Chapter 10General Witold stood tall, thin and tubercular. He coughed blood into a soiled handkerchief he pulled out of his tunic. Light blue eyes glowed out of deep sockets in a skeletal face. He shook my hand.
Between gasps and wheezes he spoke.
“Captain Goldman, welcome to the San. I have seven hundred men with me out of a force of five thousand just three days ago. Across the river,” and he thrust his bony chin out in that direction, “there are ten thousand Germans. They have artillery, tanks and mortars. We have three Howitzers that we stripped from a regiment we had pushed back and as they ran, these blond supermen, we collected their weapons, then disappeared into the forest.” Whereupon, Witold, having exhausted himself, bent over double and heaved, splattering yellow and green muc
