Читать книгу Warsaw 1944: Hitler, Himmler and the Crushing of a City - Alexandra Richie - Страница 27

Partly because of the overwhelming brutality of the invading forces, there was no serious Polish political collaboration with Nazi Germany – no quislings or Polish SS divisions – during the Second World War. There were, of course, individual collaborators and ‘Volksdeutsche’ who worked for the Germans; there were also the despised ‘Schmalcowniks’,^fn1 who specialized in blackmailing and betraying Jews and their protectors. On the whole, however, the Poles supported the Western Allies, and unwaveringly shared their vision of freedom, democracy and self-determination. When Jan Karski joined the underground in 1939 he was told by his mentor ‘Mr Borecki’, a well-known lawyer in the interwar years, that the organization was nothing less than ‘the official continuation of the Polish state’.⁸ General Władysław Sikorski, the leader of the wartime Polish government-in-exile in London, said that ‘we are fighting not only for an independent Poland but for a new democratic state assuring to all her citizens political and social freedom and progress’.⁹ The Poles resisted German rule from the beginning of the war, and plans for an uprising evolved early. The most critical question was not if they should act, but how and when.

The Germans were well aware of the Polish history of rebellion, and dealt with all threats by increasing the terror. In February 1940 SS General Petri sent a study of the 1863 Polish Uprising against the Russians to Himmler, who found it so instructive that he ordered copies to be distributed to the Gestapo and to all SS and police battalion commanders at once. ‘The only means of dealing with a Polish Uprising,’ the report stated, ‘is unmerciful severity applied at the first show of resistance. Any indecisive behaviour of the authorities [must] end in disaster.’¹⁰

Despite this, the Germans completely misunderstood the mentality of a people well acquainted with persecution and oppression, and did not realize that the more they pushed, the more the Poles would resist. Every Pole understood the wartime rules of behaviour which were formalized by the Directorate of Civil Resistance in 1942. Citizens were to hinder the Germans wherever and whenever possible. Quotas were to be fudged, armaments were to be sabotaged, equipment was to be improperly repaired. People learned not to pry into the affairs of those who might be working for the underground. Small acts of resistance, like daubing graffiti on prominent walls or placing flowers on the sites of destroyed memorials, did little more than raise morale, but they were important in maintaining the spirit of solidarity in the grim war years. After the defeat in 1939 a mass grave for unknown soldiers was dug on the corner of Marszałkowska and Jerusalem Avenue in the very centre of Warsaw, and hundreds of people lit candles for the fallen every day. SS Gruppenführer and Commander of the SS and Warsaw District Police Paul Moder realized the potential danger of such gatherings, and had the bodies moved and access to the site restricted. Warsawians nevertheless managed to surreptitiously light candles there every day until the uprising made it impossible. The 1942 Directorate even included the creation of underground courts of justice which heard cases against collaborators. They imposed – and carried out – the death penalty on a regular basis.

The Nazis tried and utterly failed to crush Polish culture. Many Germans held the strange notion that the further east one went, the less sophisticated people became; propaganda bore this out with carefully chosen photographs of filthy villages and houses in ‘the east’, with no electricity or running water, and with outhouses dotted around muddy back fields. In reality, Warsaw, with its embassies and theatres and museums, was a highly sophisticated and elegant city, and its inhabitants were often far more worldly than the young German soldiers sent there who had been brought up on a provincial diet of narrow-minded Nazi propaganda. Warsaw inhabitants lived in close-knit working-class communities, handsome villas or suburban flats; they loved their families and their neighbourhoods and their churches, and they followed the latest fashions, theatre and films as keenly as their counterparts in any other European capital. The young German soldiers sent to arrest eighteen-year-old Władysław Bartoszewski in April 1940, and send him on the second ever transport bound for Auschwitz, were astounded to find complete German editions of Goethe and Heinrich Heine on his bookshelves; it had not occurred to them that knowledge of German or French literature was commonplace among educated Poles. Despite the mass arrest of university professors in 1939 and the official ban on university education, hundreds of students clandestinely obtained degrees during the war, the courses being overseen by the underground Department of Education and Culture. Professors deported from the University of Poznań established a secret University of Western Lands in Warsaw, with 250 teachers and 2,000 students. Other scholars risked their lives to hold lectures in their flats: one student was sitting her final exams when the Gestapo burst in and arrested her teacher in front of her.¹¹ The Poles even created a successful underground medical school. Parents and teachers organized instruction throughout the country: over 5,200 teachers illegally taught 86,000 elementary school pupils and over 5,600 teachers taught 48,000 secondary school students in the ‘General Government’ (Nazi-occupied Poland). The work was dangerous, as the Germans arrested and executed a large number of Polish teachers: in late 1942 alone 367 were rounded up, most of whom perished in Auschwitz.¹²

