Читать книгу Warsaw 1944: Hitler, Himmler and the Crushing of a City - Alexandra Richie - Страница 10

It was decreed that if anything was still left of Carthage, Scipio should raze it to the ground, and that nobody should be allowed to live there. (Chapter XX)

On 1 August 1944 Adolf Hitler was at his headquarters, the Wolfsschanze (Wolf’s Lair) at Rastenburg, deep in East Prussia, and he was busy. Army Chief of Staff General Heinz Guderian and Field Marshal Walter Model had just launched a massive counter-offensive against the Red Army only a few kilometres north-east of Warsaw, and the Führer was waiting anxiously for progress reports. He was annoyed rather than angry when news about some skirmishes in the Polish capital began trickling in. Apparently some ‘bandits’ with red-and-white armbands had been shooting at the police. Hitler was not worried. The day before, he had sent his trusted ‘fireman’ General Reiner Stahel to take charge of Warsaw, and was convinced that the city was in good hands. Himmler, too, had assured him that there would be no uprising in the hated capital. ‘My Poles will not revolt,’ the German Governor in occupied Poland, Hans Frank, had chimed in.

But the problem did not go away, and by evening the Germans were starting to get worried. As time went on it became clear that these were not isolated incidents, but that the Poles had managed to stage a simultaneous, well-coordinated attack throughout the whole of Warsaw. By evening the ‘unbeatable’ Stahel was trapped in the Brühl Palace along with his staff, and could do nothing. ‘Himmler wants answers!’ SS Obergruppenführer Wilhelm Koppe, SS and police leader in Kraków, yelled at Brigadeführer Paul Otto Geibel in Warsaw. Geibel was cowering in the basement of his headquarters, which was also under fire, and his troops were pinned down. As news poured in about entire districts being overrun by Polish ‘bandits’, Himmler raced to see Hitler in Rastenburg. He found the Führer purple with rage.

Hitler had good reason to be angry. He had wanted Model’s counter-offensive to be the great set piece of the summer of 1944: ‘If the Eastern Front is stabilized,’ he had told General Walter Warlimont the night before, ‘it would show the Romanians, the Bulgarians, the Hungarians and also the Turks’ that Germany was strong. The last thing he wanted was some ‘Schweinerei’ in Warsaw, which would make him look weak, and possibly even give other insurgents an excuse to start their own uprisings.

By this point in the war Hitler was quite deranged. He was more bothered by the injuries he had recently sustained in the 20 July assassination attempt than was commonly known, and was addicted to a cocktail of drugs, including cocaine, administered by his trusted doctor Theodor Morell. He had by now completely lost faith in his generals, whom he blamed for all past failures on the Eastern Front. He was in no mood for leniency. Himmler’s first act upon hearing of the seriousness of the Warsaw Uprising was to send word to Berlin to have the captured Polish resistance leader General Stefan ‘Grot’ Rowecki murdered. Then he tried to calm Hitler down. This uprising was a blessing in disguise, he said. It would give them the excuse to do what they had wanted to do for years – to erase Warsaw from the map.

‘Mein Führer,’ Himmler said, ‘the timing is unfortunate. But from a historical point of view it is a blessing that the Poles are doing this. We will get through the four or five weeks [it will take] and then Warsaw, the capital city, the brain, the intelligence of this sixteen-to-seventeen-million-strong Polish nation will have been obliterated. This nation, which has blocked our path to the east for seven hundred years and since the first battle of Tannenberg, has always been in the way. Then the historic problem will no longer be a major one for our children, for all those who come after us, or for us either.’ Hitler, ever the opportunist, agreed. He and Himmler drafted the Order for Warsaw that evening. It stands as one of the most chilling documents of the war.

Warsaw was to be razed to the ground – ‘Glattraziert’ – so as to provide a terrifying example for the rest of Europe. Himmler passed the order on to General Heinz Reinefarth personally. It read: ‘1. Captured insurgents ought to be killed regardless of whether they are fighting in accordance with the Hague Convention or not. 2. The part of the population not fighting, women and children, should likewise be killed. 3. The whole town must be levelled to the ground, i.e. houses, streets, offices – everything that is in the town.’

