Joe Jezioranski

I suppose for many, Warsaw’s uprising was full of heroism, the smell of battle, the joy of freedom. I was not one of those. I was full of feeling of disaster, frustration, fear and learning to survive. Of course, I went into the uprising full of mixed feelings of guilt, fear and pain connected with the loss of my brother; but that did not completely explain the other negative feelings I had.

As I sat in the small room, facing the uniform factory, I kept thinking about my brother and the boys he was trying to “save.” It was probably the first time that I began to understand the wisdom and the depth of forethought with which my father approached most of the problems. I think if we let him know our problems, he generally had a very realistic view of what was going to happen, but a realistic view was certainly not popular in Poland; will it ever be? So what was I doing, sitting cross-legged at the window facing the bunker, occasionally peeking from behind the drapes on the window at the menacing absence of any movement? And what great heroic acts was I going to perform should the Germans decide to attack? – a very doubtful event.

Why was I, trained to become a runner between parts of Warsaw, now a great defender of a small insignificant room? Yours is not to reason why…

One ironical fact escaped me until much later when I met the boy (or man) whom my brother ran to save: it was his room that I was sitting in. But this fact is just curious, not really significant.

As the evening wore on, my new commander came and gave me an order to barricade the window. I thought that this was the least logical action one could take. I could hardly defend the window with my one grenade as it was; a barricaded window would not only prevent the grenade from being thrown, but also advertised the intention of the occupants to the Germans.

My commander’s opinion differed from mine: he envisaged the assistance of some unnamed troops. I did not continue the argument, and got a pat on the back. We were apparently protecting the escape route of our troops attacking the water filtration plant. As the morning approached, it became obvious that this group was thoroughly defeated. It also became apparent that we were split from the other part of Ochota, and efforts started towards the morning to combine with the other part were not successful. We were told to pull out. And so finished my first uprising encounter.

The route we moved out on was very familiar to me. I had explored it in my training. We walked past the uniform factory walls to where the street passed the EKD (suburban electric train line), then along the railway line, as we hurried to put as much distance between us and the site of our defeat. At the front of our group there was a small group of combatants who were relatively well armed. At the back a similar group followed our steps.

As the dawn was breaking, suddenly an order was passed to fall down. It turned out that an EKD train had been sent from the suburban site (Grodzisk, I believe) to find out whether transportation to and from Warsaw was still possible. This train permitted a much faster evacuation. Unfortunately, only a part of the group would fit into the train and so I was one of those left behind. As we continued marching, now more hopeful of getting out unscathed, an observation plane appeared in the sky – things were not as rosy as it had seemed originally! The train did come back to pick us up, and rapidly transported us to Tworki. It was impossible to move any further, as other stations were guarded by the German troops.

As we got out from the train, we were greeted by the sound of battle to our right. We were told to move and join the battle. OK, so move. Soon it was apparent that the firing from the front was not the only one. Somebody was firing from the right. Hey, this was not in the plan! As I dropped down after running for a while, I took stock of the situation. A heavier gunfire now was coming from the back and I noticed some vehicles moving to our back on the left.

The likeliest point of survival was in front and to the left. I never ran so fast in my life. In the meantime, I was trying to figure out how I could preserve my life with the famous single grenade I was equipped with. I regretted for the first time that I had parted with the weapons stored in our house. The lesson of never parting with your weapons was not lost on me for the rest of my “heroic” days.

I could discern now a small wood in front and to the left. This is where I was going. The observation plane continued sputtering above. The woods turned out to be trees bordering a creek. A couple of armed guys were standing across the creek and urging everybody coming to cross the creek over a bridge span, the surface of which was removed. God, did I have to walk on this narrow beam! Could I crawl? If I looked down I would jump. Still more and more people were coming towards the bridge… When my turn came, I ran as fast as I could in order not to have to look down.

Now I was safely across and running towards another forest on the left. A substantial group of conspirators was forming here. I noticed George, one of the section leaders in my brother’s platoon. I was able to exchange a few words with him when, within a few minutes a man came up and gave us a speech. Apparently we had to move fast, back across the EKD rails and west. He needed everybody armed with him. Those that were unarmed could go with him, but he asked that as many of us as possible separate from the main group in order to reduce the danger of being detected. The larger the larger the group was, the harder it would be for the armed men to defend it. George said, “I don’t trust him. I am going by myself. Want to come along?” I weighed my chances.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I know some people in Konstancin.” In the opposite direction, I thought. Most Germans will be chasing the large group. And I know George slightly.

“OK. I will go with you.” One can only do things if one is alive – to hell with heroism.

We walked. And walked. And walked.

