little to the side. Trixie raised her arm and behind her, her army came to a stuttering halt. Immediately a deathly hush fell across the square.
Trixie swallowed hard and brought her fluttering heart under control. This wasn’t a time to falter; this was a time to be resolute. ‘Bring the Warsaw Free Army into line, Sergeant,’ she ordered in a loud voice, clearly audible to her army, ‘and then let’s go and hear what these traitorous bastards have to say for themselves.’
Together she and Wysochi walked across the cobbled square, with only the snap of their boot heels on the stones invading the heavy silence. In truth she felt a little awkward, as though she, little Trixie Dashwood, had no right to be performing as a leading actor in this revolutionary pantomime. But the look on the face of Chief Delegate Olbracht told her that he, at least, took her very seriously indeed.
‘It’s Lady Dashwood, is it not?’
‘It is.’
‘You are aware, my Lady, that it is an act of sedition to parade within the ForthRight carrying unlicensed weapons.’
Keep it simple, Trixie, but keep it decisive. Make sure the crowd can hear. Make sure the crowd can understand.
‘I do not recognise the jurisdiction of the ForthRight within the territory of Warsaw.’
Chief Delegate Olbracht gave a snort of derision. ‘Who the Hel are you to decide what is or is not recognised by Warsaw?’
Trixie laughed, and waved her good arm behind her, indicating her makeshift army. ‘I have a thousand reasons giving me that right. I have a thousand fighters at my back and all of them are proud, free Varsovians. I am acting Commander of the Warsaw Free Army.’
‘Ridiculous. You’re just a girl. How can a girl be commander of an army?’ laughed Olbracht. ‘You have no rank. You are not authorised to speak before the Administrative Committee.’
‘I have assumed command in the absence of Major Dabrowski’ – she nodded towards the Major – ‘who, I understand, is being held under arrest by Enemies of the People.’
If this revolutionary cant is good enough for Heydrich, it’s good enough for me.
‘You can’t do that.’
‘The Hel I can’t.’ Trixie raised her voice so that it carried throughout the square. ‘I fought with some brave men last night to arm the Warsaw Free Army. I watched some of those brave men die to capture the rifles that will prevent that swine Heydrich butchering the people of Warsaw. Their deaths give me the right to speak.’
Olbracht shook his head. ‘Then answer me this: why would you fight for us Varsovians? You’re not even a Pole.’
There was a murmur through the ranks of Trixie’s army: her Russian was so good that obviously a lot of them hadn’t realised that Trixie was an Anglo.
‘I stand here ready to fight for Warsaw because this is not a fight between the Varsovians and the ForthRight: this is a fight between all free Demi-Mondians and the forces of evil. This is a war of survival, a war where all those who have the temerity to be different from Anglo-Slavs – from Aryans – be they Poles or nuJus or Chinks, must stand and fight or be swept away.’
Trixie could hardly believe she was saying this. For her to be actually standing up for the UnderMentionables was simply astonishing.
By ABBA, she had changed. ‘
I have heard from Heydrich’s own mouth the plans he has for the non-Aryan races of the Demi-Monde and those plans will lead to the annihilation of the Polish people. I have heard from Heydrich’s own mouth that the Final Solution will mean the death of every Pole, every nuJu and every man, woman and child living in the Ghetto.’ Trixie raised her voice until she was almost shouting. ‘I tell you straight, today we must make a decision. Today we must decide whether we fight together or we die together.’ She was rewarded with cheers from the ranks of the WFA fighters.
The Chief Delegate stepped forward and, raising his voice above the hubbub of the crowd, addressed the thousands of volunteers standing in the square. ‘The Administrative Committee of Warsaw has received a communication from the Great Leader: if we will surrender the Daemon known as Norma Williams and the weapons stolen yesterday then the Party will only punish those directly involved with the abduction of the Daemon and those who committed the act of piracy. You are ordered by your legally appointed Administration to lay down your weapons.’ Not one of the WFA fighters moved but the ripple of unease amongst their ranks was palpable. ‘A handful of lives to save millions!’ shouted Olbracht.
