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| Pan Misza, Michal Wasserman Wróblewski (3rd from the right) and Marian Spychalski (2nd from the left) - After the Liberation of Warsaw - January 17, 1945. |
The Liberation of Warsaw
The line of four Willys jeeps was waiting at the edge of the snow-covered river. Between the breaking clouds, scraps of black sky, and a sliver of metallic moon. Franek, Misha’s driver and self-appointed guide and counsellor, was at the wheel of the first jeep, the flaps of his sheepskin hat pulled down over his ears.
‘Hurry up, man, before we freeze to death,’ he yelled. ‘We want to get across before there’s any light.’ Warsaw was still held by night, but at their backs, dawn was already a pale red line. Their brief was to send back a wireless message on the situation before the Polish infantry began to cross on foot at dawn.
Misha hauled up alongside Franek and pulled the door shut, but the cold wind still managed to whistle in through the gaps, the jeep rocking with its blows. He took his pistol from its holster. In front of them, the river shone white, a long and meandering plain of snow, far brighter than the wadding of clouds above.
His breath fogging and rising in front of his face, Franek leaned forward as the wheels bumped down onto the snow-covered surface of the river. Misha felt his muscles tense, but the ice held, half a winter in thickness. Sliding and jolting, they began to track across the rutted surface, four black shapes, no headlights, driving slowly, the engines’ noise low. Snow had softened the shapes of the burned-out army trucks and the frozen bodies of dead horses, as well as other debris, casting long shadows in the ghostly light. To their right, the broken girders of the Poniatowski Bridge rose up out of the ice at drunken angles.
‘Hard to believe,’ said Misha. ‘Here we are, the first to liberate Warsaw.
