It Was Worth It

By Kazimir Ladny

This is my life story. A Polish soldier who survived the inferno of the "Blitzkrieg" in September 1939, when Poland was massacred by the German Nazi armies in cooperation with the Russians.I was taken prisoner of war by the Russians and sent to Siberia. Hitler and Stalin divided Poland among themselves and later decided to exchange POW's. Much had been written about the barbarism committed by countless invaders, I thought this was
just history. How wrong I was .Because I was born in the western part of Poland which was occupied by the Germans, I was sent to Germany. There I lived a dramatic life in various camps-with several escapes-until the end of the war in 1945. After my last escape I met and fell in love with a German war widow who
had helped me while I was in hiding. We were married after my liberation and in 1951 we emigrated to the United States of America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kazimir Ladny
• Release date: Jul 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311236487

Kazimir Ladny

"When my wife died, I was devastated. Seven months later God gave me a Guardian Angel to make my life as pleasant as possible. My Guardian Angel, Mary, was never married. She is very charming and I am wondering how she managed to be single. Was she waiting for me? Although we are not living together we are enjoying life in the fullest, traveling, dancing and having fun. I love my Guardian Angel because I think that God gave her to me as a gift for life. Now again I have something to live for., She is my purpose in life.""Mary Eglin will have sole rights to this publication upon my death"Kazimir LadnyJuly 14, 1914 November 20, 2009I, Mary Eglin appoint Len Nemeth to act in my behalf in any and all activities pertaining to my sole propertythe book "It Was Worth It".Mary Eglin

Book preview

This is my life story. A Polish soldier who survived the inferno of the Blitzkrieg in September 1939, when Poland was massacred by the German Nazi armies in cooperation with the Russians.

When I went to school I learned about the wars in the Dark Ages. Much has been written about the barbarism and the bestialities committed by countless invaders. At that time I thought that this was just history, back in early times people were primitive and uncivilized. Those times were past. Today in our modem, highly-civilized society such atrocities would be unthinkable. How wrong I was.

In most books written about wars, the authors depict fearless knights in shining armor riding forth in glory and bravery. In this book I am just an ordinary soldier who went through the horror of war. There were millions of people who went through the war and many who had even more horrible stories to tell and many who didn’t live to tell them. They perished and took their stories with them to their graves. I went through hell. I was scared and prayed a lot. I managed to stay alive and now, many years later, have written a book about my unforgettable years.

I was taken prisoner of war by the Russians and sent to Siberia. Hitler and Stalin divided Poland among themselves and later decided to exchange POWs. Because I was born in the western part of Poland which was occupied by the Germans, I was sent to Germany. There I lived a dramatic life in various camps — with several escapes — until the end of the war in 1945.

After my last escape I met and fell in love with a German war widow who had helped me while I was in hiding. We were married after my liberation and in 1951 we emigrated to the United States of America.

Upon arrival in this country there were many difficulties to overcome before I was able to assimilate myself and provide a decent standard of living for my family. I did not have any money and could not speak or understand the English language. With hard work, vigilance and perseverance, and without having any formal schooling in English, I have learned enough to be able to write this book.

God Bless America

Kazimir Ladny

Prologue

Her wild brown eyes stared into mine, long, sharp nose crinkled in concentration. The old woman’s frail voice creaked as she laid the tarot cards carefully on the table.

You have a very interesting future, young man.

1 gazed across the table at the old gypsy. A weathered grey shawl hung loosely over her shoulders covering the top of her faded blue dress. Tufts of dark, matted hair poked out under the bright red scarf wrapped around her head. She smiled slightly, carving new lines into her withered, ancient face.

Yes, the dry voice crackled in interest, wavering up and down like a singing bird, a very exciting future.

Much as I liked what the gypsy was telling me, I found it hard to share her enthusiasm. Gypsies were a common sight in Poland in 1936 and infamous for their thievery and swindling. I had long since learned to ignore their mystic gibberish, besides, although I planned on leaving the dull routine of the farm for a life in the big city, I could hardly expect a mysterious, exciting future.