Soon it began to rain. We both ate the food I brought, soggy and unappetizing, while walking. We saw some transports carrying German soldiers, but they did not bother with two kids walking towards what could be construed as the Russian front. We saw many empty bunkers prepared for the coming fight with the Russians.

Finally Konstancin, but this was not the place I used to know. A relative of my mother, barrister Wilczynski, had a beautiful villa in Konstancin. He was well known for his court action on behalf of “Rudy” Radziwill and also as a vice-president of Warsaw. He was killed by the Germans, and his daughters were experimented on in Ravensbrück [28]. His garden was lovely. I remember the peaches, which were unusually large – I had not eaten such large peaches until I came to the US.

28. Ravensbrück was a notorious concentration camp near Berlin, where medical experiments were performed on female political prisoners.

Well, this was not it. We were received by a woodsman who lived near Konstancin and belonged with heart and soul to the communist party (GL [29]). I can’t complain about his hospitality: he fed us and let us sleep in his house. He tried to persuade us to leave our erroneous ways and join the only enlightened way before it was too late. I got sick of it and about the second day made some sarcastic remark. George was furious. When we got to our room, he told me not to be stupid, to keep my mouth shut. He was right after all. Then he continued to tell me that I was a difficult child and he only tolerated me because of my brother, and he knew I would make life difficult for him. How was he going to organize himself with such a load on his back (meaning me, I suppose)?

I couldn’t sleep. I thought long and hard. I could not stay with George if he felt that I was interfering with his plans, whatever they might be. In the morning I told him that I had decided to leave. He tried to talk me out of it. He even said that if it was an apology I wanted, he was willing to apologize. I thought that a question of that type was another indication that we would not get along. And I left.

29. GL or Gwardia Ludowa was the name given by the Polish Communist Party to its armed underground forces.

I kept walking towards Warsaw, looking at the distant smoke and worrying a bit about food. I had a little of the food my mother gave me. After all the rain the other day, it was a mess. Smelled bad too. I was coming to Wilanow. As I turned the corner, I saw Germans on the road. Too late to turn back, I had to talk to them.

Where was I going? Why? Where had I come from? My theme was going home. My mother was there. Had to see my mother. My mother’s house might be on fire. They told me I couldn’t see my mother and I started whimpering then. What’s the matter with you, kid? I have to go home. My mother is there. Have to see my mother. They sent me back to where I came from.

I went back. After a while I figured out how to go around them. Carefully scanning the area to the left and to the right, I moved into the fields. The worst part was when I had to cross the road. Still I did not see any other soldiers. I walked fast across, running might be suspicious. No problem. I walked for another three miles without meeting anybody. I was walking now along the street in a densely populated area, going towards the sports complex. Suddenly a voice in German stopped me in my tracks. The Germans were in a bunker at the corner of the sports complex. I swore silently.

We were back to the same thing. Where was I going? Why? Where had I come from? My theme again was going home. My mother was there. Had to see my mother. My mother’s house might be on fire. They told me to go back three miles. So I went back half a mile and then west half a mile and north. After another hour or so, I heard Polish voices shouting at me from across the street.

Unfortunately, I ignored them and continued walking. Somewhere close, a machine gun was firing repeated salvos. What is he firing at, I wondered. I looked right: an open field toward Dworkowa street. I looked left: the wall around the factory was showing the impacts of bullets flashing around me. They are shooting at me, I thought. I turned around and ran. Moments later, I felt a hot flash in my leg.

I ran into the house from which somebody had been shouting before. Now they were swearing at me and telling me off. I looked at my leg slowly getting redder.

“I think I am hit!” I said. They directed me to walk to the first-aid station about a block away.

I was cleaned and bandaged and put to bed. I couldn’t sleep. I was in a big room full of beds, most of them occupied, most of them by people shot from Dworkowa as I was. This on a street (Nabielaka) that bordered the open field at the bottom of Dworkowa (between Grottgera and Promenada). Opposite to my bed, a man was complaining about his leg. Apparently he had run a quarter of a mile on a broken leg. Most of the nurses were busy trying to make him comfortable. I was envious.

A young girl came and asked, “Do you need anything?”

“Yes, somebody to tuck me into bed.”

She looked at me thoughtfully. “Are you hurting?”

“Only in my soul. I can’t find peace. Will you stay with me?”

“I will come back later.”

She came back after the lights were out. Now I slept well. When I woke up I felt like a big hero. For some reason, I was moved to the basement.

When the nurse patrol came back from a search for the wounded, they all came down and asked me what I was doing walking towards the city. I explained. Then the head nurse (Mrs Skotnicka) came and talked to me. I felt very important, I was treated like a great hero. I felt in love. The object of my affection was the daughter of Professor Rose who used to live in one of the villas close by.

