Another Chapter

I have mentioned that I have been struggling with a title for the new book and although I have been flirting with "An American Aviator" I am now thinking that the title of one of my chapters "Warsaw Express" seems more in tune with the whole book. So I am posting the chapter here to see what the reaction might be.

Warsaw Express

“Do you know what serendipity is? Well, it is when events crowd in on each other in the most advantageous way and I have had nothing to do with them. That makes me suspicious.” Raymond Kingman was not pleased, not pleased with the sudden appearance of Krol and certainly not pleased to find out that Harry had spent the better part of the previous night allowing a Bolshevik agent, no matter how beautiful, show him the “views” from her bedroom. “Ray, look at it this way.” Herb Greene soothingly said. “We wanted to indoctrinate Harry into the ways of European espionage, what better way than to have him hired by the Poles and fucking a Russian spy. Well Poland is where the action is now in Europe. Krol is no spy; the Poles have a whole other organization for that, the Oddział II. He is a cavalry officer and we are pretty sure he is not one of theirs, as for the lovely Miss Koniev, so what if he dipped his wick a last night. If she is setting a honey trap how can it work if he doesn’t tumble?” “How do we know he hasn’t or won’t?” “Ray, the kid told us everything this morning. Even if your man who followed the car last night had not, Harry is being straight with us.” Their meeting did not start well. Harry had awakened Greene in his hotel room and incurred the wrath of a drowsy Agnieszka. Harry said it was important and they needed to talk. Greene struggled into his robe, shut the door to the bedroom as he calmed his agitated lover and called Kingman. Half an hour later the three of them were occupying the corner seats in the Sports Café on Lindenstrasse. The two older men were presiding like scowling professors as they listened to a student’s inept attempt at explaining his responses. Although Harry winced at the term ‘kid’ applied to him still, he got the meaning. Neither Kingman nor Greene was very surprised by Krol’s offer, they had been hoping for a way to get Harry out in the field and here it was, served up on a platter. That was also what bothered the pair. They had wanted to place someone in Poland, someone to assess and report on the new ‘eastern front’ against the Bolsheviks, but they had thought to get some ground officer to be an observer or maybe even some hack reporter who needed the money. If it was real, this offer from the Poles was but the best of covers because it was completely transparent. Harry would be in Poland doing what he did best, flying. He would be seen as an independent, unaligned and yet independently operating. As far as Zaharoff or the Russians were concerned he was just another adventurer. And like a royal coachman cast on a fast trout stream he would get some contact to rise. What he could learn from the experience in Poland could not have been bought at any price. Harry would be able to meet people, report on what he learned and help them create the kind of network that people like Basil Zaharoff had at their disposal. Still, they were concerned for Harry. The pair realized they had not anticipated the speed of this turn of events. Harry would be on his own in Poland, there would be no structure of the Army around him. He had no real training for this kind of work and now there was no time for him to be trained. Where he went and whom he met would be crucial and he knew no one in Warsaw other than Krol. Kingman decided that both he and Greene would need some time alone with Harry. They all needed to be very clear on what they were stepping into. Kingman broke the heavy silence in the room. “It is like this, Harry. The US is not going to publically endorse any action in Poland at this time. Nobody in Washington really cares about that part of the world. Oh, certainly some humanitarian aid will be forthcoming, probably from émigré organizations. Maybe the Polish Falcons, or the like, will send nurses or medicine, but no arms and no soldiers, at least not directly. Despite the reticence on the part of the government, we do have an interest in stopping the Bolshies and Lenin in making any advances out of Russia. They have created enough of a cesspool there now. We don’t need the rest of Europe in revolt. The politics of Europe are changing rapidly, too rapidly in some cases. Right now, there is a local soviet-style government in Munich that is coming under fire from the right-wing elements of the Freikorps and other right-wing street thugs and we expect them to win this fight, at least in the south. At the end of the day having a diminished Bolshevik presence in Europe is in everyone’s best interest. Am I right, Herb?” “Harry, Tommy’s father has the essence of it. If you choose to help the Poles it will be in some way helping America. However you will be out there on your own. I doubt that if the Bolshies somehow catch on to you there will be any way for the US to help. Up to a point we might be able to do something informally if you need assistance. My firm does