In one evening Himmler and Hitler had decided that the entire population remaining in one of Europe’s great capital cities was to be murdered in cold blood. Then the city – which Himmler referred to as ‘that great abscess’ – was to be completely destroyed. Hitler had often talked before about the utter destruction of cities – Moscow, Leningrad, Minsk – but this was the first and only time he was actually able to put his insane ideas into practice. Tragically, this order was largely fulfilled. That is the story of this book.

Before the ravages of the Second World War, Warsaw was one of Europe’s great capital cities. It had grown quickly in its seven-hundred-year history, reaching dizzying heights during the late-sixteenth- and early-seventeenth-century Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. In the nineteenth century its star had waned as it languished under hated Russian rule, but all that changed in 1918.

11 November might be a day of sombre commemoration in much of the world, but not in Poland: for the end of the First World War marked the rebirth of the Polish nation. The generation that came of age there in the 1920s and 1930s loved their capital and their country, and relished their newfound freedom. Warsaw had very serious social, economic and political problems to be sure. But despite this the city flourished once again.

The interwar Poles became known as the ‘Columbus Generation’, always on the lookout for something new and different. Warsaw was their spiritual home. The city had its political, economic and social problems, to be sure, but everything from theatre to newspapers, from cabaret to painting, took off. All government and military institutions had to be recreated from scratch, and new national institutions were founded by the dozen. Despite competition from Kraków and Lwów, Warsaw was fast becoming the political, financial, cultural and intellectual centre of the Polish nation, and acted as a magnet for the most ambitious and creative people in the land. New social housing projects were built by innovative architects; hospitals, schools – indeed entire new districts like Żoliborz – were built for journalists, generals and civil servants. The university was a celebrated centre of learning, and its chemistry and mathematics faculties – under Wacław Sierpiński, who in turn was influenced by the great school in Lwów – led the world. Music, painting and experimental theatre were everywhere. Warsawians watched the first of Pola Negri’s films, read Isaac Bashevis Singer’s subtle depictions of Jewish life in the city, listened to new music by the likes of Karol Szymanowski and read the poetry of ‘Young Picadors’ including Jan Lechoń and Julian Tuwim. After 1933 Warsaw became temporary home to many refugees fleeing Hitler’s Germany; for a brief time they added immeasurably to the life of the city.

This optimistic and vibrant world ended on 1 September 1939. Warsawians awoke that morning to the sound of bombs being dropped on their city. The world had never seen anything like it. It was as if Guernica, in which 1,650 people were killed, was a terrible rehearsal for Warsaw, which was pounded over the course of twenty-seven days in the first air terror attack of the war. On 25 September alone Major General Wolfram von Richthofen’s bombers dropped five hundred tonnes of high explosives and seventy-two tonnes of incendiaries in 1,150 sorties. When the city capitulated on 27 September 25,000 people lay dead in the ruins. Hitler had made it clear – he wanted Warsaw destroyed.

The destruction of the Polish capital was more than mere metaphor; on the contrary, actual plans had been drawn up for the purpose. The ‘Pabst Plan’ of 1939, which Hitler approved just before his invasion of Poland, called for the removal of all but 80,000 of Warsaw’s 1.3 million inhabitants; those who remained would be allowed to live only in the east-bank suburb of Praga. One hundred and thirty thousand Aryan Germans were to be brought from the Reich to live in the new, ideal German town which was to be built in place of the old Polish capital. The ideological justification for the erasure of Warsaw was simple. Warsaw had ‘at one time been German’, but had been ‘corrupted’ by the Poles and the Jews. In a 1942 edition of Das Vorfeld (‘The Approach’ – a periodical for Germans living in occupied Poland), the Nazi historian Dr Hans Hof wrote: ‘In 1420, 85 per cent of the names of burghers in Warsaw were German, and they were the only ones who brought any cultural and economic life, administration and justice to the city.’ ‘Polish immigrants’ changed the city for the worse, ‘as they did in other such places founded by the Germans’.¹ The Germans had decided that only the Old Town was worth saving, along with a few palaces that might be used by Hans Frank and Hitler as official residences. The rest of the city was slated for destruction long before the Warsaw Uprising of 1944 broke out.

