The Strength of Wills

By Allen Walker

Inspired by a true story, The Strength of Wills, follows two disparate people on an extraordinary and dangerous journey of over two-and-a-half thousand miles across war-torn Europe.

A Polish teenager, recently orphaned, crosses the path of a cantankerous man in his late sixties. In the beginning, they form a contrasting and volatile association, but as they travel together, the appalling experiences they share, side-by-side and apart, alters their existence way beyond their imaginations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allen Walker
• Release date: Aug 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463155776

Allen Walker

Allen Walker was first published in a technical journal associated with camerawork. Instantly appealing to his audience, he was commissioned to produce a series of ten articles. “The Strength of Wills is my debut novel, self-published and released in June 2018, it has already sold over one hundred copies”. He is fortunate to have two homes and likes to spend as much time as possible in his French property and drive about the countryside in his beloved, modern classic XKR.

Book preview

Foreword

It is said that everyone has a book within them.

This book has been many years in the making – inspired by the true life story of a person the author met at his workplace. The beginnings were made and then put to one side for many a year.

Eighteen months ago, I was privileged to be shown some draft pages of this novel. I was impressed by what I read, so much so that I set the author a challenge – to finish the book by his sixtieth birthday.

This he has done, and the end result is quite something. The author has the talent to make us laugh, to cry and to ponder. We despair at the hopelessness of war, fearing for the future, but taking each day and each adventure as it comes, laughing often and wondering at the joy of human relationships.

Proof has been made that there is indeed a book within. I look forward to the sequel, as I am sure you will after reading this story.

Well done, my friend, you have risen to the challenge indeed.

Carolyn Dowe

August 31, 1939 – Reichstag, Berlin

Address by Adolf Hitler

~ Chancellor of the Reich ~

For months we have been suffering under the torture of a problem which the Versailles Diktat created – a problem which has become intolerable. Danzig was and is a German city. The Corridor was and is German. Both these territories owe their cultural development exclusively to the German people. Danzig was separated from us and the Corridor was annexed by Poland. As in other German territories of the East, all German minorities living there have been ill-treated in the most distressing manner. More than one million people of German blood had in the years 1919–1920 to leave their homeland.

I have made proposals for the revision of these intolerable conditions. All my proposals have been rejected – proposals for limitation of armaments and if necessary, disarmament. You are aware of these proposals that I have made to restore German sovereignty over German territories, and the endless attempts I made for a peaceful understanding of the problem of Austria, and later of the problem of the Sudetenland, Bohemia, and Moravia. It was all in vain.

It is impossible to demand that an impossible position should be cleared up by peaceful revision and at the same time constantly reject peaceful revision. It is also impossible to say that he who undertakes to carry out these revisions for himself transgresses a law, since the Versailles Diktat is not law to us. A signature was forced out of us with pistols at our head and with the threat of hunger for millions of people.

In the same way, I have also tried to solve the problem of Danzig, the Corridor, etc., by proposing a peaceful discussion. That the problems had to be solved was clear.

In my talks with Polish statesmen I discussed the ideas which you recognize from my last speech to the Reichstag. No-one could say that this was in any way an inadmissible procedure. I formulated the German proposals, and there is nothing more modest or loyal than these proposals. I should like to say this to the world. I alone was in the position to make such proposals, for I know very well that in doing so I brought myself into opposition to millions of Germans.

These proposals have been refused. Not only were they answered first with mobilization, but with increased terror and pressure against our German compatriots and with a slow strangling of the Free City of Danzig – economically, politically, and in recent weeks by military and transport means. Poland has directed its attacks against the Free City of Danzig. Moreover, Poland was not prepared to settle the Corridor question in a reasonable way which would be equitable to both parties, and she did not think of keeping her obligations to minorities. I must here state, Germany has kept these obligations; the minorities who live in Germany are not persecuted. No Frenchman can stand up and say that any Frenchman living in the Saar territory is oppressed, tortured, or deprived of his rights.

I informed the Polish Ambassador three weeks ago that if Poland continued to send to Danzig notes in the form of ultimata, and if on the Polish side an end was not put to Customs measures destined to ruin Danzig’s trade, then the Reich could not remain inactive.

