We passed Modlin; barbed
wire along the road and in the fields told us the enemy was near. We started
flying the next day and hoped for a swift victory. German losses were high and our machines
returned safely. Next day we saw nine
Dorniers challenged by a single fighter but it was over quickly.
Our soldiers were
brave and courageous. You could do wonders, great feats of courage with such men.
But our leaders had let us down: when it came to dropping bombs, to deploy the
squadron, they had no ability and no
skill.
One of the aircraft
came back, reporting a column of tanks. Six machines ready for flight, bombs
on, crews dressed, rub their hands in excitement. All is set but our commander waits for
orders. We waited but no orders came until next day. So they took off with the
bombs, wind in tails. One machine wheels up, another can’t even get off the
ground. Four aircraft took off. They were back after an hour, no tanks were
found.
Next to us were
fighters. Dorniers flew overhead, but
they didn’t have orders, either. None came but our commanders had no initiative.
That night we couldn’t sleep, artillery
roared continually and the shelling was getting closer. We were told tall tales
- the Polish air force, alongside Britain, is bombing Berlin; the French army
has crossed the Siegfried Line, etc. But the artillery was getting closer and
the mass of refugees confirmed our suspicions that the Germans were coming.
That day we loaded
our vehicles. There was a lot of equipment and few vehicles – we could not take
everything at once. At last orders came. We set off for Warsaw. The road was jammed
with refugees, we crawled at snail speed. At Modlin some of the cars unloaded and went
back for the rest of the stuff but the boys could not wait; they set a Karaś
and a Czapla on fire and, left. The same happened with the fighters, except
many were captured. We knew about the
massacres, retreats, bombing of cities and unarmed civilians, and we left them
our bombs.
We had been kind to
those barbarians. What we saw was horrifying. Dead horses and people, broken wagons, strewn
by the roadside.
Wounded soldiers told
us hair-raising stories; we reached Zielonka near Warsaw with the greatest
difficulty with the roar of Dorniers overhead as they bombed Warsaw all day.
Gunfire grew fainter and there were no fighters to be seen. Warsaw groaned from explosions.
From our field, two
Karaś and their crews never returned – they had perished with Lt Strejmik, Lt
Kardasz, Cpl Janicki, Cpl Oleksiński, L/Cpl Szymański and L/Cpl Majewski. One day in an air raid two planes crashed in
flames. The crew bailed out quite far away. We were sure they were Germans. I had a light
machine gun. We hopped in a car and shot
down the road like lightning; to shoot them right there, was all we wanted. We
turned right, the road ended, so we ran across country.
We combed the forest for
an hour before we found them. Too late. One of the plains was a Łoś. Two men
had bailed, two were burned inside. Next to it was a Dornier – full of corpses.
Our car took us to
Wołomin. The Germans found us that day. I
leaned back and started firing my machine gun. Others grabbed their guns, too. It
was hot as hell. The wailing of Dorniers, the explosions, the rattle of guns
and the shrill whistle of bullets all mixed together. A few bombs exploded very close and we had to
drop to the ground. The German aim was poor; a few bombs failed to explode.
We left that night
and went towards Mińsk Mazowiecki. We
were safe in the woods, so we lingered for two days. The second night was my
night patrol. At eight at night our unit left the forest for an airfield
somewhere. Only we stayed guarding the stuff, mostly bombs.
I woke up the rest of
my boys, calling an alert. I had two heavy guns and twelve light ones. Things
might happen, German patrols might show up. And so we awaited dawn with guns in
hand. All we heard were a few shots, but all was quiet. It wasn’t until after 10:00 that Edek came
with three cars. We were to drive through Mińsk, on the main road, the most
exposed bit.
We didn’t make a
kilometre when 24 Dorniers burst from over the woods. The cars stopped, men dived
into a dyke. Suddenly, a hellish racket, all was dark and they started
pounding. We could see nothing, 24 but soon the din died down, the whirr faded
away. Laughing and joking, we climbed back into the cars.
They’re coming! Run!
The bastards had turned back and were coming straight at us. We took to the
field, as fast as we could. They were flying low to get at the cars. I was on
my back and saw six bombs peel off; they missed; the bombs fell just by the
road on the south side. But it wasn’t
over. They turned and strafed us. The
raid ended. All of my boys had made it. We moved on; there were no more raids. We
passed Mińsk and an hour later reached a forest and our squadron. The Siennice
estate. The wheeze of a bomb and a familiar bang. They must have been on their
way back from a mission with a few bombs left. They started strafing us but we
were unhurt.