I was there for three days. There was a commotion at the door. Four Germans walked in, one in front with a submachine gun at the ready, then a major and another soldier and finally the last one, continually looking over his shoulder. The major had a rifle with a telescopic sight on one shoulder and a machine gun on the other, also a submachine gun across his chest. I had never seen anybody with as many guns on him. He continued looking at the men in all the beds. I could not understand the significance of the visit at the time. Later on, I worked it out. The major was a sniper, and was looking for somebody whom he had wounded and believed to be taken into this first-aid station. After the inspection of the men he turned to look at the girls in white. He shook his head.

“Are those all the nurses?” he asked.

“All on this shift,” was the answer.

He did not find what he was looking for.

I had such fun flirting with a beautiful girl from one of the expensive looking villas nearby. But after the major’s visit, she and many other girls disappeared, even Miss Rose. Mrs Skotnicka returned from the patrol alone. She asked me whether I could walk and took me to her apartment across the street. She told me to stay home. She invited some friends; we played bridge and poker. I won a lot of money. I met some young girls who made me feel like a great hero and a handsome man (?) to boot. Slowly it dawned on me what was happening. Mr Arbuzow, an insurance executive, lived across the street. He knew my father. It was a friendly conspiracy to keep me out of trouble. I must admit that I had a wonderful time.

My external wound had healed, but I was troubled. There was news of the SS burning Pulawska street with the people inside the houses, news about the major fight on Chocimska (almost next door), and then the house next door burned by a German patrol. The women were keeping a watch over me at night. I met a girl who went to the same school as my brother. Her fiancé was killed in battle. She never recognized me. I don’t think she noticed very much of what went on around her. Her deep hurt was apparent to everybody. I dreamt about my brother.

Next day I walked out. I moved across the gardens of a nearby expensive housing development. I was trying to go down towards the main artery (Belwederska) and cross it. I was close to the main artery, when I was stopped, this time by a Polish voice. I stayed with the encountered Polish patrol until night and then we moved across the street.

We joined the company from which the patrol originated and I was taken to the company commander. He interrogated me in the basement of the building for a couple of hours. The basement housed a lieutenant, a sergeant, and three girls (apparently the girls’ official duties were to carry the messages to other groups). Except for the sergeant I never saw them leave the basement until we left the building, almost a month later.

I was assigned to the squad that took care of the defense of the main artery towards the burnt-out factory across the street.

At first we went on patrols, occasionally reaching deep into the area towards the river, through Lazienki Park and almost to the sports complex. We lost a couple of men due to sniper fire. I thought about the well-armed major.

We also ventured in between the villas and along the streets. One day we were moving along the street with young Paul in front. Paul volunteered to go on every patrol. For some reason, he hated staying in the building occupied by our company (I can no longer remember what it was called, I think O2); I believe he was afraid of being killed by a bomb. The leader of the patrol was armed with a submachine gun, the rest of us with rifles. Anyway we were coming to the corner of the street when all at once a German patrol appeared at the corner. The leaders of both patrols seem to have fired at the same time, but whereas Paul was facing the Germans, the German patrol was moving in a direction perpendicular to ours. Two Germans fell, the others ran back to the corner, while we moved quickly towards the wall. For a minute or so there was a silence, interrupted only by the sound of the receding steps of somebody’s boots. The Germans decided to move back.

“Let’s go back,” somebody suggested.

“I am not going to leave those weapons on the ground,” said Paul. The wounded German was still moaning.

“I must attend to this man too,” said the nurse.

“It is only a German. Do not expose yourself,” said Paul.

“Nevertheless, I have to help him,” she said.

Somebody moved and said, “Wait, I will have a look.”

As soon as he began moving towards the corner, the second German who lay quietly on the ground, started shouting, “Nicht schiessen, nicht schiessen! (Don’t shoot)!”

We told him to get up and come closer. He came with his hands raised in the air. Paul lifted his submachine gun, “I will shoot the bastard.”

“Don’t be stupid, Paul,” somebody said, “put your gun down.”

Now we were all pushing him away. The German watched carefully and kept coming closer. One of us moved decisively to meet him. There were no shots from around the corner. The nurse moved to the wounded German. We helped her to sit him up and take his jacket, sweater and shirt. Wlodek kept the sweater while dropping other items of clothing on the ground. The nurse couldn’t do much for the wounded soldier. He was bleeding from multiple wounds and seemed to have lost consciousness. We left him at the corner and turned back.

