Insurgents of the "Radosław" Group on position at the Church of Jan Boży

         "Kolumb" and ten boys under his command meant to attack through the hospital garden, and me and seven other boys, moving from the basement of a building at Konwiktorska Street, meant to flank. The attack supposed to begin at the same time. My group got out through the basement window and ran towards the church. Germans probably heard us as around 21.00 or 22.00 hours the night was pitch-black. "Kolumb" sustained a leg wound right at the beginning of the charge and their charged stopped (I found out about it later). We found shelter behind a twenty centimetre high wall. Luckily flame thrower could not reach us, but moving forward was impossible. In that situation knocked on unfurnished wood and said: we're safe now. Then I understood that remaining calm, even joking in a very tough situation may be tremendous help and sometimes safe a life.
         I decided to retreat to the starting position. Already in the basement, I counted up my men and one soldier was missing. We were preparing to come out and look for him, when he showed up, severely wounded in the head. He was carried to hospital "Pod krzywą latarnią" (Under the Crooked Lantern) where he was murdered by Germans about 31st of August, along with many other wounded in the basement of this insurgency hospital.
         All I can remember from the time we fought in this area is the mentally ill, who couldn't understand what was going on, and were walking around the no man's land between us and Germans. Some of them were wounded.
         We were on position at Konwiktorska Street. Germans occupied the Polonia pitch opposite of our position. At some point I heard noise in the street which was the front line. I was just about to shoot when I saw a man in a long shirt entering our building from that side. This time there was no shooting from the opposite side of the road. He had an empty jar in his hands. He kindly offered me honey and sour cucumbers… It looked like I was hallucinating. I told him that all purchases are made by the quartermaster which is based further down our positions … and that guy went away to look them up.
         Wounds sustained in Wola still were not healed. My friend "Zbylut" (Witold Piekarski) treated my wounded as much as he could (he studied medicine), but "wild meat" did not want to grow with skin. One day he called up for help an older doctor (probably forty five or fifty year old man), Greek Jew from Thessaloniki who was liberated by us at Stawki. They spoke in Latin as it was the only language they could speak and understand each other. But the wounds could not heal and even in November 1944 they were not scarred over.
         The exact account of those twenty days is not possible. During that time the Old Town was bombarded by an artillery from Praga, "cows" and four bombers. Bombers flew over, dropped their load of half-ton blockbusters or incendiary bombs and flew back to the air field, then loaded up new bombs and flew over again after 40 minutes later. Obviously, there was no Soviet bombers on the horizon. Germans were dropping those bombs like during training.
         Poor civilians lived in basements. There were holes cut through the basements' walls and people went from building to building without coming outside. We slept on the storeys all the time. Flats were uninhabited but we could still use bedrooms, study rooms. We felt there much better living there then living among crowds of those unhappy people in basements. It was risky, but what will be will be...
         One day during the recess, four soldiers played bridge. Someone found a pathephone and records and music was played. Suddenly, there was a terrible bang. All plaster from the ceiling fell on us. Through the dust I saw four players removing rubble from the table. The game went on. Not too long. The other section of the building collapsed, three storeys, by the "cow". People were caved-in and we had to dig them out. Recess time was over.
         Another time at Freta Street, I was checking the posts located at attics of the front buildings. One of the sentry was visible from the distance in the background of the evening, still blue skies. Weather was just great, no drop of rain and buildings were burning. I screamed to him: are you crazy, do you want to get killed, they can surely see you! And he replied: look, do you want me to lay down here? And the beam of the bombarded building was moving. I came closer. The wood was covered with bed bugs which were marching somewhere, one by one, an army on parade. Naturally, I changed the observation point.
         Once I was informed about demise of a fellow soldier who I didn't know too well (perhaps he joined up already during the uprising). Don't remember his pseudonym or name. He got killed at the post at the fourth floor. We carried down the body to the courtyard where we wanted to bury him. We were surprised to see a dug up grave. I didn't think about it too much and thought that someone dug up that grave just in case. We buried our friend. As soon as we finished a minute of silence or a prayer, I heard a scream: damn, they stole our grave. We had to move out quickly as the approaching group of soldiers were carrying a dead body of their soldier and they did not look too happy about this misunderstanding.
         This tragicomic situation was an exception. Generally, we had no many reasons to feel happy. Civilians' situation was especially tragic. They lived in basements: women, children, the elderly and often the mentally ill who escaped from hospital of Jan Boży. Their friendliness was systematically decreasing and it changed to rage by the end of August what we experienced while we sometimes walked through underground basement corridors.