An attempt was made to justify the oppression of the Germans by claiming that they had committed acts of provocation. I do not know in what these provocations on the part of women and children consist, if they themselves are maltreated, in some cases killed. No great Power can with honour alone stand by passively and watch such events.

The British Government proposed, not that they themselves should carry on the negotiations, but rather that Poland and Germany should come into direct contact and once more pursue negotiations. I must declare that I accepted this proposal.

For two whole days I sat in my Government and waited to see whether it was convenient for the Polish Government to send a plenipotentiary or not. Instead, Poland informed us through their Ambassador that they were still considering whether and to what extent they were in a position to go into the British proposals.

The Polish Government also said that they would inform Britain of their decision. If the German Government and its Leader patiently endured such treatment, Germany would deserve only to disappear from the political stage. I am wrongly judged if my love of peace and my patience are mistaken for weakness or even cowardice. I therefore informed the British Government that in these circumstances I can no longer find any willingness on the part of the Polish Government to conduct serious negotiations with us.

These proposals for mediation have failed because in the meanwhile there, first of all, came as an answer the sudden Polish general mobilization, followed by more Polish atrocities. These were again repeated last night. Recently in one night there were as many as twenty-one frontier incidents: last night there were fourteen, of which three were quite serious. I have, therefore, resolved to speak to Poland in the same language that Poland for months past has used toward us. This attitude on the part of the Reich will not change.

The other European States understand in part our attitude. I should like here above all to thank Italy, which throughout has supported us, but you will understand that for the carrying on of this struggle we do not intend to appeal to foreign help. We will carry out this task ourselves. The neutral States have assured us of their neutrality, just as we had already guaranteed it to them.

I have solemnly assured them, and I repeat it, that we ask nothing of those Western States and never will ask anything. I have declared that the frontier between France and Germany is a final one. I have repeatedly offered friendship and, if necessary, the closest co-operation to Britain, but this cannot be offered from one side only. It must find response on the other side. Germany has no interests in the West, and our western wall is for all time the frontier of the Reich on the west. With this assurance we are in solemn earnest, and as long as others do not violate their neutrality we will likewise take every care to respect it. I am happy particularly to be able to tell you of one event. I no longer see any reason why Russia and Germany should still oppose one another. Any struggle between our people would only be of advantage to others. We have, therefore, resolved to conclude a pact which rules out forever any use of violence between us.

I am determined to solve: the Danzig question; the question of the Corridor and to see to it that a change is made in the relationship between Germany and Poland that shall ensure a peaceful coexistence. I will see to it that in the East there is, on the frontier, a peace precisely similar to that on our other frontiers. I will not war against women and children. I have ordered my air force to restrict itself to attacks on military objectives.

This night for the first time Polish regular soldiers fired on our territory. Since 5:45 am we have been returning the fire, and from now on bombs will be met by bombs. Whoever fights with poison gas will be fought with poison gas. Whoever departs from the rules of humane warfare can only expect that we shall do the same.

For six years I have been working on building up the German defences. Over ninety million have in that time been spent on the building up of these defence forces. They are now the best-equipped and are above all comparison with what they were in 1914. My trust in them is unshakable. When I called up these forces and when I now ask sacrifices of the German people and if necessary every sacrifice, then I have a right to do so, for I also am today absolutely ready to make every possible sacrifice.

I am asking of no German man more than I myself was ready to do. My whole life henceforth belongs more than ever to my people. I am from now on just first soldier of the German Reich. I have once more put on that coat that was most sacred and dear to me. I will not take it off again until victory is secured, or I will not survive the outcome.

My whole life has been nothing but one long struggle for my people, for its restoration, and for Germany. There was only one watchword for that struggle: faith in this people. One word I have never learned: that is, surrender. Whoever, however, thinks he can oppose this national command, whether directly or indirectly, shall fail. We have nothing to do with traitors. We are all faithful to our old principle. It is quite unimportant whether we ourselves live, but it is essential that our people shall live, that Germany shall live. The sacrifice that is demanded of us is not greater than many generations have made. If we form a community closely bound together by vows, ready for anything, resolved never to surrender, then our will shall master every hardship and difficulty.

I would like to close with the declaration that I once made when I began the struggle for power in the Reich. ‘If our will is so strong that no hardship and suffering can subdue it, then our will and our German might shall prevail.’