business throughout the continent, but the lands beyond Warsaw might as well be on the moon for all we know. The only good news is that no matter how hard they fight; the Poles and the Russians will have to play this out quickly. Neither has the wherewithal for a long war.” With Harry firmly decided to go to Poland it was time for the other two fliers to make up their minds. Over a boozy lunch Harry recited enough of the Polish offer to try to entice them, but Murray and Kingman had already made their choice for each to go his own way. It wasn’t surprising; the bonds of comradeship forged in war had withered with the return of peace. Each man wanted something more; something that the war had kept in limbo and so the future, whatever it might be and with all its uncertainties, beckoned. Tommy Kingman, much to his father’s relief, was headed back to the states and finish at Yale. His father had plans for him to enter the family business that is; the government, after that. Ed Murray was more deliberate in making his choice and had considered his options and finally decided that, after all, he had enough of Europe. So, he too, would head home, maybe to keep on flying. He had thought about trying to stay in the Army, but he had waited too long and now his best option was to go home and start over. They all knew that Harry Braham would decide to take Krol’s offer, if not just for the flying. Whether they saw anything more in it than that, they chose not to say. After lunch they all stood, a little wobbly for all the booze and bid each other good-bye. It only remained for each of them to shake hands and go about the business of packing up. Harry called Krol to tell him he would take the job but stayed on in Koblenz for a few days at Herb Greene’s request. There was a lot Harry needed to know before heading east and not much time in which to learn it all. On the day he boarded the express train to Berlin and on to Warsaw, Harry saw Herb Greene one last time. Harry had shed his army uniform for a tailored gray traveling suit, a pair of hand-sewn oxfords and a North Humberland Dragoon regimental tie. It didn’t matter; being in mufti seemed less suitable than his being in uniform, but he still looked like a soldier on leave. Greene was as ever, direct and to the point. They had spent several hours with Kingman going over procedures in the week before he left. “So, any last minute questions?” “I don’t know how much help I might be in the long run. I don’t think I’m much of a spy, but I will keep my eyes and ears open. I just hope you don’t regret it.” “Not at all. On the whole, I think this foray into Poland may be beneficial to both of us. I am told that there is a large contingent of expatriate fliers headed out east to assist the Poles. You will be in a good position to expand your contacts to men who may be pivotal in the growth of aviation in Europe. It won’t hurt that you will gain some first hand knowledge of tactics and military thought. I have had a chance to look over the report that you mailed to me on the testing of the German planes. Thanks, it is useful information. We need more of that. You need to keep things close to the vest out there. The consulate people in Warsaw don’t know what you are doing and seem less than thrilled about all the expatriate Americans in a war zone. Once you settle in let us know where you are by wire to my office in Paris.” Greene smiled and continued, “Harry, I think you are the right man for the job. Just don’t get yourself killed out there. I will come to Warsaw but only if there is a crisis. Do you remember that assistant of Ray’s, Harriet Bliss?” “She was at the Crillon with that other woman, Agata with the blue eyes.” “Hmm, blue eyes. That’s right. There is to be a new US consulate in Warsaw and it is currently being run from the embassy in Paris for the time being. That gives us an opportunity to communicate. Ray Kingman has arranged for Miss Bliss to travel to Warsaw every six weeks or so as a courier. She will have a security man with her on the train, but once in Warsaw she will be free to make her own arrangements. By the way, it seems her friend Agata Nawoj is now living in Warsaw. Ms. Nawoj is apparently quite well acquainted with your Captain Krol I’m told. By the way, it seems your Russian lady has made tracks back to Paris. I’m not sure what her game is, you never know with the Bolshies. Watch out, I expect you will hear from her at some point. When you do let us know. Now, once we know where you are Poland I will arrange for Harriet Bliss will pick up and deliver messages for you. Keep in mind that these things have a lifetime of their own. Nothing is definite. It will be best if you are back in Paris in twelve months. Be a sponge and soak up what you learn, and then report it all back to us. Some of it may seem trivial, some not so. Let us sort it out. Well for good luck, as the Germans used to say ‘hals und beinbrucken’.” Rising to leave, Herb shook Harry’s hand and with his other extended an envelope to him. As the banker walked away Harry opened it and looked inside and counted fifty one hundred dollar bills. Harry boarded the train and found his compartment then settled in for the