The Children's War (180 page)

49

“H
ALT!” THE VOICE COMMANDED.

Peter immediately stopped skiing and raised his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot,” he cried out.

They didn’t. In fact, the leader of this patrol knew him personally, and after they had exchanged greetings and news, he was directed to a field camp. “You don’t want to go back to the bunker right now,” the patrol leader advised. “Konrad’s at the field camp, he can bring you up-to-date.”

Peter followed their instructions and arrived at the tent about an hour later.

“Oh-ho! Look what the cat dragged in!” Wojciech joked.

“Do you know where Zosia is?” Konrad asked, looking up from a map.

“You’re covered in blood!” a young woman standing next to Konrad commented.

Peter explained where Zosia was, what had happened, and briefly recounted his return journey.

“What the hell were you two doing out there in the first place?” Wojciech asked.

Peter did not bother to answer. “We have to get her and the baby out of there.”

“Don’t worry, they’re well inside our lines right now,” Konrad assured him. “We’ll get someone to fetch them as soon as we can.” Turning to the young woman, he ordered, “Get someone to go and tell Marysia that both Peter and Zosia are okay and that she’s a grandmother again.” Konrad turned toward Peter and added, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. If Zosia is inside our borders, I can go back alone, I just need a sled or a horse, or something.”

Konrad shook his head. “No way. We need you here. I’ll send one of the kids to help out. She’s better off there anyway.”

“I promised her I’d return.”

“You’re not going back there,” Wojciech interjected. “There’s a battle on if you haven’t noticed, and we don’t have time for your and Król’s theatrics right now.”

“She’s completely alone and she’s just given birth!” Peter replied angrily.

“That’s an order!”
Wojciech snarled.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Peter scanned their faces. Konrad looked uncomfortable, but he made no move to disagree with Wojciech. Realizing there was no point in arguing further, Peter conceded, “All right, what do you want?”

“A number of things,” Konrad answered with obvious relief. “I want you to broadcast to the British. We like to inform our allies of what’s happening here.”

“Fine.”

“Here.” Wojciech shoved a piece of paper at Peter. “Translate this to English and get Communications to fix you up to broadcast to England. Do one for the Americans as well.”

Peter looked at the newsbrief; it was written in Polish. He frowned at the words and Wojciech laughed. “If you can’t read it, get someone to translate it into German for you first.”

“You’re talking real-time broadcasts?” Peter asked.

“Of course,” Konrad answered, distracted by a messenger.

“I’m not cleared for Communications,” Peter reminded him bitterly.

“Oh.” Konrad scribbled something for the messenger and sent him off before continuing, “That’s right. Well, that’s just an oversight. I’ll clear you now.”

Peter’s look of disdain was wasted as Konrad turned to the young woman and told her to arrange a clearance. “Was there anything else?” Peter asked, preparing to leave.

“Yes!” Konrad motioned to him to wait as he read another message that was brought in. He relayed a command to the messenger, then turned to Wojciech. “Are those documents ready?”

Wojciech handed him a packet and Konrad handed them to Peter. “Work out some way to get these to the Germans.”

“What are they?”

“Some maps and orders they’ll be needing. We’ve intercepted their courier and have amended things to suit our purposes, so we want to make sure they get these before dawn.”

“Why send me?” Peter asked, scanning the documents.

“Do you always question orders?” Wojciech returned with quick anger.

“No, sir,” Peter replied in a tightly controlled voice.

Konrad glanced from one to the other while explaining, “You’re the only fluent-male speaker of the appropriate age who’s available.”

You mean expendable,
Peter thought, but he did not interrupt.

“We were going to send Pawel, but he’s too young. You’re much better. Bolek’s outside, he’ll get you the uniform and explain what you need to do.”

“Is the attachó known to them, or did he have any special passwords?” Peter asked.

Wojciech looked at Konrad. Konrad answered slowly, “We hope not.”

“You
hope
not?”

“It’s important these papers get through,” Konrad stated dryly.

A gust of wind whistled through the flap of the tent, and the papers on Konrad’s desk danced in the breeze. Peter was going to ask another question, but he had lost Konrad’s attention to another messenger; so instead, he waved his hand in an approximation to a salute and turned to leave.

“Halifax! One last thing,” Wojciech called out.

“And what would that be, sir?”

Ignoring the sarcastic tone, Wojciech turned to Konrad and waited. Konrad waved the messenger out of the tent and looked up questioningly. “Was there something else?” he asked Wojciech.

“I think his position should be clarified,” Wojciech said.

Konrad grimaced. “I’m sure he’s well aware . . .” He trailed off.

“Of what?” Peter prompted.

“You carry poison still?” Wojciech asked, then as Peter nodded, he advised, “Don’t hesitate to use it.”

Konrad hurriedly amended, “You know, if something happens, we can’t—”

“I didn’t expect that you would,” Peter cut him off.

