The Katyn Order by Douglas W. Jacobson Read Free Book Online Page B

tougher than I look, you know. Besides, I’d rather be a sniper than crawl through the damn sewers, dragging telephone lines.”
    Adam laughed again. “Maybe some day, Rabbit. But, in the meantime someone has to know the way through the sewers. That may be our only way out of here.”
    The boy kicked a stone. “Nah, we’re goin’ to beat these fuckin’ Krauts. Me and the Conductor have fried a bunch of ‘em.”
    â€œThe Conductor?”
    â€œYeah, the one with the uniform. Remember that day in the hospital square? Me and the Conductor were caught in the middle of the street, and you took out three of those SS pricks, shot ‘em right over our heads. Damn, that was something to see. You
gotta
teach me to shoot like that.”
    Adam shrugged. He remembered the day at the hospital, of course. And he had seen her again a few days later, sitting with Falcon at the briefing. But what did it matter? She’d probably just get herself killed, like they all would.
    â€œWe’re going to beat these Krauts, don’t you think?”
    Adam put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and nodded, marveling at the optimism of youth. He was about to respond when someone shouted at Rabbit from across the street. The boy said, “It’s Bobcat, gotta go. See ya later.”
    Adam watched with a smile as Rabbit ran up to the taller, dark-haired boy called Bobcat and punched him in the arm, then ducked out of the way as Bobcat took a swipe at his head. A moment later they were both running down the street, laughing and calling each other names.
    The AK district command center had been moved from Pilsudski Square to the cellar of the Polonia Bank building in Old Town. Located just a few streets off the central square, the bank was nestled in the middle of a row of three-story, seventeenth-century merchant houses and guild halls that had so far withstood the sporadic shelling with only a layer of soot darkening their multi-colored façades.
    As Adam descended the staircase and entered the crowded, smoky room in the cellar of the bank, a brawny commando with a shock of jet-black hair and a scowl on his face brushed past him and stomped up the stairs.
    Adam watched the commando for a few seconds, then glanced around the hot, stuffy room, lit with bare bulbs strung across the wood-beamed ceiling. He spotted Colonel Stag at a small table in the far corner, away from the other AK officers, who were poring over maps and scratching out dispatches for the runners.
    The colonel waved his hand for Adam to join him. His face was heavily creased and pasty-looking, his eyes showing fatigue. “We’ve been instructed by General Bor to make contact with the Russians,” Stag said as soon as Adam sat down, not wasting any time with small talk. “The situation here is getting critical, and it’s imperative we know their intentions.”
    â€œHas there been any movement on their part?” Adam asked.
    Stag shook his head. “No, they’re still sitting there on the east bank of the river, south of Praga. They’ve had firefights with the Germans up and down the river, but our scouts report they’ve shown no inclination to move into Warsaw.” Stag leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “The Russians won’t talk with us directly, of course, so as soon as we can set it up, we’re going to send you over there.”
    Adam stiffened. He understood the reality of the situation. As historical enemies, Russian officers would never communicate directly with their Polish counterparts, would never acknowledge them as equals, even though since 1941 they were technically allies. “What makes you think they’ll talk to me?”
    â€œYou’re an American. Our intelligence people have made some probes and have reason to believe they’ll receive you.”
    â€œEven though I’ve been fighting with the AK and carrying out orders given by Polish