At the door stood Major Jakub Sztajnberg of the district Public Security office. No one with him... Kłyś looked at Kowalik. "Was this a trap?" - each man pondered alone. They both released the safety catch on their pistols. Antoni ordered them to put their guns down in a sharp but quiet voice. "He's on our side - " he said. Sztajnberg took his cap off and entered the house. He looked at the two strangers and immediately judged who they were. He showed no signs of fear.
Antoni beckoned the major to sit down. He didn't offer him a drink. "What can I do for you, Panie majorze?"
"Panie Antoni - I've come to say goodbye. I'm leaving Poland," said Sztajnberg. "I can't tell you about our plans, but... this situation is not right. The communists have lied to us; I'm fed up pretending to cooperate with these butchers. We're off to Israel - that's me and a couple of other Jewish colleagues hiding within party structures. We're off tomorrow - you'll no doubt read some lies about us in next week's papers. But before I go, Panie Antoni, I wanted to thank you for hiding my people from the Nazis; your courage and kindness will never be forgotten. However, I've come to warn you that a major military operation is being planned by the security forces in these parts..."
He looked over at Kłyś and Kowalik, taking measure of them by their appearance. "Tell me, Panowie, why are you holding out? What will you have achieved? You're wasting away. This is not the place from which to hurt the regime; you'll not do anything for your Poland."
Kłyś replied "I just want you - them - to know that they can't get away with it - "
Sztajnberg said "Today things are very, very bad. They'll not get better for a long time. You won't change the course of history by hiding out in the forest."
Kowalik joined in: "Me - I've got nothing to go back to. Family land's been confiscated; family's all dead. My unit's home to me. I'll keep on at it."
Kłyś backed him up. "It's a matter of honour; I'll not bow to the godless Red barbarian!"
"Neither will I," said Sztajnberg, "which is why I'm planning on leaving. It's a way out that lets me live according to my conscience." Kłyś said bitterly: "I have no other country but this one. Our legitimate government's in London; I can't serve from it here, nor there..."
Antoni spoke. "London?" he said bitterly. "What our ministers know of our reality from sitting in cafes in London? I can't really see any sense it holding out any longer. There's no point of any more sacrifice. Time to get out, leave the forest. I can provide clothing and temporary shelter for your men, Panie Kapitanie. Then move - quickly - move west to the regained territories - lower Silesia; I can put you in touch with people who'll fabricate cover stories for all of you."
Sztajnberg said: "The security forces are planning to comb through the forest in two, three weeks time - certainly before the trees come into leaf. They'll be using dogs, flame-throwers, aircraft, helicopters - the 'reactionary bandits' won't have a chance. Get out now while you can."
Two nights later, Captain Kłyś moved his soldiers out of the bunker. The took everything they could and sealed the entrances to their hideout with brambles, soil and leaves. Then they marched smartly in single file down the hillside and made their way to Antoni's barn. They stayed there until the next evening and then, after final farewells, moved off one by one into the dark to begin new lives.
Three days later Kłyś read about a Zionist gang that seized a military transport plane from an airbase near Wrocław and flew it to West Germany.
Kłyś was arrested in May 1951 in Wałbrzych (formerly Waldenburg); he was trying to get a job in the coal mines; something was not right in his CV. He was turned over to the security apparatus, interrogated and tortured, and sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted to 10 years imprisonment after Stalin's death; he was released in 1957. He could not settle down in communist society. After numerous minor brushes with the authorities he took his life in January 1961. The rest of his unit fared better; working in factories or on collective farms, they managed to keep their heads down and lived through the worst of the oppression.
The last 'accursed soldier', Józef Franczak, was killed in a firefight with the communist authorities in October 1963.
This time two years ago:
Flashback trigger
This time four years ago:
First factory
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This is a thought provoking tale. When I lived in Transylvania a few years ago there were stories told by old people of the resistance against communism, which went on at least until the 1960s. Parts of the Bucovina were like the wild west back then. One legacy is that, through the 60s and 70s, the communists built costly new roads through mountains where hardly anyone lived. I remember coming across odd home-made memorial crosses to 'victims of oppression' up in the mountains that seemed, well, euphemistic. Perhaps they referred to post-WW2 victims? But, other tha old people with drink inside them, no-one wanted to talk or to know. It sounds as if the Poles know and care more, and have more certainty as to their identity.
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