Rag and Bone by James R. Benn Page A

Government have used their best efforts not to allow these German maneuvers to have even the semblance of success .
    “What does that mean?” I asked.
    “The best efforts of a government in peril often bring out the worst they are capable of,” Radecki said as he took the memo back. “It means that the British will never reveal that the Russians were responsible for the executions. It is not in their interest.”
    “How did you get this letter?”
    “Remember, London is a city of spies.”
    “I will,” I said, looking Radecki in the eye, and wondering if he went out armed, and what caliber his weapon was. “Do you think the American government will listen to you if the British won’t?”
    “We hope so. We hear that General Eisenhower is a fair man.”
    “Major Horak,” I said, appealing to the ranking officer present. “If there is one thing the general values above all, it is Allied unity. Fair or not, I don’t see him risking that, no matter how strong your evidence. You could argue it was all circumstantial. A clever plot by the Nazis to divide the Allies. There are no living witnesses, except Russians.”
    “That is not quite the case, Lieutenant Boyle. There is someone we would like you to meet.” He nodded, and Radecki and Kaz left the room. “There is a witness. Lieutenant Kazimierz will bring him in. It is best if Captain Radecki is not present. He may make him somewhat nervous.”
    “Why?”
    “The ordeal has been difficult, and he would prefer to not speak of it. Radecki had rather insisted, and the poor fellow suffered a setback, so we kept them apart for a while. Then we tried again, and their relationship improved greatly, but still, there is no need for a crowd. Our guest does have a nervous disposition. Ah, here they are!” The door opened, and Kaz entered the room with a young man. Kaz had his arm around him, and I wasn’t sure if it was to keep him from falling over or running away. His eyes flitted around the room, as if he was searching for an unknown threat. Kaz whispered something to him and he relaxed as they drew nearer.
    “Tad, this is my friend, the American I told you about. Billy, this is Tadeusz Tucholski.”
    “Glad to meet you,” I said, standing and extending my hand. Tadeusz flinched.
    “It’s all right,” Horak said in a calming voice. “We are all good friends here.”
    “Yes, yes, sir,” Tadeusz said. “Sorry.” He and Kaz sat on the couch together. Tadeusz was dressed in the same uniform with the Poland shoulder patch, but he wore no indication of rank or other insignia. He looked maybe twenty, but it was hard to tell. His face was thin and pale, and his dark eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. He rubbed his hands together, rubbed them on his pants, then together again. He studied them for a minute, and then spoke without moving his eyes off them.
    “They want me to tell you, to tell you what I saw. I don’t want to, but I will. I know it is important.” The words came out in a rush, the rapidity of his speech at odds with the stillness of his body.
    “If you want to,” I said. “Do you want some coffee?”
    “Coffee?” He sounded like it was the oddest question he’d ever heard. “Yes, please.” I poured a cup from the silver coffee service and put it down in front of him. I filled my cup and held it, wisps of steam drifting above it. I took a sip, and it was still warm.
    “I was a cadet,” Tadeusz began. “When the Russians came, I was a cadet, in training to become an officer, you understand? In a special school for cadets.”
    “Yes, I understand,” I said. He spoke English well, though with a heavy accent.
    “They took us prisoner. It was terrible. At first, they put all of us in the basement of a building. They left us there for three days. No food, no bathroom. A little water, nothing else. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Three days, over one hundred cadets. In a dark basement. Do you understand?” He took the cup