A grenade exploded to her left, and it sent her flying into the air. She met the ground again, the wind knocked out of her, and rolled away from the crush of soldiers. Next to her, just a few feet away, lay Karol’s closest companion, another Jew, quite a bit younger and someone Karol had taken under his wing. The boy lay with his torso separated from the rest of him, his eyes wide with fright and rapidly losing their life light. His mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on a river bank. Magda crawled to him, lay an arm across him, and held him next to her until he passed. Nothing else in the world mattered more than holding on to him. They could have killed her, she knew. A German running by her could have taken aim at her head and simply killed her. Instead, they had either ignored her or had assessed that she and the twisted body of the boy were simply two more casualties in this hell of a war.
The mission Magda was going on was for the purposes of obtaining information. Uncertain whether the guesthouse owner or the Germans themselves were setting a trap, the commander instead arranged to send three of the commander’s women to work in the kitchen under the pretense—as he and the guest house owner decided—that the women were hired from the village to come and cook. They would serve the meal and drinks and extract as much information as possible. When the commanders approved Magda, Ula, and Natalia as that team, Karol followed Magda to her dugout.
“You’ll be recognized,” Karol pleaded. “I can’t believe that he’s given up on you so easily.”
“It’s been two and a half years,” Magda said. “And a few officers on the run are not going to be interested in arresting Koenig’s stupid housemaid.”
“You’re underestimating the situation,” Karol said.
“Am I really?”
“Yes.” He stroked her chin and lifted it, but she pulled back. His lips quivered. He had promised to respect her wishes, to simply be friends. “You’re not a stupid housemaid—that’s all I meant.”
She wanted to kiss him as badly as he must have wanted to kiss her. Instead, she walked away. Again.
For years he had been the only person she had turned to. She had clung to him, and she knew that—if anything happened to him—she would die.
“Magda!” He was chasing after her. “Magda, stop!”
In his hand was her brother’s revolver. “Listen, if you’re going to be with those bastards”—he rubbed a hand over the scruffy beard—“I just think it’s time you learn to shoot at close range.”
Magda glared at him. Hated that twitching smile trying to break through. Hated those elegant arched eyebrows. Hated that look of victory on his face.
She snatched the revolver out of his hand and walked into the woods. “From here on in,” she called ahead of her, “everything moves forward.”
15
April 1945
“Magda.”
Magda smiled in her sleep. It was such a sweet dream.
“Magda, it’s time.”
She opened her eyes to Karol. The sky was barely light. She remembered where she was. She remembered what she had to do.
“I love you.” Karol kissed her forehead.
Still in the glow of her dream, Magda reached for his face and kissed him back. There would be time for regret later. Time to chastise herself for her weakness later. For now, she bathed in his light.
“Listen,” he said, “after this detail, I want you to join me. There’s a group of us who want to head west and join the Americans.”
Magda awoke. “Who?”
Karol took in a deep breath. “The rest of us Jews, here. We should have left with that unit when they asked.”
No. Safety in numbers. That was why they had survived so long. It was one of the reasons anyway. “Why do you want to go?”
Karol looked over his shoulder. “The division needs us like the Germans need their prisoners for menial labor. But, Magda, these people here? They’re not fighting for Czechoslovakia.”
He was echoing her own concerns about hidden—and conflicting—agendas.
“Karol, just wait. Wait until I come back and then we can talk. All right?”
He frowned but agreed.
Magda rose and dressed in the civilian clothing laid out for her and acquired for the mission. She tied the scarf beneath her chin to better cover up the birthmark. Karol helped Magda strap the revolver to her calf. Then she pulled on the boots and checked that the length of the skirt hem covered the tops. He handed her the fake identification papers.
“Anna Gąsienica, huh?” He winked.
She squeezed his hand. “I have to go. Natalia and Ula must already be waiting.”
Karol kissed her one more time. “Be careful out there.”
“You too.”
“You’re a hero, you know, my warrior queen.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m not.”
The booming and the rumble from the front was nothing new to Magda, except that this time she was truly heading into the eye of the storm and behind enemy lines. Accompanied by Ula and Natalia, Magda’s heart hammered in time to the artillery.
The chill from the night slowly evaporated. It was no later than eight when the three of them arrived at the guesthouse, located some miles outside of the nearest town surrounded by nothing but wide-open spaces, easy for any guards to see oncoming danger. It was a two-story house with beveled glass windows all the way around. The weathered shingles were dark with age. To the south, the Carpathians were a dark green. It was peaceful here. A cuckoo sang, the sun was out, the sky had just the slightest wisps of clouds. A picket fence surrounded the guesthouse yard. An apple tree, laced with white blossoms, shaded half the benches and tables set outside, still covered with dew. The other half were in the sun.
As Magda and the women approached, two field soldiers rose from the steps of the front porch.
“Papiere,” one ordered. He had such light eyelashes it made his eyes look alien. There was a little mole just above his
