Mila 18 - Leon Uris [240]
Andrei heard movement behind him. He looked over his shoulder. A figure moved in his direction. Andrei put the binoculars on the figure. “Dammit! What’s he doing here!” he muttered as Alexander Brandel, on hands and knees, muffler straggling, crawled toward him.
“Who told you to leave the bunker?” Andrei snorted as Alex came alongside him.
“Since I have become a man of violence, I was certain you would not deny me the pleasure of this moment.”
“Get down below.”
“Please let me stay, Andrei.”
“Write your journal.”
“It’s up to date.”
“Shhh ... here they come.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Well ... it’s too late to send you down. Stay close to me and keep quiet.”
Andrei signaled to his people, then strained to hear.
“I don’t see them,” Alex whispered.
“Shhh ... shhh.”
Clump! Clump! Clump! Clump!
Andrei looked around for a return signal. A blue flag waved in a window on Zamenhof Street. “They’re coming down Gensia Street between the factory compounds. I hope Wolf lets them pass.”
Clump! Clump! Clump! Clump!
Andrei fixed the binoculars at the intersection of Gensia and Zamenhof, site of the abandoned Jewish Civil Authority building. The first of the black-helmeted, black-uniformed troops appeared. Stutze was leading them. They would be under the guns of Ana Grinspan’s company now. He signaled over the roof to hold fire, guessing they would come up Zamenhof into the central area.
“Halt!” The command broke the silence.
“Daggers ready!” The Nazi knives were unsheathed.
“Parade march!”
Clump, clump, clump, clump, they goose-stepped up Zamenhof Street.
“Look at those arrogant syphilitic whores,” Andrei hissed. “All bunched up like a rat pack, goose-stepping. We’ll scatter them, eh, Alex?”
Clump! Clump! Clump! Clump!
Andrei handed Alex the binoculars. He pushed his glasses up on his forehead and focused on the black waves of uniforms filling the width of Zamenhof Street, pouring around the corner at them in row after row. Alex felt a knotting of his stomach. He wished he had stayed in the bunker. Andrei was more concerned with the discipline of his troops. So far no one moved or made a sound.
On they came around the corner of Gensia. The line of Nazis stretched for a block, and still they came.
“Sing!”
A thousand hairy hands thrust a thousand daggers skyward. Clump, clump, clump, clump, they goose-stepped.
“When Jewish blood is squirting from our daggers!
Only then the Fatherland will be free,
When Jewish corpses rot and putrefy,
We’ll glory in Hitler’s victory.”
Clump! Clump! Clump! Clump!
Their voices and their boots grew louder, and the marrow of the Jews was chilled.
“When Jewish blood squirts from our daggers!
It shall make us doubly glad,
When Jewish skulls are stacked to the sky,
Good Germans shall not be sad.”
“Halt!”
The massed Reinhard Corps stopped at the intersection of Zamenhof and Mila streets. Sieghold Stutze called his officers together and huddled over a map and discussed the first phase of the operation. They stood directly below Andrei and Alexander. The Reinhard Corps was in the gun sights of the four companies of Jews awaiting the signal.
Andrei took out a pack of matches. He began to light the bottle but stopped. “I am a sentimentalist, Alex. I believe in historic justice. Have you ever lit one of these bottles?”
“Me? God in heaven, no.”
“I hereby commission you to signal the uprising,” Andrei said, thrusting the bottle into Alex’s hand.
Alex merely stared at it. “Well ... what do I do?”
“Light the wick and throw the bottle down on the street.”
“Light ... and throw ...”
“Yes, it’s very simple. You’re bound to hit one of those syphilitic whores. But hurry, before they disperse.