Honor Thy Dead

By Michael Francis Sylvia

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 4, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462835157

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Copyright © 2009 by Michael Francis Sylvia.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

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permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CHAPTER I

Demon’s Oath

CHAPTER II

Invasion

CHAPTER III

The Ghetto

CHAPTER IV

The Resistance

CHAPTER V

The Final Solution

CHAPTER VI

The Marauders

CHAPTER VII

The Rescue

CHAPTER VIII

FDR

CHAPTER IX

Breakout

CHAPTER X

The Mission

CHAPTER XI

Escape

CHAPTER I

Demon’s Oath

"Good afternoon and welcome to Wolenski Stadium in Krakow, Poland. What a beautiful day for a soccer game. Just sit back and relax, watch your favorite players. Gaze out at the clear blue sky, let the sun warm your spirits. There’s no better way to spend an afternoon.

We have eighty-seven thousand fans in attendance today. Every seat in the stadium is taken, and we’re in for a rare treat. The Polish national team is competing for a World Cup. They’ll get a serious challenge from the Bulgarians. This match appears to be an epic struggle between two world-class teams.

The crowd cheered as the Polish team took the field. The referee dropped the ball and the game began. Polish fans joined in singing the national anthem. Banners filled the stands. The fans were stomping their feet and dancing with patriotic pride. The Bulgarians raised their flags as well and began a chant of their own. The game promised to deliver a hard-fought struggle.

Bulgaria has the ball. They’re advancing down the left sideline. Jasenovic sends a pass in front of the goal to Zbrobdnie, he shoots. Oh, what a save by Jacob Katz. I tell you, Katz is one of the finest goaltenders in the world. That was just a sensational stop by the Polish goalie. Fans were reveling in a patriotic fervor, but the winds of war would soon demand that this small, independent country sacrifice its sovereignty to a demonic despot bent on world destruction.

At that same moment, the sun was shinning on another stadium as well, far across the border, in support of an entirely different hero. It was the summer of 1939, and the Nuremburg Stadium in Germany was filled to capacity. German citizens seemed possessed as they gyrated to the marshal music being played on the field.

The Wehrmacht, the German armed forces, was on display. Neatly aliened rows of German soldiers and sailors marched in close order drill. They drilled in mass, demonstrating to the world the country’s military strength. German flags and standards featuring the swastika, the symbol of a convoluted cross, were displayed prominently about the stadium. Torches burned, reminiscent of the ancient gladiators, as they filled the Roman coliseum. The occasion was a civic rally to honor the men in uniform and an opportunity for Adolph Hitler to make a speech and reignite the patriotic passions in the German people, which propelled the little man to the top post in Germany’s newly formed government. The drill teams completed their high-stepping maneuvers and stood at attention as the führer took the microphone.

Hitler began his speech in a monotone voice, building up steam as he went. The crowd began to roar, demanding the führer unleash his violent demagoguery. The Nazi dictator fed the frenzy of the crowd and began to twist and convulse his body spastically. He raised the pitch of his voice a few octaves. Neutral parties observing his behavior would go on to say that he became possessed by the devil himself. Hatred shot from his mouth like dragon’s fire.

A new world order now exists in Europe—one where Germany will play a pivotal role in international politics, harangued the former army corporal. No longer will Germany allow England and France to dictate foreign policy. We are the purveyors of our own sovereignty. The crowd roared its approval. Hitler stared out at the minions swallowing his rant like a savory treat. Their enthusiasm for his rhetoric motivated Hitler to greater declarations of false assurances. It is Germany’s right to acquire Lebensraum (living space). For centuries, Germany has ruled Northern Europe. Germans are living in mass in Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland. These Volksdieutsche (German natives) have the right to live under a unified Germany. Not a Germany that was splintered piecemeal in all directions after an illegal treaty forced upon us by England and France at the conclusion of that pitiful first war. We must take back what is ours, and now is the time to take it back!