Yet the gypsy sure seemed to have an interest in me. Even after mother fed the old lady, she insisted on telling my future. The gypsy seemed to notice my attention drifting and picked up another card, eyes wide in typical gypsy exaggeration.

Ah, she said, staring at me intently. You are planning to be married in the near future.

This was true. In two weeks I was to be wed in a quiet ceremony which few people knew about. How could the gypsy know this?

Forget this marriage, she warned eagerly, glad to have finally won my attention. There will be no marriage at this time. No, your wife to be is far, far away. According to my cards, she’s not even in this country. It will be a long time before you meet her.

This angered me somewhat. How dare this women suggest Sophie and I wouldn’t be married? But she did have my interest now. I wondered what other ludicrous things she would foresee.

You belong to this house, she continued, but you make your living elsewhere and elsewhere you are going to be.

The gypsy shuffled the cards and divided them into new patterns on the table. I looked over my shoulder at mother, busily preparing lunch in the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and smiled warmly at me.

The old woman stared down at the cards and shook her head in disbelief. Now what, I wondered Young man’ she nearly whispered through her rotting teeth, prepare yourself for a rough future. You will come close to death many times. You will suffer the greatest miseries a man can endure.

I felt a little uneasy at this. Never before had I heard a gypsy make such grim predictions. Usually they foretold pleasant and innocent events in hopes of increasing their profit.

But, she dragged out the words as if they were revealing themselves to her one at a time, you will be a survivor.

She glanced down at the cards again and smiled, a rotten odor drifting across the table from her squalid clothes.

Ah, here the sun is shining again and you are happy. I see you with your wife and children far away. You will go across the great water and there you will live like a king.

This was more what I expected. Probably the gypsy hadn’t liked my attitude and had made up a horror story, then hoping to get more food, had sweetened the ending.

The gypsy pushed the cards back together.

I envy you, young man, but I wouldn’t want any part of what you will go through in the near future,

She remained at the table as I got up and my older brother, Karol, took my place. From what I overheard his fortune was short and not particularly interesting. He would soon meet a mysterious person, an event of great happiness would come in the near future and other typical gypsy predictions.

Before leaving the gypsy asked to see my palm. Reluctantly I gave her my hand, hoping to finally be rid of her. She studied it awhile and her eyes lit up again.

Yes, you will have a very exciting life.

My mother gave the gypsy two eggs and she ambled away thanking us for our kindness.

I didn’t put much stock in these prophecies, not even after my engagement was broken off the following day under strange circumstances. After all what could a dirty old gypsy women know about my fate? I laughed off her superstitious nonsense, even if she had been lucky enough to guess something right. I expected a simple life as a businessman in my beloved country of Poland. Adventure and excitement were definitely not in my future... but how right she was. Remarkable

Chapter I Mobilization

March 23, 1939 dawned drearily on our little farm in Poland. Grey clouds blotted the sky, and a keen, steady rain splashed across the empty brown fields. The damp, chilly air bit to the bone.

Unable to work in the fields, local farmers spent their day in the house after finishing barnyard chores. Women mended worn clothing, children wrestled on the floor, and men repaired equipment. Regardless of the weather, time would not be wasted.

My father, my younger brother Peter, and I had been working in the barn all morning cleaning stalls, brushing down the animals and repairing harnesses when mother called from the back porch that lunch was ready. A small grin creased the old man’s wrinkled face and I knew he felt as hungry as we did. The three of us washed up as best we could at the horse trough, then sloshed through the mud to the house. As we stomped onto the porch, my mother’s voice sounded a warning.

Don’t be tracking dirt in here now, she scowled. Take those filthy boots off. My kitchen floor has just been cleaned. We looked at each other knowingly and followed orders.

The warm smell of freshly baked bread and steaming potato soup wafted through the doorway as we came in. We hung our coats up and sat down at the heavy oak table, stained and scratched with the use of many years. My older brothers, Karol and Stanislaw, along with the youngest of the family, 16 year old Francesca, were already seated. Mother set the cutting board and a loaf of bread on the table with the soup and joined us. As father recited the blessing, I hungrily watched the steam rising from the soup in front of me.

