Henryk's Struggle - Chapter 1 (Excerpt From My Novel)
Blackened smoke flared into Henryk’s nostrils as he and his family are dragged out of their burning home in the far west of Warsaw in Poland. A regiment of the Waffen S.S Elite just happened to stop by his home for supplies. They’ve taken anything of use and have burned what they have left behind. “On your knees, filthy Poles!” The commander of the regiment, Captain Ludenrich spat in forced and incoherent Polish with a proud German accent. Ludenrich hoped to earn the East Prussian cross for this cleansing here, as a WW1 Veteran he despised the Poles, with blackened scruff covering his unshaven face and dressed in the S.S Uniform he stared down at Henryk and his Father, seething with anger; Henryk’s three sisters were shivering, sweating in fear, tears rolling down their faces. Henryk’s mother stunned... frozen in fear… “That better, put hands behind head and close eyes!” The S.S soldier hissed, in Polish... He then ordered six of the twenty four S.S men to stand behind the entire family and await orders for the inevitable execution.
Henryk was clenching his jaw and his fists, not with fear but with hatred. His father, Alexsandr the same as his son, the middle aged man frothing at the mouth with hatred. Like a Bull in a cage. His three sisters, two twins of nine years, Anna and Magda the youngest sister of three years, Alessandria, all cried together, fear rocking them to their core, terrified… with their mother screaming and crying, all begging to be spared. The S.S Commander approached them, comforting them mockingly, he uttered in a spiteful tone “Do not worry, my ladies. Both your brother and your Father watch you die. I will allow one final moment, and then they too, will die.” He then directed two of the six executioners; both armed with the military grade MP40 and the military grade pistol, the Luger. The commander directed the two soldiers and they dragged Henryk and his father until they directly faced the rest of their family.
“Frei!” The S.S commander screamed, on command the four S.S executioners pulled the trigger, bullet after bullet catching skull and spine, the blood spraying with every shot. All four of the victims fell, dead. Henryk’s family lain out before him and his father in a pool of blood, as the blood etched out pooling around the knees of father and son. “Kurwa!” Henryk spat in disgust towards the face of the commander. The commander back-handed him. “You di...” He never finished his sentence, as Alexsandr coiled like a snake, swiftly turned around, and pushed the barrel of the MP40 towards the other S.S soldier as the first S.S soldier pulled his trigger, killing his comrade. Alexsandr then drove his elbow into the jaw of the S.S soldier. Alexsandr tore the gun out of the fallen soldier’s hands as the S.S soldier dropped to the dirt, Alexsandr, toting the MP40 let loose burst after burst of machine gun fire killing the four other executioners. “Run, Henryk!” He cried out as a bullet passed definitely through his skull, his father’s blood sprayed out into Henryk’s face, the bullet discharged from the luger held in the hand of the lead in command.
Henryk complied, as the S.S troops recovered they realised Henryk had already begun sprinting, pounding foot after foot into the shell covered dirt he burrowed into a passing truck driven by other Polish escapees. His old friend Boris, from the vegetable store, with his wild silvery beard, blazing blue eyes gripped Henryk’s hand tightly, and pulled him into the safety of the passenger’s seat. Boris, with a wipe of his sleeve cleared the blood from his nose and face, “Henryk!” Boris exclaimed, “Those Nazi pigs trashed my store, and burned my home with it… I fought back, and got a bloodied face for my troubles, but I killed seven of the bastards!” “I’m shocked I didn’t get shot!” He laughed in an uproar, Henryk wondered if he has gone insane, “Good… work” Henryk said in strained approval, the more we kill the merrier we are, Henryk thought quietly.