The first inhabitants to be targeted were the Polish elite; some 10,000 members of Warsaw’s intelligentsia were murdered before the uprising. They included one in six of the staff of pre-war academic institutions and one in eight priests. Politicians and lawyers, architects and doctors, writers and businessmen – indeed anyone who might be a threat to the new Nazi order – could also expect to be taken away and killed.²

The next phase of repression marked the beginning of the most dreadful crime ever to take place on Polish soil – the extermination of the country’s Jews. Beginning on 16 October 1939 the Germans began the systematic forced round-up of 400,000 Jews from the city and surrounding area into a newly created ghetto. From 1 April 1940 a wall was constructed around the district, effectively turning it into a gigantic prison. Food rations were deliberately cut to less than subsistence levels, with the result that by 1942 82,000 people had died of starvation, disease and maltreatment. Those who remained continued to be taken to Treblinka, where they were murdered.

On 19 April 1943 a small group of Jews decided to fight back. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising happened not because the trapped fighters had any hope of defeating the Germans, but because they knew with certainty the fate that awaited them if they got on the trains. The Germans had left them a simple choice: either to die passively, or to die fighting. They chose the latter. The uprising was crushed, and carefully documented in the official SS report written by Jürgen Stroop. The ghetto was razed to the ground, and a concentration camp, populated largely by foreign Jews who had been sent there to clear the ruins of the ghetto, was set up in its place. Miraculously, a handful of the insurgents survived; some went into hiding under the ghetto’s rubble, while others like Marek Edelman would later join in the Warsaw Uprising of 1944.

The German invasion came as a terrible shock to most Poles, and they resisted Nazi rule from the very beginning. The terror was so immediate and unrelenting that collaboration was rare. That, along with the bitterness and anger at the fact that their beloved country had been invaded by both Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia in 1939 meant that there was little serious cooperation with the enemy. There were no Polish quislings or Polish SS divisions during the Second World War; on the contrary, from the first day of the war Poles began to organize resistance movements throughout the country. By 1942 these had been consolidated under the AK – the Armia Krajowa, or Polish Home Army, which was under the auspices of the Polish government-in-exile in London. ‘Grot’ Rowecki, and following his arrest by the Gestapo his successor General ‘Bór’ Komorowski and others, eventually created a force of 300,000 volunteers, both men and women, which became the largest underground army in Europe. The AK was extremely well organized, with a military command structure based on the regular Polish army, but in which only pseudonyms were used, and members were only permitted to know those in their own ‘cell’, in case of interrogation. Weapons were gathered and recruits taught how to use them in secret training sessions; arsenals of equipment were hidden around the country; bombs were manufactured and plans drawn up for the eventual liberation of Poland.

As the Germans rounded up and imprisoned ever more Warsawians the AK engaged in operations of its own. Intelligence-gathering was a priority, and the Poles were responsible for great coups like providing Britain and France with a reconstructed Enigma machine and a V-2 rocket; they also brought proof of the extermination of Polish Jews to the Western Allies. The AK was engaged in more practical matters, too, including the assassination of Nazi officials and collaborators on the streets of Warsaw, primarily carried out by the elite Directorate of Diversion, or ‘Kedyw’ unit.

Nor did the terror stop the Poles from carrying on their cultural life. The Nazis had banned schools, universities and all Polish cultural organizations, but Warsawians set up new clandestine ones – underground university degrees were awarded throughout the occupation, and concerts, poetry readings and secret cabarets which mocked the German rulers were features of underground life. The secret life of Warsaw was testament to the spirit of the city, and offers a glimpse into the reason so many young men and women were willing to fight and to lay down their lives for the city and the country they loved when the call came in 1944.

