Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II Read Online Free PDF Page A

concentrate, overwhelmed by the enormity of what had happened: the destruction, the injured people, the blood. How could this be happening 26
    Douglas W. Jacobson
    so soon? Was her father safe? Was Jan? Oh, God, Jan!
    She felt Henryk’s hand on her arm and turned to look at him. The stocky man seemed to sense her thoughts. The look in his eyes said, “He’s a good soldier . . . he’ll survive.”
    Chapter 4
    Henryk stopped the car and jumped out to fl ag down a mounted policeman.
    “We’re heading to Krakow,” Henryk shouted as a fi re truck roared past, siren blaring and bells clanging. “Do you know if they’ve attacked anywhere else?”
    The policeman struggled to keep the nervous horse under control. He shouted back, “I don’t know about Krakow, but we heard reports that both Lodz and Radom were bombed. I’d stay away from there and stay off the main roads.” He waved and trotted off.
    “What now?” Anna asked when Henryk got back in the car. “Don’t we have to go through one or the other to get to Krakow?”
    Henryk reached over and pulled a map and a fl ashlight from the glove box.
    He studied the map for a few minutes then held it out for Anna to see. “If we cross over to the east side of the river and head south out of the city it looks like there’s a back road that goes through Garwolin to Deblin. From there we can cross back over the river and then head southwest toward Krakow. I’ve never gone that way and I doubt if the roads are very good, but at least we’d be off the main highways.”
    “Well, we’re sure not staying here,” Anna said. Having a plan, as vague as it was, rejuvenated her a bit. She looked into the backseat at Irene. “Is that OK
    with you?”
    Irene stared at her with a blank expression and shrugged her shoulders.
    Anna turned back to Henryk. “Let’s go.”
    They made their way out of the confusion of the city and headed south, but it was slow going. Hundreds of people trudged along the side of the asphalt road, some lugging suitcases, pulling carts or leading children by the hand. A 28
    Douglas W. Jacobson
    line of cars, trucks and creaking, horse-drawn wagons crawled along, all heading in the same direction, out of Warsaw.
    Henryk’s thick, stubby fi ngers drummed the steering wheel and his black, walrus-like mustache twitched impatiently as he leaned out the window, looking for a chance to pass. Anna leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, wondering what she would have done if he hadn’t found them.
    An hour later, the car bounced and Anna’s head banged against the window. She opened her eyes, realizing she had fallen asleep.
    “Sorry. Pothole,” Henryk said.
    Anna sat up and stretched, trying to get the kink out of her neck. They were on a narrow, gravel road and had just passed a family walking along the side.
    The man was pushing a cart covered with a canvas tarp. She didn’t see anyone else. “Looks like you found the back road,” Anna said. “Where are we?”
    “Hopefully, on the road to Garwolin.”
    “Are you all right?”
    He nodded. “Yes, I’m fi ne.”
    Anna glanced into the rear of the car. Irene and Justyn were curled up on the seat, sound asleep. She turned back to the front. It was a clear, moonlit night, and on both sides of the road, the vast expanse of farmland extended as far as she could see. Other than a pale orange glow in the dark sky behind them, the countryside appeared completely normal, as if nothing had happened.
    Another hour passed, and they descended a hill, entering a small village that wasn’t on the map. It was dark and quiet. They passed a blacksmith shop, a butcher shop, and a store with pots and pans hanging in the window and burlap bags fi lled with potatoes piled on the wooden porch. In the central square stood a water-well and a brick church with a red tile roof. Neat stucco homes with wood shutters lined the narrow, cobblestone street, some with lace curtains in the windows and fl ower boxes fi lled