When the Germans banned newspapers the Poles simply printed more; indeed, the underground press became one of the secret triumphs of occupied Poland, churning out everything from the latest speeches by Churchill and Roosevelt and interviews with key figures in the government-in-exile to warnings about local Gestapo and SS activity. It is estimated that around 690 titles were published in Warsaw alone; the AK publication Biuletyn Informacyjny reached its peak at 50,000 copies per edition.¹³ Printing presses were carefully hidden, with secret spaces made by painstakingly removing earth from under buildings by basket. General Bór-Komorowski, the commander of the AK after 1943, visited one of Warsaw’s seven large printing shops, buried underneath a perfectly ordinary-looking house. The printing press was in a stuffy room deep underground, its entrance concealed by a dusty slab of concrete, but as the workers had to arrive and leave at prearranged times, there was no way for them to step out for a breath of air. An elaborate signal system had been hidden in the walls. The presses worked away in the glow of a green light, a sign that everything upstairs was in order. If something did go wrong the old lady who acted as the guard would press a rusty nail in the wall, and a red light would turn on below. The machines would be stopped, and the workers would wait in silence for as many hours or days as it took for the danger to pass. The publications of presses like this one were distributed around town from empty beer barrels or factory cases loaded on the pushcarts used to transport everything in Warsaw in those days. An armed escort would always be nearby. ‘If anyone insisted on seeing the contents,’ Bór said, ‘a shot was the only way of finishing the argument.’¹⁴

Poles were not officially allowed to listen to foreign radio, but illegal stations sprang up throughout the city like mushrooms; no sooner would the Germans close one down than another would appear. Some broadcast throughout the war. Władysław Rodowicz had a radio station hidden under the basement of his house on Forteczna Street in the pretty suburb of Żoliborz; it was never found, despite repeated raids. At the same time Stefan Korboński fed information from Poland to ŚWIT, a station actually located near London but masquerading as being in Poland. As a result of such stations, Warsawians were well informed about unfolding events, hearing about Stalingrad, Kursk and Normandy as the news broke; when a German defeat was announced, the people of the city quietly celebrated.

There was entertainment too. Theatres were created in cellars and factories and churches, and Warsawians put on clandestine performances of Adam Mickiewicz, Alexander Fredro, Molière and Shaw; these were augmented by poetry readings, recitations, political discussions and literary evenings. Puppet shows satirized Hans Frank and Ludwig Fischer; one group even re-enacted the death of SS and Police Leader Franz Kutschera on the streets of Warsaw, while others parodied Adolf Hitler in skits reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator. The Germans had expected the Polish people simply to forget their cultural heritage, and to go and dig potatoes or slave away in the mines, but this was impossible. One of the tragedies of the Warsaw Uprising was that so many talented men and women whom the Germans had singularly failed to silence between 1939 and July 1944 were killed in the inferno that followed.

