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186 Out of the Inferno Zaremba, who lives today in Warsaw, received the Righteous Among Nations Medal, presented to her in Jerusalem by Yad Vashem. WITOLD ZLOTNICKI It was an autumn day in 1943, just before curfew. I was taking ammunition to a temporary storage place in someone's apartment. As I entered the gateway of the building, a civilian armed with a revolver stopped me. In typically German fashion, he screamed at me to stand still and put my hands up in the air. I could see a few other people in the same posture. From the caretaker's flat at the end of the gateway came shouting and screaming. It was obvious that a German-style interrogation was taking place. I stood very nonchalantly with one hand up in the air and held my briefcase full of ammunition in the other. To make matters worse, I wore army boots and trousers. A very smartly dressed elderly gentleman and a lady, obviously his wife, stood next to me. As he looked at me, the man casually tore up some papers. Our guard, a Ukrainian Gestapo agent, did not see this, as he had walked over in the direction of the caretaker's flat. The gentleman then turned to the guard and in fluent German told him that he worked for the town authorities of Grodzisk and was afraid that he would miss the last train. The guard demanded to see his documents; after examining them, he let the couple go. I sensed that the guard was unwilling to let anyone else pass but otherwise might be willing to negotiate. Since I had documents to show that I worked for a German firm, I approached him and in Polish said that I worked for a German enterprise and that I wanted to use the staircase near the caretaker's flat. Ignoring my briefcase, the guard looked at my papers and commented that I lived on Pulawska Street, about six kilometers from where we stood. I answered that if he cared to look outside the courtyard he would see that there were no streetcars running on Marszalkowska Boulevard and that I would not be able to get home before curfew. It was, of course, a lie, but I realized that he would not be too keen to go outside to check and risk leaving us unguarded. He asked me whether I wanted to go to the staircase. When I replied in the affirmative, he returned my documents without taking the five hundred zlotys I had left in them. His reaction on 187 Witold Zfotnicki seeing the money had been a slight smile. He told me to go, but quietly. Off I went, scratching my head while I pondered how to cope with my next problem. I knew that there were three armed men in the flat where I was headed and that they would all be aware of what was going on downstairs. When I arrived at the door, I knocked and very quietly said that I was Lieutenant Witold, that there was no one with me, and that everything was fine. I begged them not to do anything silly. The door opened slowly. Three gun muzzles and three pairs of eyes appeared. Then the door opened fully. They asked me how I had managed to get away. While I told them, I showed them the contents of my briefcase. The strain was so great that all of us started to laugh and could not stop. It was a nice sunny day, March 30, 1943, fairly memorable in the annals of occupied Warsaw. Officer Cadet Sas Ganusz Kulczycki) came for a 3:00 p.m. appointment with me, known as Second Lieutenant Witold, then deputy commander of B3 Company of Baszta Regiment. He came to the premises where Iworked, the EOS business establishment on the comer of Marszalkowska and Kr6lewska Streets. The business sold glassware, china, lampshades, even toys. Ever since prewar days, my aunt, StanisXawa ZXotnicka, had run the establishment. Since I worked there, I had fairly good papers.... The premises, well known to the Warsaw underground movement , housed the secretariat of the clandestine Law Department of Warsaw University, and the headquarters of B3 Company and its arms cache. The password "To Mr. Witold" had long ceased to frighten either the male or the female employees. I shall recount two of the happier incidents. One day, just as liaison Helcia (Helena Glaschmit) handed me the book Manual ofFighting in Towns...

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