Introduction

She rode the lulls and sliced the crests of a cold, heartless sea. White horses broke about her flank like seal pups around their mother.

Her name was Schleswig Holstein, one of Germany’s armoured cruisers. At this moment in her history, she was being used as a training ship and plausibly disguised as such. This gave her an uneasy air of innocence, which became blatant guilt when early this day her armament was turned towards the fortifications of the Westerplatte where the majority of the Polish Navy was located.

The heavy cloud-laden skies blended seamlessly with the charcoal-grey sea: forbidding, threatening and belying anyone’s belief that there was a heaven above. For almost six years hence, that belief was to be well-founded. It was only a matter of minutes before nature’s darkness was to be combined with the clouds of a war to which even Almighty God seemed destined to turn a blind eye. The Third Reich, with all its evil, misled might and confidence in its ability to destroy everything in its path, named this single month’s annihilation Blitzkrieg. It was Hitler’s and his armies’ intention to tear the heart out of Poland and, consequently, out of its people. A man driven by that familiar and ugly part of human nature – greed. A powerful, contagious, yet totally negative trait that has the extraordinary ability to provide a firm hold over a demoralised and depressed nation.

Using four entire armies, Hitler attacked Poland from the Baltic Sea in the north, from his own country in the west and from the already conquered Czechoslovakia to the south. If that wasn’t sufficient, he utilised the assistance of his forces from Prussia in the north-east. The planning was meticulous, the organisation flawless, the success devastating.

The terrible onslaught had begun with a vengeance. The ravages of a war that would last many years and lead to the brutal suffering and murder of millions of innocent people had found its next easy victim.

Buildings were torn apart by the huge eight-inch guns of the Schleswig Holstein, supported by Ju-87 dive-bombers, familiarly known as Stukas, along with Ju-88s and Me-110 fighter-bombers. Planes that throbbed like giant swarms of hornets above. Their incessant thrum punctuated by the terrifying screams of the dive-bombing Stukas, themselves matching the screams from the many thousands of horror-stricken people below…

Part

I

August 31, 1939 – Westerplatte, Danzig, Poland

Before it all

The huge limb of the dock crane whirred around with alarming speed under the aggressive control of its experienced operator. Large, fleshy hands grasped the grimy levers with remarkable dexterity; their owner’s tongue lapped at the corners of his mouth in vehement concentration. This was work the hefty, truculent man relished. He was in sole command of this great machine – wielding this sort of power excited him.

Jedrek watched him through the corner of his eye. Please God, don’t let me end up like him. Jedrek was an only child, a healthy lad in his mid-teens. His temperament was from his mother’s side, as was his stature. His more masculine traits were passed on to him by his father, whom he clearly despised at that young, impressionable age. Jedrek did fear him; he was twice his size and struck him often with either his belt or his massive hands. Even with Jedrek’s limited accumulation of wisdom, he firmly believed that his father was a truly ignorant man.

Like every other morning, this day he worked feverishly to prepare the cargo and attach it to the crane arm ready for his father to swing his mechanical erection to and from the barge – their home. If he ever lost concentration, precisely what he was doing at that moment, all hell would surely break loose.

In a tiny galley on the barge, the brute’s wife, Jedrek’s mother, readied clothes and provisions for their outgoing trip the following day. Maria was a gentle soul. She had worked hard all her life and it showed on both her hands and face. She lived for Jedrek whom she gave birth to when she was twenty-four. The labour was long, hard and painful. She being of slight build made matters considerably worse.

Pausing her duties, she gazed through the narrow galley window at her son – her treasure. When Jedrek immediately noticed her watching, he winked and smiled in return. Simultaneously, he felt a burning glare from his father. Maria looked away, a single tear ran down her face. Like all mothers, she was too well aware of what was going on and, in particular, what was about to happen.

September 1, 1939 – The Port of Danzig, Poland – 04:45

The Onslaught

Day 1

Jedrek imagined himself as Baron Munchausen astride a smooth steel shell flying with deadly accuracy through the dense, acrid smoke of battle. His one problem was that, unlike the notorious Baron, he was unable to control any part of his body. His ears were splitting, his head felt as if it had cracked open, his whole body felt as though it was being ripped apart.