By 1944 some Germans, particularly Hans Frank, Governor of the General Government, realized that the policy of increased brutality was not working. The war was coming to a close, and he, like many top Nazis, assumed that he would be able to play a role in the post-war world as an elder statesman and representative of Germany. Frank hoped that the Poles could be recruited to fight on the German side in what he believed would be a new conflict between the Soviets and the Western Allies, and tried to win them over by opening a few schools and allowing the return of elements of Polish culture; he even had Frédéric Chopin Germanically renamed ‘Frederick Schopping’, thereby allowing the composer’s works to be played in public.¹⁵ Frank’s overtures came to nothing, as in reality he remained the insensitive overlord he always had been. He referred to his wife as ‘the Queen of Poland’, and had a swimming pool built for her in the beautiful Wawel Castle. He kept Leonardo da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine, one of Poland’s greatest treasures, in his private rooms, and tried to take it with him when he packed up and left for Germany in 1945. He paid Poles, including Roman Polanski’s mother, to work at the castle, but never deigned to speak to them as fellow human beings – they were slaves, there to serve his mighty court until they were disposed of. On any given morning he might sign a hundred death warrants or put his signature on the order for another transport bound for Auschwitz, then go in the evening to a concert by the orchestra in which a handful of Polish musicians were allowed to perform for him. Himmler thought of Frank as ‘too soft’, and neither Hitler nor Himmler would sanction any cooperation with the hated Slavs. The Poles poked fun at him constantly. When he published his ‘Days in Poland’ pamphlet for the German Kultur organization, the underground printed a parallel brochure with a new ironic text. Frank’s glowing section on ‘Kraft durch Freude’ (Strength through joy) became an ‘exhibit of manhunts and arrests at home combined with an excursion to view Polish intelligentsia in camps in Oświęcim, Dachau, and Oranienburg’.¹⁶ His true colours shone through when the uprising broke out. He felt betrayed by ‘his’ Poles, and agreed that Warsaw was ‘the point from which all unrest in this land is brought’. Like his masters, he approved of the complete destruction of the city.¹⁷

As the Allied advance on Nazi Germany continued, the military fight in Poland was spearheaded by the AK, under the auspices of the government-in-exile in London. Under Stefan Rowecki’s leadership from 1940, the Home Army was soon operating throughout occupied Poland. Its structure mirrored the pre-war Polish army’s order of battle, with units formed into divisions, brigades and regiments.

In order to avoid German reprisal killings, which sometimes amounted to a hundred or more innocent people for the death of one German, the AK focused primarily on intelligence and sabotage. General Kazimierz Sosnkowski, commander in chief of the Polish armed forces in London, held that intelligence-gathering was the most important task of the military underground. It was the Poles who first broke the high-security German Enigma codes, and who provided British and French intelligence with reconstructed Enigma machines on 25 July 1939, just before the outbreak of the war – Winston Churchill later told King George VI that breaking the Enigma code had been the main reason for the Allied victory. Later, the Poles sent detailed reports of the German concentration and extermination camps to the West; they even delivered parts of a captured V-2 rocket. The AK worked closely with the British centre for the coordination of resistance against the Germans in occupied Europe, the Special Operations Executive, or SOE, which in turn dropped weapons, ammunition and Cichociemni agents into Poland. Unlike the British Foreign Office, which became progressively more pro-Soviet and anti-Polish as the war went on, the SOE, whose operatives often worked in highly dangerous situations alongside Poles, had great respect for these unflinchingly pro-British resistance fighters. The Minister for Economic Warfare, Hugh Dalton, openly declared that ‘I like the Poles,’ while the Director of Operations for Western and Central Europe, Brigadier Colin Gubbins, was a close personal friend of General Sikorski, and got along well with his successor as the head of the government-in-exile, Stanisław Mikołajczyk.¹⁸ Thomas Snowden, a British-Canadian operative who worked with his Polish counterparts in Sweden and elsewhere, was not unusual when he said that, aside from his navy colleagues, he would ‘most trust the Poles with his life’.¹⁹ Even the Germans acknowledged their effectiveness: in December 1942 Himmler complained that the Polish resistance was strong, well organized, and had become ‘very dangerous’ for Germany.

For the AK operatives, Warsaw was extremely dangerous. They had to be highly secretive, as any mistake would quickly lead to a knock on the door by the Gestapo. When Jan Karski was recruited by Dziepatowski, the mood turned very serious. ‘You are now a member of the underground … should you turn informer or make any attempt to betray us, you will be shot. Have I made myself clear?’²⁰ Everyone had a nom de guerre, and the organization was cellular rather than strictly hierarchical. Operatives knew only their superior officer and a handful of colleagues, which meant that they could give away only a limited amount of information even if they were tortured. Some of the most vulnerable were the ‘liaison women’ who were used to maintain contact between underground workers; the nature of their work meant they could not remain in hiding like other operatives, but always had to be reachable. As Karski put it, ‘of all the workers in the underground their lot was the most severe, their sacrifices the greatest, and their contribution the least rewarded. They were overworked and doomed. They neither held high rank nor received any great honours for their heroism. Most of the liaison women with whom I had the honour to work endured the common fate of their sisters. One of them was a young girl of about twenty-two or -three … A message smuggled out of the jail after her first and only interrogation described her condition … “when they carried her away, the lower half of her body was in shreds”.’²¹ Despite all the precautions taken, many hundreds of AK operatives were captured, tortured and shot during the war.

