Then another tank appeared.
Natalia’s mouth dropped open, stunned at the inconceivable sight.
Three women stumbled along in front of the Panther tank, acting as human shields. A rope was tied around each of their waists and secured to the tank. Waffen-SS troopers trotted alongside, right behind the women who, to Natalia’s astonishment, shouted at the AK commandos, imploring them to fire at the tanks.
An instant later the ground beneath Natalia’s feet heaved, and she fell to her knees as a thunderous blast erupted from the tank’s gun barrel. A cloud of dust billowed into the sky. The side of the building she and the boy had just vacated slid into the street.
As the tank plowed forward into the rubble, one of the women tripped over a pile of fallen bricks and was dragged beneath the clanking treads. The other two, now shrieking and flailing their arms, stumbled over the clutter of shattered bricks and wood, trying desperately to stay on their feet. But the massive growling machine, with scraps of the first woman’s blue-and-red skirt caught in its treads, barged into them. Staggering, falling, one after the other, the women finally disappeared beneath the tank.
Natalia went rigid. As the tank rumbled on, she spotted something in the rubble. An arm emerged then a shoulder as the last woman dragged under the tank struggled to lift her head.
Natalia bolted into the street. But she stopped abruptly as one of the Waffen-SS troopers following the tank looked down at the struggling woman, then pointed his rifle at her and shot her in the head.
For an instant everything seemed frozen in time. The SS trooper turned away as though he’d just shot a varmint in a farmyard. Natalia’s hand clutched the pistol in her pocket and, before she realized what she was doing, her right arm was extended and the pistol was pointed squarely at the SS trooper’s back.
She blinked.
And pulled the trigger.
Then everything seemed to happen at once.
She heard the boy shout. An instant later he was next to her, tugging at her sleeve and dragging her to the ground.
They rolled over on the cobblestones as a gunshot cracked, and the air whistled above their heads.
When Natalia looked up, a second SS trooper stood over the body of the one she’d just shot. He chambered another round and aimed directly at her.
Another gunshot echoed off the buildings, this one from behind her. The SS trooper slumped to the ground, his rifle clattering on the street.
Natalia got to her knees and looked back in the direction of the second shot.
An AK commando sprinted forward, waving his hand for them to stay down. He dropped to one knee, raised his rifle and fired twice over their heads, dropping two other SS troopers with deadly precision. Then he lowered the rifle and ran up to them. He was a thin, serious-looking man with wire-rimmed eyeglasses. “Get back against that wall,” he said quietly but firmly.
The boy grabbed Natalia’s elbow, and they backed up against the building as three other AK commandos sprinted into the center of the square, carrying a PIAT anti-tank gun. She crouched low with her hands over her ears as the PIAT’s barrel flashed. The Panther tank shuddered with a deafening bang!
The tank’s turret rotated toward the square.
The PIAT flashed again, and the tank rocked with a second bang!
The turret stopped.
The hatch popped open, and black smoke billowed out. A tank crewman frantically clawed his way out the open hatch, face blackened with soot, his shirt on fire. He was halfway out when he collapsed and slid back into the burning tank.
Natalia stood ramrod stiff. Her ears rang so badly she couldn’t hear, but she caught a sudden flash of movement from the corner of her eye.
On the other side of the square, a German Army truck barreled onto the lawn and skidded to a halt. Waffen-SS troopers leaped from the back of the truck and charged across the lawn toward the PIAT crew. An instant later a horde of screaming AK commandos poured out of the buildings surrounding the square.
Gunfire erupted from every direction—
SS troopers fell—
Commandos fell—
Bodies clashed in a melee of hand-to-hand combat—
Then it was over.
In a haze of gun smoke, a small group of breathless commandos stood motionless in the center of the square, surrounded by dozens of dead bodies.
Natalia leaned back against the building and wrapped her arms around her chest, staring at the carnage in the square. Overwhelmed by the madness and the senseless, brutal slaughter, her mind went blank. She felt… numb.
In the street, the woman who had struggled to lift her head was now still.
The boy crouched next to her. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheek, and his blond hair was matted with dust. He was called “Rabbit” by the AK commandos because he could run like the wind, and he knew where the stockpiles of Molotov cocktails were hidden in the cellars, trash bins and sewers throughout Warsaw’s City Center.
Natalia slowly slid down and put a hand on the boy’s knee. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Rabbit shook his head. “I didn’t do anything. We’d both be dead now if it hadn’t been for Wolf.”
“Wolf?”
“The commando wearing the glasses, the one they call ‘the assassin.’ Damn, I wish I could shoot like that.”
Natalia searched the square for the slender AK commando, but the haze was too thick and dozens of people were milling around. She leaned her head back against the building and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
Rabbit rolled a cigarette. He licked the edge of the paper, stuck the limp cylinder in the corner of his mouth and struck a match. He inhaled deeply then handed it to her.
Natalia took a drag from the flimsy cigarette and held the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. It helped. She took a second drag and handed it back. “Where is your home?” she asked.
“Anywhere I happen to be,” the boy said with a shrug. “Fuckin’ Krauts bombed our house in ’39. But I’m still here. They aren’t gonna haul me away like they did my brother.”
“Your brother?”
Rabbit picked a bit of tobacco off his lip and spit in the street. “He was two years older than me. We were the only ones who made it to the cellar that night. But six months later a couple of SS bastards stopped him on the street…” He took a drag on the cigarette and stared at the ground.
“You’ve haven’t seen him again?”
Rabbit shook his head. “I stayed with my aunt for a while, but she got sick and died. AK’s my family, been that way for most of the war.”
The boy looked up, staring silently into the street and the square beyond, holding the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. After a few minutes he flicked an ash and said, “He was bigger than me, but I could beat his ass in football anytime.” His eyes widened, and he smiled broadly as though he were seeing the game being played out in front of them. “He’d always line up on the opposite side, and he’d try like hell to give me a shoulder or take a swipe at my ankle, but I was too fast, way too fast. He’d curse at me, call me every name in the book and try to run me down, but I’d just laugh and pound the ball into the goal.”
“What was his name?”
The smile slowly slid off his face. Then he carefully stubbed out what was left of the cigarette and put it in his shirt pocket. “We don’t have names, remember?”