We had the guns and the other prisoner. The nurse tagged along with some reluctance. Finally she said, “I have very few bandages.” The man was dying anyway…

There were many dead bodies in the area between the houses occupied by the Germans and the houses occupied by the Polish forces. Neither group could bury them. They would have to be carried away, and the snipers were busy on both sides. Still we wanted to know the identity of the bodies. Most of them were in some stage of decomposition. None of the guys were brave enough to dig into the pockets of dead bodies, accept for an older nurse who now became our “body identification expert.” I saw her many times wiping the maggots off her hands after digging through smelling and often fire-blackened bodies. The burnt bodies were especially plentiful in the areas where, after a skirmish, the Germans had moved in. It was often their first act: to burn a house without letting the inhabitants out. In the early days many inhabitants of those houses died an awful death. Later all the inhabitants would move away when the battle started, or even before.

I was sitting at my window when a large group of people appeared at the corner opposite to our house on the other side of the open space (corner of Grottgera and Belwederska).

We did not know what to do. It seemed like the Germans were going to move the Polish population in front of them and attack our position. A patrol was sent through the ruins of the factory and behind the line of moving people. A skirmish ensued. The patrol claimed to have attacked and destroyed a tank or an armored vehicle which was behind the line of people, and pushed the Germans back. We were rather uneasy when night fell, but nothing happened.

It was impossible now to cross the main artery (Belwederska) without being shot at. A tunnel was dug under the street and the patrols moved through the tunnel to the other side of the street. The job of patrolling was divided between the different platoons. We went on patrols only at night now. One day the sergeant selected four men and sent them to the house next door to face the field dividing us from Dworkowa. Apparently this was supposed to be a light duty, as only lightly wounded were selected to go there. I was selected as I had gotten shot through the leg again, my second injury.

Food was getting scarce. At first there was soup, I suppose made by the people in the basement, and even bread sometimes. Later we mostly lived on tomatoes, which grew in the little gardens next to the small houses. One improvised sometimes with other vegetables from the same garden. Unfortunately this created the need for a quick bowel movement, often when one was on patrol or exposed to the enemy. There was nothing that the guys were more afraid of than being shot when one had to go to the toilet. Of course toilets did not work any more. In the battle for the pump station we lost and had to give it up. The Germans shut off the water.

As we guarded against the German attack or patrol from Dworkowa, down along the Promenade, the most vulnerable spot was the terrace. The Germans had the mortar trained on it. We used to hang out a piece of clothing and move it by string to cause a fury of shots causing minor dents in the surface of the terrace. Unfortunately despite our warnings, one of the new replacements decided to view the German stronghold from the terrace and was killed in the process.

Most of the time, when my turn to watch against German attack came, I would watch from among the bushes next door. The Germans had a hard time spotting anybody within the long hedge of bushes surrounding the ruins of the villa next door. I would taunt them by sending an occasional shot into one of the fortified windows. One had to be careful, however, as they would move their mortar fire all over the garden, hoping for my untimely death. They might also support it by sprays of heavy machine gun fire. I don’t know why, but my diarrhea would always come at dusk when I could not see if anybody was coming.

They kept me in this boring position for nearly two weeks. When I came back to my squad, the situation towards the lower part (now called Sielce) had changed considerably. Our sister companies were pushed back not only from the water pumping station but also from Chelmska.

I remember one night patrol when we moved across the street and tried to explore the area. Most of the villas turned out to be occupied by the German troops. We settled down in the bushes in front of the villas. As I mentioned before, Paul went on every patrol, so when we settled down he fell asleep. He was supposed to watch our flank. We were afraid of just such an occurrence, so one of us was continually moving from one member of the patrol to the other. In front of a house there were two clumps of bushes. Paul was lying in one clump. We stole his gun while he was sleeping, as a joke, but placed another man in the second clump. Occasionally you could hear an exchange of words in German from the front room or balcony of the house. The main part of the patrol, two guys and a girl, were sitting on the other side of the fence watching this and three other houses, which we suspected were also occupied by the Germans. All at once Paul crawled back. “The dirty … Germans stole my gun. I am going to go and kill…”

“How could they steal your gun, Paul? Didn’t you shoot one of them.”

“Never mind, give me your gun. I am going to walk into this … house and kill the … German that took my gun.”

“Are sure that is wise, Paul? They may steal the other gun from you.” We were all laughing now. Paul was furious. He smelled the rat finally.

“Who took my gun?” he almost shouted.

We had to warn him to be quiet and restrain him by force from throttling one of us, whom he identified as the likely joker. After some persuasion he agreed to withdraw closer to our base and go to sleep.