May we turn on the radio, Papa? I asked when he had finished the prayer.

He grunted his permission. I reached back to the cupboard behind him and switched on the radio. A dramatic Chopin ballad peppered with occasional static drifted across the room. We all silently concentrated on our meal. The gentle tapping of soup spoons against plates, and the soft slurping of soup filled the room. Meals were always like this. The time for talk came afterwards.

When lunch was finished we men settled back, lit cigarettes, and listened to the rolling piano chords from the radio over the clatter of dishes as mother and sister cleared the table.

In the middle of one tune the radio suddenly went dead. After a brief a silence a deep voice sounded: Attention, Attention We are broadcasting a military order. A2 - B12 - A7 - B4 . . Clearly a code of some sort. The same order repeated and then the music resumed as if nothing had happened.

What does it mean? my mother asked,, worriedly.

Papa shrugged his shoulders. I don’t know.

I pushed back my chair and got up from the table. Well, if this means war, I for one wouldn’t mind a little excitement. I was in the army reserve and thought I knew what military life was all about.

My father glared up at me, his face grim. Son, you don’t know what you’re asking for. There’s excitement in war, all right, but it’s the damned excitement of hell. He had spent three years in the front line trenches of World War 1 and one year as a prisoner of war in Austro-Hungary.

Of course, I hadn’t been serious. Like other Poles I didn’t see any real danger of war. The previous year Hitler had made an Anschlus with Austria and then annexed the Sudetenland. But then he had met in Munich with the British Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, and everything had been settled.

Chamberlain said, There wouldn’t be any war in our lifetime after signing the treaty with Hitler. In the Polish press and on the radio there was absolutely nothing about serious friction with Germany. I tried to laugh it off; of course, I hadn’t been serious.

After a while I became tired of listening to the constant interruptions on the radio so I went outside. I was standing in the driveway when I saw a messenger from the mayor’s office running in my direction. He called to me from a distance, Kazimir, get ready — mobilization. You are kidding, I said. He answered excitedly that he had never been more serious in his life. Then he gave me some papers saying, Those are for you and the other ones are for your brothers. He had many more yet to deliver. I looked at my papers and there it was in capital letters: WITHIN TWO HOURS AFTER RECEIVING THIS NOTICE YOU MUST LEAVE YOUR HOUSE AND TAKE THE SHORTEST WAY TO YOUR DESTINATION, which in my case was

Brest-Litowsk. Now I knew the meaning of the military orders given over the radio.

For us young men it was exciting, but for our parents it was a day of sorrow. It was sad to part with our aging and concerned parents, but to cheer them up we were saying that we would be back for Easter. Two hours is a very short time, especially if you are parting for what might be the last time. It was getting dark and we had to leave. Yes, it was getting dark, and so was our future.

When we left we joined many other young men who were going to the main highway hoping to find some kind of transportation to the nearest railroad station. My aging father offered to take us there with a horse wagon, but we turned him down. From now on he said, we will have to take care of ourselves.

Somehow I was not so sure of myself anymore. For the first time I had the feeling that it would be a long, long time, if ever, before I returned, but 1 cut off this pessimistic line of thought. Many might not return, but I? I will take care of myself. Something told me that my simple country life would never be the same again. A half hour later my two older brothers and I prepared to leave. Each of us had been ordered to different duty stations.

We felt this was just a trial run. Those damned Warsaw bureaucrats want to see how fast we can mobilize in an emergency my brother Karol argued we’ll be back before Easter." I agreed with him; surely this was nothing serious. Only Mama and Papa were fearful. They remembered being drawn into the Great War and all they had gone through then. It wasn’t until much later I understood some of the thoughts that must have been tearing at them as they embraced us on that cold, wet March day. Now three sons, flesh of their flesh, going off to an unknown fate. Some of them might be saying goodbye forever. But at the time their sorrow didn’t dampen my spirits. In my ignorance I was eager to be off, to see what this new life might offer.

