Full Moon Waning

Nicholas G. L. Petryszak

Description

A story of two WW2 Polish veterans who immigrate with their families to Canada. About their often hapless search for success, with help from a mix of characters with bad intentions. Of friendship, loyalty, love and love betrayed. Of mistakes made and plans gone wrong. Of fears, real and imagined; driven by hope.

Sujets

• Fiction
• Novel
• Drama
• Hope

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 02 mai 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823007481
• Langue: English

Extrait

FULL MOON WANING







NICHOLAS G. L. PETRYSZAK










AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]






© 2023 Nicholas G. L. Petryszak. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/27/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0747-4 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0748-1 (e)






Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.



Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.



CONTENTS
Dedication

Chapter 1 Not To Be Forgotten
Chapter 2 A New Beginning
Chapter 3 The Welcome
Chapter 4 Cross Country
Chapter 5 A Job
Chapter 6 An Opportunity
Chapter 7 Some New Friends
Chapter 8 From Good To Bad
Chapter 9 Tania
Chapter 10 A Problem With A Friend
Chapter 11 Some Good News
Chapter 12 It Gets Worse
Chapter 13 A Walk On The Beach
Chapter 14 A Dinner Date
Chapter 15 Some Old Friends Come To Visit
Chapter 16 A Chat Over Coffee
Chapter 17 Just Another Night Out
Chapter 18 Scorched Earth
Chapter 19 A Good Company Man
Chapter 20 Not So Convincing
Chapter 21 The Next Generation
Chapter 22 A Vodka Moment
Chapter 23 Not A Secret Anymore
Chapter 24 One Problem Solved
Chapter 25 One Last Phone Call
Chapter 26 Don’t Worry About A Thing

About The Author



DEDICATION
T o all those, who came to this country, looking for something better and tried so hard to find it, without any help. This book is a small attempt to remember a few of them.