eastward journey. The train from Koblenz would take him to Hamburg and then he would board the Paris – Warsaw Express, a service that had only recently been reestablished after the war’s interruption. It occurred to him that he knew not one word of Polish. Up to this point he had been among other Americans, and language had not been an issue. He had gotten by in France and Germany with a smattering of random phrases spoken phonetically that were often confusing to the listener. He had no idea what he would do when he got in the Polish capital. Up to that moment he hadn’t really thought very much about the country into which he was headed. Like most Americans, he had come to Europe without a sense of the deep divisions of its cultures and ethnicities. Now he was about to enroll in a graduate course in both. Upon reaching Hamburg, where he was to change trains for the express to Berlin, Harry was confronted with his first taste of the universal worker’s revolution. As the train eased into the station he was surprised to see the mass of people crowding the platform and sidetracks. Placards and flags were everywhere. With his sketchy German he could make out that these were posters and banners for the communist factions in the local area. And if he had any doubt, the sea of red banners along the station platform told him as much. The drizzle and failing light of late afternoon did not seem to dampen the communist’s ardor as they chanted in voices hoarse from long hours on the picket lines for bread and jobs. Harry looked at the crowd with dubious anticipation. Approaching the First Class porter, who had some English, he asked where he had to go to find the Berlin to Warsaw train. The man gave him a doubtful glance and then directed him toward the Wagons-Lit office whispering, “Geh mit Gott” as Harry departed to find his train. Whatever Harry feared might happen to him while wading through the sea of German Bolsheviks never materialized. Once on the platform, none of the chanting protesters one paid him any attention. The crowd seemed to be focused on surrounding the railway administration offices. Their targets were railway and government officialdom and they saw no advantage in alienating ordinary travellers with their actions. At the Wagons-lit office the manager was able to get him to his assigned space on the Berlin train moments after it pulled into the station. Hamburg, like most of northern Germany, where most of the nation’s factories were located, had long had its share of industrial politics, trade unions and communist cells, but the turmoil had not descended into the level of anarchy that was now gripping Berlin. Other than being the target of a few thrown rocks and horse turds hurled at the passing coaches from the crowds, the ride east on the Express was without incident. Night descended on Harry as the train, only slightly delayed, chuffed along on its way eastward. Harry found himself drifting on a lake, warm under a summer sky. The fishing rod tied to the thwart and dipping slowly as feeding fish looked over the bait. Midsummer in Maine, yes Maine he thought. Not sure really, but it didn’t matter. The sun made him drowsy and the slow lapping of water along the canoe’s sides rocked him to sleep. Somewhere above a bird wheeled. An eagle looking for its lunch among the fish schooling near the surface. There was not a soul in sight, no sounds of civilization and just a few puffs of cumulous clouds in the sky. He wanted to fish, to catch a big one, but he was just too sleepy. There was someone else in the front of the canoe. He could not make out a face. Who was it? His eyes tried to focus but all he could see was the back of her head. Her head? Yes, it was a woman - dark hair flowing lightly in the easy breeze. He tried to see her face, was trying to focus when he heard the noise. It seemed familiar, a humming at first, then louder, far above the lake. Was it somewhere in the clouds? No, maybe not. Yes, there it was again, louder now and he could see it. It was a dark shape against the white puffs of cloud. Turning in a slow arc and coming back toward the lake. Dropping down, coming faster, he could see it now, the sound of the plane’s engine growing louder. It was black, no; no it had purple wings with blotches of white and black. It was coming straight for them, faster and faster as it dove down. Little flashes of light from the nose of the plane and then tall geysers of water coming closer. The thud of bullets hitting flesh and wood and suddenly he and the woman were tumbling into the water. With a start he woke to the thud of the train’s wheels as it began to brake for its entry into Berlin’s Westbahnhof. Berlin was a shambles. From the look of things one would have thought the fighting in the trenches had taken place here and not in France. Street battles were hosted daily by left wing factions fighting the police and various other center and right wing groups fighting whichever group they hated the most at that moment. Block by block, in the city’s industrial neighborhoods, political allegiances shifted and reformed as ideologies swayed back and forth across the political spectrum. And the residents paid the price in