Finally the time came to go. After a last tearful embrace, my two brothers and I set off in the fading daylight down the muddy road leading to the main highway. There we hoped to find transportation to the railroad station in Radzyn.

The rain finally stopped as we headed down the road. Along the way several friends joined us, other young men called to mobilize. Once on the highway we stopped a truck and asked the driver to take us to the railroad station. Fie didn’t believe a word of our story about the mobilization, figuring we were just a bunch of young hooligans out making trouble. After a long argument with the driver, I got caught up in the excitement.

Get the hell out I screamed, flinging the door open. If you won’t take us there then I’ll drive myself.

This idea appealed to him even less than our earlier request. He relented and began driving us to the station, although I still don’t think he believed about the mobilization. Along the way somebody started singing a military song, and we all happily joined in. We acted like we were going on a picnic.

Hundreds of men were already gathered at the railroad station when we arrived. The mood among them was almost festive. Most thought as we did, that this mobilization was no more than a drill. Anyway, it would be more exciting than tending the fields or cattle.

After waiting an hour or so, we were finally loaded onto a train. As it left the station and picked up speed, our mood sobered. I would be leaving my brothers and many close friends at the Lukow station. As the train rolled through the countryside we told stories about the good times we had shared and imagined the fun we would have once this was over. Then, more quickly than I thought possible, my brothers and friends had gone, and I was in Lukow boarding another train.

Now everyone was on his own, taking care of himself. For a moment I felt a twinge of self-doubt. It might be a long, long time before I returned. But I could take care of myself. I would be a survivor.

Army trucks awaited our train as it pulled into the garrison city of Brest-Litowsk They took us to the city’s famous fortress where everything was in confusion in the darkness as we waited in long lines to sign in for duty. After this we were left to fend for ourselves until morning so I climbed into a parked truck and managed to fall asleep.

The reflection in the truck’s mirror of a bright sun burning in a cloudless sky woke me the next morning. Stretching myself fully awake, I joined the other men heading for the parade ground. Once there, the long, disorderly operation began of processing the soldiers into units, giving assignments, and issuing uniforms and equipment.

I had been trained in the army reserve in counter intelligence. Yet this rank was kept secret because part of my job was keeping an eye on military personnel to ensure no spies infiltrated the army. When my turn came to be given an assignment, the man thought I was a private and therefore assigned me the job of chauffeuring a major. Tomorrow morning I was to report to Major Opal for duty.

The following morning little had changed at the fortress. All day soldiers were shuffled back and forth between areas, as units slowly started taking shape. I reported to Major Opal as requested. The major, who knew my true rank, said he was now my superior, and I must report everything directly to him. I would be part of his unit, the Fourth Battalion cadre of the Telegraph and Signal Corps, Internal Security Section. He gave me a second lieutenant ID card and insignia but told me these were only to be used in an emergency. To the other men in the unit I would remain a private, performing whatever duties were asked of me. Major Opal told me our unit was to remain at the fortress until orders arrived.

Two days of playing blackjack, sleeping, and general boredom passed without any orders coming. It was all nothing but a damned mobilization drill. Soon they would tell us everything was under control, and we could go home to our sweethearts.

On the third day orders came. We were told to get our gear and fall in; within the hour we would be moving out to the railroad station. I was skeptical but we actually left on schedule and were each issued thirty rounds of live ammunition at the station. The skeptic in me began to die. It seemed somebody meant business.

Before boarding the train, my battalion was reassigned, made part of Headquarters, Inspectorate of the Third Army, The train took us to a small town not far from the German border. This was the first real inkling we had of where trouble might be coming from. The radio, silent until now about the mobilization, began broadcasting the real story. For the first time, we learned what was going on.

Hitler had recently given an ultimatum to Poland about the so-called corridor a section of Poland which had been part of Germany before the first World War and now separated East Prussia from Germany. Germany wanted to build an autobahn through this corridor which would cut off Poland from the Baltic Sea.

