I woke up and immediately realized that I had been away from my tasks for a long time. I was ashamed that at a critical moment of our life here I had evaded my duty. It felt like I had slept for many hours. Karl, who woke me, informed me that Michael’s condition had improved. He had opened his eyes. Isidor and Sigmund brought the pots with boiling water. Salo had asked that they let me sleep, and he now greeted me warmly. “It’s good that you slept,” he said. “We expect a grueling night.” I was touched by his concern and said, “I’m sorry.”
I went to the wardrobe tent, and Hermann Cohen gave me military winter pants and a thick farmer’s sweater, and I also took a short coat. I had already learned the hard way: better to suffer from cold than clumsiness.
The evening meal was delicious: corn porridge with cheese and pickles, coffee, and a slice of cake. I lit a cigarette and enjoyed the rush of the smoke. Just a few months ago cigarette smoke still choked me; now I enjoy every puff.
Leaving the camp this time was not as per usual, and there were even a few conflicts over trivial matters. But Felix’s briefing was quiet, clear, and to the point, and everyone calmed down.
Were it not for the diminished supplies, Kamil would not have approved this raid. Kamil is increasingly convinced that we will be attacked in the days to come. The small number of hostile patrols doesn’t mean they won’t carry out their evil plan. In his opinion, we would be able to hold out for a week, even more. By then, we can assume, the Red Army will arrive.
We went out on the raid at one in the morning and reached the target at 2:30. It was a small farm with three buildings: a house, a cowshed, and a storeroom attached to a silo.
We broke in and woke the elderly couple. They did not scream. They stood by their beds in their long nightshirts, illuminated by our flashlights. On hearing our request that they willingly give us food and used clothing, they smiled awkwardly, as if we were pulling their leg or had lost our minds.
Felix told them we were partisans. No point in bargaining, just give generously. And when the Red Army arrives, they will get special recognition for their help in the war effort. The couple didn’t move. The dumb smile spread across their faces.
Felix didn’t prod them. He allowed for the fact that old people awakened in the middle of the night are in shock and must be given a moment to recover.
Finally, the man came to his senses and said, still smiling, “Take what you want. Just consider that this is winter, the roads are blocked, and we won’t be able to go out and get supplies.” He spoke reasonably, his dignity intact.
Because of this simple, human request, we took about half the supplies in the pantry. In the cellar were apples and pears; we took them as well as two old coats and a few sheepskins, and that was enough.
As we were about to leave, the old man asked us, “Where are you from?”
“We are partisans fighting the enemy’s rear flank,” Felix said simply.
“We were afraid you would empty our house,” said the old man, still smiling.
“We take only what we need and don’t intend to ruin other people. An army is supplied with food and clothing. Partisans must take care of themselves,” said Felix in the voice of a sensible farmer.
“There are bottles of vodka in the cupboard. Take a few.”
Felix went to the cupboard, took three bottles, and said, “God bless you; there are still people in this world in whom the light of God has not gone out.”
“God protect you, too.”
After putting the bottles in a sack, Felix handed his flashlight to the old man and said, “This is for you; maybe it will help.”
“Many thanks, you are good people.”
This peaceful encounter, the likes of which we had not experienced since we began our raids, instilled faith in us that all had not been lost, that there were still people who can be trusted.
The food and clothing we took were heavier than we had estimated, but we moved quickly and in good spirits, and we were pleased that this time we would bring supplies that were given to us willingly. And there was another reason we were happy: we could hear the thunder of the cannons and smell the fires that broke out not far from us. We were not afraid of this friendly fire. For some reason we were confident that it would not strike us. We sang the Russian marches we’d learned from our communist comrades and envisioned the Russian Army liberating the towns and villages at the foot of the mountains.
When we returned to the base, our friends welcomed us joyfully. Only Kamil was not himself. He spoke with the fighters and with Hermann Cohen and with the survivors and explained that the danger has not passed: a wounded army is often an irrational army, likely to rashly send its fighters to their death.
We were not the only ones to return in a good mood; the reconnaissance patrol commanded by Karl came back and reported that the streets of the towns and villages were empty of occupiers, and everyone awaited the arrival of the Red Army.
Kamil and Felix huddled in a tent to plan the relocation of those who were sick and recovering to the wall of the Turkish fortress.
Heavy snow falls without respite. Some of the fighters think our preparations are excessive. Kamil again argues, “Never forget: the goal of the enemy was and remains the destruction of the Jews.”