The rainbow never sets

The second raid on Posen followed on 29 May 1944. This time I was there right in the midst of it, doing my 'distance' for the shells. My heart was pounding so loudly that I was glad I didn't have to listen to a voice on the other end of the line, but simply follow the hand on the indicator.

Every time the command came to 'fire', we had to open our mouths and stop our ears, for the noise was terrific. My body was shaking all over, and I was bathed in sweat. I don't think I had the stuff to be a soldier, or was it just the first 'baptism of fire'? Whatever it was, I felt dreadful, and very pleased when it was all over. There were much fewer bombers in this air raid than at Easter, but it lasted for about 20 to 25 minutes. The Focke Wulf works were again hit, together with other buildings. Loss of life was: 16 Germans and 25 Poles.

This time our unit was not awarded a direct hit. During the air raid I observed, that the Russkis were doing a very good job, carrying the shells from the safety of the bunker and putting them straight into my gadget. They lived in a separate barrack, which was constantly guarded by proper soldiers. The 88 mm shells were really far too heavy for us youngsters to carry. These Russkis were Russian prisoners of war, who, we were told, had 'volunteered' for this job. We had been told not to have any contact with them, but occasionally we would pass their barrack, and the smell of Machorka (Russian cigarettes) would come wafting over to us. I couldn't stand the smell. One day I stood near the open window, and looked at the prisoners. I felt sorry for them in their crammed condition, and always being locked up. Then I heard a voice: "Hey you, want a basket"? Out came a beautifully woven box made from straw.

"What do you want for it?" I asked. "Khleb" was the answer. As I knew Polish, I knew that they were asking for Bread.

"Okay, I'll be back again." I went back to my barrack and said: "Look at this lovely box. The Russkis made it. They want bread for it."

"Let's save up some from our next ration, and give it to them." We agreed. After dark, I took half a loaf and went back to the window, making sure that no one could see me. Crouching under it I called out: "Khleb."

After a while a hand reached out. I gave him the bread, and heard what sounded like "spassibo", thank you. Poor bastards, I thought, they can't be getting enough to eat.

We did this several times, until each one in our barrack had a woven box to take home.

About a month after the second air raid, in June, two Russian prisoners had escaped. All of us, the whole unit, were called to an assembly. We were informed of the escape, and everybody was issued a rifle.

"If you see one, shoot. No questions asked. If you don't shoot, you may

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