Hitler began to froth at the mouth. His demonic power over the stadium crowd would derive legendary status as his exploits were retold in newsreels and print media. The Nazi führer was building his speech to a crescendo. And it is the Slavs and the Jews that must be eliminated to make room for the new German order. They must be eliminated so as not to dilute the purity of our Arian blood. These Slavs and Jews are servile creatures. Their only purpose is to work as slaves for mother Germany. We will crush them where they stand and take back control over Europe, which is our sovereign duty! Hitler appeared to convulse into a hypnotic state. He was assisted from the podium by his aides and sat dazed while the citizens of Germany cheered and hollered, reveling in the power Hitler had over his minions.

While the führer was rallying the masses at Nuremburg, German tanks rolled across the autobahn en route to their forward positions at the border. German U-boats had already set sail for the Atlantic; they would wreck havoc upon allied shipping in the near future. Hitler was prepared to prevent the Allies from mobilizing an army to oppose Lebensraum—his plan for European conquest. The Luftwaffe, under the leadership of Herman Goring, prepared Stuka Dive Bombers to obliterate those countries that dared to oppose the Reich.

Moshe Rosenthal has the ball now. He kicks and he scores. The Polls lead Bulgaria 1 to nil. That was an amazing goal by the midfielder. He took a pass from Luendowski and dribbled the ball between two Bulgarian nationals, then kicked a rocket to the top left corner of the net. Their goalie Zobrect never had a chance at that one.

It was a tight match, Poland was leading Bulgaria 2 to 1. There were twelve minutes left to play. The game could go either way. Bulgaria was desperate to score the tying goal. The Polish goaltender, Jacob Katz, has been under pressure the entire match. The announcer chimed in, with a singsong tenor voice, as the action continued. He has made nine saves to his credit already, and the game is still being determined. Moshe Rosenthal, the Polish midfielder has to be considered the best player on the field. He intercepted a wayward pass by the Bulgarians in the first half and turned it into a score. Then, in the second half of play, he took a pass from Alex Krajczynski, the young forward for the Polish national team, and sent it sailing into the corner of the net.

The clock was down to three minutes as the sun sank under Wolenski Stadium. There wasn’t much time left for the Bulgarians. They play hard, but except for a successful penalty kick from Tadeusz Matuscak, they had been stopped cold by the Polish nationals. This Polish team is going to be hard to beat in the World Cup, the announcer shouted over the chanting from the standing-room-only crowd. No one had left the stadium yet. They were in stoppage time now. The referee is giving the signal, two minutes to play, two minutes, went the announcer. It was late summer, and the wind was beginning to pick up as it did each season, at this time of year. The gun sounded to end the game. Poland has defeated Bulgaria by the score of 2 to 1. Good-bye for now and congratulations to the Polish Nationals.

The moon had climbed the sky, by the time Jacob Katz left the locker room. His team had just defeated the Bulgarians and Katz was happy. Jacob called it his team because ever since 1936, he was its captain. And why not, Jacob maintained an intimidating muscular physique at 6’ 3" tall and 218 pounds. He was the most respected member of the team and not only for his athletic ability. Jacob was a true leader of men. The twenty-two-year-old’s good looks accentuated his charismatic personality. The World Cup was just months away, and Jacob did not feel his team was ready. He expected to defeat the Bulgarian team by a much-greater margin. Still, however, a win is a win; and Jacob held solace in that.

Hey, hold up, a voice called out. Jacob turned toward the sound. It was Moshe Rosenthal, Jacob’s best friend and the team’s leading goal scorer. Moshe was the fastest player on the National squad. He could do tricks with a soccer ball like nobody else, and he was just as determined as Jacob to win for his native Poland. The two had been close friends ever since grade school, and they vowed to continue their friendship throughout their lives.

Where are you off to in such a hurry? cried Moshe.

I’m taking Anna to dinner tonight. And I’m going to propose to her! Jacob said excitedly.

Anna Moskowitz was a strikingly beautiful girl. At five foot six, she was a little shorter than Jacob; but what she lacked in size, she made up for with a curvaceous body, which wouldn’t quite. Her silky auburn hair flowed down her back in a cascade of curls. Often times, Anna would tease her parents.