After the betrayal and arrest of Rowecki in 1943, the AK was commanded by the short, slim and unassuming General Tadeusz Bór-Komorowski, who would soon be forced to make the agonizing decision about when to start the Warsaw Uprising. Born in 1895, he served as an officer in the Austro-Hungarian army before joining the new Polish army after the First World War. He became a career cavalry officer and commanded the Cavalry School at Grudziądz; a superb horseman, he led the Polish equestrian team at the 1936 Berlin Olympics. It was at the Games that he came to the attention of both Himmler’s protégé Hermann Fegelein and General-Leutnant Hans Källner of 19th Panzer Division, both of whom would fight against him in the uprising. Bór was very effective in the conspiracy, but he was not a tactical commander.²² Andrzej Pomian, one of the post-war founders of the Polish Independence Movement, first met him in London after the war: ‘In my imagination he was a great symbol of heroism and so the first meeting with him was very disappointing.’ Bór, he thought, had ‘nothing of the heroic about him’. He was ‘modest and simple’, and carried the ‘terrifying stigma of having made the decision to start the uprising’. Stanisław Jankowski, code-named ‘Agaton’, spent time in a prisoner of war camp with this ‘tired, shy, polite and friendly man’. Colonel Józef Szostak, Chief of the Operational Bureau of the AK, who had been present on numerous occasions when the fateful decision was being discussed, said of him that he was ‘honest, honourable and brave, but he had absolutely no qualifications to occupy the position that fate allocated to him. He was a pleasant, well-mannered and elegant cavalry officer … but no outstanding individual, and he did not tower over his subordinates in terms of character and valour.’²³

The AK had been preparing for an uprising against the Germans from the beginning of the war, but that was not their only role: the organization was divided between those who were actively engaged against the enemy throughout and those who were dormant, waiting for the moment they would be called to fight. Most men and women in the AK had ordinary jobs and lived normal lives. Józef Garliński, who was a counter-intelligence officer, traded in old clothes as a cover. The handsome, tennis-playing operative was married to an Irishwoman who stayed in Poland throughout the war: ‘We never spoke about my underground work,’ he said, ‘but she knew that I was deeply engaged in it and the old-clothes trade was only a front to hide my activities. She herself, in spite of my opposition, was involved in similar activities, although to a lesser extent.’²⁴ Włodzimierz Rosłoniec, who was in charge of guarding an arsenal of weapons at Krolewska Street, hinted about his work to his mother shortly before the uprising. She cut him short, saying, ‘I am very happy for you, but don’t tell me anything more, and I won’t tell you anything about my activity – it will be better for both of us.’ They agreed to name an emergency meeting point in case of trouble, but only admitted the extent of their involvement to each other after the war.

The AK contained a number of elite units, of which the most famous was ‘Kedyw’, a reprisal unit which consisted of men and women trained in sabotage, communications and even chemical warfare. Kedyw and other groups carried out hundreds of operations of sabotage throughout the war, and were so effective that General Siegfried Hänicke complained: ‘My troops do not understand that when they are in the General Government they are not in the Fatherland, but in a region where the majority of the population is hostile to us and opposes us with violence.’²⁵

Kedyw operatives came from many walks of life, although most were well-educated and from professional backgrounds. One of the most exceptional was Stanisław Aronson. Having escaped from the train taking him to Treblinka, he found refuge at the home of a friend of his mother’s on the ‘Aryan’ side of Warsaw. It was there that he was introduced to a softly-spoken philosophy professor, Józef Rybicki, who turned out to be the head of Kedyw Warsaw. Rybicki realized that this sophisticated and worldly young man might be a good fit in Kedyw, and after a long ‘interview’ he asked if he would join. Aronson agreed, and was given a new ‘Aryan’ identity, a complete set of papers and the pseudonym ‘Rysiek’. He was quickly accepted by the eight-member team of ‘Kedyw Kollegium A’; the fact that he was Jewish was discussed only once, when a colleague asked him if he was from Kresy, ‘or are you Jewish as we can’t place you exactly’. When Aronson admitted his background she promised that they would all protect his identity, and the subject was never mentioned again. All of them understood the particularly grave danger Aronson was in, as the discovery of his true identity could result in betrayal, arrest and death.

