alternatehistory.com

Kiev, 1943


Stepan Bandera knew he was going to die tonight.


The President of the Ukrainian State had expected to be afraid, he had been before, but now all he felt was a sense of surprise. It was difficult to tell whether it was in reaction to the firefight now going on around the isolated estate that had doubled as his home and prison for the last four months, or whether it had taken this long for the partisans to get him. They had tried several times before, and with each failure it seemed that the sense of reckoning had only increased.

There had been a time when people had sought to break into a building just to lovingly embrace him, rather than try to wring his neck. The same could have been said for his old friend, Yaroslav Stetsko, whom Bandera felt sure he would be seeing shortly. He could recall, on that fine day in September 1941, when his friend had declared the rebirth of Ukraine from the newly liberated Duma building in Kiev. The Soviets had fled without a shot being fired, and it seemed the war would soon be over. The Germans had allowed the new Ukrainian government to enter the city first. For that moment at least, it had seemed as if their dreams of Ukrainian independence were about to come true.

Bandera recalled telling his friend that, no matter what else happened, he would always remember this as the happiest moment of his life.

The remote controlled bombings of Kiev had started the next day, after the Germans had finally moved into the city. Khreshchatyk Street, were the Duma was located, was completely obliterated by the electronic devices whilst all over the city individual buildings of high priority went off without warning. Thousands died in the bombings and the resultant widespread fires, including several German officers and most of the members of the newly declared Ukrainian government.

He was reminded of those explosions now. Bandera had been in his study when the firing had started outside, the enclosure around the old stately home was well guarded, however it seemed the partisans had come ready for a confrontation. As if tonight was the night that he had to die. The study that had recently doubled up as his drinking den was located well within the centre of the building, anywhere near a window would have been too good an opportunity for a sniper.

Unable to go outside for most of the day and often prohibited from even walking around the corridors of the building, Bandera had been spending most of his days inside the study, and within the four walls and eventually turned to drinking heavily to get him through the endless mundanity. He was the President of the Ukraine, but there was little real work for him to do these days. Arthur Seyss-Inquart, Reichskommissar for the Ukraine, was in complete control of the country in reality. Bandera was a rubber stamp, a propaganda tool, and now little more than a prisoner.

He recalled the scene when parts of Kiev were still burning, the day Heydrich had appeared in the lobby of the same estate, the “temporary” government headquarters, to inform Bandera and Stetsko that the bombs were the fault of the Jews and that had they now must help the Germans round them up. The “hangman” was red in the face after such an embarrassing intelligence oversight, but he was already trying to spin it to his advantage. Neither Bandera or Stetsko had questioned how the Jews could have managed such a conspiracy within a few hours of the Red Army leaving the city. Neither of them had chosen to attend Babi Yar either.

It seemed on some days that “evacuation” of the Jews was the only reason that the Ukrainian state continued to function. Heydrich preferred to use men from the Organisation of Ukrainian Nationalists to carry out the pogroms than regular civilians, and recruitment for the organisation grew rapidly. More than enough to offset the suicides involved with the dirty work.

Like the Germans, Bandera remained convinced that the Jews were responsible for the Soviet Union, and thus the Holodomor. He was happy to help his allies in “evacuating” them from the new Ukrainian state. When the “suggestions” on how the OUN should carry out the pogroms came through, he became suspicious, but it was only when Stetsko complained of the requisition of the harvest that it became clear that these were, in fact, orders.

Bandera was thankful that he hadn’t been drinking when the partisans had begun to attack. He had been informed that Seyss-Inquart would be coming to see him and thus had chosen to remain sober. The German’s barely concealed contempt for him would begin to show otherwise, and the end result would only be more demands for labour.

Part of him wondered whether the adrenaline he felt coursing through his veins was actually anticipation. The attack was at least something he could react to, and given the noise of the gunfire continuously approaching, it didn’t seem likely that his guards would succeed in driving off the attackers.