         This takes me back to the time where I was at "Krzywa latarnia" after the tank-trap explosion at Kilińskiego Street. I was laid next to an injured man who was in a very bad condition. He was defending his house and the incendiary bomb severely burned his body. Next to him was his wife and children and they were crying. I ran away from that basement as fast as I could.
         That anecdote about bridge took place on 25th of August. Someone heard on the radio (probably Signals Intelligence of the Home Army), that Paris was liberated. I felt envy. I spoke about it to Jodła (Jerzy Krzymowski). I knew him very well, he was Roman Mularczyk's friend from the high school in Garwolin, and then for several months, he was our flatmate at 27 Mickiewicza Street. He was assigned to Kedyw, I did not recommend him or anything, and the next time I saw him already at the beginning of uprising. I told him then, I remember that very well: Perhaps Germans will capitulate as they lost Paris. If not, we have no choice, we will have to die here, and those guys in Paris are liberated after a couple of days of uprising. Obviously, we didn't know about negotiations between de Gaulle and Americans, or about General Leclerc's division coming to Paris to support the Paris insurgents.
         The area of the Old Town in our possession, still defended by us, was shrinking under the pressure of Germans. On 26th or 27th of August, a big concrete building of Państwowa Wytwórnia Papierów Wartościowych (PWPW - The State Security Printing Works) and a redoubt defending the Old Town from the north was lost.
         We had been sent to Zakroczymska Street to patch the hole. Our group which at the beginning was 75 soldiers strong, at the time had only about 20 soldiers. The rest was killed or injured and was in hospitals. Among those twenty was several wounded soldiers including me.
         At that time, Antoś Tuleja showed up in the Old Town (our friend, wounded in the assassination of the Gestapo officers Jung and Hoffman on 15 of June 1944 in Wisłostrada). When he found out that we are in the Old Town, he got a sewer pass in order to join his friends. He came through sewers, often on his knees, to find us at the moment of the Old Town agony. Antek was with eight boys on corner of Franciszkańska Street, myself along with seven boys, slightly on the right from the Czwartacy barracks, at Zakroczymska Street. We were to take positions in buildings along Kościelna Street. I had no news from Antek. So I sent someone to establish communication between us. There is no one. The entire group was injured by the mortar shell. Antek ran. All were evacuated to "Krzywa Latarnia". Our group of eight soldiers including myself, tried to take position at the burned down building on the other side of Zakroczymska Street. Walls of the building were still there but their beams were weakened by the fire. Some German soldier tried to stop us and fired his flame thrower at us. And suddenly a wind blow directed the fire on this soldier and set him on fire. I need to admit it, I did not feel sorry for him.
         When we took this burned down building, the bombers flew over. We heard them from the distance, their engines and first explosions. Generally, bombers dropped their bombs one by one to cover certain area, so I thought that next bombs will be for us. Because our building was barely standing, I sent the entire unit to a big gate on the other side of the street which, I thought, was safe and would give us shelter. Boys jumped through the street and already on the other side it came out that one new soldier whose pseudonym was "Broda" was missing. I did not want to retreat without all my men. "Zbylut", a doctor, whom I have already mentioned, stayed with me because we were friends. We were screaming: "Broda", "Broda", the bombs dropped from the sky. Black dust was everywhere, pieces of the walls and the ceiling fell on us. When we finally could see and the dust settled, "our safe gate" evaporated. Bombs fell exactly on the gate and destroyed the whole building. My boys were caved in. Maybe 50 metres from where we were, there was another unexploded bomb laying on the street, perhaps it did not explode thanks to sabotage of a Polish or French slave-worker forced to work in German factory. There was only a head of this seventeen year old volunteer coming out of the rubble, at the time he had been with us for two or three days. He screaming of pain. I ran over and heard him saying: I'm sorry I'm screaming, Lieutenant. We had to dig him out. I ran to the church of Franciscans where a whole mass of people was hiding. I screamed: I need help, my friends are caved in. Nobody moved. There was a man in his prime standing next to me. I said: Come with me, and he replied: No, I won't. I got angry and put a Parabellum to his belly and said: You're coming with me or I'll shoot. And he obeyed me.