We didn’t stay long; an
order came to move to Brest. Kostek took
off in an RWD, and crashed. He came out all right. We couldn’t take the bombs, so we blew them
up. My car was last. Dyszlewski, in the
jeep, was to be the courier. Our route led through Łuków, Parczew, Wisznice,
Sławatycze, Domaczewo, Brest.
Thousands of wagons
and people, filled the road. It was rough riding in the trailer in the dark. I
picked up a woman and a man who were fainting from exhaustion. They had fled
from Toruń. I gave them what I had, a meal and some rest. They wanted to get to
Włodawa, so I took them along. I took in a few wounded soldiers, too. My trailer was full. What a night that was!
Burned villages and towns, corpses on the road, broken wagons.
We came to a town I
thought we’d never make it through. The whole town was in flames. We were
driving down a narrow street, houses burning on both sides. People running from
burning buildings, women and children. All
night I stood on the steps of the lorry, guiding the driver so he wouldn’t hit
anyone or fall into a bomb crater. Near Parczew, a colonel stopped us. Again, tanks are close, we have to make an
obstacle. So I pulled over, we got our guns, someone gave us anti-tank grenades
and we took our positions. We waited until dawn, they must have taken a
different route. We started the car and moved on.
We passed Parczew. Twice they came close, but didn’t attack. The road was empty now so we drove fast. I
wanted to get to Domaczew and rest there. But Martoś objected that we were
exposing ourselves, so we pulled into a forest. We had two wheels to repair on
the trailer and one on the Renault. A
few men got to work, the rest I took to the village to look for food. We met
very kind people there. They fed us and gave us some for the boys and wouldn’t
take a penny.
We had to move. Somewhere ahead more
bombs exploded, but that was it. My
tyres began to give. Every 20 km I had
to stop for repairs. That made it harder
and delayed us. But it couldn't be
helped - I had no spare. Late in the
night we crossed a bridge on the Bug in Domaczewo. Artillery pounded from the north and south. The enemy had us in a pincer. As we went over the bridge, I saw engineers
with explosives and heavy machine guns set up on the other side.
The Bridge at Domaczewo (now Damachava, Belarus)
just before WW2
Past Domaczewo, I
turned north, towards Brest; we had only 46 km to go. The night was dark but the glow of artillery fire rose up over Brest
and every now and then a car bolted past us like a mad man going back toward Wlodawa. One stopped and asked for a password. The driver was a reserve lieutenant, sent to
Deblin for petrol. He told us our flight
had probably gone towards Kowel, as they were not in Brest. Fifteen km from Brest I met one of our cars,
going the other way - a technical officer was making off. 'Turn round, it's
closed off. Past Wlodawa, in Koty, is
where we regroup.'
On our way south to
Wlodawa, fog had risen up from the swamp so thick you could barely see the edge
of the road. I saw a few women literally
dropping with exhaustion. I picked up
the women, put them where I could. They
were young girls, Warsovians, all eight of them. They had been posted near Nieszawa and
ordered to get to Lvov. On the way, some
officers took their car and they had to walk.
30 km before Wlodawa
my last tyre popped and the axle bent.
My little trailer was doomed. I
unhooked it, grabbed the equipment and the most expensive things and burned the
papers. I drove past Wlodawa, now the
road was packed. The fog was still
thick, so no air raids that day.
I pulled into the
Koty Estate. There were two lorries and
a car and only one technical officer, Dyszlewski. I found him in the barn, dead asleep, and his
men sleeping next to him. I found a
driver for the car, and two other men and left the estate. Carefully looking around, I took what I could. Now on to Domaczewo, full speed.
When we got to Koty,
all was ready, sadly I found out our last Karas had been left in Brest. We had no more aircraft. Our troops were to concentrate on the San and
Bug line. We were going towards Kowel
now. We were passed by taxis and
limousines with staff officers and their wives, even their puppies. Meanwhile, wounded soldiers with no one to
attend them, trudged along the roads on foot.
I picked up as many as I could squeeze in. They told me terrible things
about crushed Divisions, fleeing commanders and officers, the whole
situation.
When we stopped, the
ladies made us meals and coffee. We
passed villages and towns. In one of the
towns, I met Flight 42, a few of them were wounded. In Luck - a nightmare. Troop convoys, jammed streets. We were barely making any progress. for all
the traffic. We finally got near the
crossroad. There was a crowd of staff
officers, a general was yelling
something, waving his arms. It was our
turn to be let through.
