Irena watched from the balcony of her apartment as the German army marched into Warsaw. There was no longer anyone to stop them. Poland had finally admitted defeat and surrendered.
With Russia against them too and without the Allies coming to their aid, their situation was hopeless. Yesterday what was left of the Polish army had turned in their weapons before being rounded up and marched off to prisoner-of-war camps, although it was whispered that many had managed to evade capture and were heading for France via Romania. She prayed that Piotr and Aleksy were amongst them.
She was proud of her countrymen and women. They’d held out as long as they could. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of people had answered the call to defend Warsaw – digging ditches and building walls in a desperate attempt to keep the enemy out. And all this while they’d been slowly starving. Before the German attack, the Polish government had urged Varsovians not to hoard food and in the last couple of weeks Warsaw had been without food, water or electricity. At the hospital, they’d been forced to carry out operations and treat the sick and dying by candlelight and with limited medical supplies and no anaesthetic. It’d been clear they couldn’t carry on for much longer so it was almost a relief when the Germans had arrived.
Perhaps now the worst had happened they could get back to some sort of normality? At least the incessant bombing and artillery fire had stopped, although large swathes of Warsaw lay in ruins and almost every inch of the parks was taken up with makeshift graves.
The drumming of German boots and the sounds of their tanks and armoured cars was almost deafening. There were so many of them. Row upon endless row of fresh-faced soldiers goose-stepped behind their mounted officers who rode at the head of the column. Unbelievably, some of those watching cheered – and not just cheered but threw flowers in the path of the soldiers. Did they think a few flowers would make the Germans treat them better? Or were these the Poles of German descent? She recalled what Piotr had told her about the ethnic Germans that had been massacred by a group of Polish civilians. She still couldn’t bear to think it was true. Despite the repeated partitioning of Poland, the ever-changing boundaries, German and Pole had lived in peace and harmony for years. Some of their German neighbours even had sons, husbands and brothers in the Polish army.
She was about to turn away in disgust when a girl, perhaps a year or two younger than her, broke free from the line bordering the street and ran into the path of the marching soldiers and screamed at them. Irena couldn’t make out the words, but judging by the twisted expression of hate on the girl’s face, this was no welcoming greeting.
A man about the same age rushed towards her and, grabbing her arm, tried to lead her away. But she wasn’t having it. Irena was proud of her; she was doing what most of them, the cheering masses excepted, wanted to do – tell the Germans what they thought of them and their conquering army. But the girl should be careful. The soldiers might arrest her.
Her companion was clearly trying to reason with the Germans, his arms held open as if to say, She’s upset, you can imagine, she’s lost her brother, her father, she’s not well. I’ll take care of her, she won’t bother you again.
The marching soldiers halted. It was obvious no one knew what to do.
At the front of the column, a motor car with two officers stopped and the driver looked back.
‘Go,’ Irena whispered as if the girl could hear her. ‘You’ve made your point.’
The motor car turned and drove back along the line of soldiers until it reached the couple. The German officer in the passenger seat stood up and said something to the girl. But she shook her head and let loose a stream of what was clearly invective.
Her friend looked horrified. He pulled her to the side, almost lifting her from her feet. She was pretty, with a turned-up nose and full red lips.
Without warning the officer raised his arm and shot the man in the forehead.
He crumpled to the ground. The girl gaped at him, her face frozen.
Almost in slow motion she lifted her gaze to the officer, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
‘Run!’ Although Irena screamed the words, there was no chance the girl could hear her. The watching bystanders stepped back as if to say they have nothing to do with us. Some turned their heads. The shouts had turned to a low, fearful murmuring.
The girl looked around, as if expecting someone from the crowd to do something. Then the officer, a small smile on his face, lifted his arm again and pointed the gun at her forehead. Irena wanted to close her eyes, wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t. The officer’s arm jerked once and the girl folded.
The officer holstered his pistol and said a few words to the soldiers who were watching impassively. Two detached themselves from the column and dragged the girl to the side. Then they picked up the man and threw him on top of her. He landed on his back, his arms and legs splayed wide as if in surrender.
Then, still in perfect lines, the soldiers continued to march.