Beyond the Shadow of Night(55)

“We both speak Polish and a little Russian, as well as Yiddish and Ukrainian.”

Josef laughed out loud, then chided himself for making such a noise. “Sounds like we have all languages covered. We can be translators if we fail as soldiers.”

“So, you’re Jewish?” Rina said. “Do you have family?”

His laughter quickly dissolved. “Well, I did.”

“You did?”

“Now, I’m not so sure. A wife. Three children. A mother-in-law. We survived until three weeks ago. We hid whenever they came to take us away. Then they came one last time with loudspeakers. They said the deportations had ended, that any remaining Jews would be fed and moved to better housing. My wife . . . she . . .” Josef took a few deep breaths. “She said she and her mama had had enough of hiding. We argued. I told her it was a trick. She disagreed, and I was torn, I didn’t know whether to go with them or not. Perhaps I was a coward for staying hidden.”

“No,” Rina said. “You’re no coward. Any fool can see that.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you heard from them?” she said.

He gave his head a disconsolate shake. “They were deported, I’m left to assume.”

“Oh. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

“Do you know where to?” Asher said.

Josef stared at each of them in turn. “You must have heard?”

“We’ve all heard rumors.”

“Of course,” Josef said. “I don’t know the details for certain. Some say they become slaves, some say they are all shot. I only know they are never seen or heard from again.”

“So it’s possible they’re still alive?”

“Let me put it this way.” He took a deep breath. “If a dozen people leave the city and you never hear from them again, so what? If a thousand people do the same—just disappear—it’s suspicious. But hundreds of thousands? Something is very, very wrong.”

Rina’s face creased up.

“I’m sorry,” Josef said. “Your parents. Your sister. I’m being insensitive, but I’m trying to be realistic.”

“That’s all right,” Rina said, wiping away a tear.

“Right.” Josef put on an artificial smile. “We have to keep our spirits up so that—”

A sound made him stop. Asher recognized it: the oven door was opening. Then there was a distinctive rap on the hatch.

Josef held a finger up to his lips and took a step back. He lifted the piece of wood holding the hatch shut and pulled out his pistol, pointing it at the hatch.

A body fell through—a young man, not much older than Asher. He pulled on the string to close the oven door.

Josef held out a hand to help the man up and they exchanged a few words. Asher only half understood, but this was clearly the final member of the group Josef had mentioned.

“This is Anatoli,” Josef said. “He’s a Russian soldier. He’s not Jewish, and for that matter, neither is Adolf. But they both believe in the cause. They fight for humanity rather than their countries.” He glanced at them both. “And because they are Gentiles, it’s easier for them to smuggle guns and food to the resistance.”

“So where are our guns?” Rina said.

Josef looked embarrassed, a crooked smile slightly spoiling his revolutionary demeanor. “We only have three. But you won’t be left out. I promise.”





Chapter 18

Warsaw, Poland, 1943

Asher lost track of the days and weeks passing in the dark cocoon they were all hiding out in, but Josef was true to his word about including him and his sister in missions to disrupt the Nazi cleansing of Warsaw, although for the first few missions Asher and Rina were little more than observers.

Then came their first practice. Josef stressed, as he always did, that Rina and Asher could stay in the hiding place if they wanted to, but were also welcome to come along. Each time, it was an easy decision: the hiding place was like a prison cell.

Asher and Rina kept low while the other men shot an isolated group of four SS guards at a sentry point. On the way back, the group detoured through an abandoned hall of some sort, and Rina and Asher took turns to shoot at targets scraped into the bare plaster walls. “Learn quickly,” Josef said. “We can’t waste bullets.”

The next mission was more involved—and more frightening, as far as Asher was concerned. They’d climbed onto the roof of a housing block and were all leaning over the edge, looking down at a regiment of guards—SS, Wehrmacht, or police, it was hard to tell from above.

Josef offered the gun to Asher. He hesitated to take it.

“I’ll try,” Rina said.

And she did, keeping both hands on the gun and gently squeezing the trigger as she’d practiced. Directly below them, a splash of blood appeared on the top of a cap, and a man collapsed to the ground. Before his body hit the earth there were more shots, killing six or seven guards, Asher guessed. In the course of the arguments and panic below, some guards looked up, spotting the source of the gunfire.

“Follow me!” Josef shouted.

A jump across onto another roof, onto a third by balancing on a length of piping, down a flight of stairs, through a hole in the wall, down more stairs, and out into a backstreet. Into and out of another house, around a corner, then into the house where their dummy oven lay waiting for the heroes to return.