to rusted iron stakes driven into the earth. Mercier and
Marek, using heavy wire cutters, worked their way through it, gingerly
holding the strands apart for each other until they were on the other
side. Thirty yards forward, a second line, which they negotiated as
they had the first.
A few yards beyond the wire, Mercier stumbled--the ground suddenly sank beneath him and he almost fell, catching himself with one
hand on the earth. Soft, loose soil. What the hell was this? By his side,
Marek was probing at the ground with his foot and Mercier, resisting
the urge to use the flashlight, got down on his knees and began feeling
around in the dirt, then digging with a cupped hand. Crawling ahead,
he dug again and this time, down a foot or so in the loose soil, his
hand encountered a rough edge of concrete, aggregate; he could feel
the pebbles in the hard cement. As he dug further, Marek came crawling up beside him and whispered by his ear, "What is it?"
Dragon's tooth, but Mercier couldn't say it in Polish. "Tank trap,"
he said.
"Covered over?"
"Yes, abandoned."
"Why?"
Mercier shook his head; no reason--or, rather, too many reasons.
They crawled forward, their knees sinking into the soft earth,
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 70
7 0 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW
until they reached solid ground, which made the tank trap much as all
the others Mercier had encountered: a ditch with steep sides about
twenty feet wide, with a row of sloped concrete bollards midway
across. If a tank commander didn't see it, his tank would slip over the
edge, tilted forward against the so-called dragon's teeth, unable to
move. Not an unexpected feature in border fortifications, but the Germans had built this, then filled it in, the disturbed soil settling with
rain and time.
And Mercier knew it was not on the map, which showed a third
line of wire. This they found a few minutes later and cut their way
through it. Just barely visible, about fifty yards ahead of them, was a
watchtower, a silhouette faint against the night sky. Suddenly, from
somewhere to the right of the tower, a light went on, its beam probing
the darkness, sweeping past them, then returning. By then, they were
both flat on the ground. From the direction of the light, a shout:
" Halt! " Then, in German, "Stand up!"
Mercier and Marek looked at each other. In Marek's hands, a
Radom automatic, aimed toward the voice, and the light, which now
went out. Stand up? Mercier thought. Surrender? A sheepish admis-
sion of who they were? Phone calls to the French embassy in Berlin?
As Marek watched, Mercier drew the pistol from his pocket and
braced it in the crook of his elbow. The light went on again, moving as
its bearer came toward them. It was Marek who fired first, but Mercier
was only an instant behind him, aiming at the light, the pistol bucking
twice in his hand. Then he rolled--fast--away from Marek, away
from the location of the shots. Out in the darkness, the light went off,
a voice said, " Ach, " then swore, and a responding volley snapped the
air above his head. Something stung the side of his face, and, when he
tried to aim again, the afterimages of the muzzle flares, orange lights,
floated before his eyes. He ran a hand over the skin below his temple
and peered at it; no blood, just dirt.
Silence. Mercier counted sixty seconds, seventy, ninety. The light
came back on, only for a second or two, aimed not at them but at the
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 71
H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 7 1
ground beneath it, then went off. Mercier thought he heard whispers,
and the faint sounds of people moving about. Was it possible they
were going to get away with this? Very cautiously, he began to slide
backward and Marek, when he saw what Mercier was doing, did the
same thing. Again they waited, three minutes, four. Then Mercier signaled to Marek: move again . Another ten yards, and they
Marek, using heavy wire cutters, worked their way through it, gingerly
holding the strands apart for each other until they were on the other
side. Thirty yards forward, a second line, which they negotiated as
they had the first.
A few yards beyond the wire, Mercier stumbled--the ground suddenly sank beneath him and he almost fell, catching himself with one
hand on the earth. Soft, loose soil. What the hell was this? By his side,
Marek was probing at the ground with his foot and Mercier, resisting
the urge to use the flashlight, got down on his knees and began feeling
around in the dirt, then digging with a cupped hand. Crawling ahead,
he dug again and this time, down a foot or so in the loose soil, his
hand encountered a rough edge of concrete, aggregate; he could feel
the pebbles in the hard cement. As he dug further, Marek came crawling up beside him and whispered by his ear, "What is it?"
Dragon's tooth, but Mercier couldn't say it in Polish. "Tank trap,"
he said.
"Covered over?"
"Yes, abandoned."
"Why?"
Mercier shook his head; no reason--or, rather, too many reasons.
They crawled forward, their knees sinking into the soft earth,
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 70
7 0 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW
until they reached solid ground, which made the tank trap much as all
the others Mercier had encountered: a ditch with steep sides about
twenty feet wide, with a row of sloped concrete bollards midway
across. If a tank commander didn't see it, his tank would slip over the
edge, tilted forward against the so-called dragon's teeth, unable to
move. Not an unexpected feature in border fortifications, but the Germans had built this, then filled it in, the disturbed soil settling with
rain and time.
And Mercier knew it was not on the map, which showed a third
line of wire. This they found a few minutes later and cut their way
through it. Just barely visible, about fifty yards ahead of them, was a
watchtower, a silhouette faint against the night sky. Suddenly, from
somewhere to the right of the tower, a light went on, its beam probing
the darkness, sweeping past them, then returning. By then, they were
both flat on the ground. From the direction of the light, a shout:
" Halt! " Then, in German, "Stand up!"
Mercier and Marek looked at each other. In Marek's hands, a
Radom automatic, aimed toward the voice, and the light, which now
went out. Stand up? Mercier thought. Surrender? A sheepish admis-
sion of who they were? Phone calls to the French embassy in Berlin?
As Marek watched, Mercier drew the pistol from his pocket and
braced it in the crook of his elbow. The light went on again, moving as
its bearer came toward them. It was Marek who fired first, but Mercier
was only an instant behind him, aiming at the light, the pistol bucking
twice in his hand. Then he rolled--fast--away from Marek, away
from the location of the shots. Out in the darkness, the light went off,
a voice said, " Ach, " then swore, and a responding volley snapped the
air above his head. Something stung the side of his face, and, when he
tried to aim again, the afterimages of the muzzle flares, orange lights,
floated before his eyes. He ran a hand over the skin below his temple
and peered at it; no blood, just dirt.
Silence. Mercier counted sixty seconds, seventy, ninety. The light
came back on, only for a second or two, aimed not at them but at the
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 71
H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 7 1
ground beneath it, then went off. Mercier thought he heard whispers,
and the faint sounds of people moving about. Was it possible they
were going to get away with this? Very cautiously, he began to slide
backward and Marek, when he saw what Mercier was doing, did the
same thing. Again they waited, three minutes, four. Then Mercier signaled to Marek: move again . Another ten yards, and they
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