THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel (34 page)

Nothing of the sort happened. A jeep drove up. Kaz jumped out and briefly spoke to the driver. Anna felt herself drawn toward the door; by the time Kaz entered, she was in the small lobby to greet him. They threw their arms around each other.

She heard someone clearing his throat; they were blocking the doorway. She opened her eyes.

“Oh, hello, Sir Andrew.” She shuffled sideways to let him and his companion pass, but held her lover's arms to prevent him from snapping to attention. “Nice to see you again.”

“And you, too, Anna.... Even though I'm not wearing my dress uniform.”

Anna closed her eyes; her lips again met Kaz.

“Your place, or here?” Kaz asked as they broke for air. Then he realized she might not have much to eat in her flat.

“Here, if it's OK with you.” She, too, realized there wasn't much to eat at her new home. “There's so much I'm dying to hear—how you got out, what you're doing in Britain. Besides, the evening will have added spice—anticipation.”

“And who was that?” asked Kaz as they sat down.

“Just an old lover.”

Kaz looked crushed.

“Sorry, darling. I shouldn't joke. Particularly not now.... It was Admiral Cunningham.” They were holding hands across the table; she squeezed first one, then the other.

In response, Kaz squeezed her hands back. He was getting over the shock.

“And what was that bit about his uniform?”

She improvised quickly. “He visited our base, to see if we could improve our weather forecasting for the Arctic convoys to Russia.” She then recounted the story of the newly-whitewashed wall. For the umpteenth time, Kaz suspected he was not getting the whole truth—maybe not even half. He wondered how three young women working on weather forecasting would meet an admiral—even more, how they could get away with backing him into a whitewashed wall. And how could he know her well enough to remember her name? It was best not to ask; whatever the charade, he would willingly participate. They had better things to talk about.

They started at the beginning; Anna wanted to know about the battle near Warsaw. Kaz took her up to the time of his first capture by the Russians. She wondered how he had managed to escape from Katyn. Without elaboration, Kaz told her, deleting the deaths of the two prisoners on the hillside. He also deleted the meeting with Stalin in Moscow; Anna was not the only one who had secrets to keep. He talked about their training in Russia and their exodus to Egypt, where they joined the British Eighth Army.

“The Eighth Army?” Anna was astonished. And more than a bit put out. She had tried to find out if he were with the Poles who got out to North Africa. But the Eighth Army told her—repeatedly—that he was not.

Kaz explained. He and Jan were using false identities, initially to avoid trouble with the Russians, and later because they were worn down by the tone-deaf administrative officers of the Eighth Army.

Then he wanted her story. How, he asked, did she get out of Poland? She recounted her adventure. A childhood friend who owned an old triplane. Their deadly game of hide and seek, darting among clouds as the unwelcome rays of daylight brightened the eastern sky, betraying them to the Luftwaffe.

Kaz suddenly had an uncomfortable premonition, where the conversation was headed. I've got to have time to think. He had already drained his half and half. Would she please excuse him? He needed to find the loo.

He splashed water on his face and glowered at the mirror. I bet it was that sonofabitch. He stole eight months of my life—what could have been the best eight months. Why couldn't he tell me when we met at Sikorski's reception? The answer was all too obvious.

Kaz splashed more water on his face and started to swear. Then he got hold of himself. Ryk was a cad. But marriage was built on trust. He had no reason to doubt Anna, and certainly no reason to be angry at her. He wouldn't mention the meeting at Sikorski's reception. With a faint smile, he thought how noble he was.

He had been away too long. As he walked unsteadily back toward the table, he could see that Anna was worried.

“Sorry. I suddenly felt lightheaded. Nothing to worry about. Guess I haven't been getting enough sleep. I'm afraid I left you up in the air, trying to get away from Göring's goons.” He suppressed the question he was eager to ask: “who was her childhood friend, the pilot?”

She described their search for a landing field, how they risked touching down on an unknown island, and how, luckily, they found that the island was Danish. She spoke warmly of the prefect of police. She guessed what the police officer had said in his phone conversation, switching back and forth from mock Scandinavian to a mock German accent.

“Allo?”

“Zees isst yur friendlich Geshtapo offitziert.”