         We managed to dig out only this seventeen year old boy. He had broken legs. I sent him to "Krzywa Latarnia" hospital where he was shot dead by Germans. The rest of my unit was caved in deep under the rubble. Among those the caved in was "Budrys" (Stanisław Budkiewicz). He carried a leather bag in which he had a combat diary of our unit started at the beginning of uprising. I thought that the diary was lost for good. However, when the Old Town was being rebuild after the war and this bag was found. Loose pages of the diary, difficult to decipher, were given to "Stary" (Józef Rybicki). During the Stalinism era in Poland those pages had to be hidden well. Rybicki was often raided by the UB (Security Office) and this valuable document could have been confiscated. After long years, Rybicki tried to find the diary and could not. Finally, his daughter, Hania Rybicka, found the diary in her father's hiding place. She rewrote it and hand it to Mr. Giedroyć at Maisons Laffitte ("Zeszyty Historyczne" No. 94).
         After this story, I am coming back to events of 29th of September, 1944.
         I suppose, on that day, "Zbylut" and I came back to the rest of our unit which was defending buildings at Kościelna Street. Two excellent shooters: "Śnica" and "Kryst" had positions in the attic of yet not destroyed building. They shot at Germans in the park at the back of the Czwartacy barracks at Zakroczymska Street. Germans tried to over-smart the shooters. Two Germans carried a sofa and tried to hide behind it, so only their legs were visible. Two shots and two bearers collapsed covered with the furniture.
         On 30th of August at 22.00 hours, I got an order to withdraw the men from their positions and march to 7 Koźla Street. The order was strange as did not mention what unit would replace us. I shared my concerns with the area commander and he ordered me to follow the order. And then I knew, after 30 days of defending the Old Town, we were leaving. Overground or underground, but we were leaving.
         It came out that we were going overground. The first target of our action was Bank Polski. In order to get there, we had to manage to get through a massive crowd which, informed by don't know who, was waiting to pass.
         Major "Jan" had a following plan: "Rudy" company being a charging company under command of Andrzej Morro, goes first through the rubble towards Bankowy Square. Major "Jan" goes with us. Medical units to collect the wounded along with other units go in accordance with order. "Wigry" company attacks on our left flank between Teatralny Square and Bank Polski, along Senatorska Street. The charge was to begin at 24.00 hours. Finally, at 2-3 a.m. all units are on positions.
         We are informed about that plan at meeting with Major "Trzaska" (surname is Konopacki, I guess), with presence of Major "Jan" and "Morro" (Andrzej Romocki). We are waiting outside the Bank Polski at Bielańska Street.
         First group led by "Morro" jumps through the street. We are the second to cross the street. Major "Jan" says: we run covering behind the wall, slightly on the left from the bank. Major "Jan" himself goes further towards Senatorska Street where meant to be "Wigry", but they are not there. Hände hoch! And Major "Jan" gets killed.
         We run through the courtyard among mountains of bricks and under fire. I can see my friends pass me by, I want to run faster, but I am unable to do so. Two weeks of hospital and unhealed wounds take its tall.
         I reached a shelter, one more push and a short rest in a burnt out store opposite of the St. Anthony Church. German heavy machine guns shoots along the street. We stand up safely behind the wall. Getting on the other side of the street is impossible.
         It was dawning.
         Major "Trzaska" of "Wigry" battalion, who was with Major "Jan", is with us. He does not know where his boys are. Nobody but us went forward. We are surrounded. We take positions in an annexe. German gendarmes approach surely and are finished with grenades. Sixty people in the middle of German positions. There is Saxon Garden in front of us, and Bank Polski behind us. There is no point going back to where we came from. Our wounded left along the way get killed. Besides, it does not make any difference, get killed here or there. We can hear a scream from the St. Anthony Church. It is "Morro" who realised that his unit won't be able to go any further and took positions at the church. Heavy machine gun drowns out his voice. Suddenly "Morro" and "Witold" from "Rudy" company jumps through the street, they run and reach our position. Both wounded but just slightly wounded.
         Things go quick now. "Amorek" as "Morro" was also called, takes command. Two grenades thrown in the middle of the street lay a smokescreen. German heavy machine gun stops shooting. Our whole unit jumps through the street and with no losses get to the church, it is better to defend ourselves over here. Sentries need to be put at every entry as we are surrounded, completely cut off from the Old Town and Downtown, we are left to our own devices.
         "Zbylut" and me, take positions in a small courtyard, as if monastery courtyard, next to the church. "Zbylut" sat down against the wall under the crenel situated opposite of the church entry. I was in a niche on his right, few metres away from him. Suddenly, we hear a shot rang. I see "Zbylut" is wounded and tries to get to me on all fours. I shoot my Thompson towards the crenel in the wall, but my gun gets blocked as it is dusted as a result of three day bombardment. I exactly see bullets hitting "Zbylut"'s head. Bullets come from the roof or the crenel. I feel a hit on my lower back. Medics come over. Danusia (Mancewicz) and another medic carry us to the church and place us on the coffin slings instead of placing us on stretchers. I see "Zbylut" next to me. He is in agony.