I must have been adopted. I don’t possess any of the stereotypical features of a Jew. Are you certain of my birth? I could pass for an Arian in any lineup.

You are ours, her father, Saul Moskowitz, would repeat. And I’ve got the bills to prove it.

Saul was a debonair gentleman. He was always well manicured and coifed. He wore a gray goatee on his handsomely rugged face. Saul had a physique that allowed his suits to hang square on his lean shoulders. The Moskowitz family was one of the wealthiest in all of Krakow. Saul came from a long line of diamond traders. And he married well besides. Anna’s mother, Sarah, was a descendant of the Rothschilds. She joined the family with an extensive dowry, but it was the woman’s beauty that Saul fell in love with. People often suggested that Sarah and Anna could be sisters instead of mother and daughter. The Moskowitz family didn’t care to flaunt their wealth although they did live in one of the largest homes in town. Their sprawling mansion sat atop a hill overlooking the beautiful city they loved so much. And why not? Poland was the place to be. Granted the weather could turn evil in the winter, but for the summer, it was just perfect. The late summer season was especially charming with its warm days and cool night breezes.

Jacob’s large hand swam around in his pocket to fish out the engagement ring, which he intended to present to Anna at dinner. Jacob had met with Saul Moskowitz personally and asked for Anna’s hand. It was already 1939, but still it wasn’t too long ago when marriages were prearranged by parents as part of the Jewish tradition, and besides, where else should Jacob go to get the best diamond and at wholesale prices no less? Jacob could not be happier.

His hand fumbled through his pant’s pocket and searched through all the creases. Alarm rang out on Jacob’s face. Where is it, where is it, he thought. Then he found it. Excitedly, he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it up to the street lamp. The crystal, clean cut of the diamond radiated color through a prism of pearl-shaped design.

Here look at this, Jacob announced.

The ring slipped from Jacob’s sweaty fingers and dropped to the ground. He bent over to pick it up and accidentally kicked the ring into the dirt. Jacob rummaged around with his fingers to retrieve his most valuable possession.

Moshe called out, Hey, be careful, you’re going to dirty it! Do you have lard on your hands or something? We can’t have you entering the World Cup if you’re going to fumble around like that.

Don’t worry, I’ll be ready for the cup matches, cried Jacob as he dusted off the ring and polished the stone with his handkerchief. I’m just a little nervous about proposing to Anna, that’s all.

What do you have to worry about? She’s been in love with you for years. If you weren’t so pigheaded, you would have proposed to her a long time ago, claimed Moshe.

You’re right about that, cried Jacob. I’d better hurry. I don’t want to be late. Anna worries more these days what with all the rumblings from Hitler, and I don’t need any more stress before proposing. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all the fabulous details! You’ll get your chance soon enough, Moshe, just wait and see.

As Jacob left the field, Moshe stopped for a moment to ponder the situation. They had been best friends since grade school; still, he felt awkward about talking to Jacob about his feelings for Hannika, Jacob’s sister. Moshe could see the way Hannika looked at him whenever he was at the house, but Moshe was still a little shy around girls. Although he and Jacob were of the same age and Moshe was every bit as handsome as Jacob, even if he wasn’t quite as tall, he still looked up to his more-mature friend with just a little envy; and he didn’t want to be rebuffed by Jacob for his feelings. Heck, Moshe was even too shy to tell Hannika how he felt, but that was going to change. Moshe just didn’t know quite when.

He had other things on his mind at the moment. Sadie, his mother, had been sick for a long time. She spent most of her day in bed, getting up only to eat and to wash and really nothing else. She stayed at home and moped around in the apartment. Her skin was almost translucent what with the lack of sunlight to stain her pigment. Sadie looked frail in her raggedy housecoat; she left it on from sun up to sun down. Heck, the only time she would really ever get dressed was on the Sabbath.

Moshe’s father, David Rosenthal, was a war hero. He was posthumously awarded the Knight’s Cross—the highest honor a soldier could receive in the German kaiser’s army. Poland was a part of Germany during World War I. David was killed at Alsace Lorraine while charging the Allied defenses. World War I was a primitive war. Uniformed combatants stood meters apart from one another in trenches, which were dug through rocky clay, making up the topography of the battle zone. The trenches were exposed to the weather. The rains coalesced into pools of stagnant water. More men died of disease, spread through mosquitoes that thrived in the putrid aqua ponds, than from bullets.