The AK had been planning an uprising from the beginning of the war. In the early years they had hoped that liberation might come from the west, from Allied forces, but by 1944 it was clear that it would be left to the Soviets to clear the Nazis from Eastern and Central Europe. Relations between the Poles and the Soviets had declined after Stalin’s seizure of ‘his’ part of Poland in 1939; they reached rock bottom with the discovery of thousands of murdered Polish army officers in the mass graves of Katyń. The Poles knew that the Soviets were responsible for this crime, but when they called for an official Red Cross investigation Stalin feigned outrage, and used it as an excuse to break off relations with the ‘London Poles’ altogether, making it impossible for the Poles to cooperate with the Soviets in any meaningful way in the months to come. The Western Allies also knew that the Soviets were responsible for Katyń, but persisted in the charade that Hitler had committed the crime, so as not to annoy Stalin. It was an ominous foretaste of things to come.

Up until the summer of 1944 the AK’s plans for an uprising, code-named ‘Burza’ (Tempest), had called for operations aimed mainly at harassing the Germans as they were retreating, and assisting the Red Army when and where possible. Warsaw had deliberately been left out of the plans because, as Bór put it, he wanted to protect the city and the civilian population from the ravages of war. Carefully laid plans saw weapons being stored throughout Poland; indeed, crucial caches were taken from Warsaw only days before the uprising began. But in July 1944 a series of events took place which changed everything. Years of careful work were thrown out in the heat of the moment. The consequences would be tragic for the city of Warsaw.

The Warsaw Uprising is very often treated as if it were an isolated event, somehow removed from the war going on around it. On the contrary, the uprising was critically linked to three crucial events which determined its future course: the Soviet Operation ‘Bagration’, the 20 July attempt to assassinate Hitler, and Walter Model’s unexpected counter-offensive at the very gates of Warsaw on 29 July.

Bagration was the single greatest Nazi defeat of the Second World War. It began on 22 June 1944 – the third anniversary of Operation ‘Barbarossa’, the German invasion of the Soviet Union – and saw the Red Army sweep through Byelorussia at breakneck speed, taking Vitebsk and Orsha, Mogilev and Mińsk. Soviet soldiers surrounded hapless German troops in gigantic pockets and finished them off at their leisure. Three hundred thousand German soldiers were killed; twenty-eight divisions lost. The scale of the disaster echoes that of Napoleon’s Grande Armée in 1812, and ranks as one of the greatest military defeats of all time. In order to prove the scale of his victory to a disbelieving world, Stalin had 50,000 German prisoners of war marched through Moscow’s Red Square on 17 July on their way to captivity.

The speed and force of the Soviet advance into Byelorussia shocked even Stalin. It had been planned that the Red Army would take a maximum of two hundred kilometres in the entire offensive; they covered that in a few days. The Poles watched as the Soviets raced towards Vilnius, Lwów and Lublin. The AK helped the Red Army soldiers as they entered Polish territory, and relations were cordial at first, but then the NKVD arrived, and began arresting anyone suspected of being involved in the Polish resistance. At the same time, Stalin announced the creation of a Soviet-backed Polish puppet government, known as the ‘Lublin Poles’. It was soon abundantly clear that he was fighting a political as well as a military war, and that he wished to bring Poland under the Soviet yoke. The AK was powerless against the might of the Red Army, but its leaders believed that they could still make a political statement by protesting against Stalin’s plans. They had fought in order to see the restoration of a free, liberal, democratic state led by the men who made up the government-in-exile in London; the vast majority of Poles longed for the same thing. They did not want to live under the Soviet oppression which Stalin was trying to impose on them. With the Red Army moving inexorably towards Warsaw, the decision was made to take a stand in the capital city, for the Poles to push the Germans out themselves, and to greet the Soviets as equals. Surely then the rest of the world would heed their call for independence, and put pressure on Stalin. The plan seemed so simple in those heady summer days.