Poland, under heavy pressure from France and England, refused and had ordered this mobilization to make the point quite clear. In effect, Poland had told him, You will not take us over as you did Austria and Czechoslovakia without a shot. Here you will have to fight and you can be sure that we will give you one hell of a fight. Hitler got the message; he began negotiating with Stalin for a mutual assistance pact.

Poor Poland was about to be squeezed between two giants. But this was not the first time in its history that my country had to face such a challenge. In the 18th century Germany, Russia, and Austro-Hungary had conquered and divided Poland among themselves; World War I had wreaked its havoc on the Polish nation. Our forefathers had fought, suffered in Siberia and died for the freedom and independence we Poles now enjoyed. And it seemed our turn was now upon us. We might have to pay a high price but to retain our freedom we would gladly pay it.

To our government it seemed that Hitler had backed off somewhat from his threats against Poland, so our headquarters was moved back from the border to the city of Lodz. The date was April 7,1939 — Good Friday It was clear that we wouldn’t be home for Easter. We consoled ourselves with the thought that with us on guard our families at least could celebrate their Easter in peace.

We spent several months in Lodz sitting around playing cards and talking. War seemed highly unlikely since Poland had earlier signed a mutual assistance treaty with England and France. After all, Germany was relatively weak compared to the combined forces of these three powers. Hitler, having been in power only seven years, couldn’t possibly have rearmed Germany well enough to fight a war on two fronts. Surely he had learned the history lesson of World War I.

On August 23 Hitler stunned the world by signing a treaty with Stalin in which both sides agreed to mutual non-intervention for ten years, We didn’t learn the most shocking part until later — an agreement to divide Poland and the Baltic states between Russia and Germany. Once again Poland was being squeezed between two giants.

During this period our military leaders were making patriotic speeches about fighting to the end against all aggressors. They talked about the brave fighting spirit of Polish soldiers but those of us standing guard realized we — not the speakers of these fine words — would do the fighting and dying.

In truth the Polish government had such low confidence in a war against the combined might of Germany and Russia that in May they had begun sending our best and most modern military equipment to England, along with our national treasure. Anti-aircraft weapons and the highly effective PZL warplanes were sent through Romania to our ally England, in hopes the English would use them to defend Poland and to prevent them, in case Hitler won, from falling into German hands.

Little did we know we were being left behind with only our fighting spirit to save us. In our ignorance we still naively thought Hitler wouldn’t be so stupid as to attack us. We would soon learn otherwise.

Chapter II Among the Enemy

I spent the last night of August in town at Lodz and returned to base fairly late. Not wanting to waken anyone, I folded myself onto the back seat of my car and tried to get a few hours sleep. Shortly after six in the morning a friend of mine on night duty found me and shook me awake.

Kazimir, the war . . . he sputtered frantically.

War? I rubbed my eyes and tried to shake myself awake. What war? I asked wearily.

The war with Germany, he said firmly, then lowering his voice to a near whisper. It’s just started. But this is top secret. Don’t repeat this until we get an official announcement.

I jumped out of the car, still not quite believing. Are you sure?

Yes, the German army has crossed the Polish border in force. Heavy fighting is taking place on all fronts. The news came in while I was on duty.

History is in the making, I thought, almost joyfully, and I will be a part of it. Now we aren’t just talking, we’re fighting. And every beginning has an end; who knows what the end of this beginning will be?

From the very first minute Hitler put all the firing power he had at his disposition against us. He wanted to make a Blitzkrieg, to squash Poland as soon as possible so that he could turn against the western powers. He was not sure how quickly France and England would react. His biggest strength was the Luftwaffe, especially the dive bombers. The Sturzkampfflugzeuge, or Stukas, which were formidable, were everywhere like mosquitoes. They were bombing and shooting at everything that was moving; even cattle in the pastures were not spared. We didn’t have any fortifications along the border, so enemy tanks and dive bombers were making hay of our defense.