         Medics start to treat our wounds. Mine, both buttocks shot, a bullet came in my left one and went out the right one. Up to today this wound is the object of jokes. I don't know what is going to happen next, neither will I be able to walk, so I start cleaning my Parabellum as my Thompson has already disappointed me. I planned to kill one or two Germans or Ukrainians serving under German command. And then, either they shoot me dead or I shoot myself, so I can avoid a terrible death which was experienced by one of our fellow soldiers, who was wounded before jumped to the church. We heard his screams while he was tortured.
         When laying on the coffin slings in the church, I thought I had an hour of life left, at the tops. I remember it perfectly. I was thinking as I had nothing better to do and the place was appropriate.
         More or less about 1942-1943 I lost my faith in God who allowed the war atrocities happened which I observed. Will I pray? I decided, I won't. If I am wrong, then God should congratulate me bravery. Up to now I have not met him. It will or it won't happen, but I won't write about it.
         In the meantime, "Morro" and "Trzaska" made a decision and about 6 a.m. an order was given: everybody runs in complete silence through garden behind the church and get to a building at Alberta Króla Belgów Street (somebody told me after the war that it was Zamoyscy Palace building). Palace or not, the building was completely burned down. I was lucky, bullet didn't touch the bone. Barely, but still I could join the unit.
         Germans didn't know where we went. We can see their legs through basement windows. We are not allowed to speak, cough, moan or move. The building walls, heat up by the fire, are like radiators which are absolutely obsolete at this time of the year. It's hot as hell.
         We wait. How long and what for? At 6 a.m. we went to the basement and at 10 p.m. we left this damn basement. About 11 a.m. Germans heard a noise.
         Just in case, they threw in a couple of grenades. Explosion and then silence. Luckily, no losses on our side. We hide in the basement and wait, coughing dust. Explosions again, short rounds at our windows and silence again. No matter what, Germans are afraid to enter the building.
         Our medics give the rest of water to the wounded. "Bor" (Zygmunt Siennicki) moans, we cover his mouth. Silence, silence, this is our only chance.
         Sweat floods our eyes, wounds hurt, grenades are thrown into our basement every half an hour are our only "entertainment".
         It was probably the longest day in my life.
         21.00 hours. Stand up, repeated quietly. Is everybody present? We come out quietly through a small basement window leading to the garden.

         Halt! We lay low. Two German gendarmerie trucks drive about three steps from us.
         Jump. We form a marching column and move out. Trenches and German positions are everywhere.
         It's night again. German uniforms and helmets we are wearing cause no suspicion (white and red armbands are taken off). We approach Marszałkowska Street. We have to cross the street.
         Halt! German barricade across the street.
         "Dobrosław" (Jan Więckowski) of "Zośka" approaches the guard. And asks in perfect German to show him the positions of those "Polish bandits". He says we are a special unit sent from German command at Brühl Palace.
         Parole (password) asks the German. We don't know the password, we were sent urgently and gave us no password, "Drogosław" gets nervous.
         Jawohl (yes, sir), you can go, says the German.
         Królewska Street. Jumping through the ruins reminds me of my wound. A shot from the insurgents' defensive lines and one of us falls dead. We run and scream: Radosław, don't shoot! Luckily, they believed us and stopped shooting. We are Downtown.
         I found out later that Janek Bagiński ("Socha") and two young men were left in the basement. Whispering order didn't reach them. Their position was far from the main group as they guarded the other end of the basement. "Socha" together with those two boys went the same way, crawling from time to time, and luckily got to Królewska Street.
         Reception of our group was enthusiastic and together with the Królewska Street insurgents we even sang "Boże coś Polskę" or "Rota" (Polish patriotic songs), I don't remember, as I was in hurry to get to the hospital, but the welcoming ceremony was priority. And then my wounds were treated as I demanded it. And this way I got to the PKO building (where we supposed to be on the second day of uprising), where hospital was located in basements.
         It came out that the Maltese Hospital, my second hospital during the uprising, was evacuated Downtown and located in the PKO building. Nurses recognised me, warmly welcomed me, washed me, treated my wounds, and registered my old and new injuries. They were really nice. After three sleepless days and nights I was shattered, but that night I could not sleep.