The notion that the Germans were about to collapse was widespread in Warsaw in the final days of July 1944. For weeks Warsawians had watched as bedraggled German soldiers made their way through the city, wounded, filthy and dejected. When news of the plot to kill Hitler reached Warsaw it really did seem as if the Third Reich was about to implode. The AK believed that the time was right to rise up against the departing Germans and seize the capital just before the Soviets arrived. They could welcome the Red Army into their city as the rightful ‘hosts’, and score an enormous political victory over Stalin. That, at least, was the plan.

The second important event of that summer in relation to the uprising was the 20 July attempt to assassinate Hitler at the Wolfsschanze, because it elevated Himmler at the expense of the Wehrmacht, with terrible consequences for Warsaw. The Führer survived the attack, only to become increasingly paranoid and suspicious of his generals. Himmler took advantage of their fall from grace, and worked to increase his own power. After the beginning of the Warsaw Uprising Guderian requested that Warsaw be put under the jurisdiction of the 9th Army, but Himmler wanted the prize for himself. Hitler deferred to the Reichsführer SS. As Guderian put it, ‘Himmler had won’. The uprising would be put down not by regular troops, but by some of the most notorious of Himmler’s SS thugs, who had honed their skills in the killing fields of Byelorussia – Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, Oskar Dirlewanger, Bronisław Kaminski and members of Einsatzgruppe B, who had been unceremoniously ejected from their comfortable fiefdoms in the east. As a result of this decision, the crushing of the Warsaw Uprising would become the only major German ground combat operation of the Second World War to be run almost entirely by the SS.³

The third decisive event was Field Marshal Walter Model’s counter-offensive, which began only hours before the start of the uprising. It was the only major offensive launched by the Germans against the Soviets in the summer of 1944, and it too would have far-reaching consequences.

On 31 July the people in the countryside around the pretty town of Radzymin, thirty-five kilometres east of Warsaw, felt the earth shaking underfoot as if in an earthquake. Smoke and dust filled the air as countless tanks rumbled across the sandy fields and into position. The battle against the Soviets was about to begin.

Model and Guderian had amassed some of their best troops for the attack: the Waffen SS Viking Panzer and Totenkopf Divisions, the Luftwaffe’s Hermann Göring Division, General von Saucken’s 39th Panzer Korps and the 4th and 19th Panzer Divisions. It was a formidable force, and it slammed into the unsuspecting Red Army as it made its way towards Warsaw, changing the course of the war.

Like Bagration itself, these battles are now largely forgotten, but they were titanic clashes, with the loss of hundreds of tanks. The Battle of Wolomin was the largest tank battle fought on Polish soil in the entire war, and it saw the German Panzer divisions crush the Soviet 3rd Tank Corps and maul the 8th Guards Tank Corps. Fierce fighting raged for weeks throughout the area; indeed, the Soviets would succeed in finally pushing all of the German forces over the Vistula only in January 1945. One consequence was that even if Hitler had wanted to send regular troops in to retake Warsaw there were simply none available; all were needed at the front.

Tragically, the Poles waiting in Warsaw mistook the distant sounds of battle for the triumph of the Red Army. With no direct contact with the Soviets, they could only guess at what was happening, and they miscalculated badly. The AK’s Warsaw commander Colonel ‘Monter’ rushed into a meeting at 5 o’clock on 31 July with the incorrect information that the Soviets ‘are in Praga’, and urged that to delay the uprising would be a disaster. General Bór – who was in many ways unsuited for the role thrust upon him by history – did not wait for verification, but gave the order to commence the uprising. Neither Bór nor Monter had understood the significance of Model’s counter-offensive. There was now no way that the Red Army could have reached Warsaw in the first week of August, but the Poles did not know that. Mobilization for the uprising had already begun. It would commence at 5 p.m. on 1 August, and it would ultimately bring utter destruction to the city of Warsaw.

When ancient Carthage began to rebuild itself in the second century BC, after the Second Punic War, the Romans were worried. The city was seen as a threat to Roman domination of North Africa; and after some deliberation Rome’s senators decided that it had to be attacked, conquered, and erased from history.

They knew that the task would not be easy. Carthage was strongly fortified, and it contained a desperate population who were determined to fight rather than be crushed into submission by the Romans.