“Yah?”

“Ich vant zee plane und zee kriminalz zat landet.”

“Plane? Vhot plane?

“Floon by zee kriminalz von Polandt.”

“No kriminalz haf flooohn in.”

Kaz smirked as Anna stretched out “flooohn.” She got back to the main story.

“We got out to Sweden on a boat that left within a few hours. I only hope our policeman friend didn't get into trouble. Especially after the Germans occupied Denmark. Too bad we didn't make it all the way to Sweden in the Red Baron.

“Anyhow, I had no difficulty getting out of Sweden—my English mother and the fact that I'm a civilian.”

“Working for the Air Force,” Kaz added.

“Oh dear, I must have forgotten to tell them about that,” she responded with a twinkle in her eye. “The one I was worried about was Ryk. He might be interned as a Polish Air Force officer, Poland being one of the belligerents and all. But he chiseled and wheedled his way out. I met him again at a party about a year ago.”

“So did I.”

“Stanislaw Ryk?”

“Yes. At a reception. He had just been given the DFC by the King himself.”

“I know....” There was an extended silence, with just a hint of electricity in the air. “But how did you guess that it was him, when I only said 'Ryk'?”

“A Polish Air Force officer. Named Ryk. Flew out of Poland in an ancient plane. Grew up in your part of the country. Kind of narrows things down.”

“My part of the country? How did you know that?”

“He told me he came from an area just west of Warsaw.”

Anna knew there was something missing. “And?”

Kaz paused. “And I told him that was where my wife came from.”

Again, it was Anna's turn to pause. “You were introduced to him by name?”

“Yes.”

Then she asked, very slowly, “He didn't ask if your wife's name was Anna?”

“No.”

So much for noble intentions.

Later, when Ryk finished his year-long tour of duty in Winnipeg and came back to Britain, Anna coldly refused to see him again. Even after Kaz was sent to France. Particularly after Kaz was sent to France. And even though Ryk invited her to accompany him to Buckingham Palace, where he was to receive another decoration. In fact, when he mentioned the Palace, she got in just one quick request before hanging up: send the button back.

He never did.

10 April 1943. Prime Minister Sikorski's
Conference room, London.

K
az had been summoned to an emergency meeting with Gen. Sikorski. This time, Jan had been invited, too. Something was up.

When the small group met, it now consisted of Sikorski, Brig. Piotrowski, Maj. Korbonski, Kaz, and Jan; Maj. Mumblemumble Starzenski was on a trip to North Africa. Sikorski said that the Nazi's “Reichsminister for Public Enlightenment,” Joseph Goebbels, had just made an announcement over Radio Berlin. He read from a sheet of paper:

A mass grave has been discovered in the Katyn Forest, near Smolensk in the Soviet Union. The victims were officers of the Polish Army. They were each killed by a single shot to the back of the head. Many had their hands tied behind their backs. It is known that the Soviet Union had a Prisoner-of-War camp near Smolensk, where Polish officers captured in the 1939 campaign were detained. The evidence is clear. The Soviets have shot prisoners. The barbarism of the Bolsheviks is once more on display for the world to see.

Now Jan knew why he had been invited.

Sikorski continued. “We're already getting inquiries from the British press. They want to know: Can we confirm or deny the German account?”

Sikorski looked at Kaz.

“I recommend we confirm it, sir. We can scarcely deny it. I know it's true. Jan knows it's true. The truth has got to come out sooner or later. Why not now?”

“Perhaps this is worth thinking about, sir.” Piotrowski was speaking. “There are several complications. First is the evidence. Jankowski and Tomczak escaped from what, to us, is clearly an execution. But how will we deal with skeptics in the press? Doubters will point out that Jankowski and Tomczak never actually saw anybody shot. The domestic Communists and the Russians will create a hullabaloo: the Polish prisoners were simply being moved, and it was the Germans themselves who did the dastardly deed.

“Even more important: we have to worry about our touchy relations with Moscow. As you know, sir, the Soviets have not only been harassing members of our embassy in Moscow. They have also arrested some of them, in violation of diplomatic norms. If we confirm the German charges now, it will put unbearable strains on our relations.