Unlike most AK members, Aronson and his Kedyw colleagues underwent military training throughout the war. They were taught how to operate all types of weapons, from American Thompson submachine guns to German Schmeissers; they attended workshops analysing past operations; and they were trained by the dashing Cichociemni parachuted in from England. One of the more grim ‘ruthless and dark’ tasks undertaken by Aronson’s unit was the execution of traitors sentenced to death by the underground courts, including Poles who collaborated with the Gestapo. ‘Sometimes these actions took a few weeks to prepare. We hung around near the victim’s house and observed his habits. We drew a map of the surrounding streets and alleys, and the layout of the building. When everything was prepared, we went to the victim’s apartment … We then read the sentence and one of my friends carried out the execution.’²⁶

The most famous Kedyw assassination in Warsaw was of Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski’s friend and colleague Franz Kutschera (whose wife was the sister of Hermann Fegelein), who after a short time working with Bach in Byelorussia had been sent to Poland, where he became known as ‘the executioner of Warsaw’. Kutschera, a tall man with a toothy grin and a neat Hitler moustache, was a fanatical enemy of all real or imagined ‘partisans’, and seemed to take great pleasure in identifying and exterminating centres of ‘banditry’, whether as SS and police leader in Mogilev or, from September 1943, in Warsaw. For him all Poles were expendable, and he energetically carried out the policy of mass round-ups and random executions on the streets of the city. It was for this crime in particular that he was found guilty by the Special Court of the Polish Underground State, a verdict approved by the Polish government-in-exile in London. The execution order was given by General Emil August Fieldorf (‘Nil’), the commander of Kedyw for all of Poland. In a brilliantly coordinated attack in front of his residence next to the SS headquarters on 1 February 1944, Kustchera’s car was blocked by another vehicle carrying four Kedyw operatives. Bronisław Pietraszkiewicz (‘Lot’), whom Bór called one of his ‘ablest soldiers’, shot him in the head; one of his colleagues did the same to the SS driver. Within seconds the area came under heavy German fire, but the four men managed to drive off.²⁷ They raced across the bridge to the Hospital of the Transfiguration in Praga, where ‘Lot’ and ‘Cichy’ died of their wounds. The other two men, ‘Sokół’ and ‘Juno’, were later stopped by the Germans, and jumped into the Vistula to try to swim away. They were shot in the water.

Von dem Bach made a special point of having dinner with Kutschera’s widow, and praising her late husband’s glorious career, but the bold assassination in broad daylight had unsettled the Germans. Kutschera’s replacement, Paul Otto Geibel, stopped the massive random street round-ups, although many Poles were still shot in the ruins of the ghetto and elsewhere. Wehrmacht soldiers were ordered not to walk on the streets alone, and the Germans became obsessed with secrecy around their top officials. Geibel’s identity and movements were kept hidden from the Poles, and other top Nazis stationed in Warsaw stayed in the heavily guarded German areas as much as possible. Franz Grassler, a young attorney and deputy to Dr Heinz Auerswald, Commissioner for the Warsaw ghetto, complained that it was difficult even for Germans to contact their superiors, so conscious were they of rank and security: ‘Auerswald was in his apartment and we were … housed in barracks … in the German House,^fn2’ he said. When important matters had to be discussed it sometimes took days for a meeting to be arranged. It is not surprising that few Poles had ever seen the faces or knew the names of the high-ranking SS officials in their midst.²⁸

Even so, the AK was effective at gleaning information about the top officials governing their lives. As part of her duties working undercover in a German-run office, Larysa Zajączkowska sometimes delivered mail to the glorious rococo Brühl Palace, now the headquarters of the police, the SS and the Governor of Warsaw Ludwig Fischer. It was one of the most closely guarded buildings in the city, but ‘with the help of a few bars of chocolate, a few bottles of slivovitz and a packet of coffee I befriended Governor Fischer’s secretary’, Zajączkowska recalled. ‘She had very simple tastes, and the greedy Fräulein could not imagine where I sent all the information she let slip out. For example, nobody knew who had replaced Kutschera after his death … It was a strict secret and the name was not even known to the Germans. Then one day a slim, balding officer was in the room and I whispered to Freda, “Who is he?” adding that I liked the look of him very much. She whispered, “That is General Geibel, Kutschera’s successor.” I reported this immediately.’