The lorries
moved. Suddenly - 'Stop! Stop!' yelled
the officers, pouncing on our car with their pistols. It's easy to stop a car, not so with a lorry. I was standing on the step on one side,
Kryslak on the other. Two officers
pounced on me, shouting "Stop!" and jamming their pistols in my
ribcage. The driver slammed on the
brake. The Renault screeched to a halt. The general jumped to us like a rooster
looking for a fight.
'Where's your
driver?' he yelled.
'Here,' replied
Adzinski, putting his head out.
It was less than a
second. The general aimed his pistol and
fired at the driver.
Then, "Go!
Go!" yelled the same voices. The
Renault moved on, so he's alive. I run
around the car, open the door. Is anyone
hurt? One of the ladies sitting next to
the driver - I saw her pale face, mouth open, the poor thing is holding on to
her neck, blood trickling. The driver
couldn't stop, all the cars were moving now.
One of the chaps held the torch, I tore open her blouse. She'd been shot in the shoulder and
chin. Thankfully, it was not
serious.
Two hours later we
were on the open road. Now, 15km to
go. The road almost empty, we'll be
there soon. No man, no sound, all is
quiet. Must be the commander's done
something again. I'm furious. What am I going to do with this wounded
woman? It's night time, dark all
around. I found a haystack by the
road. I made a place for the ladies to
lie down. The wounded one felt better.
That day I got a
different lorry, a Chevrolet loaded with ammunition, 18 men and a machine
gun. I was told unofficially that we were going to Romania to pick up
planes. We left at nightfall and made
our way to Rowne where we went on towards Kolomyja via Tarnopol and
Zamosc.
We trudged on, through
woods and Ukrainian villages where Ukrainian bands lie in wait. One day we saw planes overhead. We were sure they were British. But, they were Soviet. I saw the same machines coming. A shower of bombs. They are not English. I heard from an infantry officer that Russia
had marched into Poland. We were in
their grip; German tanks on one side, Bolshevik ones on the other. They wanted to cut us off. I was ordered to drive full speed through
Kolomyja to Kuty.
That night Ukrainians
sprayed us with bullets out of the woods.
We paid them back in the same coin and kept going. We arrived in Kuty on 18th September and I
drove across the border. We moved in an
unknown direction, going where we were told by Romanian soldiers. And so Poland ceased to exist within 18 days.
I hated the Romanians
from the very first day. We pulled into
the town of Storozyniec. Here we were
disarmed. Pistols we hid where we could,
most of us between our legs, inside our pants.
Officers and pilots
were taken in light cars, soldiers by train, and all in an unknown
direction. Heavy vehicles were kept
back. We stayed in Storozyniec two
days. In the early morning we were off. The weather was nasty. Endless rain, awful roads. And so we drove across Romania, stopping only
to rest. We had a longer stopover in
Falticeni. Here again they divided us -
air force this way, armoured forces that way.
That day, we moved on,
we had no food to eat, tired, exhausted by the constant rattle on the bumpy
roads, we were driving towards Bucharest.
Once in a town we were given a piece each of some nasty sausage and on
we went. We lived on tomatoes, eggs and
walnuts.
Past Buzau,
Ploesti. We pull into Bucharest, quite a
pretty town. Beautiful lake, lawns,
pretty buildings and monuments. We drove
through the town to Carol's airport; here we felt welcome. They fed us and gave us a comfortable place
to sleep.
On the following day
we were given 50 lei each and taken to the train station. A Romanian officer said we were all going to
one camp where all the airmen were. The
train moved. We were riding in cargo
cars. With a small compass and a map, I
soon knew where we were going. To
Ploesti, then Constanta.
The train stopped at
a little station 80km past Ploesti. Urziceni
station. We line up and march. I stuck with Edek. We got a tiny clay hut, damp and airless. Bedbugs
on the walls. A cot and some dirty
rags. A kind old lady came in with a
lamp and a girl of about 16. They brought us some fried eggs and bread.
One day an officer
appeared among us. Secret meetings started in the lodgings, we began to
organise. I was called into a meeting – there were column commanders and an
officer. I was given a serious task; I took an oath, received my instructions
and money and got to work. I was to photograph 1700 men, passport photos, and
deliver the prints at an appointed time. I had to extremely cautious. The place
was swarming with gendarmes and Gestapo; it was easy to get caught and then all
would be lost. So I set about taking
pictures in daytime, developing the film and making prints at night. Our little
quarters turned into a photo studio. I minded nothing, driven by the hope of
breaking out of here. We were well organised.
