Mortar rockets overhead. Genek cups the back of his helmet with his hands, his body pressed up against the face of the mountain. He’s grown accustomed to the stabbing pain of his knees and elbows landing hard against the unforgiving rock, to the grit of dust between his teeth, to the constant clap and whir of artillery buzzing his ears at an exceedingly uncomfortable proximity. Four hundred meters above, what’s left of the enemy—a regiment of what is thought to be 800 German paratroopers—fires round after round of shells from the ruins of the monastery. Genek can’t help but wonder where all of their ammunition is coming from. Surely they’ll run out soon.
The Poles have succeeded in taking the Germans by surprise, but though they far outnumber the Nazis, Anders’s Army is still at a distinct disadvantage. The mountainside, after days of aerial bombardment, has been reduced to rubble, making the uphill climb extremely challenging. They can’t see the enemy, and therefore they must reach the top of the monastery before having a chance at a clean shot; in the meantime, without a safe place to take cover, they are, for the most part, helplessly exposed.
With his body still hugging the side of the mountain, Genek swears through his teeth. The army was supposed to be the safe choice. The way out of Siberia. The way to keep the family together. And it was, for a while. Now, he’s as safe as a bulls-eye in a shooting range, and his family is some 4,700 kilometers away in Palestine. Genek can’t help but think about how the Poles’ first attempt on Monte Cassino, five days earlier, like the three before it, had been a gut-wrenching failure. Met with mortar, small arms fire, and the devastating wrath of a 75mm panzer gun, Anders’s leading infantry divisions were all but wiped out after just a few hours of fighting. As quickly as the operation began, the Polish II Corps was forced to retreat, reporting casualties of nearly 4,000 men. Genek and Otto had said thanks for the fact that they’d been assigned to an infantry division at the rear—and cursed the fact that despite the losses the enemy, too, had suffered, the monastery still lay in German hands. Thus far the only uplifting piece of news they’ve received in the campaign has come from General Juin, leader of the French Expeditionary Corps, who reported that his men had taken Monte Maio and were now in a position to assist the British XIII Corps stationed in the Liri valley. It was still up to the Poles, however, to capture the monastery. They’d set forth on a second attempt that morning.
More mortar. The crack of artillery overhead. The snare-drum pop-pop-pop of flak meeting stone. Someone down the mountain screams. Genek stays low. He thinks of Herta, of Józef, contemplates finding a rock and hiding under it until the fighting stops. But then an image flashes through his mind—his family in the hands of the Nazis, forced into a death camp. His family, part of the purported millions lost. A lump rises in his throat and his cheeks grow hot. He can’t hide. He’s here. If this mission is successful, he’ll have helped to break the Germans, and to remind the world that Poland, though defeated in Europe, is still a power to be reckoned with. Swallowing the metallic tang of fear at the back of his tongue, he realizes that, suicide mission or not, if there’s a chance that he can help put an end to this wretched war, he sure as hell isn’t giving up.
Genek waits for a lull in artillery fire and then scrambles a few meters up the mountain, keeping his body low and watching closely for mines and trip wires. In securing the stronghold, the Germans left a barrage of booby traps in their wake that had cost the lives of dozens of Genek’s comrades. He’s been trained to disable a mine, but he wonders if, under the circumstances, he’d have the wits about him to pull off the act should he stumble across an explosive in his path. Another thunderous boom, a monstrous explosion, somewhere to Genek’s right. His body meets the mountain, nearly knocking the wind out of him. What in fuck’s sake was that? His ears ring. There’s been much talk among Anders’s men about whether the enemy paratroopers in Cassino have access to the 28cm K5 railway gun employed at Anzio. The Germans call the gun the Leopold. The Allies refer to it as Anzio Annie. Her shells weigh a quarter of a ton, with a range of over 130 kilometers. There’s no way they could have gotten that thing up the mountain, Genek reasons, trying to catch his breath—if they had, he’s pretty certain he’d have been blown to bits by now. The air is alive again with submachine-gun fire. He lifts his chin, finds his breath, and scrambles another few meters up the mountain.
MAY 18, 1944: In their second attack on Monte Cassino, the Polish II Corps meets constant artillery and mortar fire from the strongly fortified German positions above. With little natural cover for protection, the fighting is fierce and at times hand-to-hand. Thanks to the successful advance of the French Expeditionary Corps in the Liri valley, however, German paratroopers withdraw from Cassino to a new defensive position on the Hitler Line, to the north. Early in the morning of May 18, the Poles take the monastery. They are so battered, only a few have the strength to climb the last hundred meters. When they do, a Polish flag is raised over the ruins, and an anthem, The Red Poppies on Monte Cassino, is sung to celebrate the Polish victory. The road to Rome is open.
JUNE 6, 1944—D-DAY: Code-named Operation Overlord, the Battle of Normandy begins with a massive amphibious military assault as some 156,000 Allied troops, led by General Eisenhower, storm a heavily fortified fifty-mile stretch of the Normandy coastline. Low tide, poor weather, and an Allied deception plan allow the Allies to catch the Nazis by surprise.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jakob and Bella
Warsaw, German-Occupied Poland ~ August 1, 1944
At the sound of the first explosion, Bella’s blood whooshes from her head to her toes. Without thinking, she drops to all fours behind the checkout counter at the back of the dress shop. The detonation—close enough to rattle the coins in the cash register drawer—is followed by shouting, and the rapid burst of gunshots. Bella crawls to the corner of the counter, peeks around it toward the glass storefront. Outside, three uniformed men run by carrying B?yskawica submachine guns. Another bomb drops, and she covers her head instinctively with her hands. It’s happening. The Home Army uprising. She has to get out. Fast.
She crawls to the small room she’s rented at the back of the shop, thinking frantically of what to bring. Her purse, her hairbrush—no, not her brush, not important—her keys, although she wonders if the building will still be standing in a day. At the last second she lifts her mattress, retrieving two photographs—one of her parents, one of her and Anna as children—and slips them into the hem of her coat. She thinks about locking the shop’s front door, but when four more uniformed men sprint by, she decides against it. Hurrying to the rear of the store, she exits quietly through the back door.
Outside, the street is empty. She pauses to catch her breath. Jakob’s words ring in her ears. “My building has a secure basement,” he’d told her a week ago, when the uprising seemed imminent. “If there is fighting, meet me there.” She’ll need to cross the Vistula River to reach him.