blood. The train conductor came through the cars and announced that the stop in Berlin would be very brief and that through passengers were best advised to remain on the train to avoid being left if the train had to depart quickly. As if to emphasize that urgency the rattle of machine gun fire could be heard over the screeching brakes of the engine as the train slid up to the station platform. The stop in Berlin was mercifully short. Harry took the opportunity to stretch his legs on the platform and to pick up a copy of the Paris Herald Tribune. It was the previous day’s edition, but the news felt fresh, especially as he had not been keeping up with the world. It took only a glance at the headlines to know that the world was going to hell, and worse, it appeared that he was heading into the worst of places. The quiet elegance of first-class rail travel quickly erased the scenes of chaos in Berlin from his mind and Harry took breakfast in the Express’ dining car. Eggs cooked to order, warm pastries and excellent coffee were served on snowy white table linen, another world, far from the chanting and the fighting. As the train rolled past farms and tidy villages and through the Pomeranian forests that straddled the German-Polish border he was reminded that there was another, more pastoral Germany. At the frontier, two Polish inspectors in green uniforms with brightly polished silver buttons and high, stiff collars came through the dining car inspecting passports and stamping entry visas. The inspector who examined Harry’s passport had a large silver badge on his left collar which seemed to Harry to make him the more senior of the two, since his companion had none. “And the purpose of your visit to Poland, Captain Braham?” His English was very correct if not slightly halting. Harry seemed suddenly reticent to speak too loudly. “Just Mister Braham, I am not a captain any longer, but I was invited to Poland by your army. I’m here to teach your army officers how to fly.” The inspector looked down at the seated American and took him in. More cannon fodder he thought. Hadn’t anyone learned anything these past five years? “In that case, I hope you and your students are very successful.” And with that he stamped the passport and moved on to the large gentleman, perhaps a travelling salesman, seated at the next table. “Captain Braham, may I join you?” Harry was startled to see Karl Lieberman standing in front of him. “Certainly, sit down. Are you going to Warsaw?” Harry had been enjoying the solitude of his journey and was not particularly pleased to have it interrupted. Still, Lieberman was the kind of person one wore like an old but comfortable sweater. Generous and warm, yes that would describe the Jewish engineer, generous and warm. “That is a good question. As it stands now the answer is almost certainly no, but with the Polish and Ukrainian armies slashing into Russia, my plans may change. My ultimate destination is Riga, but that also could change. My employer, Sir Basil requires ever more information on the developments in aviation in those countries. His appetite for the stuff is insatiable. And you? I heard from someone in Paris that you were joining the volunteers helping the great Pilsudski carve out a new country from what was once Russia. Very courageous, very brave!” He spoke earnestly and with some passion, it was not diplomatic small talk, but it seemed to Harry that the little man was generally impressed with him. But Harry wondered later, who in Paris had told him he was heading east, certainly not someone from either Kingman’s or Greene’s offices? It was slightly disturbing to know of a leak, worse if someone was keeping tabs on him. “It is actually fortuitous that we should meet this way. My employer is trying to interest the Polish government in purchasing advanced military aircraft.” “Really, I didn’t know the Poles were buying aircraft from Sir Basil.” “Indeed, they are not, at least not directly. That might upset the powers that be in London. No, what we do is to put interested parties together to make their arrangements and earn a sort of, what do you call it, a, uh, a finder’s fee for our efforts. Sir Basil has a permanent relationship with the Vickers Company. However, at this moment we are working with another, private company that is the re-fitter and refiner of existing airplanes. Their machine shops have been doing high performance machining for decades. And now they are working on an improved version of the SE5 that was so effective at the end of the war. Mostly, I travel and find out what companies and governments need and pass that information on. Then the great Zaharoff acquaints them with our aviation ventures and closes the deal. You see, we are a friend to the small countries as well as the large. Those nations just recently carved out of the fat of the Russian Bear and given freedom need friends. But so many of them are caught between the icy seas and a hungry beast. For them survival depends on them making friends with other, friendly neighbors while at the same time keeping the bear distracted. Over time, if we are successful we can create business alliances with other small countries. If they are successful