Mila 18 - Leon Uris [46]
The peasant brought Styka bread and lentil soup. The soldier was too weak to lift the spoon or bite through the bread. He lay his head on Andrei’s chest. Yes, there were still heartbeats. His eyes began to shut. Must not sleep until the doctor comes ... must not sleep ...
“Who is he?” the doctor asked.
“My captain,” Styka answered through thick lips. His mind was fuzzy. An ignorant man, Styka was almost illiterate and too exhausted to put into words the horror he had seen in the past week. Only when the doctor promised to remain with Andrei did he fall on the floor by Andrei’s bed and drop off to sleep.
When Andrei blinked his eyes open twenty hours later, Styka was hovering over him. Styka managed a small smile. The doctor from Plock had gone and returned. Andrei managed to rise up on his elbows, looked around the cottage, and flopped back on the bed.
“We were wondering if you were ever going to wakeup,” the doctor said.
“Sure he would! I knew it all along!” Styka roared.
The peasant’s wife crossed herself innumerable times and wailed that all her prayers to the Blessed Virgin Mother had been answered.
“What’s the scorecard on me?” Andrei asked.
“The wounds are under control. The assortment of cuts and bruises will vanish. Your state of exhaustion will require rest. You are as thoroughly beaten up as any man I have ever examined. You have the constitution of a bull. I don’t see how you ever swam the river in your condition.”
Styka and the doctor helped him sit up. He took a stiff drink of home-brewed vodka and stuffed a half a loaf of bread into his stomach. Despite everyone’s objections, he remained sitting.
“Where are we?”
“Plock.”
“What is happening?”
“The news is bad all over. We are being beaten everywhere,” the doctor said.
“What about Warsaw?”
“The Germans have not reached Warsaw yet Radio Polskie says Warsaw will fight.”
Andrei tried to stand. His legs buckled and he tottered. “Where are the other two, Styka? They got across the river with us—where are they? We must get back to Warsaw and fight.”
The doctor and Styka exchanged glances.
“Well, where are they?”
“They have surrendered.”
“Surrendered?”
“The Germans have crossed the river in strength. All roads to Warsaw have been cut. I stayed here only until I knew you were all right, Captain, but there is no chance of reaching Warsaw. Every hour we stay here we put these good people in danger. The Germans have been shooting everyone harboring an escaped soldier.”
“I am a Pole,” the peasant announced. “I will never close my door to a Polish soldier.”
“Your sergeant is right,” the doctor said. “Now that he knows you are alive, it would be best for him to turn himself in. As for you, I can find you a hiding place for a few days until you get a little of your strength back, and then you must surrender yourself too.”
Andrei looked at all four of them. The woman was crossing herself and praying again. “If you will be kind enough to spare me a loaf of bread, a canteen of water, and perhaps some cheese, I will be on my way. I am going to Warsaw.”
Styka flopped his arms about helplessly. “Captain, we can’t make it.”
Andrei managed to walk to his sergeant and put a hand on his shoulder. Styka lowered his eyes. “Look at me, Styka—look at me, I said. You would surrender?”
The big homely man had been a good soldier for fifteen years. Dirt encrusted his once-proud mustache, and beads of sweat broke through the caked mud on his eyebrows and unshaved face. His face dropped in complete dismay.” “Yes, sir,” he whispered.
“Now you listen here,” the doctor said. “Warsaw is a hundred kilometers,