“It’s not like that,” Konrad insisted. “It’s just that, with you, we know they would never—”

“Like I said,” Peter reiterated, and left.

“How are your legs?” Bolek asked once he had been informed of Peter’s assignment.

“Just fine.”

“Good, you’ll have to do the journey on foot—they’re just on the other side of this pass. Our nearest people are A-seventeen located here.” Bolek showed Peter a map. “Are you familiar with the area?”

“Not really. But that’s well inside our territory, isn’t it?”

“It was. Don’t worry, we’ll get it back. We’re not doing that badly elsewhere.” Bolek explained what little they knew about the attachó’s destination and mission and then disappeared to get the man’s uniform and papers.

While waiting for Bolek to return, Peter rested a few minutes on a log, listeningto the news reports that filtered in, trying to determine the level of damage sustained so far and the seriousness of their attacker’s intent. He caught the attention of a young lad he knew and asked if there had been any occasion to use their handheld missile launchers.

The lad nodded enthusiastically. “They tried some aerial incursions, but when they found out we were prepared, hah! Those things are great!” He swung his arm in a wide arc and imitated, “Blam, whoosh, boom!”

Basia overheard the discussion and added in passing, “I think they’ve really cut down on the bombing. I don’t think they expected that. Thanks, Captain.”

“Huh?” Peter responded, confused, but she was already gone. He rubbed his eyes and considered momentarily the feasibility of curling up in the snow and sleeping, but then Bolek returned to show him the uniform. “They got him in the head, so there are no holes in the uniform, but we had trouble getting his brains off the coat collar. It’s still damp, but that’s just water. It’ll be dry by the time you finish your broadcasts.”

Peter fingered the damp material. “How do I get out there without getting shot?”

“We’re sending a courier up to A-seventeen. She’ll escort you out that far, then they’ll assign someone to take you the rest of the way.”

“And how do I get back?”

“Ah, well, that is a little more problematic; we obviously can’t inform everyone about you, and it is unlikely you’ll be able to meet up with exactly the same group that sent you out since either you or they may have to move. If that’s the case, make sure you approach where there is no fighting and make sure you wave your armband in the air. It won’t be enough to wear it since they won’t be looking for it if you’re in German uniform, but we do have general orders not to shoot anyone surrendering without first checking them out.”

“How reassuring.” Peter got up to leave, then stopped. He pulled the bloodspattered personal effects of the soldier from his pocket and asked, “What do I do with these?”

“There’s a collection point. Give them to me and I’ll see that they’re kept safe. Stick in a tag with your name on it if you want to keep any of it.”

Peter shook his head: the unclaimed valuables could go into the general fund of supplies. In general, casualties would be buried where they fell and their names and serial numbers would be passed on to the German authorities, but proof of their deaths—their identification tags—would be held for personal delivery to the families. It was a dangerous business since the drop had to be made by hand to be sure it was not intercepted, so it would often take up to a year before the identifications would be sent back; nevertheless, this was the preferred method. It provided a useful counterpoint to the government’s usual lies to the families about the circumstances of their loved one’s death and presented the Underground with an opportunity to enclose a formal letter expressing their regret and explaining their cause.

Peter remembered the effect it had had on a friend of Frau Reusch’s. According to the government, her son had died in a heroic battle against barbaric terrorists; a month later she received a polite and civilized explanation of her son’s demise as he had taken part, under orders, in a reprisal involving the slaughter of an entire village. The reprisal had been preempted, their son had regretfully been killed, and his identification was enclosed as proof of his death. The family was assured his body had been treated respectfully and buried if possible, and enclosed in the letter was a ring he had worn that they thought might be an heirloom.

The calm tone of the letter, it’s sorrowful explanation of circumstances, its brief and unfanatical exposition of their cause, the inclusion of the valuable ring, all served to convince Frau Reusch’s friend overnight that her son had not died fighting murderous thieves in a glorious battle for peace, but had wasted his life in the service of a government that cared almost as little for its own people as it did for those it had conquered. Frau Reusch had confided the tale to Peter in hushed tones, not even daring to mention her friend’s name, and Peter had gained some small measure of comfort from it, from the knowledge of a stillactive Underground somewhere. But as there were no details to be had, it had remained no more than an incorporeal hope.

He was still thinking about that strange other life as he and Olek worked on translating the newsbrief that Wojciech had handed him. Peter did a fair amount of translating directly to English on his own and had to ask Olek’s help on only a few phrases. After Peter finished the translation, the two of them exchanged news as Olek accompanied him to the radio room. Olek asked all about the birth, told him about Andrzej’s death, then explained that Stefi had left to be smuggled back to Berlin for some reason. “She only just found out about her brother,” he added sorrowfully.

Once Peter had completed the broadcasts, he bid Olek farewell and was already out of the room when Olek called out, “Captain?”