Story 2686
Warsaw, December 6, 1944
"Everyone check themselves and their partners one last time. We leave in ten minutes."
The small cellar was full of men and women. Almost all had a submachine gun slung over their shoulder. Some of the weapons had been made in Britain. A few weapons were manufactured in the soon to be cut off Ruhr Valley. Most of the guns that equipped the assault squads had been manufactured over the past year in a half dozen workshops scattered throughout the city. Bicycle repair shops had been a key node in the resistance groups' ability to arm themselves. Ammunition that had been carefully hoarded, stolen, and air dropped had been passed out after one of the few full meals that almost everyone in the cell had experienced in months. American rations dropped by Polish pilots flying British planes were enough to give their bodies strength to match their souls.
The few men and women who did not have submachine guns instead carried pistols and satchel charges. They had walked the streets near their targets for weeks now. The charges would break open the German defenses around key buildings and then assault teams could flow to first seize machine guns and rifles and then to clear the telephone exchanges, and the headquarters of both the occupation government and the occupying military forces. By dawn, if all had gone well, the bridges over the Vistula would be under the Home Army's control and then they just would need to hold until relieved. The dozens of fighters in this cell were silent as they made sure that they were ready and then their brothers and sisters in arms and blood were as ready as they could be.
Eleven minutes later, shadowy figures started to move down the alleys of the Polish capital in just one of the dozens of groups that knew tonight was their best and perhaps only chance to strike a decisive blow against the fascists.
"Everyone check themselves and their partners one last time. We leave in ten minutes."
The small cellar was full of men and women. Almost all had a submachine gun slung over their shoulder. Some of the weapons had been made in Britain. A few weapons were manufactured in the soon to be cut off Ruhr Valley. Most of the guns that equipped the assault squads had been manufactured over the past year in a half dozen workshops scattered throughout the city. Bicycle repair shops had been a key node in the resistance groups' ability to arm themselves. Ammunition that had been carefully hoarded, stolen, and air dropped had been passed out after one of the few full meals that almost everyone in the cell had experienced in months. American rations dropped by Polish pilots flying British planes were enough to give their bodies strength to match their souls.
The few men and women who did not have submachine guns instead carried pistols and satchel charges. They had walked the streets near their targets for weeks now. The charges would break open the German defenses around key buildings and then assault teams could flow to first seize machine guns and rifles and then to clear the telephone exchanges, and the headquarters of both the occupation government and the occupying military forces. By dawn, if all had gone well, the bridges over the Vistula would be under the Home Army's control and then they just would need to hold until relieved. The dozens of fighters in this cell were silent as they made sure that they were ready and then their brothers and sisters in arms and blood were as ready as they could be.
Eleven minutes later, shadowy figures started to move down the alleys of the Polish capital in just one of the dozens of groups that knew tonight was their best and perhaps only chance to strike a decisive blow against the fascists.