We were awakened by a
knock on our door. We leapt to our feet, I hid my rubber club in my coat, Edek
opened the door. Large figures cloaked in black stepped inside. I knew them
immediately – our officer and a captain from Bucharest. The first box of
passports had arrived. Twelve of them were for the boys of our column. That
night, the lucky ones left the camp. Kryslak and Lisiak were the first to go.
They didn’t have much time. I woke them at 11:00pm, they dressed in civilian clothes,
we said a quick farewell – they were gone.
Fervent work began. We sold uniforms, bought civilian things, and
every few days a group left us. The Romanians caught a whiff of something
happening. They held roll calls and took attendance by name. Imagine this – Monday – assembly. We line up by column in the big market square.
A colonel, major, a few officers and a whole pack of gendarmes arrive, all
Romanians. In the middle, a table with books. They start roll-call. As each one is called, he is to walk past the
table and stand on the other side. What fools those Romanians are – with all those
imbeciles standing there, we ran our game right in front of their eyes. All told,
400 people are missing, but everyone is present. The Romanians were stupefied: they could see
our ranks wither, but when they did a roll call, everyone was there.
One day we noticed a number
of suspicious types watching us all the time. The Gestapo, of course. We moved
our night-time meetings to another place. Now everything was done at the Red
Cross ladies’ place. The Romanians cut off our connection with Bucharest. Sentries patrolling roads and train cars were
making our work difficult. The Lieutenant brought his sister from Czerniowce
A Romanian citizen, she became our courier.
More and more people were slipping out. Strong detachments of
gendarmerie arrived, wrapping our camp in a tight net of sentries. You couldn’t
move and not run into a blue uniform. Daily
searches of our quarters for weapons and civilian clothing often ended in a
thrashing for the gendarmes. Hatred welled up from day to day. One of the boys
was arrested and beaten in the cells. We
thrashed the captain of gendarmerie in return.
Another time a few boys got locked up; we broke into the jail and let
them out. That was our daily entertainment. Disarming gendarmes and kicking
them in the mud was our pastime. But I was completely consumed with my work.
Only a few free evenings could be spared for night-time blue-hunting escapades.
I sold my damaged
camera and the rest of my things. Edward and I bought civilian clothes. I
worked out an escape plan and we decided to keep together, Edek, Adam and I. We
were the last ones left of our flight and since our papers had been shipped out
together, our passports should also arrive together. Now we only had to wait...
I was walking down a
road one evening – someone whispered, “The courier is here!” – without a word,
I was on my way back to the lieutenant. My heart was pounding. I knocked on the
door and entered the dim room. Our lieutenant was sitting at the table,
surrounded by unit commanders. Silence fell when he pulled out a folder from
under the sofa. I waited, holding my breath, straining ears. Names were read,
followed by “ready”, “no”. The list ended, but Krydner had not been called out.
Edek and Adam had. God, how disappointed I was! I went back home to announce
the news. We parted that night. It was
pouring, the night was dark. They left at 11:00.
The Romanians brought
in a few more platoons of gendarmes and even the army came to keep us in. They
manned all train stations, highways and byways. Only a bird could break out of
the camp. And still... they kept running off. No escape route was impossible –
in heaps of corn on wagons, in freight cars, some even pretended to have caught
venereal diseases. A chap that got sick would legally be taken to hospital in
Bucharest and was free. I bribed a Romanian – a poor Russian worker, actually.
He helped our boys leave Urziceni and the Romanians were losing their minds.
Once we had a visit
from a Romanian general. We weren’t covering up any more. At assembly, we
reported all the absent as deserters. I thought the general would blow his top.
We were doing our job. I got an urgent assignment to make some lists. It took
me a few nights.
One day, November 4th,
there was a knocking on the door. A messenger.
‘Hurry, the lieutenant
wants you!’ My heart raced, blood rushed
into my face... he was holding my passport.
‘I have nothing to
say,’ he said, ‘you know everything. There are three roads: prison, death,
freedom...’
I could care less, I
was beaming with joy, thrilled to be standing before an open door at last. Who
knows what waits on the other side...? I got my passport and some money, turned
over command, said my farewells and ran home. The passport, tucked in under my
shirt, was burning my skin. Back home, I got ready. I was to take one soldier
with me. The night was coming in leaps and bounds, dark and rainy. The night of
5th November.
Many thanks to Barbara Poulter for access to her father's documents and photos
Special thanks also to Kresy-Siberia who originally translated the documents
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