Mila 18 - Leon Uris

“I came to say good-by, Gabriela,” he said. “Go home and pack your things. You are allowed one suitcase. You are leaving with the Americans tomorrow.”

“I ... don’t believe I understand you.”

“Don’t make a scene.”

“How am I to get through the German lines? Perhaps I should sing ‘Swanee River’ for them to show them I am an American.”

“I spoke to Thompson. He has already made out an American diplomatic passport for you. There is no better way to travel. Tommy will get you to Krakow.”

“My, you’ve been a busy man. Here I thought you were defending Warsaw, and you’ve been out making diplomatic missions.”

“I said I don’t want a scene!”

“I’ll make up my own mind where and when I want to go.”

“So maybe I’ve condemned you to purgatory! America is such a horrible place? Only a crazy damned fool would want to keep their skinny neck in this city.”

“Since when do you tell me what to do?”

“Since now!” he answered, slamming his fist on the table with such force it rattled the bottles and dishes.

Gabriela watched his terrible temper with a bit of fright and a bit of awe. He seemed to be issuing an ultimatum that if she stayed he would not see her again. She dared not ask. Her eyes were filled with hurt. She whispered, “Andrei, what have I done to make you so angry?”

“You have a mother and a sister in America. That is where you are going.”

“Is this good-by?”

“One way or the other ...”

She waited for him to make some move, some sign. He stood like a lump, glaring at her, unwavering in his intensity.

“All right,” she whispered. She picked up her coat and put it on slowly and walked toward the door, waiting, praying for Andrei to call her name. He did not move a muscle or blink an eye. She opened the door and faced him. He was like a stranger. This cruel man was not Andrei ... to dismiss her as a nobleman dismisses a peasant.

If I walk down these steps I will die, Gabriela thought.

She closed the door and walked across the room to him. She put her arms around him and lay her head on his chest but he remained emotionless.

“Don’t try any female tricks on me.”

“All right,” she said, “but I didn’t believe the day would come when you would not touch me. I will leave you, but you cannot make me leave Warsaw. This happens to be my home too.”

“You must leave!”

“Don’t shout, Major Androfski. You may frighten away the Stukas.”

Andrei flopped his arms hopelessly, and the look of humanity returned to his eyes. “Goddamn but you are one stubborn woman,” he said. “I only tried to do it this way because, if I threatened never to see you, you might go. Now let me plead with you. This isn’t our country anymore. God only knows what the Germans are going to do with three and a half million Jews. I cannot live knowing that because of me harm will come to you. If you love me, then give me my pride. Let me know I have given you life, not taken it from you.”

“Oh, Andrei, I should have seen through you right away. I love you. I don’t know any other way to love. I cannot leave because I cannot do what I cannot do.”

“Oh God ... Gabriela. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Shhh, darling, shhh.”

“You are a little fool—a terrible little fool.”

Chapter Fifteen

WARSAW GAGGED. CLOUDS OF smoke billowed from the ground and then rained down a billion bits of dust and ground-up brick and mortar. An unearthly silence mingled with the fumes of war.

Christopher de Monti and Ervin Rosenblum were already interviewing the evacuees when Major Androfski drove up.

Thompson was the first to reach Andrei.

“Where is Gaby?”

Andrei beat his shoulders to ward off the pre-dawn cold and shifted his feet about. “She wouldn’t come, Tommy. Honest to God, I tried.”

“I really didn’t think she would. Take these papers, she may be able to use them later.”

“Thanks, Tommy. Thanks for everything. Gaby sends her love to Martha.”

“Take care of her. ...”

The second-in-command, a captain, approached them, and Andrei assumed a formal pose.

“Have you checked the credentials of all your people?” the captain asked Thompson.

“I have.”

“What’s the count?”

“Twenty American personnel. Fifteen personnel from mixed neutral embassies, and twelve civilians, miscellaneous.”

“Get back with them.” Andrei looked at his watch, then strained to see in the darkness. “It will be light in about fifteen minutes. Be ready to move out if everything goes well.”

Thompson nodded. They grasped hands, and the American turned and trotted back to the courtyard behind a shattered farmhouse where the evacuees huddled.

Andrei turned to his captain. “How many Germans?”

“We managed to get eighty of them.”

“Has this information been radioed to the Germans?”

“Yes, sir. They said they will return three hundred ninety of our people.”

Andrei walked down the road to where the German prisoners stamped around restlessly in the cutting chill. They were glum and humiliated. Their faces wore masks of hatred and arrogance. Andrei stared at them for awhile. They looked like people he had known all his life. A baker ... a gentleman with children ... a teacher ... What was it that had brought them to this place?

He turned on his heels, followed by the captain, and walked briskly to the forward trenches.

The distant thump-thump-thump of artillery never quit. It was still too dark to see across the field. Another eight minutes. Andrei gave a series of security commands.

Chris climbed down into the trench alongside him.

“Gaby staying?”

“Yes.”

“It was a safe bet.”

“I tried ...”

“Don’t blame yourself. Be thankful. Find out anything about the prisoner exchange?”

“They’re still paying us almost five to one. We’re watching for a trick. Lord knows what they’re up to.”

The thumping stopped.

All eyes strained for the sight of something moving in the ugly grayness over the field. Andrei held his field glasses up and crossed back and forth over the horizon ... back and forth.

There! A shadow emerging from the clump of trees. Barely make it out. Definitely coming into the field. He waited for five minutes while the figure grew more visible.

You son of a bitch, Andrei thought. How I’d like to blow your filthy head off! The figure stopped. He was holding a makeshift white truce flag.

Andrei jumped out of the trench and walked toward the German over what had once been a potato field. It was pocked with holes and littered with wreckage. From both sides, ten thousand eyes were on them. Andrei stopped a few feet from the German. He was a colonel, but neither beetle-browed nor blond Aryan, but rattier nondescript. He seemed uneasy in his exposed position. He and Andrei stared at each other for several moments without a word.

“You are in charge?” the German said at last.

“Yes.”

“What is your situation?”

Although Andrei spoke conversational German well, he addressed the colonel in Yiddish. He rattled his Yiddish, staring directly at his enemy.

“We have forty-seven mixed neutral nationals, American Embassy personnel, and eighty of your people. Credentials have been checked.”

“Bring them out here. I will escort them through our lines.”

“You owe us three hundred ninety Poles. I will bring the evacuees to this point when you bring my people here.”

Andrei’s implication that he mistrusted the Germans was obvious. There was more the two men wished to say to each other. Andrei longed to break the German’s neck with his hands, and the German’s eyes told a message of “don’t let me find you when we enter Warsaw, Jew boy.”