The flight – merely seconds – remained long enough for his sixteen years to flash before him several times over. It was only when he regained some measure of consciousness that he realised this was certainly no ride.

The edge of a massive blast, which caused his flight, threw him directly onto a sprawling stack of cargo. Air forced out of his body prompted him to shriek involuntarily, despite a fortunate soft landing. He was conscious of the shouting from wounded and dying people all around him, but he was totally unaware that in those few seconds he had lost his parents, his home and any semblance of family.

Jedrek’s dizziness slowly faded. Confused over the gravity of his situation, he stood absolutely fearless, irrespective of all the dangers and horrors around. Smoke and dirt entered his eyes, which he then rubbed in, further marring his vision. He shouted for his mother. He knew where she had been moments before his unexpected flight, so he pulled himself together as best he could and made his way through the debris and carnage that lay strewn across his wandering path. The dock crane was a mangled wreck. His father was probably somewhere around, but Jedrek thought no more of him and raced to the quayside.

The barge was below the water, offering up a sprinkling of their meagre possessions with bubbles of trapped air. The murky waters were coloured with the blood of his mother. She had no chance. Remaining oblivious to the dangers, Jedrek’s heart sank and his mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Slowly, he stepped back away from the horror, unaware that his next step would take him to an area of damaged quayside and he’d topple directly into the harbour waters.

The bitter cold brought him back to his senses in an instant. He screamed out as a piece of red-hot shrapnel sliced through his arm. The icy waters began to numb his movement; staying afloat was becoming increasingly difficult.

Normally a powerful swimmer, his progress towards his goal – a sewage outlet – was excruciating. The pipe lay several feet above the waterline and scarcely large enough for him to squeeze into. Forgetfully stretching up his wounded arm, Jedrek cried out as a sharp pain shot through his body and he caught a mouthful of filthy water spewing from the pipe. He retched and accidentally took in gulps of the saltwater, which itself was heavily contaminated with fuel oil and rotting cargo. He fought for air in between the intakes of poison. The wash repeatedly smashed him against the walls. He scraped at the concrete and ripped his fingers on the coarse material. His sight began to blur, the pain became agony, he was afraid he would pass out before reaching the only haven available.

Enemy boats filtering into the harbour generated a heavy swell, so he readied himself to rise with one of the greater washes and pull himself into the pipe. On the second attempt, Jedrek almost succeeded when machine gunfire spattered its way across his path, violently ripping at the quayside. Fragments of flying concrete cut into his face, the dust momentarily blinding him. By this time, he’d missed the third wash and was choking and spluttering. He awaited a fourth, which took him all the way up to the outlet. He clung desperately to the edge, almost knocking himself out on the top of the pipe. He had to force himself to endure the pain from both his shoulder and his damaged fingers. He slowly pulled himself up, his feet scraping against the slimy concrete walls for grip. Another spatter of gunfire nearly made him lose his grip and fall backwards, but he summoned every bit of strength he could and heaved himself right into the pipeline, slithering along sufficiently.

The battered concrete pipe, barely two feet in diameter, carried marginally diluted sewage through to the sea. He shuffled his way through the soft muck, adding his own vomit to it. The air was putrid, the stench disgusting. He threw up until his stomach was empty. The farther he entered the pipe, the darker it became; and with each stretch of his injured arm, he lost blood and shouted out in pain.

Much deeper into this relative haven, the daylight had disappeared completely and the sewage he was hauling himself through was thicker, his knees scrunching unmentionable little corpses as he progressed. He must have become used to the fetor; his gagging had stopped and his breathing became easier. Several yards on, his good arm grasped out at nothing. There was a change in the pipeline, but Jedrek had no way of telling what form it took. He reached right down and felt his hand enter more sewage. It seemed bottomless. He then stretched himself forwards to see if the opening was just a gap that he might cross. Nothing. Finally, he pulled himself up and realised that the pipe he was already in had become larger.

Achieving this distance, coupled with the searching, had depleted all his energy. As the pipe was now larger, he decided to rest across its width. He sat with his knees up and his head resting on them. Through sheer exhaustion, he drifted off to a better world.

The nightmares began in earnest: Jedrek was arguing with his father on the barge – a frequent event. Jedrek was determined to have his say, and his father was equally determined to shout him down. Shouts were insufficient and turned into vicious blows across the lad’s face and torso.

