“The AK has strongholds all over the place, but they aren’t connected yet. We control pockets of the city, rather than a safe corridor we could use to get out. We are stuck here for now, Truda, but you’ll see, it’s going to be okay. We just need to give it a few days, and you’ll see.”
* * *
A few days stretched into a week. I didn’t see Sara—Mateusz insisted I stay inside just in case of trouble—but Piotr went to the church basement occasionally to check on her.
“It’s unpleasant down there,” he told me, grimacing.
“Unpleasant?” I repeated.
“Blood, injuries...nasty business. But you know Sara. She’s in her element with that kind of thing. She’s fine.”
“Did you see Roman?” I asked hesitantly. He shook his head.
“No, and Sara hasn’t seen him, either, but we’ve heard news of his battalion. Most of this district is under AK control. You should be proud of him.”
“I am,” I said, “but I’m also worried.”
“Well, his headquarters are right near the church. If things get hectic and we haven’t heard from him, I’ll wander down and ask around for you, okay?”
“I could come with you?”
Uncle Piotr smiled. “Let’s just see how the next few days go.”
* * *
Although the strongholds closest to us had not fallen, it was obvious something was changing in the districts beyond. Aerial bombing was increasing, and we made frantic trips up and down the stairs every time the air-raid siren sounded—now several times every day and night. From the first week of August, explosions constantly rang out, and I noticed a different kind of gunfire. It was sustained and constant—like dozens of machine guns firing, and sometimes all at once. For twenty-four hours, it seemed either our side or theirs was firing without a break. There were so many gunshots, the sounds all blended together until there was a general, awful hum echoing out across the city.
“What could it be?” I asked at breakfast. The jubilation in the streets had faded to nothing, and around our breakfast table, a confused, strained silence had fallen.
“Maybe it isn’t even shooting,” Truda suggested. “How could they be shooting so much? It sounds like the whole German army is firing at once. It could be some new machine they have invented.”
“No,” Mateusz said, shaking his head. “I think it is gunshots.”
“I have an idea,” Uncle Piotr announced, and then he left the apartment, returning after an hour with a wireless radio in his arms. These had been illegal in the city for some time, although plenty of people defied this order. Piotr turned the device on, and we crowded around it, listening as he tuned across various stations. First we found a Soviet station, broadcasting from their stronghold to the east of Warsaw, promising that relief was coming soon and encouraging the citizens of Warsaw to fight to push the Germans out.
“Could the noise be the Soviets?” I asked.
“No, it is coming from the west, not the east,” Piotr murmured. He twisted the dials and this time found an underground AK station. There was a general update with a mixed bag of news—some areas lost, others gained—but the headline news made my blood run cold.
“...Germans are going from home to home in Wola, dragging civilians of all ages to the street and executing them in retribution for the Uprising. Heavy casualties are reported, with massive piles of bodies in streets around the district. Reconnaissance reports suggest tens of thousands of civilians may already be dead. Particularly heavy losses are reported at the railway embankment on Górczewska Street and factories on Wolska Street...”
“They’re only a few kilometers away from us,” Mateusz whispered.
Piotr reached forward and snapped the volume button off, the action so sharp and violent that it startled me. When I looked to his face, I found him ashen, and he was staring at me in horror.
“We should have left when we had the chance!” Truda exclaimed, pushing back her chair, her features twisted with rage. She slammed her fist down onto the table. “You just had to do one last deal, didn’t you? What will your zloty benefit us now, when the Germans are going from door to door murdering us and we are trapped here?”
“God,” Piotr said, choking, “what have I done?”
“What are we going to do?” I asked uneasily.
“We are trapped,” Mateusz said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “There is nothing we can do. We have no choice but to stay here. They are still a few kilometers away, and there is a firm AK stronghold between Wola and Sródmiescie, so we have time. And you heard the Soviet station. They are coming. We just have to hold on.”
By the time the sun set that night, I had been listening to constant gunfire for thirty-six hours, and now I imagined I could hear screaming, too. Unable to sleep, I crept into the dining room and found Uncle Piotr sitting at the table in darkness, nursing a bottle of vodka. Even as I approached, I could tell that he was quite drunk. I sat opposite him, and he lifted the bottle to his lips and gulped at it, then dropped it heavily onto the table.
“Is there anything we can do?” I asked him.
“I have let you down.”
“Uncle Piotr, I’m not interested in looking back. It’s done now,” I said. “I just want to know if there is anything we can do to get out.”
“The AK are using the sewers as a transport route, but it is risky and supposedly only to be used by soldiers. I am going to make inquiries, okay? I’m going to see if I can find you a way out.”
“Thank you.”
“If we can get to the outskirts of the city, we can make our way down to Lodz, even if we have to walk. It is just over a hundred kilometers. We could do it.”
“We could.”
“I am worried about your young friend, you know,” Piotr said, then he sniffed miserably. “If the Germans are slaughtering tens of thousands of civilians, they will not hesitate to execute the AK if they capture them. Even the boys, like Roman.”
“I know,” I whispered, feeling a pinch in my chest.
“When I was younger, I thought that life was fair. I thought that maybe each person was allotted a degree of suffering, but once they endured it, life would be easy. Now I know it is random, and that if there is any intention to life at all, it leans toward cruelty.”
I’d never seen Uncle Piotr so flat, his demeanor so bleak. As worried as I was, I felt compelled to present some optimism.
“Life can still be good, Uncle Piotr.”
“There are unexpected blessings, that’s for sure. Take you, for example. Your spirit has brought me much joy, and it was most unexpected.”