Soon there were no patrols. The Germans occupied the house across the street with a minimal fight. We had inadequate strength to lose too many men and still needed to protect the path towards Sadyba and a likely exit from Warsaw.

The fight now concentrated on preventing Germans from crossing the main artery. We were so close to the enemy that the heavy artillery fire and even mortar fire were all falling behind us. There was no longer any need for snipers – we were all sniping at the enemy troops. Neither side could move an inch for a few days.

There were many wounded. To get them back to the hospitals we had to cross the open field behind us, now under almost constant turmoil from explosions of grenades directed there by German heavy weapons. When we finally got to the first line of first aid stations, we would be sent further back. There was no more room in any hospitals. Our main hospital was bombed daily by the Germans, despite the red cross on the roof. The doctor in charge got so mad one day he moved all the wounded Germans to the partly destroyed top floor.

We were coming back from taking a wounded man up the hill when we met George. Paul as usual was in a hurry. I told him to go ahead – I would catch up with him. George was dressed in the German camouflage suit and carried a Schmeisser (type of a German submachine-gun), quite an impressive little fighter. I asked him what he had done since I left.

Apparently he joined the partisan groups in the Chojnowski forest, participated in a couple of battles with the withdrawing German troops, and moved with a whole battalion to occupy Sadyba (the southernmost part of Warsaw). They were now under heavy German pressure and would likely lose the area. He was on a short rest from the fighting. I told him what had happened to me and we parted with a certain amount of distance between us.

When I reached the open field portion, a Stuka [30] plane was coming from across the river. I ran as fast as I could toward a house standing in the middle of the field. The plane dipped and sprayed the field behind me with bullets. I had barely reached the house when I noticed that the pilot was turning around. I waited a moment until he was committed to a partial dive and then ran around the house. It was lucky for me that the Stuka plane did not have a machine gun in the back. The pilot tried again banking the plane in a circle. Obviously he was hoping to get me to commit myself to the direction I was going. I stood still.

He had to come back somewhat and start a downward descent. He was shooting almost before I started running, but his bullets went far to the right. I ran on the left side of the house. As soon as I turned the corner, I could see him turning up and around, so I went back where I was before waving good-bye to him. I was sure now that he did not have any bombs left. This time he climbed, and flew towards Okecie airport. I was very proud of my way of outwitting the great Luftwaffe.

30. Stuka (JU87) was a two seater dive bomber.

When I came back, Col Daniel and Col Waligora were visiting our outpost. Waligora cut an impressive figure despite the smell that he carried with him. He had come recently from the old city through the sewers. Apparently one of the senior officers in the old city later became the head of the Underground under the Russian occupation and laid down Polish arms to the Russians in the Chojnice forest. I doubt very much that he survived subsequent imprisonment and trial. At the time he had a group of seasoned soldiers from the Parasol battalion of GS, the oldest group of the Boy Scout organization. They were famous for their efforts throughout the occupation and also the Wola [31] and Old City campaigns of the uprising. Anyway apparently Waligora was now (or seemed to be) directing the operation of the Mokotow section of the Warsaw uprising.

31. Westernmost part (district) of the city of Warsaw.

They appeared to be concerned about the passage that led from our to the German side under the street. The problem was that whereas the Germans were sitting right on top of the tunnel, we had to move through the ruins of a destroyed little house to get to the tunnel opening from our side. They needed volunteers to put explosives in the tunnel on the German side. A young warrant officer, who usually sat in the basement and did not show up anywhere in the fighting was to lead the affair. For the purpose of this story I will call him Alfons. I was not pleased with the leader, but volunteered anyway. Paul did also.

We had to carry an unexploded “cow” shell. A “cow” or a “wardrobe” was the name we had given to the German rocket launcher (Nebelwerfer). The shell carried about 1000 lbs of explosives to its destination and was propelled by a small, solid-state rocket. The unexploded shell had to be carried down on a stretcher, which we normally used to carry the wounded. During the night we moved it into the ruin of the house at the corner, always closer towards the tunnel. The warrant officer decided to stay at the entrance, covering our retreat. I was sent to the other opening of the tunnel, and Paul and two others pushed the shell through the tunnel. It was dark. I moved with a beating heart into the open space on the other side of the tunnel. I was still moving when a voice above me said in German, “Frank, do you have a cigarette?”

I felt a significant lump in my throat and it kept throttling me with each beat of my heart. I sat with my back against one side of the ditch and my feet pressing against the opposite side. How could he not have heard the noises I made? I sat there for ages while behind me: swish, puff, puff – the shell continued on its way towards me and certain disaster. I could not see the glow of a cigarette: the German could not have been as close as I thought. Swish, swish, puff, puff – closer and closer. I almost jumped when Paul tapped me on the shoulder.