they may appear too big for the bear to bite, let alone swallow.” Lieberman smiled wanly and signaled to the waiter to bring him some coffee. “I am sure to make my way back to Poland and so I hope to see you in Warsaw during your stay Captain. My firm has a chance to supply General Pilsudski with replacement aircraft and I would certainly appreciate you opinion of our products. In fact, I believe that Mr. Zaharoff himself may come to visit the General in the coming weeks.” The express arrived at Główna station on the west side of the Vistula, three hours late. Dark clouds hung in the northern sky, foretelling the onset of winter that was only weeks away. But summer was not to lose its grip just yet on the Polish capital. Outside the station the autumn afternoon was ripe with the odor of a lot of people, horses and supplies slow cooking in the afternoon sun. Warsaw churned with the chaos of a wartime capital. The station was festooned in flags and banners, red and white were the colors of the day “On to Kiev!” “Destroy the Red Hordes!” Screamed from giant posters that depicted handsome Polish cavalrymen slashing down apelike figures in Red Army uniforms. On the platform men in khaki and brown and cradling their arms lounged awaiting the next troop train to the east. The fledgling nation was at war and troops were departing to the farthest eastern regions of the land. As the cars of the Express emptied the soldiers, bearing insignia and rank markings that he could not recognize were surging toward the coaches. There was no longer a through train to Moscow, and yet apparently the express was going further east with a new group of passengers. Women clutching small children and weeping were crowding around as they saw their husbands, fathers; brothers and lovers board the train for war. Amid the hissing steam and shouts from the crowd he looked in vain for anyone remotely resembling Jerzy Krol. But there was no one resembling the Polish captain of cavalry. Suddenly he felt that someone tugging at his sleeve. “Captain Braham! Captain Braham!” Harry turned to look at whoever this could be and found himself looking straight into the ice blue eyes of Agata Nawoj. She smiled at his recognition. Dressed in an ankle length dress of tan cavalry twill with an embroidered bodice of black rosettes she looked every part of what the stylish woman wore to war. On her head a wide brimmed hat, with the front pinned up as if for leading a cavalry charge covered her dark hair. She seemed pleased to see him. “Captain Braham. My name is Agata Nawoj. I am a friend of Harriet Bliss. Captain Krol sends his apologies but sent me to find you and bring you out to the airfield.” “Yes, I know who you are. I saw you at the Crillon, but I never had a chance to speak with you.” She shouted over her shoulder “Well then, now’s your chance. We can talk in the car. It is a long drive.” as she turned and led him away from the melee. Parked dangerously amid the chaos on the street was a gray Daimler Phaeton with its canvas top down. Standing alongside the car was a tall, broad shouldered man in white duster and a cap with goggles pushed up over the brim. As they approached he touched his cap in respect and opened the rear door. Agata stepped forward and reached inside. From the floor of the car she pulled a pair of long white dusters from the rear seat and handed Harry one to put on while she struggled into her own. “You’ll need this.” Indicating the duster. “It’s a long ride. Not really that far, but Polish roads, are, well Polish – you’ll see. Once we get out of town the roads are simply ribbons of white dust until the autumn rains arrive. They are very late this year. Give your bag to Janusz; he’ll put it in the front with him.” Moments later, with Janusz’ careful attention to the wheel, they were sluicing through the jumble of cabs, trucks and wagons that filled the square in front of the station. “To Otwocki, Miss Agata?” Asked Janusz in a husky Slavic accented English. “Yes, please to the airfield.” She replied. Upon seeing Harry’s quizzical look at Janusz’ English she explained. “Janusz is an old family friend from Chicago. When my father heard I was headed for Warsaw he sent Janusz along to look after me. Isn’t that right, Janusz?” “ Yes, Miss Agata. No one bother you when Janusz around.” He replied half turning to stare at Harry by way of a warning and patted the area under his arm indicating a weapon of some sort. And that means me, Harry thought. For a half hour the car traversed broad avenues and narrow city streets at one point crossing the Aleksandrowski Bridge over the Vistula to Praha, Warsaw’s industrial suburb on the eastern side. The river below the bridge waiting too for the rains was slow and grey as the current pushed north toward the sea. On the east bank things looked different. Now they had officially entered Slavic Europe and immediately the scenery changed. The orderly, western half of the country, long under the thrall of Teutonic knights and their successors was behind them and what lay ahead was the land of the Tatars, Cossacks and nomadic Jews. The buildings they passed were no longer stone; wood had replaced the sturdier building materials of