The attack began in 149 BC; Carthage fought back, and the Romans set up a siege. The Carthaginians defended their city like lions, fighting from house to house and street to street, but eventually the Romans proved too powerful, and Carthage capitulated in 146 BC. Fifty thousand of its inhabitants were sold into slavery, the city walls were torn down and the city razed to the ground. It is said that the Romans even sowed salt in the ruins so that nothing would grow there. Carthage had ceased to exist.

Hitler might well have modelled his treatment of Warsaw on that ancient city. In his play The Fall of Carthage the Nazi writer Eberhard Wolfgang Möller championed the great Roman republic – the bearer of all civilization – and applauded it for grinding ‘corrupt’ and ‘venal’ Carthage into the dust. The Berlin audiences clapped and cheered. For Hitler, the symbolism was clear.

If Carthage is the epitome of the wanton destruction of a great city in the ancient world, the sacking of Warsaw was its unique counterpart in modern history. No European capital has undergone such trauma at the hands of an invader. After the merciless bombing raids that began on 1 September 1939 its population was terrorized by the Gestapo, and almost its entire Jewish community was murdered. During the uprising of the summer of 1944 its people were massacred, besieged, pulverized and burned. In the end the entire population, which before the war had numbered over 1.3 million people, was gone. More than 400,000 of Warsaw’s Jews were dead. Over 150,000 of its remaining citizens died during the uprising and lay buried under the rubble; 18,000 members of the AK also lay dead. The remaining citizens might still have found shelter in the city, but Hitler would not permit anyone to remain; hapless civilians were hauled from their shelters and sent to Pruszków transit camp on the outskirts of the city, from where 60,000 innocent men, women and a substantial number of children were despatched to concentration camps including Auschwitz, Ravensbruck and Dachau, where many of them perished. Nearly 100,000 people were sent as forced labourers to the Reich, the last source of cheap labour for Albert Speer and Fritz Sauckel.⁴ Ernst Kaltenbrunner, chief of the RSHA, the Reich’s Security Office, warned of the security risk of so many young men being brought to German towns; as a result more children and women were used instead. Families were deliberately split up at Pruszków; many were never reunited.

The rest – those too old or too sick to be of any use to the Reich – were sent off to find somewhere to live in occupied Poland. This too was fraught with problems. The poor people in the countryside had no place for them, and many refugees were forced to eke out an existence by tending animals or cooking. One group, above all, remained in grave danger throughout.

For a brief moment in August 1944, when the city was ‘free’, Warsaw’s Jews had been rid of Nazi tyranny, but as the Germans retook district after district the terror returned with them. The Poles suffered terribly during the uprising, but the danger for the Jews was infinitely worse – even at the very end the Germans showed no mercy, and killed any they could find. SS specialists under Alfred Spilker scoured the crowds of refugees trudging to Pruszków for anyone who looked Jewish; they were taken aside and shot. Some, like Stanisław Aronson and Yehuda Nir, miraculously survived by mingling in the crowds; others, like Władysław Szpilman and other so-called ‘Robinsons’, took their chances by hiding in the stricken city until Soviet liberation in January 1945.

The fate of those Warsawians who decided to stay after the capitulation to the Germans is one of the little-known stories of tenacity and human courage to come out of the uprising. These men and women were sometimes literally buried alive in bunkers for weeks or months at a time, facing not only desperate shortages of food and water, but also the fear of discovery as Hitler’s squads looted and ravaged the city. The Germans found many of the secret hiding places during this orgy of destruction; untold numbers were killed. This was made worse when in October General Smilo Freiherr von Lüttwitz of the 9th Army heard that there were still ‘sneaky Poles’ hiding in the ruins, and sent out special teams to search the city for them.