“Move in closer,” he whispered.

“There is a German above me,” I despaired.

“Move in closer.” He had no pity.

I moved sideways. One step. I looked back. Paul was motioning with his hand: further, further. Oh what the hell, let them kill me – I thought. At least now I was within reach of the end of the ditch. The German, if he jumped down, would be within a step, no more. Then I could let go with all the bullets I had in my Colt 45; he would not survive. Clang above me. Clang behind me. Paul got the shell against the cable running parallel to the building and could not lift it over.

He motioned me to help him. I shook my head.

“Come on,” he said. I had to help him to shut him up. As we got the shell higher, the rocket part dug in into the ground. We did not have enough strength to lift the shell bodily. We rested there. The other helper went back and brought an unexploded artillery shell. We dropped this one even closer with a bit of a clang. We all listened now. All quiet on the Western Front. Above us the Russian observation plane was making its rounds and the German anti-aircraft guns were trying to bring him down. Every so often the pilot would shut his engine and glide a while. I had to sit another tortuous ten minutes while Paul attached a grenade to the front of the artillery shell and attached the rope to the pin of the grenade. I was so frightened I no longer felt anything. If the German came down it would be a relief.

“Psst!” He was beckoning me. They were all finished. I motioned him to go. I sat for another couple of minutes and then moved back. The warrant officer was full of authority now. Told us to run back, he will pull on the string and follow. The explosion happened after we were inside the house where our troops were stationed. We sat at the entrance to the house and waited for the warrant officer. He was running for his life. All hell broke loose. The Germans were firing at random. Grenades exploded on the street and against our building. Our side answered in kind. I felt I had to go to the bathroom. So much for being a great hero.

One day there was great excitement. Among the noise of a large group of heavy planes passing by and anti-aircraft fire, a multitude of parachutes appeared in the sky.

“It must be the Polish parachute brigade,” somebody ventured. The heavy machine gun squad moved into position on the staircase. The staircase was normally not occupied because of the clear view of Dworkowa bastion. This time however we did not worry about exposing ourselves. We had to cover the landing troops.

“Hold on to my feet,” the machine gunner said. True enough, as he started firing, he was sliding back on the slippery surface of the staircase. Really there was nothing to shoot at. In the early days the Germans would expose themselves occasionally, but we had now our guns well trained into possible spots. Dworkowa kept deathly quiet. We could see the parachutes clearly now.

“This is an arms drop. There are no people coming down,” Wlodek said. “Do not waste your ammunition.”

Dworkowa began answering now. We tumbled down the staircase among ricocheting bullets. Nobody was hurt.

“What poor shots these SS men are,” said Wlodek.

It seemed like some parachutes were coming quite close, but the majority drifted into or beyond the German lines. At night we moved through the open field trying to find any stray chutes. It was a clear night and every fifteen minutes the Germans would send up a flare. How stupid to be so precise, I thought. I could time the flares and made sure I was sitting down before the next one went up. Somehow it was pleasant to be in the open field. Waiting for the flare, I lay down and looked at the stars. Same stars at Mlociny and Zielonka and on Jasna St. My home. Where are my parents now? Where is John? I felt very sad. And up went the flare. We found nothing.

Next day we woke up dejected and watched the field and the street in front of us. We heard the rumbling of the tanks a long way away. We sent a runner to bring the PIAT (British anti-tank rocket launcher) crew down. The tanks would stop and fire into our windows and below. Holes appeared in the walls of the building. We were moving in and out of the front rooms. One could determine when the tank was pointing its gun at one’s window and move back inside the building. I was shaking.

“We need somebody to draw the fire out,” said the PIAT gunner.

“I will go with you.” As always, Paul on the ready.

“Some of you must stay here and draw their fire.”

Here was my excuse. I stayed. The PIAT crew moved into the old ruins below our house, on the corner of the street. They fired once with no effect. The tank paid no attention to us on the upper floor now; he was concentrating on the ruins. Hey, there was another tank moving faster behind the first one and the troops marching right behind it. We concentrated on the troops. They were certainly more vulnerable. The first tank was immobilized, the engine was smoking. We were too late to hit the first German jumping out. The fire grew very heavy. The Germans were covering the escape of the first tank crew.

The PIAT crew came back but Paul was left behind. There was no way to go into the ruins now. The Germans had attacked them from both directions and our other platoon was preparing for a counterattack. The second tank was right behind the first one, supporting the Germans in the ruins.