‘You trust Heydrich?’ retorted Trixie and immediately cursed herself. This wasn’t some debating society. This wasn’t a time for discussion. Debate and discussion implied doubt, and a revolutionary couldn’t afford doubt. Doubt implied weakness and a lack of will.
The Chief Delegate leapt at the chance given him by Trixie. ‘We must trust Comrade Leader Heydrich!’ Olbracht shouted. ‘Our Leader is a man of honour. He has generously offered us a way of settling this nonsense so that the people of Warsaw are not punished for this girl’s recklessness.’ He turned to Dabrowski. ‘Major Dabrowski, you are the real commander of the Warsaw Free Army, and as an officer and a gentleman you are duty-bound to put the welfare and the well-being of the people before your own interests. I am ordering you, as the Chief Delegate of the Administration Committee of Warsaw, to instruct these people to lay down their weapons, to disband this ridiculous Free Army and to surrender the miscreants and the Daemon to the custody of the Checkya.’
Every eye in the square turned towards Dabrowski, who flinched back as though physically struck. He looked awful: pale and weak, he had to lean on a stick to stay upright.
Dabrowski seemed to crumble into uncertainty. He looked a different man from the rakish and confident soldier Trixie had known only a day or so ago. Could it be, she wondered, that the injuries he had suffered in the raid on the barges had broken him both physically and mentally? Maybe he was ill? Maybe all his training, all his conditioning as an officer to obey orders given by a superior was confusing him?
At Dabrowski’s silence, the Chief Delegate smiled an obnoxious little smile. ‘I think that is all the answer we need.’
Around her Trixie felt the volunteers begin to shuffle and to murmur. She was aghast at how a crowd could be so easily manipulated, how easily an army that only a few moments ago had been full of patriotic ardour could be cowed by bluster and braggadocio. She could not – would not – stand by and watch this foul man take control of the situation.
A determined set to her mouth, Trixie turned towards her army and addressed them directly. ‘The Warsaw Free Army is not prepared to surrender.’ She paused, unnerved by how the large crowd was listening so attentively. ‘Yesterday my father was murdered, laying down his life for mine. Today, it is my turn to make a stand for those who have the audacity to be different from the Aryan ideal of Heydrich. I am not a soldier, but I will fight. I am not a man, but I will fight. I am not a Varsovian, but I will fight.’ She paused for a moment to calm the tremor of emotion that had infected her voice. ‘And if none choose to follow me… then, as ABBA is my witness, I will fight alone.’
The square was totally hushed, those gathered in it silenced by their uncertainty.
Trixie was aware of movement to her left as Sergeant Wysochi came to stand next to her. ‘While I breathe,’ he announced, in a stentorian voice that echoed around the square, ‘I swear by ABBA that you will never stand alone.’ He stabbed his fist into the air. ‘Better to die on our feet than live on our knees!’
Even as the last word left his lips, the Warsaw Free Army erupted in a storm of cheering.
‘What did you make of that?’ asked Ella, as she sat by the window of her hotel room looking down at the scene unfolding in the square below her.
‘They’re all mad,’ was Vanka’s conclusion.
‘They seem determined enough and that Trixiebell Dashwood has been a revelation. I never took her for a revolutionary.’
‘War does strange things to people and it’s often the unlike-liest of individuals who prove themselves the most capable.’ He sighed and pulled the curtain back over the window. ‘Trixie Dashwood is a natural leader but that’s not enough. The Poles haven’t got a prayer.’
‘Why? There’s an awful lot of them.’
As he patted the room’s scabrous couch – raising a cloud of dust as he did so – and sat down, Vanka shook his head. ‘I don’t think the Poles realise what’s coming at them. Clement’s SS are the best, the most ruthless and