The previous year had been a long descent into powerlessness, and it seemed that no matter how deeply he plunged, the depravity only got worse. First there had been the harvest in 1941, the majority of which had been taken almost entirely for German uses, leaving the Ukrainian people to starve. Then there were the number of homes requisitioned during the winter, used to house millions of Axis soldiers and leaving so many of his fellow Ukrainians exposed and hungry during the worst time of the year. There were no figures on how many had died, or how many had subsequently gone into the forests.

Stetsko and himself had explained in their subsequent radio broadcasts to the Ukrainian people that whilst these hardships were trying they were necessary to sustain a force large enough to destroy Stalin in one fell swoop. When the Red Army had failed to break, the two had found themselves making the same excuses to an ever more desperate population that one more year of sacrifice would be needed for the cause. More deaths from exposure, more deaths from starvation, more friends and loved ones being sent west to work in factories that no-one seemed to be returning from, and far more partisans than the year before. By the winter of 1942 he was making these broadcasts alone, Stetsky had retired into a depressed stupor and spent his days in the study that now belonged to him.

Stetsky had shot himself when the news came through that the Sixth Army had surrendered at Stalingrad. Ever since then Bandera had filled in as President of a government that didn’t seem long for this world. He had had to reassure the Ukrainian public that there was nothing to worry about in the temporary setback but that the reversal would require another year of sacrifice for the cause of liberation. By this point few had been listening. The German offensive at Kursk had been launched two weeks beforehand, only to fail even more spectacularly than the Stalingrad campaign. Now the Soviets were on the march and he supposed that it was no wonder there had been such a sudden spike in partisan activity.

The door of the study burst open and for a moment Bandera thought that this was it, but instead he was startled to see the shaking figure of Seyss-Inquart. It seemed as if the partisans had waited for him to enter the building before launching their attack, for his presence hadn’t been announced.

“Is there another way out of here?!”

“You would likely know better than me”, Bandera shrugged. It was enough to make Seyss-Inquart burst into a rage.

“This is ridiculous! German blood being spilled for the sake of you and your mock government. The Fuhrer should never have listened to that idiot Rosenberg, but he had to didn’t he? And now I’m going to die in a building full of beasts!” There was despair in the Reichskommissar’s voice as he continued to rant away in German. He could barely speak any Ukrainian. Bandura spoke excellent German but the ramblings became completely unintelligible after the noise of a grenade shook the building as if it had gone off inside.

Windows were beginning to smash and the quick beating of boots on the floors of the estate could be felt from inside of the study. Bandera bemusedly observed the Reichskommissar crawl underneath the study’s large work desk. Neither man seemed to have noticed that the firing had died down, until the door was smashed in by a jackbooted figure.

“He is one you want please!” the pudgy man squealed in his horrific attempt use of the Ukrainian language, the rabid expression on the gun wielding partisan suddenly shifted between the two men in rapid success, before her eyes rested on Bandera and she began to grin. Her eyes were dark, accentuated by the bags around them, they looked like wallowing pits of despair.

“Stepan Andriyovych Bandera, you will atone for your sins....”

With her hair tied back and her face covered in dirt, the woman was an androgynous figure. Her voice was almost a growl as she had pointed to the President.

“He one you want! Take! Take!” Seyss-Inquart was almost giddy it seemed, he clearly couldn’t understand the partisan but any slight hint of potential survival appeared to have electrified the Austrian who, moments before, had been as sure of his demise as Stepan had been. The partisan regarded him with a look of utter loathing as he emerged from underneath the table, before returning her gaze to Bandera.

“...but your judgement will not come today.”

Seyss-Inquart was still goading the partisan on when the bullet flew through the meat and cartilage that had once been his face. His Ukrainian had remained poor to the end.

“I didn’t know that communists believed in sin.” Bandera retorted, but the partisan only continued to smile with that slightly unhinged grin as she shook her head. She rolled up her dirt covered sleeve, to reveal a row of dark numbers on her wrist.


The numbers of Janowska.


The first signs of the hurried August morning were somewhat obscured by the immense flames pouring out of the estate. Stepan Bandera wasn’t going to die tonight, he was reassured. Miles Lerman’s Lviv brigade might have been dedicated to causing havoc for the German occupiers, but with Bandera in their care they now had a pre-arranged appointment with the NKVD to transport him to.


They were keen for him not to be late.
Top