Underground Warriors 1944 – 1963
Narodowy dzień pamięci Żołnierzy Wyklętych
Today (March 1st) in Poland we honor the memory of the Accursed Soldiers … called terrorists, bandits, enemies of the people … persecuted, imprisoned, tortured, deported to Siberia, executed, thrown into unmarked graves … and as if that wasn’t enough, their memory was desecrated for decades in communist publications, where they were depicted as the basest of common criminals … nobody knows how many tens of thousands of them there really were … but here’s a brief bibliographical note on just one incident …
Augustów roundup (Obława augustowska)
· June 10–25, 1945
· In and around the Suwałki and Augustów regions of Poland
· A joint operation of:
– the Red Army,
– the Soviet Secret Police – NKVD,
– and the SMERSH (СМЕРШ, acronym of СМЕРть Шпионам, SMERt’ SHpionam; “Death to spies” – Red Army counter-intelligence) battalions,
– with the assistance from the UB (“Polish” Secret Service),
– and LWP (Polish Communist Army) units.
– Target: underground Home Army (AK) soldiers.
More than 2,000 suspected anti-communist Polish fighters were captured and detained in Russian internment camps. About 600 of the “Augustów Missing” are presumed to have died in Russian custody, their bodies buried in unknown mass graves on the present territory of Russia.
What’s 600 other then a number? Do you even have 600 friends or acquaintances? Now imagine that one day all of them went “missing” forever.
Report from a Besieged City
by Zbigniew Herbert
(In Polish: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1asmC2p21sQ
Too old to carry arms and fight like the others –
they graciously gave me the inferior role of chronicler
I record – I don’t know for whom – the history of the siege
I am supposed to be exact but I don’t know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December in September perhaps yesterday at dawn
everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time
all we have left is the place the attachment to the place
we still rule over the ruins of temples specters of gardens and houses
if we lose the ruins nothing will be left
I write as I can in the rhythm of interminable weeks
monday: empty storehouses a rat became the unit of currency
tuesday: the mayor murdered by unknown assailants
wednesday: negotiations for a cease-fire the enemy has imprisoned our messengers
we don’t know where they are staying, meaning, their place of torture
thursday: after a stormy meeting a majority of voices rejected
the motion of the spice merchants for unconditional surrender
friday: the beginning of the plague saturday: our invincible defender
N.N. committed suicide sunday: no more water we drove back
an attack at the eastern gate called the Gate of the Covenant
all of this is monotonous I know it can’t move anyone
I avoid any commentary I keep a tight hold on my emotions I write about the facts
only they it seems are appreciated in foreign markets
yet with a certain pride I would like to inform the world
that thanks to the war we have raised a new species of children
our children don’t like fairy tales they play at killing
awake and asleep they dream of soup, of bread, and bones
just like dogs and cats
in the evening I like to wander near the outposts of the City
along the frontier of our uncertain freedom.
I look at the swarms of soldiers below their lights
I listen to the noise of drums, barbarian shrieks
truly it is inconceivable the City is still defending itself
the siege has lasted a long time the enemies must take turns
nothing unites them except the desire for our extermination
Goths the Tartars Swedes troops of the Emperor regiments of the Transfiguration
who can count them
the colors of their banners change like the forest on the horizon
from delicate bird’s yellow in spring through green through red to winter’s black
and so in the evening released from facts I can think
about distant ancient matters for example our
friends beyond the sea I know they sincerely sympathize
they send us flour, lard, sacks of comfort, and good advice
they don’t even know their fathers betrayed us
our former allies at the time of the second Apocalypse
their sons are blameless they deserve our gratitude therefore we are grateful
they have not experienced a siege as long as eternity
those struck by misfortune are always alone
the defenders of the Dalai Lama the Kurds the Afghan mountaineers
now as I write these words the advocates of conciliation
have won the upper hand over the party of the stalwart
a normal hesitation of moods fate still hangs in the balance
cemeteries grow larger the number of defenders is smaller
yet the defense continues it will continue to the end
and if the City falls but a single one survives
he will carry the City within on the roads of exile
he will be the City
we look in the face of hunger, the face of fire, face of death
worst of all – the face of betrayal
and only our dreams have not been humiliated
http://www.doomedsoldiers.com/