Then they were fighting in the engine room. It was not long before Jedrek was completely overpowered and forced into the stern hold, where the propeller shaft and a multitude of vermin were housed. His father used his full bulk to throw Jedrek across the shaft, almost breaking his back. At this stage, Jedrek actually awoke. His back still hurt and it didn’t take him long to realise that he had fallen down the shaft he was trying to avoid before his nightmare began.

He had plunged down many feet. A soft landing, yet unimaginably revolting: raw sewage infested with rats. Jedrek must have crushed a dozen into the muck beneath him and, before he was enveloped himself, he pushed with his feet downward and outward, forcing himself through the swamp-like mass. The rats were squealing and scampering all over him. He could sense a mass of little snouts burrowing into his thick clothing and taking the occasional bite. This only made him more determined. He pushed his feet down through the sewage as hard as possible until his head banged into the side wall. Even then he kept forcing his feet downward, but he just couldn’t make any progress up the wall. He then realised that it was not a wall he was against; it was a steel rung. He turned and grabbed the rung with his good arm and heaved with all his might, inching his way out of the quagmire. One rat had burrowed down his neck and was biting and scratching his back. He yelled and swore at the little brute. Nothing was going to stop his ascent. He must have crushed it against the ladder at some point, for the assault had ceased.

An older man, of good stature and carrying a long stick, strutted through the slush with an air of dignity. He might have been a thousand miles away in a peaceful land, yet he was covering the last steps to his modest cottage set well back on the hillside overlooking the outskirts of Danzig. He forced himself to ignore the distant gunfire and explosions, but the mighty roar of hundreds of aircraft engines were impossible to disregard.

Viktor, a striking and distinguished man in the autumn of his life, paused to look up at the German aircraft through the trees.

His was a humble abode, constructed mainly of oak, brick and flint. He lived in frugal comfort, wanting for nothing; the townsfolk regarded him a hermit. Viktor was certainly unsociable, especially since the loss of his wife. He considered himself a wise man, although through ignorance he was often thought of as a whimsical old fool. He was extraordinarily articulate for his sixty-seven years. His face, handsomely lined, bore little evidence of the traumatic life he had suffered. He appeared utterly collected and almost oblivious amidst the terror that was amassing to a holocaust in the town below.

He pushed the simple door aside and entered the meagre, but tidy, living area. It was a place full of his character – only true essentials required. Apparently he had lived here alone for sometime, but there were no trinkets, vases or flowers, and no curtains, cushions or rugs. He moved directly to certain cupboards dotted around the room and began selecting food and equipment for what was to be an unprecedented journey. A journey that would take all of his accumulated knowledge and experience to survive.

Having disposed of the rats clinging to his clothing, Jedrek continued to climb the rusty ladder. He could sense a draught from above and was sure he could see bright spots of daylight when he gazed upward into the dark. At first, he thought it may have been his mind playing tricks.

The heavy iron cover at the top was stuck fast. He had to use his back to force it open, causing the remains of the rat to crunch painfully into the small of his back. He began to feel weak and dizzy with the agony, but suddenly he felt movement. Then a crack appeared, and both light and icy air rushed in. It was so bright and cold that he nearly allowed the lid to drop back down. He squinted, his eyes streaming in the icy wind. The invasion appeared to have subsided. It was dusk, but the burning buildings at the quayside were providing more light than nature. Few had their walls, as they were now predominantly piles of rubble. There was wailing from dying people and whimpering from injured animals. Jedrek saw no immediate danger and heaved the cover right out of the way to allow him a clear exit. The cover dropped to the ground with a massive clang. A man fighting death lay close by and registered Jedrek’s emergence from the ground. Farther off, a soldier – more than likely a deserter – also heard the iron lid drop, but he had to pass the dying man to reach the lad. As the soldier rushed to attack Jedrek, the man gathered all his energy to lash out with his leg. The soldier tripped awkwardly, crashing to the ground, impaling himself on a piece of twisted steel and cracking his skull on a square edge of concrete. He died instantly.

‘Thank you, God,’ Jedrek said quietly to himself. He felt considerable relief and renewed strength, enough to pull his way out of the drain in one go. He approached the man who had so gallantly saved him and placed his hand onto his. ‘Thank you, sir,’ was all he could offer the man who had saved his life.