CHAPTER ONE
NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN
J ózef was thinking about his mother and father, his sister Renata and his brother, Tadic. He was sitting in the rear turret of a Lancaster bomber. The engines of the plane trembled steadily and with purpose, committed to reaching Germany. As a Pole in the Royal Air Force, Józef was a tail gunner. His job was to watch for silhouettes of Messerschmidt 109’s and Junker 88’s, against the brightness of a full moon. It was two o’clock in the morning. Holland was below them. They were flying at twelve hundred feet.
He had been flying in Halifax and Lancaster bombers with the Polish Forces, RAF for two years. This was his third tour. A large number of planes in his squadron had been destroyed, since he had begun flying in 1942. He had lost many friends. Józef knew that he might also die. The fact that he was only twenty-two years old, mitigated the reality of his own mortality.
Józef spoke into his face mask on the intercom to Stanislav, the pilot. Stanislav was a close friend and drinking companion. He spoke in Polish.
“Strzelam serią testową. Odpuszczam teraz. I am firing a test burst. Letting go now.”
He squeezed the trigger of his machine guns. The roar was deafening and the empty, ejected shell casings, covered the turret floor.
Józef spoke again over the intercom “Wszystko wydaje się w porządku. Stojan przy szyprze. Everything seems fine. Standing by skipper.”
Stanislav replied in Polish, although their English squadron leader forbade it. As English was only to be spoken during combat missions and in communications with the air control tower.
‘’Potwierdzono. Acknowledged.”
Speaking in English over the intercom, to the whole crew, Stanislav gave an order.
‘’Radio and intercom silence in effect. Everyone stay alert. This is where we lost two aircraft in the last sortie.”
Watching the sky, Józef reached into his sheepskin jacket for the Benzedrine pills they had all been given. Taking out two of the small blue pills, he put his head back and swallowed them. He knew that before long he would feel better, better than good.
It was always bitterly cold in the rear turret. Especially when they flew at high elevation. The sheepskin jacket, pants, boots and gloves helped. But the turret was small and cramped and it was difficult to move around and warm up.
The night sky was empty. Lots of stars and the moon seemed close. The plane suddenly dropped as it hit an air pocket. Empty shell casings rolled about on the floor. His thoughts wandered. He thought again about his family as he watched the lights of a small-town pass below in the darkness.
Józef was born in a tiny village, near the Polish city of Lublin. His family owned a small farm there. After the Germans invaded Poland, he told his father he was going to England to join the Polish air force, which was part of the RAF. He wanted to fight for his country and kill Germans. With the help of the Polish underground, he and other young Poles arrived in London a year later.
When he was younger, Józef’s father had fought the Germans and the Russians. His grandfather had been taken prisoner by the Russians never to return. His great grandfather had also fought the Germans and Russians. War for his family, and killing Germans was a tradition. And so, his family had understood when he left home, to go to England and fight.
Now he was a Flight Sergeant; trained as a navigator and rear gunner. He was due for a one month leave after four more missions.
He was in love with a woman he had met at a dance, two months ago in Blackpool. Her name was Margaret. Her father had fought in the Boer war. Margaret was beautiful, with a dark completion, black hair and green eyes. She was also very English.
Józef thought to himself, ‘I must marry her, if I survive from all of this. I shall ask her. I know I love her.’
Still thinking of Margaret, he reached under his seat for his coffee flask which was full of rum. As he bent down, he looked out the bottom of the turret to suddenly see tracers from a Messerschmidt 109. hurtling over his head. Some of the bullets tore pieces off the top of his turret with a huge, shuddering explosion. Cold air rushed in.
There were screams on the intercom and he yelled back in English now, “Huns below and to the rear at eleven-thirty. Close to port. Returning fire!”
Other voices came over the intercom. Loud and full of panic “I’m hit. Oh hell. I’m hit.”
Within a few seconds, the 109 had circled back to fire again. Józef squeezed off another hundred rounds. The roar of the machine gun was deafening. The wind howled as it came through the holes in the shattered glass of the turret.
“You fuck,” he shouted. “You German fuck.”
He saw from his own tracers that some of the shells he had fired, actually hit the 109 as it passed over. There was now smoke coming from its fuselage.
Józef spoke on the intercom to Stanislav “I got the son of a bitch.”
Michael, the co-pilot yelled over the intercom. “Stanislav is hit. I’m hit. We need morphine. 109 starboard…above…two o’clock.”
Bullets tore into the side of the bomber. The navigator moaned over the intercom. Now, the whole plane was full of smoke. Another 109 hurtled above Józef. He frantically fired off a whole belt, as the 109 dived. Josef’s feet slid on the empty shell casings. Some of them flew out the broken portions of the turret. He looked at the floor and he saw it was wet.
His thoughts came to him in rapid flashes. ‘Must be the coffee. I must have spilled it.’
He felt the inside of his sheepskin pants which were also wet. ‘Or maybe I’ve pissed myself,’ he thought.
He actually had done that once before.
Michael begged over the intercom, “Morphine for fuck sake. I can’t reach it. Stanislav is down. He’s not moving.”
No one else in the plane replied.
Then Józef spoke “For God sake Andrew, help him.”
Andrew was the navigator, who sat near the pilot and co-pilot. He didn’t answer. Only silence.
“Anyone? Reply.”
No reply from the bombardier. No reply from the front turret. No reply from mid-ship’s turret.
Josef cursed loudly “The intercom must be broken.”
He unstrapped himself from his seat and knelt down to crawl from the turret, through the narrow exit hole, to the fuselage area. His right, upper leg was suddenly filled with electric pain. He grunted and rolled on his back.
“The German shot me. Oh God.”
He let go of his leg and lay there. ‘Now what?’, he thought.
He rolled over onto his stomach and tried to get onto his knees on the floor of the turret.
‘Pain bearable. Yes, I can do it,’ he said to himself.
Józef tried to crawl, but he felt his right thigh getting wetter from the blood inside his flight suit.
Speaking out loud, he said, “Fuck it, I must keep going.”
He entered the rear fuselage from the turret and stood up. Shell casings lay everywhere and anywhere there was smoke. He looked up to the mid-ship turret. Ladislaw hung in his seat, limp. There was blood all over the glass of the turret. He wasn’t moving. Józef felt his wrist. There was no pulse and no reflexes.
Letting Ladislaw’s hand go, he turned to Andrew the navigator and bombardier. Cannon fragments had decapitated him. Portions of his skull were smeared on the chart table and the fuselage wall. Andrew had grown up in a village in Poland, close to Józef’s. Józef now looked down at the Flight Engineer, who lay sprawled on the floor to the aircraft. The front of this flight suite was torn and bloody and he was motionless. There was blood runn