I was overjoyed to receive my orders to report for my army medical examination. This was what I had been waiting for. I was passed physically fit and ordered to report for duty with the 13th Regiment of Cavalry in Nowa Vilejka in the north of Poland. However, I found the early part of my army career rather a trial. Though I was used to strictness and had no problem with education, I found it very hard to mix with the ordinary peasant soldiers. Their behaviour and sometimes obscene and vulgar language was uncongenial and I never really adapted myself to their ways.
During my monastery life, I had perfected my game of chess and was constantly on the lookout for new opponents. Since these were few and far between among the peasant soldiers, I was delighted to be invited to play against the Captain, who was reputed to be extremely good. He was good but I managed to beat him and he became my regular opponent. After our games he would offer me a glass of vodka and the conversation would get around to my career. We discussed at some length my escape from the Jesuits. The Captain thought that the fearlessness I had shown was one of the important qualities of a good commanding officer. I was also well-educated. Why not apply for the signals course at Grodno when my two years’ compulsory service ended? I could see no objection. Army life was quite palatable and my uncle seemed to enjoy it. So, six weeks later I was on my way to Grodno where I took several signals courses, passing each one with flying colours. Returning to my unit, I was immediately promoted to corporal. This restored my family’s faith in me and they were full of admiration for my two stripes. At the end of a short visit home, I applied to serve for five years in the Air Force Meteorological Service. At the beginning of 1939 I was accepted, but international events pushed me in a very different direction.
It was becoming increasingly obvious to many of us that, after the events in Czechoslovakia in 1938 and 1939, Poland would be the next of Hitler’s victims. I remember the enormous enthusiasm of my fellow soldiers on hearing the news that Hitler might be planning an onslaught on Poland. What folly! We were still recovering from the previous war, trying to rebuild our economy. Germany’s armoured strength and the number of her fighting planes far exceeded ours. When the day of mobilisation arrived we had to give up our sabres for sharpening; were these the weapons we were to use to attack German tanks? Again, after we had cleaned our rifles for inspection, we were each given our ration of twenty bullets; that was all. We were ordered to shoot to kill and if in any doubt about hitting the target, to hold our fire, since bullets were precious. How could we be a match for German automatic weapons armed with abundant ammunition? However, we sang patriotic songs of the Polish army to keep our spirit up and we showed no fear as we loaded our horses onto the trains making for the Polish–German border.
Our cavalry regiment, accompanied by anti-tank guns, was sent to the front line, where we managed to destroy eight German tanks before our ammunition ran out. The German Panzers then pushed us back towards the Vistula and we were subjected to constant artillery fire. Though we fought like lions, there was no escape and we had no alternative but to swim the river with our horses, all the bridges having been destroyed by Polish sappers. Many of our soldiers could not swim. As they fought to stay above the water, they were dispatched at will by the Luftwaffe. The Vistula was full of the bloodied bodies of men and horses.
My friend Janek and I were more fortunate, reaching the opposite bank complete with our rifles, sabres and horses. We fled to the forest for shelter, where we attempted to regroup with other survivors. We discovered that at least half of our regiment had been wiped out and most of our remaining ammunition was lost in the river. Though our spirits were still quite high, we hoped above all for a period of rest before the German tanks crossed the river and once again began their onslaught. Unfortunately they were on us again before we could organise a substantial and coordinated defence. So we took to guerrilla warfare, lying low during the daytime and attacking the German forces after dark. We used to split up into small groups, gaining an element of surprise in our attacks. These tactics became the model for the subsequent Polish Underground Army, which remained an effective force throughout the war. About this time, differences of opinion began to surface in the regiment, some wanting to surrender and take the consequences but the majority wishing to continue the fight, even though we knew it was useless. We then learned that we were almost entirely surrounded and that the Soviet army had advanced into the eastern provinces of our country, cutting off our retreat in that direction. Some Polish regiments had successfully crossed the Hungarian frontier, or so rumour had it. It quickly became every man for himself in this game of survival. Our regiment ceased to exist.
Janek and I decided to make for home together since he lived only some thirty miles from Rudnik, my own village. Since we were out of food, we used to collect turnips and potatoes from the fields at dusk, eating them raw. Our only possessions were the clothes we stood up in, our rifles, a handful of bullets and our horses. During the day, we took refuge in the forest, venturing out only when we knew it was safe. Most of the farms en route had been abandoned, their owners in such haste to escape the German advance that they left behind their animals and most of their belongings. During the nights most of these farms were taken over by German soldiers for accommodation, so it was unwise to approach them.
At last we came upon a farm where the farmer and his wife were openly tending their hens and geese. There was no sign of German occupation. When night fell we ventured down to the farmhouse. I tapped quickly on the door while Janek scoured the darkness for any movement. We heard footsteps inside and the sound of bolts being drawn back. When the farmer saw two soldiers on his doorstep a look of sheer terror crossed his face. I whispered to him in Polish that we were not Germans and tried to show him our uniforms in the shaft of light given by the lath of spruce burning beneath the chimney.
‘I can’t let you stay here,’ he whispered. ‘They have taken my cows and pigs and my horses. My wife is not well and she can’t walk far. In return for provisions the Germans are letting us stay but they visit us regularly. There is a German base two kilometres down the road. They’re biding their time waiting for their orders to come through.’
It was obvious that our arrival had placed them in danger. The old man was shaking as he spoke and I noticed his wife trying to hide in the corner of the room behind a sheaf of straw. I explained that all we wanted was civilian clothing and some food in exchange for our horses and equipment. He was too frightened to agree but eventually his wife, after conferring with him quietly, came to our aid.
‘We will help you. It’s a sad day when we cannot help two of our countrymen.’
The farmer, still muttering under his breath, found us two pairs of trousers, a long coat, a jacket, and two worn shirts. We immediately dug a large hole in his garden and buried our uniforms and equipment in a large box. There was a haystack in the field nearest the forest which the Germans had checked out several days before. The farmer thought we would be relatively safe during the day hiding in the stack; if we were caught he would deny all knowledge of us. For a week we rested in the haystack and under cover of darkness he would bring us boiled potatoes and eggs. We felt like beggars.
Finally news came that the Germans were on the move. We hid in the stack for two more days, not daring to venture out until we were sure that every tank had passed through. After that we were quickly on our way, mingling on the road with peasants heading home to their farms and villages. They took us for one of themselves. We picked up information that many young people had been captured and sent to Germany to work in the coal and steel industries. Jews had been rounded up and sent to concentration camps. These stories made our blood run cold but gave us an incentive to get back to our respective villages and be reunited with our families. However, we decided that in the circumstances it would be safer to travel only at night.
The journey from Opol to Tarnow and Bochnia took five days. Nothing untoward happened to us and we found travelling during the night quite easy. After two more days we reached Myslenice, the nearest town to Rudnik, where we parted company. We hugged each other sadly, not knowing what fate had in store for us. I watched the lonely figure of Janek disappear from view before turning to follow my own road to Rudnik.