The man struggled to whisper hoarsely into the youngster’s ear, ‘Ratuj siebie, przyjacielu, nie jestem tego wart…’ Run lad, save yourself, I’m not worth…’ He gave up trying to talk, and on life itself.

Jedrek closed the man’s eyes, and then his own.

The flimsy timber door to Viktor’s simple home smashed like matchwood under the brute force of the Nazi jackboot. It was unlocked; such ferocity verified the true character of this invasion. Guns at the ready, they filed in, trained to spot the slightest danger, but already too exhausted to care. Most of them were frightened teenagers.

Their commander, who looked and sounded suitably ruthless, with close-set, hooded eyes and a small but remarkably efficient mouth, gave his squad of soldiers simple orders. ‘Gessler, Steinhard, dadurch. Ihr beide hinterher.’ Gessler, Steinhard, through there. You two, around the back.’

They obediently dispersed throughout the simple house and garden. There was nothing of any interest or value to them, so they just vented their disappointment on the few possessions lying around on shelves and tables. Soon bored, they stomped out leaving behind several grenades, which momentarily brought the cottage to its knees.

Viktor had decided to take a westerly route, moving up to the higher ground that the Kaszubski Park provided. He lay silent, well-concealed by thick, almost impenetrable undergrowth into which he had entwined himself. He heard a nearer explosion; he knew in his heart what it meant. He settled listening to the rumble of tanks, their endless gunfire and subsequent explosions.

Only half an hour passed before he heard enemy voices sifting their way through the dense wood. He knew that he was safe where he was. He kept perfectly still and quiet. The Germans had no reason and no time to search every part. They had invaded; that was sufficient for the present time. There was, of course, the inevitable maverick within the platoon who insisted on firing aimlessly into the wood. One of his reckless shots achieved a response – a muted squeal. His evil eyes lit up and he laughed with his comrades. On investigating his kill, it was found to be a frail pit pony, which had tried to escape the bloodshed in the town by making its way up to the wood, in vain. Viktor heard but could not see. His imagination saddened him as it filled with the scene his eyes were not able to acquire.

September 2, 1939 – Danzig, Poland

Downtime

Day 2

A number of hours had passed. Jedrek had slept through the aftermath of the invasion. It was dark, perhaps three or four in the morning. He was frozen to the bone. The group of people Jedrek had found alive and cuddled up near him were now dead and frozen. Many of the fires had also died; there was no warmth left in the vicinity. His clothes were rigid with frost and made it hard for him to move. With the pain in his arm prevalent as ever, he carefully made his way through the ruins to one of the few fires still blazing. There was a sickly, sweet smell in the air, for which Jedrek later discovered the reason. He warmed himself beside the inviting flames that licked several feet above his own height. He felt better and stronger for his rest, and now this soothing heat. The thousands of men that had landed and passed through didn’t bear deliberation, unlike his hunger. There’s got to be food about somewhere?

Extensive dangers from enemy troops, and deserters no doubt, helped to make up his mind; thoughts of food were kept at bay by these hidden perils. He scoured the area for fuel to build up his fire. He then lay down near the warmth, his clothes beginning to thaw and dry. Like a hearth cat, Jedrek curled himself up into a tight ball and sank into a deep sleep.

The dawn was a dim, eerie affair. The sun struggled to filter through the clouds and gave up when it hit the acrid smoke that even now enveloped the town. He surmised it was daytime, but the light was totally unnatural. The fire had burnt itself out. He stood, his eyes searching. There was nothing alive and moving, except some dogs, rodents and the occasional falling timbers. His stomach ordered him forward. The approach to the main town was terrifying. He was certain he could hear activity, but failed to see it. The Germans had wiped out everything and everyone. It was beyond belief, even for him and his youthful sensibility.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jedrek saw a movement amongst a ruin. He threw himself awkwardly to the ground, and then slowly raised his head with a keen eye. It was a man, possibly German. His indecision made him even more terrified. He watched to see what the person might do next, hoping an action may give away his identity. His eyes began to water. He dare not blink and miss a telltale sign. The person then appeared on his side of the ruin. He was relieved to see that the man