Medals were awarded for bravery to the first soldiers who dared to leave the safety of the trench. They would be exposed to heavy fire from an enemy too terrified to make a charge of his own. Barbed wire obstacles blocked the advance of soldiers while they were being strafed by bullets. The German generals were willing to sacrifice lives for a few meters of earth. David Rosenthal was one of those lives.

One evening in late May 1918, after hearing the trumpet sound the advance, Moshe’s dad hurled himself out of the trench. With the sun in his face blinding him momentarily, he sprinted across the terrain, dodging the bullets that were trying to kill him. He slowed his approach at the barbed wire obstacle and set about digging a hole to allow his comrades to slip under the Allies’ defenses. David was expecting his fellow soldiers to provide covering fire while he completed his assignment. However, most soldiers in the armies of both combatants were disillusioned over the war and were no longer willing to risk death for the same ground, which had been fought over for months. David dug faster than a gofer running from a fox, but being completely exposed to the enemy, he was nothing more than target practice. As the bullets tore through his body, he sank into the grave he had dug for himself.

Moshe was an only child. He was genuinely proud of his father’s bravery in the face of overwhelming odds. Although his father was dead, he would continue to act as a role model for Moshe. So it became Moshe’s responsibility to protect and provide for his mother. And this he did without complaint.

It was important to Moshe to succeed in soccer. He wasn’t as smart as Jacob, and soccer would be his only chance for fame and fortune. Besides, how could he ever support his mother and all of her doctor bills without playing? Sadie received only a small widow’s pension, and she could never survive on that alone. And there was also the tremendous sense of duty Moshe felt for his beloved Poland. He took it as an honor to represent his country. So it was important for Moshe to excel at the sport he loved so dearly. He was not going to let anyone or anything stand in his way. Moshe just wished he wasn’t so shy. He wanted to be with Hannika. He felt an ache in his heart whenever he was away from her. He was just going to have to tell her how he felt and soon, but when?

The hills of Munich were steep. The messenger used all the energy he could muster to pedal his bicycle up the slope. The boy was staring straight ahead at the most scenic view imaginable. The white capped Bavarian mountains, surrounded by vibrant green pines under a brilliant sky blue canopy, dazzled the senses. The puff clouds, which floated across the landscape, provided a panoramic view of Germany, creating the impression of a movie set design. The boy pedaled on until he came across the address, which adorned the telegram his case—131 Cottage Lane was dead ahead.

The messenger stepped off his bicycle and walked the path until he reached the two massive doors that welcomed visitors to the Peterson household. He rang the chimes from a button on the door panel. In time, the door was opened by the household maid. She signed for the telegram, and the boy was back on his bicycle, heading toward his next delivery.

Fritz Peterson, head of operations for the German national soccer team, was working at a desk in his study. The maid knocked on the closed door.

Yes, what is it? I’m busy! came the reply.

Excuse me, sir, but this telegram has just arrived.

All right, Heidi, just place it on the counter and I’ll attend to it later!

But it’s from the führer himself, Adolph Hitler.

The führer? All right give it to me then.

Heidi opened the door and walked across the room to hand over the telegram. Peterson looked up at her with a smile and grabbed the envelope.

Thank you, Heidi, and may I say that you look quite lovely this morning. Now, go on I have work to do.

As the maid closed the door behind her, Fritz tore open the letter. His hands were trembling. He wasn’t sure if his nerves were acting up over a telegram from the führer or if it was due to his drinking the night before. I really should slow down a little, he thought to himself. He pulled the telegram from its sheathing and held it under the light.

Attention: You are formally invited

To be the guest of the Führer, Adolph Hitler

At the Austrian Consulate Ball, being held

In the Chancellery in Berlin July 15th 1939

Black tie, cocktails begin at 6:00 PM.

Hannika Katz looked toward the window. A warbler was perched