“We certainly can't contradict Radio Berlin,” Piotrowski concluded. “But there may be a third option: to say that the evidence needs to be studied.”

“Tomczak?” Sikorski wanted Jan's opinion. Jan's answer astonished Kaz.

“Sir, what happened at Katyn was an atrocity; I want to weep every time I think of all those fine young men—our friends—who are now dead. However, Brig. Piotrowski's argument has force. We must think of the living, not the dead. We need to think: what's good for the future of Poland?”

Jan paused for a moment, then added: “Frankly, sir, I'm not anxious to come forward as a witness. Particularly when there is no chance that the murderers will be punished. I'm concerned about my relatives in Poland. We're going to win the war. But, in the process, the Red Army will invade and capture Poland. I don't trust them. They've murdered our friends. They're perfectly capable of killing my relatives still in Poland.”

Sikorski looked back toward Kaz. Kaz was silent; he'd have to think this through. Sikorski turned again to Piotrowski: “More specifically, what do you recommend, Brigadier?”

“Sir, we need some independent, credible group to evaluate the evidence. Perhaps the International Red Cross.”

A sergeant entered the room and handed Sikorski a note. He read the unsurprising news aloud. Radio Moscow categorically denied Goebbels' charges. If there were mass graves, the Nazis themselves were guilty. It was part of their extermination policy as their Panzer divisions swept eastward during the dark early days of the war.

Sikorski invited any final comments from his colleagues; there was none. He wound up the meeting by saying he wanted to consult the President. They would be informed of the decision in due course.

12 April 1943, 14:00 hrs. The Library. Polish Government Offices, London

“I
shall,” said Brig. Piotrowski, “begin by reading a very brief statement and then take questions.”

The criminal Government of Nazi Germany has announced that they have uncovered a mass grave of Polish officers. They allege that the officers were murdered by the Soviet Union. The Soviet Government has charged the Nazis with the crime.

The Polish Government believes that an impartial institution should investigate the death of our officers, to determine who is responsible. We recommend that the International Red Cross be asked to undertake this difficult and unpleasant task.

“You will notice,” Piotrowski concluded, “that the statement is for release at 14:00 hrs. today; you may use it immediately.”

It was scarcely necessary to read the announcement, as copies had already been placed on the seats before the reporters came in. But it did give the reporters from the
BBC, The Times, The Manchester Guardian
, and
CBS
a chance to frame their questions.

Question 1: “Sir, were you aware of a mass grave of Polish officers?”

“We are aware that thousands of our men are missing. In wartime, it is often impossible to get information on missing personnel.”

Question 2: “So you didn't know they had been murdered?”

“As I said, it is difficult to get reliable information. That's why we're asking for a Red Cross investigation.”

Question 3: “Radio Moscow says that '
If
there are bodies, the Germans did it.' The Russians seem to be suggesting they don't really know whether killings took place or not. If this is the case, how can they possibly know the Germans did it?”

“You would have to go to the Soviet embassy for an answer to that question. One possible explanation is that the Soviets don't doubt the existence of a mass grave. There are mass graves dotted all over the Western part of the Soviet Union. If the Soviets didn't kill our soldiers, that would indicate that the Germans did, wouldn't it?”

There were another dozen questions, but they essentially repeated the first three, with Piotrowski repeating his answers.

Two hours later, Jan burst breathlessly into Kaz's office.

“We've got trouble. Big trouble.”

Kaz looked up. Jan continued:

“Just before two—less than five minutes before Piotrowski began his statement to the press, Goebbels came on Radio Berlin. He made exactly the same proposal—that the massacre be investigated by the International Red Cross.”

That couldn't be a coincidence. How the hell did the Nazis know that the Poles were going to appeal to the Red Cross?

Good question.

Whatever the answer, the Germans were obviously trying to cause trouble between the Soviets and the Polish Government in London.

They succeeded.

The Soviet Commissariat for Foreign Affairs summoned the Polish ambassador in Moscow and handed him a note:

The Polish government in London and Nazi gangsters have made the same, simultaneous request for a Red Cross investigation. They are clearly conspiring to defame the Soviet Union. Accordingly, the Soviet Union no longer recognizes the London clique as the legitimate government of Poland.