We were relieved in the morning. A squad was formed from the rest of our platoon. We were told to move back to the house in the open field behind our recent positions and possibly cover our company’s move to the resting place. Sounded ominous.

We got to the house before daylight. No plane chasing me around the house this time. Relatively quiet. We posted two men at the windows toward Dolna and the rest of us played poker. Somebody brought food. What luxury. I was winning heavily until it was my turn to stand guard.

As I leaned at the small table and watched through the window, I was surprised. Every so often the Germans would try to cross Dolna. Were we not defending the backs of supposedly our road toward Sadyba? Well it was no longer ours for sure. I trained my gun at the street crossing and waited. Here he is. I fired, he dropped. There was one more try and then no more.

The Germans were firing in all directions. They had not yet figured out who was pinning them down. I called out to my friend in the other room.

“Did you see the Wehrmacht crossing Dolna?” He did not notice. He was watching farther down towards Huculska.

By the time my shift ended, we were relieved again. Our company had moved to a house on Wiktorska street to have a rest. We joined them and slept a while.

When I woke up there was nobody there and it seemed very quiet. The room was full of light; it must have been about midday. I walked to the staircase and was surprised to see daylight above – half of the apartment complex was destroyed. As I moved slowly through the rubble, I met Wlodek coming up.

“Thank God you survived. We could not wake you up. You were lucky to be in the part of the building that was not bombed.”

“I guess I was lucky at that.”

There was no water. We asked the people in the basement where to get water. There was apparently only one pump close by. They loaned us a bucket when we promised to share the water with them. It took us three hours and two bombardments in the meantime to get our water. While we stood in the line-up, the Russians dropped a bag of rifles close to the pump. The rifles were useless. Dropped without the parachute the stocks were all broken. There were no bullets in the bag and the caliber of the Russian rifles was different from our Mausers [32].

32. Rifle used by the Polish as well as German army.

Next day I decided to visit Aunt Jedrzejewska. She lived on the same street further on. I found her easily. She was crying when I came. She was dressed in black.

“I am glad to see you alive!” she said.

Her younger daughter has been interred the day before. Her daughter had formed a kitchen where people could donate their saved food supplies and where all and sundry could get a meal. She had been killed by a bomb while cooking a meal. Aunt Jedrzejewska’s older daughter was in a concentration camp. So that was it for this family, and many others shared her grief. I told her my story and she wished me luck. I did not know what to say in return. I could not wish her luck, could I?

On the way back I met my “friend” Alfons the warrant officer, with his arm around professor Rose’s daughter.

“Hi, this is my girlfriend. Oh, you know one another. Well, let’s hurry up, there is not much time.” They disappeared into our rest place. I kept on walking. On side streets the entries to the sewers were open. A girl runner was entering one of them. The planes were coming back. I got through the gate into one of the houses. When the bombs fell close by I turned back. A set of bombs destroyed the house behind our quarters. We ran to dig the people out. Most of them were in a bad state. Some were dying while we were digging. Our sergeant was coming towards us. “You guys! We are moving to a new position.” We ran upstairs and took our guns.

“To hell with this rest and relaxation!” said Wlodek. “I am not coming back here.” This unfortunately turned out to be a prophetic statement.

We walked west a long way. Well, a long way by the standards of the Uprising. If you crossed three or four streets, that was a long way. Crossed Odynca and into the ditches running toward some houses standing in the field. These were our westernmost positions. Beyond those there was a field and then Rakowiec held by the Germans. As we moved through the ditches we had to backtrack to let the wounded pass. Around us we could hear and fear heavy artillery fire and some mortar fire.

We moved into position by night. Somebody was going to get potatoes from the open field. He asked for volunteers. I decided to go with him. After a short walk toward the German lines, he indicated that I should stay behind while he penetrated the area where the Germans were dug in. We crawled through the open space. He motioned me to stay down. He moved still farther. In a while he returned with the potatoes.

“The best ones are behind the German lines,” he said. He ventured once more. When he came back we had two full bags. We crawled back.

“Stay down!” A rocket lit up the sky. We lay still. All at once the sound of winding up rockets filled the air. I was counting them. Normally there were five German rockets; this time I lost the count. These were not German “cows.” Tremendous explosions rocked the earth. They were a fair way to the south. A moment later the sky was full of the glow from the fire. We had to wait a long while. I fell asleep. After some time my comrade nudged me and we crawled fast toward our lines.

Near dawn we had potatoes with onions. They tasted better than anything I had eaten before. I forgot that I had not eaten for the last couple of days. My position was in the room on the second floor. Whoever was there before me had placed a mattress on top of the dining room table and rolled another thin mattress at the window side of the table. It was the best shooting position I had ever seen. I lay on top of the mattress and watched the dawn breaking. One could hear the whining noise of engines in the distance. The noise was heavy. I could see a cloud of dust rising to the right of my field of vision and moving to the left of our position. An officer with binoculars stood in the doorway.