the west and in effect they had driven out of the twentieth and into the sixteenth century. They had gone several miles outside of what Harry took to be the limits of the city before he spoke. “I was hoping to have had a chance to meet you that night at the Crillon. You looked absolutely delicious and I was disappointed to be pulled off in other directions only to find you had left the party.” Harry waited for a response, but the woman just looked ahead at the winding road. They were getting further away from the city and, as predicted, the roads were thick with a white dust that would turn to sticky glue with the first rains. Agata acted as if she hadn’t heard him and looked down at her hands. At last she spoke. “Thank you. I am sorry as well. It was a nice party, but I had not expected to attend. Harriet Bliss, I think you must know her? Well, Harriet asked me to come at the last minute. I had only arrived in Paris that afternoon. As it turned out I met some of the people I had come to Europe to meet and left the room.” She paused again. “I suppose you are wondering what I am doing here and why Captain Krol sent me to collect you. Well, sometimes I wonder myself. It was Jerzy who I had met at the party; you see I am as much Polish as I am American. And as I was born in Chicago, that is small wonder. I am here in Warsaw mostly because Jerzy told me here is where I might do the most good. Like most school kids in America, I grew up on the myth of George Washington and the ideals of the American Revolution. Poland is staging its own revolution of sorts and standing up to its former oppressor. I came to this country for my father’s sake, to help if I could. When Jerzy spoke to me of the need for Poland to remain independent, I thought I had found a calling, something that mattered after all the death and waste of the last five years. It’s true, Poland does deserve to have its own destiny, but this is not America and in the short time I have been here I have come to realize that what George Washington and the American patriots achieved is not what the Poles want or can achieve. These founding fathers are more concerned about seeking revenge for a thousand years of subjugation than about anything our constitution created or what Mr. Wilson has now espoused to the world.” Harry looked up to see Janusz eyeing him the rearview mirror. “Well” Harry said jauntily, “I came for the money and for the flying. After a couple of months of aerial combat in France I was dissuaded of any ideals about liberty or national causes. Sherman said ‘war is hell’ only he had no idea of how hellish it can become when executed on an industrial scale, on the ground or in the air.” “I understand, Captain Braham. But no, here it is worse than you think. Right now, the forces that Pilsudski has put in the field are far beyond the borders that were intended to be the new Poland. The Polish army has joined with Ukrainian militias and now they are in Kiev. The Ukraine! That is not Poland, it is not really Russia, and it is a place beyond time, the land of the Cossacks. This war is now a conquest, not a defense of the Polish homeland; the front lines are a thousand miles east of traditional Poland. Perhaps that is the way of war now; create a dead zone outside your borders. America has no such need, unless we went to war with the Canadians or Mexicans, again. The world’s newspapers seem to ignore the fact that people are dying out there on the steppe, and not necessarily for any high ideals.” She took a deep breath and searched the back seat for a silver flask. Gently and with the utmost care she opened the top and took a long pull from it. Harry could smell the tart aroma of squeezed lemons as she drank. “Out there,” she said pointing to the east, “Out there, it is still the sixteenth century. The villages and shtetls of the Pale are throwbacks to medieval times at best. The poverty is stunning in its severity, while here in Warsaw there are some of the world’s finest chemists, mathematicians and scientists, who are working on advanced projects that will help mankind into the next century. Poland is small, but it is a place of vast contrasts and no one, other than Pilsudski has any idea what to do about anything. Lately, there is concept here in Poland that has been bandied about. It is that the new countries that have been carved out of the old empires should form an Intermarum, a sort of physical barrier of small countries running from the Baltic to the Black Sea that together will be strong enough to resist the Bolsheviks on the one side and keep a resurgent Germany in check on the other. It is a fine idea, but the diplomats haggle like fish peddlers, and at the end of the day it remains a lofty concept. None of them trust one another and the Poles, who suggested the idea, are the largest of the various countries. That alone creates another sense of mistrust. However, you will meet the most fascinating people here. When you get away from the politics, people are just people. Perhaps not just the other fliers but get out on the steppe and get a sense of the real essence of this troubled land.” Agata sighed and again fell silent simply staring at the dusty road ahead.