The AK asked Larysa to find out which cars Geibel used, with a view to another assassination, but this was extremely difficult, as after Kutschera’s death the top Nazis changed their cars several times a day. When she finally obtained the information she was told that Geibel would not, after all, be assassinated, as ‘the war is ending and the guilty will be judged by international tribunals’. Sadly, this was not to be. Although Geibel himself would die in a Polish prison, many of the worst criminals active in Warsaw – from Bach to Reinefarth, from Ludwig Hahn to Wilhelm Koppe and Heinz Auerswald, escaped punishment for the crimes they committed there.

AK attacks against Germans in Warsaw became more frequent as the Soviets drew ever closer to the city. In the fifteen months before the uprising, Aronson’s Kedyw unit carried out more than sixty operations, many of them executions of Germans or collaborators; nearly half of his unit was lost in the process. Between November 1943 and May 1944 the AK killed 704 Germans; by the time of the uprising they were assassinating around ten people every day.

The Germans continued to fight the AK as best they could. One of their most successful operations was the betrayal of Stefan Rowecki to the Gestapo. He was taken to Germany on Himmler’s orders, but despite being tortured, never disclosed any information about the AK. Himmler had him executed in Sachsenhausen when he heard about the outbreak of the uprising on 1 August 1944.

Rowecki’s female colleagues routinely displayed similar courage. One of the most extraordinary groups, also part of ‘Kedyw’, was the all-female sapper unit under Major Zofia Franio. In 1940 Franio was given permission to recruit five instructors from the PWK. All the women, who included Antonina Mijal, had ‘military knowledge, the psychological disposition and physical prowess to carry out the tasks’. Franio organized officers from the sapper corps to teach her recruits about explosives and incendiary devices, and in the autumn of 1940 three of the five instructors started their own sub-units, all of which became part of ‘Kedyw’.²⁹

One of these recruits was Antonina Mijal (‘Tosia’), who soon became Franio’s second in command. A beautiful young woman with jet-black hair and dark eyes – her great-grandfather’s family had come to Poland from Spain with Napoleon’s Grande Armée – she was recruited by Franio in October 1940. Mijal took part in numerous sabotage operations, particularly blowing up rail lines. She would leave town on the last tram, carrying the concealed bombs; on one occasion she transported them in stuffed toy monkeys. Her friend Irena Hahn remembered blowing up a train with her one evening and having to ‘sneak back to Warsaw, which was very dangerous as the roads were already swarming with Germans lighting up the area’. On another evening they were walking home after training at Franio’s apartment when they were stopped by a police patrol: ‘The men searched Tosia’s sack but didn’t pay attention to the box under her arm. They let us walk away with Tosia still carrying the sample explosives. A few minutes later we had to stop; we couldn’t speak.’ Had the box been opened, both women would have been shot. Another time they were caught in a street round-up, and although Tosia managed to walk through the cordon Irena was stopped. ‘Tosia came back for me, took my hand and snatched it from the policeman as if she was offended that he had grabbed me. He stood there rather confused but his colleague started to laugh at him and so we managed to slip away.’

Franio and Mijal ran twenty storage facilities and arms factories in and around Warsaw, not only overseeing production, but also moving arms to where they were needed, constantly risking arrest and imprisonment. According to Rybicki, ‘there were no men involved, and there were never any complaints about technical standards or delivery’.³⁰

Unfortunately, ‘Kedyw’ operatives were not representative of the entire AK. Stanisław Aronson, who served in the Israeli army after the war, said: ‘People today think that the Home Army was a kind of military power, but it was not at all like that. It was an organization with a few hundred thousand members, however there were actually only small operational fighting units. In the Warsaw area there were probably around 1,000 soldiers who participated in diversionary actions.’ At the beginning of the uprising the Warsaw AK counted 40,000 members, but only a few thousand were properly armed and trained.³¹ Most of the others were young people frustrated by almost five years of German occupation, but with scant practical knowledge or experience. They were desperate to ‘do something’, but they had had little or no training, and very few had weapons. This would prove to be a serious problem during the Warsaw Uprising.