With the people gone, Hitler began to loot and destroy in earnest. Hundreds of trains laden with goods left Warsaw for the Reich; over 45,000 wagons loaded with everything from dismantled factories to works of art were sent from Warsaw between August 1944 and January 1945; lorry-loads of goods followed, until there was nothing of value left. Then the demolition began. Special ‘destruction kommandos’ armed with flamethrowers, mines and bombs were sent in to level everything – churches and synagogues, museums and archives, hospitals and factories. It was an atrocious act of sheer spite, done despite the fact that at the time the Germans were desperately short of manpower and matériel. Hitler insisted on carrying on, and 30 per cent of the destruction of Warsaw happened after capitulation. When the Soviets finally entered on 17 January 1945 they found a silent ruin of a city. The destruction of Warsaw was one of the great tragedies of the Second World War. And yet, after 1945, the Polish capital’s terrible ordeal virtually disappeared from history.

The Poles who had fought so hard for their freedom did not regain it. Instead, one monstrous dictatorship was replaced by another, and Stalin ensured that mention of the uprising was suppressed. Those who tried to comment on it were silenced; tens of thousands of AK members were arrested, deported and killed.

The Poles may not have been permitted to mention the uprising; the Germans simply did not want to. If one reads the self-serving memoirs that appeared in East and West Germany after the war, one would be forgiven for thinking that the uprising had not happened at all. Even serious histories of the Second World War seem to gloss over the summer and autumn of 1944 on the Eastern Front as if nothing in particular was happening in Poland, and none of the main criminals of the uprising was ever brought to justice. The Germans, of course, had every reason not to want to discuss one of the most terrible crimes of the Second World War, and whereas there are thousands of memoirs of Stalingrad or Kursk, the library shelves are sparse when it comes to Warsaw. At Nuremberg the Nazi defendants fell over themselves to deny and cover up their involvement in the crushing of the uprising. Guderian was one of the most creative. When asked about the order to destroy the city, he said that at times it was ‘very difficult to recognize if an order which we got was against international law … it is also difficult for generals because they didn’t study international law’. Von dem Bach claimed that he had arrived in Warsaw in ‘mid-August’; even in his diary (which was not available during the trial) he admitted that he was already there on 6 August. Reinefarth, too, lied about the date of his arrival so as not to be linked to the massacres he had ordered on 5 August. On 23 September 1946 he testified at Nuremberg: ‘Around 6 August 1944 I met Himmler in Posen … Around 8 August I reported to von Vormann in Warsaw.’ He claimed that not until the 9th did he first set foot on Wolska Street – over a week after his actual arrival.⁵

The Soviets, too, glossed over their involvement – or lack thereof. Red Army commanders Zhukov and Rokossovsky briefly mention Warsaw in their memoirs, but Zhukov is careful to chide Bór for not having contacted the Soviets before calling for the uprising, and Rokossovsky claims that the Soviet forces were too exhausted to carry on the fight in the summer of 1944. Both almost ignore the uprising itself, hastening on to the conquest of Berlin. Official Soviet histories of the war are no better, maintaining the line that the Red Army had to stop at the Vistula to be re-supplied; even today official histories claim that the uprising was a ‘reckless adventure’ inspired by the British and the irresponsible AK. After the war Stalin imposed a ban on any but approved accounts of the uprising; even the famous author and journalist Vasily Grossman was discouraged from writing about it.

The uprising was not particularly well known in the West during the war, and any memory of it quickly faded after 1945. Things were hard enough, and people set about rebuilding their lives with little thought to the fate of those now trapped behind the Iron Curtain. Émigré Poles tried to keep the memories of the uprising alive, but their accounts were read largely within Polish circles. The Poles did not participate in the official celebrations of VE-Day in London, despite their valiant contribution to the war. It was easier to forget.