Our military vehicles and equipment, many of them left over from WWI given to Poland by allies, seemed woefully inadequate to repel the German attack.

We watched in fascinated horror as the Stukas swarmed in making a terrifying sound as they swooped down like hawks, emitting a piercing wail from the sirens on their undercarriages called Jericho Trumpets.

Indeed, in Poland the walls were falling down. The railroad station and many other buildings at Lodz were devastated, but somehow our headquarters remained intact.

Even with the onset of the German invasion, war remained a game to many people. On the second day of war one man in our unit was driving back to headquarters in his van when he passed an unexploded bomb lying on the sidewalk. Thrilled by his discovery of this dud bomb, he loaded it onto the back of Ms vehicle and brought it back to headquarters to show us. Our faces turned white when we saw this young, naive soldier unloading a bomb from Ms van. Although it did turn out to be a harmless dud, we took turns attacking the fool.

What the hell do you think you’re doing? the major screamed, his face burning red. That could have blown us all to pieces. Don’t ever do that again

The Germans quickly overran two of our battalion’s forward communications positions at Wielun and Sieradz. On the third day I was ordered to go to Lask and either dismantle or destroy our third position, depending on the situation. Alone in my car I sped along the highway toward our endangered post. As I went through the railroad underpass marking our main defense line, I waved at the soldiers on guard.

When I arrived at the position, the men there were already dismantling it. Only the mainline to headquarters was still open. After giving the order to dismantle everything, I stood by the window talking to the lieutenant who commanded the post. Suddenly, out of the comer of my eye, I noticed some movement. I glanced out the window at the city square.

My God, They’re here I yelled, pointing.

On the far side of the square, a column of German armored cars, motorcycles, and trucks was moving toward us along the same road I had driven but going the opposite direction. Already they were too close for us to escape in time. We were cut off. It looked hopeless, the enemy in force 300 feet away and only a handful of us armed with carbines, revolvers, and a few hand grenades. The war was only three days old, and it looked like it might already be over for us.

Then I noticed two Polish trucks moving along with the Germans, clearly having been abandoned and taken over by the enemy. TMs gave me an idea. After making sure all our equipment was unusable, I ordered everyone but the lieutenant onto the back of our truck.

I want all you men to lie down flat with your heads toward the tailgate, I ordered. That way your helmets will give you some protection. No matter what happens, don’t move or lift your heads unless you want to get us all killed. They followed orders mindlessly, glad to see someone taking charge.

As I removed my helmet, I turned to the lieutenant. Take your helmet off and sit up front with me.

I motioned him to the passenger side. I climbed in behind the wheel and started the truck. The lieutenant was shaking his head in disbelief as he slid in beside me.

Open your uniform, I said, and push it back so the insignia won’t show.

You’re crazy he muttered as he followed my instructions.

Yes,, maybe I am, I said, grinning, but who ever heard of a rational war In this war we may have to do a lot of crazy things just to survive.

Clenching my teeth, I put the truck in gear and pulled out of the driveway. I drove along a side road which connected to the highway the Germans were using. When I reached the edge of the highway, I waited for an opening in the evenly spaced convoy. As soon as a truck passed, I hit the gas and we squeezed quickly into the row of cars, forcing all the vehicles behind us to slow down for a moment.

We had made it safely into the line, fooling the Germans into thinking we were part of their convoy. However, in my rush to enter I had pulled right behind a motorcycle with a side car. At first the Germans ignored our intrusion but after awhile the officer in the motorcycle’s side car got curious. He turned around and began looking us over suspiciously.

With a forced grin on my face, I elbowed the lieutenant. Smile, damn it, I whispered through my teeth. Tell me a joke or something.

What you’re doing is the biggest joke of my life.

I know, I replied, maintaining my grin, but at least if we have to die, we’ll die smiling.

Isn’t that nice, he grunted sarcastically, faking a smile.

