Captain Katriana Paterson, September 18th
Poor Rataj. I knew. Knew as soon as we cleared the rubble and saw what they had carved out of the ruin that they wouldn't leave. Rataj though saw only his mission. His brother-in-law, Filip, finally had to rub his face in it. He took Rataj by the arm, drug him bodily out into the fields, and pointed.
"There." His finger lashing out. "There Dominik was crushed clearing rocks for the crops." He turns Rataj. "There, there is his final resting place."
"Dom, Dominik?" I remember hours in the wheelhouse as he spoke with pride of his youngest grandchild. He'd have been thirteen.
"We wrested this land from the end. Our blood, your blood, fertilized it. We can't leave."
"What, what can I do?"
"Help us." Rataj turns tear filled eyes at us and I nod.
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This used to be a stadium. Underground were locker rooms, showers, maintenance spaces, and deeper still fallout shelters. The number that existed would boggle the mind of your average American, but these people knew they would be the front lines, and planned accordingly. We go down deep to learn about the enemy and plan for war.
Filip introduces us to his leaders, those that could be spared from the defense of the wall, and his allies; a young man in a ship captain's coat and two Russian lieutenants. The ship captain comes form the river boat people. The lieutenants, Zalesky and Savin, offer salutes and are quick to explain that they, 10th Guards Tank, are on 'our' side.
"General Koronov,"
"And the Commissar!"
"And the Yefromovitch too, say the war is enough. Done. We will no longer kill ourselves for those worthless men."
"They sent us 12 burnt out tanks and a hundred untrained black ass replacements."
"Tell us one week later to go onto the offensive!"
"One week."
"Fuck that they say. We all agree."
"Broke out of the line."
"We're going south."
"After the winter."
"It is good to see more Americans. You need to see our American."
"Da, he is Civgov. Spring we go south. You meet him. Come too?"
Like a pair of golden retriever puppies; young, cute and unrelentingly enthusiastic.
Filip let them wind down before taking the meeting in hand. They, Sielce, are the last community in Warsaw to not fall under Colonel Czarny's control. Enemy troop estimates range from 800 to 1500. So far, Sielce with a scant 350 under arms has held out. Their knowledge of the rubble and the communities defenses have repulsed every attack until now.
And now is the problem, Filip has spies spread throughout the surrounding communities. They report this mad Baron, as he styles himself, has cut a deal with another band of unspeakable marauders to the north east. He is giving them something of value and in return they are giving him many rounds of blood agent for his big gun, a 122mm D-30 howitzer if the description is accurate. That changes everything.
Czarny, damn if I'll call him Baron, used up the little ammunition he had for the big gun during earlier assaults. The HE he'd fired hadn't been effective as other than a terror weapon, but blood agents would change everything. The militia of Sielce had fought hard, but they didn't have the equipment or training to resist this. The gasses from the shells would worm into every crevice and choke out anyone in the way. Then Czarny's men, appropriately masked, would overrun the targeted portion of the wall and the defenders would have lost every advantage.
"The Baron's men have already left to retrieve the shells. They are expected back in no more than 6 days. Given what we know there are 5 bridges along the Bug river. They will have to cross one."
Zalesky points to the easternmost bridges. "These we can cover. If anyone comes, BOOM," his hands fly up and apart, "they meet the river, yes?" Hands back down, fast to the level.
"And these other three?" I find myself asking.
"My men," Filip answers, "couldn't stand against soldier's in the open. It is not a question of bravery, but ability. But you, you are soldiers. And from what Rataj says, highly skilled."
I sit back to give it a good rolling over. We've fifty men, one APC and an immobile tank. They're fucking nuts!
Leo stands and leans over the table. Quietly he begins, "Ever played shell game? We have three bridges and one pea. Where will the pea go? You don't know." He sighs loudly, "It is bad game, you never win. I don't play. Here is big gun, no shells," he grins at his joke, "and one pea. Take it and his blood agent is worthless."
Filip shakes his head in awe at Leo's stupidity. "They have a thousand men or more. We can't take it. We can barely hold our own!"
Calmly, "Da, you don't. I do."
The table explodes as everyone adds their two cents to his idiocy. Leo just rocks back and waits it out.
"Over there are marauders, deserters, and slaves. They can't know each other. I'll be one more face, one common, smiling Russian face, among a thousand others. I do this."
The talk goes on, but he's won. He'll cut the Gordian Knot. If he fails, we're down one man. We can still play the shell game.
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