In Poland the artificial vow of silence imposed on the uprising changed dramatically with the collapse of Communism in 1990. It was as if, having been forced to be silent for so long, a great geyser of memory was unleashed, and the history of the uprising became a focal point of Warsaw life. Statues, monuments and street names commemorating every battalion and leader of the AK sprang up like mushrooms; histories and memoirs abounded; the Museum of the Warsaw Uprising was opened on the sixtieth anniversary of the conflict; re-enactments of famous battles became commonplace on the streets; and there was even a board game to teach children as they played. It was right that the people of the battered city should finally be able to commemorate the history of this terrible period; the annual wreath-laying to the dead of Warsaw on 1 August, and the ensuing minute of silence, during which the whole city stops, is very moving. But the pendulum swung so far that many accounts of the uprising read like hagiographies, in which the AK and its soldiers could do no wrong, and the only things that failed in the uprising were the Western Allies and Stalin. Strangely, in all these accounts there is very little information about the suffering of Warsaw’s civilians, and even less about the activities of the occupying Germans. This book is an attempt to redress the balance.

It is not intended to be a complete history of the Warsaw Uprising. The fundamental questions which inform the whole are why, at the end of July 1944, when the Germans had virtually abandoned the city, did they suddenly decide to return to it; and why, when the uprising began, did they crush it with such viciousness? This is not a book about what ‘should’ have happened, or what ‘might’ have happened, or what Stalin or the Western Allies ‘could’ have done – it is a story of what actually did happen in the summer of 1944, in particular between the Germans and the Poles. My aim has been to synthesize many different elements of the uprising into a single narrative. I begin with a framework of military and political history in order to put the uprising in context, not only of the relationships between Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin, but also in relation to the war on the Eastern Front, including the Soviet summer offensive Operation ‘Bagration’, to Hitler’s racial war of extermination, and to the coming Cold War. It is impossible to avoid ‘top-down’ history when writing about an event so dom-inated by Hitler and Himmler. These men wielded such enormous power that any order they issued was followed unquestioningly by every level of the Nazi hierarchy; when the order went out in early August to destroy Warsaw and kill all its inhabitants, everyone from Guderian to von Vormann, Reinefarth and von dem Bach fell into line, despite the fact that the policy made no military sense. The behaviour, likewise, of Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt is also crucial to understanding the uprising in a broader context.

But such conventional political and military history alone contains almost no information on the ordinary people whose lives were so affected by these men and their policies. The solution was to weave ‘grassroots’ history into the narrative, adding dozens of personal testimonies and accounts by combatants and civilians alike to show what it was actually like to live through this ordeal. The Nazis practised the deliberate dehumanization of their victims, referring to them as ‘pieces’ and burning their bodies on pyres on the streets of Warsaw to remove the evidence of their violent deaths. I have tried to pay homage to at least some of these people by attempting to bring their stories to life. Because I ask why Hitler and Himmler decided to crush the Polish capital with such irrational brutality, I have also concentrated on the ‘interface’ between Germans and Poles in Warsaw; as a result I looked for testimonies not just from the Poles themselves, but also from others who found themselves in Warsaw that summer, from foreign journalists to SS men guarding the prisoners of the ‘Cremation Commando’, and from Wehrmacht soldiers who longed to get out of the ‘second Stalingrad’ to the troops of the Soviet-led Berling’s Army, who crossed the Vistula only to die in their hundreds under German fire.

Traditionally, the destruction of the Warsaw ghetto and the Warsaw Uprising have been treated as two entirely separate events. This is understandable, as the liquidation of the ghetto and the murder of its inhabitants is a unique and terrible crime in history. Even so, the story of Warsaw’s Jewish population did not begin or entirely end with the destruction of the ghetto. It is often forgotten that many Jews were also killed in the bombing of 1939, and that many of those who survived the horrors of the ghetto would die in the 1944 uprising or its aftermath. Throughout, I have tried to trace the fate of some who did manage to survive – Władysław Szpilman and Stanisław Aronson amongst others – in an attempt to show the uniquely perilous existence they led in the wartorn city. I have also tried to show that the Jewish tragedy was also a tragedy for the city of Warsaw in its entirety, and also affected the uprising of 1944. As Gunnar Paulsson put it, ‘Ninety-eight per cent of the Jewish population of Warsaw perished in the Second World War, together with one-quarter of the Polish population: in all, some 720,000 souls … undoubtedly the greatest slaughter perpetrated within a single city in human history’.⁶ My references to Carthage are a deliberate attempt to emphasize the epic scale of the tragedy of this city.