The Last Witness

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2

September 30th, 1939.

We were herded

onto prison trains near Grodno.

Conditions were

very cramped and damp.

It is very hard to sleep.

I don't know how long some of

the other injured men can last.

The icicles that form

on the window grill

provide the only drinking water.

October 9th, 1939.

We are off the train at last.

Now, apparently, we are

no longer prisoners but guests.

On several occasions,

NKVD officers

have summoned some of us for

interrogation during the night.

With this sort of madness,

it is little wonder

that we are at a loss

as to what should be done.

March 20th, 1940.

It seems the Soviets are taking

a softer line with us now.

Rumors are rife among the men

that our release is imminent.

April 15th, 1940.

At last. My prayers

have finally been answered.

My name was read out

this morning.

Spring is in the air,

and I have not felt this alive

in many months.

My hope is that

this is the last time

I will ever have to

travel like this.

No need to be so keen, lad.

Suicide, most likely.

Sir.

Oh, wonderful.

Hopefully, that will be

his suicide note.

Poor sod.

- Right. Let's get him up.

- Yes, sir.

Mind your step.

British military

occupation ends in Iraq.

Western Post! British

military occupation ends in Iraq.

So... Sandy can cover the docks.

McCloud, the Redcliffe stuff,

and John gets the union story...

for his sins.

Nothing too controversial.

Underwood, the Cider Festival.

That's it.

Off you go.

Hey, I said no.

No one wants to hear

about suicide, Stephen.

Not now.

It's bad for circulation.

What if it's not suicide?

I have a contact up at the camp.

Stephen, dear boy,

did the police

give any indication

that they thought it might be

anything other than suicide?

No.

Exactly.

So please don't try my patience.

War's a terrible thing

and many can't cope,

and there's the end of it.

There's no story here.

Do I make myself clear?

Yes.

Right. Thank you. Off you go.

Can you file this, Maisie?

Thanks.

- Rose?

- Yes, Mr. Underwood.

Have you, er, ever been

to the Cider Festival?

Good evening, Mr. Underwood.

- Late again?

- I had to work.

I see.

- Goodnight.

- Goodnight.

Despite the passing of the Polish

Resettlement Act earlier this year,

the West Country is witnessing a growing

number of unexplained suicides.

The men are all ex-servicemen

from the Polish Second Corps.

A coincidence? Or could this be

something more sinister?

- Morning.

- Morning.

- Can I help you?

- I'm here to see the Captain.

- Good morning, sir.

- Good morning.

One moment, sir.

Sir, Colonel Pietrowski's arrived

with the two DPs from Stowell Park.

Once we're done here,

tell the Quartermaster

to make an inventory

of everything we're short of. Double

it, and put in a written order.

Yes, Captain.

Morning.

- Thank you.

- Good luck.

This all seems to be in order.

If you'd like to

bring them in, Colonel,

there are just a few

signatures required.

Of course.

Colonel, perhaps you

and your man

would like a spot of breakfast

before the drive home?

We don't have much,

but it's hot.

- Thank you. That's very kind.

- Er, Jeanette...

once you're finished, would you drop

the Colonel's aide off at the mess?

Yes, sir.

John.

I'll talk to you later.

- This way, Colonel.

- Colonel.

My name's Stephen Underwood.

The Captain is my brother.

I'm a journalist for

The Western Post.

Colonel Janusz Pietrowski,

formerly of the Polish

Second Corps,

Acting Resettlement

Corps Liaison.

- Colonel, pleased to meet you.

- And me you, Mr. Underwood.

Shall we?

Colonel?

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