Our happy expressions and relaxed manner soon made the German officer lose interest in us. Now we were safely in, but how could we get out? I was scared as hell and the closer we got to the defense lines, the more frightened I became. I didn’t want to die, especially not by Polish bullets, the victim of a freak accident. What a fool I was to put myself in such a predicament. But there was no going back now.

What are you worried about? I asked the lieutenant lightly, trying to reassure myself as much as him. We’re going home.

Isn’t that nice, he muttered with a fixed smile as sweat dripped down his face.

The column moved at what seemed, in our precarious situation, an agonizingly slow pace. Surely the Germans knew they would be fired on sooner or later. They would then dive into the ditches and fire back. I hadn’t yet figured out what we would do.

As we moved closer and closer to the defense line, I grew tense. Every yard was precious to us. The closer we got to the defense lines, the better our chance to break through and run for our lives. By the surrounding countryside I could tell the railroad overpass was fast approaching.

The rumble of the convoy receded to a mere murmur in the back of my mind as I strained my ears for the first sounds of Polish gunfire. The steering wheel seemed to bend under the fierce grip of my hands as I leaned forward in anticipation, grinding my teeth. Then the expected explosion of gunfire erupted into the afternoon stillness with startling force. A truck not far ahead of us burst into flame and smoke, and the column ground to a halt. The shouting of orders and the screams of the wounded and dying clawed at the air. Machine gun and rifle fire cut into the Germans and their vehicles as they drove for cover in the ditches on either side of the road.

Amidst the confusion I pulled out of the column into the oncoming traffic lane and stepped on the gas as hard as I could. I prayed the Germans would be too confused to understand what was happening, and that my Polish brothers on the defense line wouldn’t waste their bullets on us. Flames from burning trucks and cars lashed out at us as we sped toward our defense line, machine gun fire echoing in our ears. The truck lurched violently several times as I was forced to drive over bodies on the highway, dead or alive I knew not nor cared. We cleared the convoy and were just a short ways from the underpass when some of the Germans realized who we were and began firing on us. My heart nearly stopped as I felt our back tires pop. I gripped the wheel tightly, fighting the truck for control as it tilted wildly back and forth. Somehow I managed to hold the rattling truck steady until we burst through the other side of the underpass to safety.

Finally I brought the wobbly truck to a stop and collapsed over the wheel, sobbing for breath, and soaking wet with what I vaguely hoped was sweat. Without raising my head, I called to the lieutenant. No answer. Then I heard a sobbing sound. Pushing myself off the wheel, I looked over to my right. There was my lieutenant, hugging the floor, shaking like a leaf. I scoffed inwardly at his fear until I tried to light a cigarette and discovered I needed both hands to steady the match.

Pale, his whole body trembling, the lieutenant managed to hoist himself onto the seat. You’re crazy, he said with a warped expression of relief and fright. Crazy. Do you know that?

I smiled. Isn’t that nice.

While the two of us recovered, some of our defenders had approached the truck, rifles at the ready. When they discovered who we were, their only comment was a sarcastic more luck than brains before they hurried back to their defense line positions.

I was glad they hadn’t stuck around, being in no mood to argue with anyone. By now all the men had gotten out of the truck. They were in good shape but for a few bruises, so I put them to work changing the truck’s shot- out tires as the battle continued on the other side of the crossing.

After a few hours of salvaging usable wheels and tires from several wrecked trucks in the area, the men finally had our truck ready to go. I was still shaking from our adventure as I climbed back behind the wheel. We made good time on the highway, and by the time I reported in to headquarters I was myself again.

Shortly after midnight we got orders to move out in the morning before five o’clock. This put me in a predicament. I had left my car behind at the outpost we had just dismantled. My major told me to find whatever transportation I could, any way I could. Although the regular Polish army was fairly well equipped, reserve units like ours had to use government-requisitioned civilian cars and trucks, most of which were in very poor condition. I wasn’t too happy about this situation but deciding to make the best of it, looked up a sergeant friend of mine who had an automobile, and together we went to the city to go car hunting."

We drove into Lodz about one o’clock in the morning and began cruising