. A gunshot blew bark off the tree beside him. The big man stood his ground for a moment, then dropped to his knees.

Tarnov’s voice echoed through the forest again. “Last chance, Nowak. Come out, or we shoot one by one.”

Adam weighed the possibilities. Tarnov had followed him up here. He must have gotten the information from Jastremski. Jastremski didn’t know about Natalia… but who else had Tarnov gotten to?

Adam realized that holding his ground here wasn’t going to accomplish anything except getting Piotr, Krystyna and their unborn child killed, along with the rest of their neighbors. Tarnov was a monster, and he was desperate. There was no limit to what he might do. And time was running out. Cursing silently, Adam stood up and threw down his rifle. He wasn’t completely out of options—but the only one that remained would be tough to pull off.

Adam stepped out from behind the rocks with his hands up and slowly descended the hill. When he reached the edge of the clearing, three riflemen burst from the cover of the trees and were on top of him in an instant, shouting and cursing in Russian. A rifle butt thumped him in the chest, and Adam fell backward, gasping. Then a heavy boot kicked him in the back. A jolt of pain shot all the way up to his neck. One of the riflemen, a giant with hands the size of dinner plates, grabbed him under the arm and jerked him to his feet. The Giant shouted at him, spraying Adam’s face with spit.

Adam tried to pull away, but his legs were like rubber and he stumbled. The Giant held him up, while another rifleman jammed a gun barrel into his stomach. Adam sagged, gasping for breath. A third rifleman, a short, beefy man with a pockmarked face and a broken nose, groped Adam’s waist and trouser legs, searching for weapons.

Finally, Tarnov appeared and shouted a terse command in Russian at the Giant, who jerked Adam upright and pinned his arms behind his back. The broken-nosed rifleman stepped aside and pointed a carbine at Adam’s chest.

Tarnov wore a black trench coat and strolled slowly across the clearing, with only a casual glance at his dead riflemen. He stepped up to Adam and abruptly spit in his face. “Filthy American dog,” he snarled. “No Airborne troopers save you this time.”

Adam stared at him silently, remembering Tarnov’s livid glare that night at the Kommandatura. It was the same now.

Tarnov took a step closer, unclipped a bayonet from Broken Nose’s carbine and held it under Adam’s chin. “Where is Ludwik Banach?” Adam remained silent.

Tarnov flicked the bayonet.

Adam jerked his head back as a sharp, burning sensation shot through his chin. Blood dripped onto the front of his shirt. He took a breath through his teeth and exhaled slowly before speaking, trying to ignore the pain. “In my shirt pocket… a letter from General Kovalenko. You should read it.”

Tarnov blinked. Then he handed the bayonet back to Broken Nose with another command in Russian. The Giant held both of Adam’s wrists in a vise-like grip while Broken Nose reached into his shirt pocket, withdrew the letter and handed it to Tarnov.

Adam watched closely as Tarnov read Kovalenko’s letter. For just an instant the NKVD major’s eyes widened, then he abruptly crumpled the letter in his fist and dropped it on the ground. “General Kovalenko long way from here.” Tarnov’s voice was firm, but Adam saw a flicker of uncertainty in the Russian’s eyes.

“There’s a second copy of that letter,” Adam said, “with a friend in Krakow. If I don’t return by tomorrow, my friend will contact the general.”

Tarnov’s face reddened. The veins in his neck bulged. He slapped Adam hard across the face, knocking his glasses off. “Tell me where is Banach, or you not live until tomorrow.”

“He passed away,” Adam said.

Tarnov frowned, and his eyes narrowed. “Passed which way?”

“He died. Two weeks ago.”

Tarnov punched him in the side of the head. “Lie! It is lie!” He drew a pistol from his holster and stomped over to the people tied to the rope. He held the gun to Krystyna’s head.

Piotr roared another obscenity and swung his leg at Tarnov, catching him behind the knee. Tarnov stumbled and dropped the pistol. Instantly, Broken Nose charged Piotr and rammed the stock of his carbine into the big man’s forehead. Piotr collapsed backward. Tarnov retrieved his pistol and got to his feet. He pointed the weapon at Piotr, who was shaking off the blow and struggling to sit up.

“Leave them alone!” Adam yelled. Blood dripped from his nose, and his ears rang. “They’ve done nothing!” Tarnov glared at him. “Where is Banach?”

“He died, Goddamn it! I told you that!” The effort of shouting intensified the throbbing in Adam’s head. A wave of dizziness washed over him.

Tarnov’s face turned crimson. He aimed the pistol at Piotr’s leg and pulled the trigger, blowing away the Górale man’s kneecap.

Piotr bellowed in pain, thrashing about and clutching his leg. Krystyna shrieked, over and over in a long, forlorn howl.

Tarnov grabbed Krystyna by the hair, yanked her head to one side and shoved the barrel of the pistol against her temple. He looked at Adam with wild eyes. “Tell truth, fucking dog! Or she—”

“Stop!” Adam shouted, louder this time. His head pounded, and his stomach churned with nausea. “Goddamn it, stop! I’m telling you… the truth! Ludwik Banach died of tuberculosis, two weeks ago. He was an old man… a sick man!” He paused to catch his breath. The pain was growing, smothering him, and he feared he would pass out. “I just found out yesterday. I’m telling you… the truth. Now… leave these people alone!”

Tarnov released Krystyna’s hair and shouted a string of commands at another group of riflemen who had stepped into the clearing. One of them carried a coil of rope. He sprinted over to Zygmunt and secured his wrists to the main rope with the other captives. A second rifleman hustled over to the smoldering cabin, picked up a scrap of wood and handed it to Broken Nose. One end of the wooden shaft was still in flames.

Then Tarnov shouted at the Giant. The huge man gripped both of Adam’s wrists in one of his massive hands. With the other hand, he picked up Adam’s glasses and put them back on his face. “I want you see clear,” Tarnov snarled at Adam. He pointed at the stout, blond woman crouching on the other side of Krystyna.