“I think it’s a long column of tanks,” he said.

“Good luck!” I thought. “What are we going to do against a convoy of tanks?” I wondered when they would appear. Still could see only dust. Before I saw the tanks, German artillery began to soften us up. There was no point waiting at the window. I knew they would stop when the tanks got closer. I moved inside the apartment. The building shook with the explosion of artillery shells. Red dust was so dense you could not see the outside in broad daylight. I sensed rather than saw Wlodek standing next to me.

“What the hell are we going to do?” I asked him.

“You are OK. You can almost see your window. I must get to my station.” – He was placed at a hole in the wall from some previous shell. The artillery fire was moving farther back. I saw the tanks now, about two hundred yards away, with the troops hanging on the metal ladders attached to the top of the tank. I took aim at the guy near the top and fired. The tank fired back. More dust. I had to hit the rifle against the wall to open it up and hit it again to close it back with the shell now inside the chamber. The rifle was all gummed up with dust.

“I must move into position,” I said.

The officer observing the approaching tanks lowered his binoculars and looked at me thoughtfully. “OK. I will tell you when the tank aims the gun in your direction.”

Well, except that there was at least thirty tanks in view. We forced the Panzer grenadiers to get off the tanks. They were hugging the earth now or moving behind the tanks. I could still see some of them when they jumped up and ran. After about three shots, the officer shouted the warning. I moved back quickly, but Wlodek did not get there and it was his position that got two shells one after the other. We dragged him back. The nurse and the stretcher were right behind us. His belly was a mess. The nurse pulled his German sweater off.

“Take it, Joe,” Wlodek mumbled. “You may need it.” It was end of September. The nights were getting cold.

I put it on to keep him happy. They carried him down the staircase. I climbed back on my mattress. Now I was mad. I used up my magazine and reloaded. I had to smash the rifle against the side of the table after every shot to open the breech. The tanks were about thirty yards away, but behind them there were more tanks. Our fast firing kept the line of the supporting troops down. In my fervor I did not hear any words of warning. All at once I was flying through the air. Somebody was shouting, “Help, help!”

I could only see red. The guy wouldn’t stop shouting. Then I realized it was me. I crawled through the door. As I was sliding down the staircase, another shell exploded above me. I couldn’t move my left arm, blood was pouring down my face and my trousers were wet. I stopped for a moment. Did I pee in my pants? I turned to look at my legs. I couldn’t see anything. Somebody was coming up the steps. A nurse.

“Are you badly hurt?” she said, wiping my face. I could see now. I tried to stand up. I could stand and I managed to walk.

“I have to get my rifle.”

“You stay right here. We will get your rifle later.”

More shells exploding above us. They pulled me to the basement. Wlodek was lying there on a stretcher. Through the opening in the wall you could see the ditch leading out from the house. You could also see the artillery barrage somewhat beyond the ditches.

“We’ve got to get those guys to the hospital,” the nurse said.

“Leave as soon as you can,” the officer said and started climbing up again. We moved along the ditch as the artillery fire moved deeper and deeper into our lines. Wlodek was unconscious. We moved a few steps at a time. Wlodek died before we got to the next line of houses. I couldn’t see again. The nurse tugged on my shoulder then wiped my face. We walked for what seemed like a long while.

I remember we stopped somewhere to leave Wlodek’s body. Somebody put a makeshift dressing on my head. They had a difficult time sticking it to my skin until somebody found a razor and shaved a part of my head. Soon the piece of cloth was soaked with blood and stuck to my head somehow. There was no bandages or time to cover my leg wounds. Anyway my socks stuck to my leg now. We slept in some friendly basement. During the day we had to move again amid shells falling everywhere and streets now covered by heavy machine-gun fire.

I was shaking despite Wlodek’s sweater. Some woman offered me a lambswool jacket. I did not want to take it.

“I have no use for it now. Do you prefer that some German will take it?” she asked.

I put the jacket on but was shaking nevertheless. Must have been the shock. As we kept moving north some groups were entering the sewers. I wondered whether I should join them. I noticed that a large group of people was waiting to enter the sewer. I wondered what would happen to my leg wounds if I entered the sewer. I spent my last night on Wisniowa in the basement. When I woke up and walked out, German tanks were at both ends of the street and SS men armed with Sten guns were moving from house to house gathering the people and leading them away.

“So much for the big airdrop!” I thought.