The Wilmington morning star., 1943-08-12


tlves, the later light parcels o1
lncendiaries being scattered along
streets and upon houses, the peo.
PIE of Moscow went up to their
roofs. That was how they saved
their city.
My apartment, on the top floor
of five-story wood and plaster
building, started to quiver as the
snti-aircraft guns opened fire dur
ing the raid of July 81. When the
batteries inside the city let loose,
1t literally danced. It was not a
rice dance. The floor heaved, the
walls swayed with movement
something like that of the danse
du ventre they used to show Paris
tourists at the Folies Bergeres.
But this was danse de la mort.
did not like it. I stood by the
window as The first bombs fell
rear the Kiev railroad station.
about mile away. / went under
tie beams of the hallway as the
incend;aries started to rain. Then
] ran down tc the ground floor,
to the house committee room. My
Steps were quickened by the
Shrek of bombs falling nearby
and the sight of black columns Of
smoke, tinged with red, rising like
signals Of doom.
The people downstairs were
very busy, and not very glad to
see me. They were in dark, win
dowless room just off the entry.
The woman on guard at the door
opened it a crack at my knock,
let me slip in, and slammed it
behind me. At first, I could make
nothing out of the gloom, but grad
ually, over the roar of guns and
bombs outside, I found they were
chattering excitedly about me!
The luminous dial of my wrist
watch cast faint glow which they
were demanding that I extinguish.
I pulled my sleeve over it, set
ting that crisis, and stood by the
wall
Although I could see absolutely
nothing, I finally made out by the
voices that, there were no men in
the room, only women and chill
dren. One woman stood by the
wall telephone, calling constantly
to nearby house committees, ex-
changing information on the loca-
ton of bomb hits and asking
whether help were needed. An
other door kept opening and clos
ing, as boys went to and from the
roof. They all were tense, as I
certainly was, but calm and more
than usually efficient.
The first wave of bombers pass
ed after half an hour, and there
was a lull in the battle. Toward
midnight the roar went up again,
as though the door of blast fur
mace had been flung open. The big
guns .belched, : smaller ones pop
ped, machine guns chartered, the
searchlights stabbed the b la k
sky, red flares flew, and the planes
came, scattering incendiaries up
and down the streets, like post
men delivering mail. This time,
our neighborhood got it.
l was watching from the front
door when a ghastly white light
whizzed past me and Kissed out
its existence in the yard. I ducked
back into the house committee
room, and soon a young boy came
in the other door. With him were
friends, whacking him on the back
and proclaiming him a hero, &C.
roy in Russian. This was some
thing special, hero in the house,
and for the event the unshaded
ceiling light was turned on, an act
which carried no danger with it,
despite the earlier clamor over
my wrist watch, because there
were. no windows or other aper-
lures through which a ray could
escape. The light showed a is.
year-old youngster, his blond hair
soaking wet with sweat, his red
shirt open at the throat, rubbing
his elbow-length asbestos gloves.
He recited what had happened:
it was his turn on the roof when
an incendiary landed, and he toss
ed it into the yard. That was all.
But those whose homes were in
that house, homes he had saved
from fire, thought it was a lot.
The women brought him a stool,
made him sit down, despite his
own objections, and petted him
like a world heavyweight cham
pionship winner in his corner. An
other boy went to take his place
on the roof.
Our hero soon had a rival. An
other youngster came in from the
adjoining house and said he had
tossed four incendiaries from his
roof. I began to be skeptical of
these stories, and slipped out of
the room to see what was hap
pening. The roar was again SUBJ
siding. Up in my fifth-floor apart
ment I found our hero had been
right. The incendiary he tossed
had made a hit dead-center in my
beroom. Another neighbor h d
not been so lucky. The two-story
wooden house directly behind ours
was blazing furiously. I went down
to tell the house committee, and
was promptly recruited as a fire
man. 1t was not pleasant out there
seeing black smoke billow against
the background of red glare,
breathing acrid fumes and feeling
no cover overhead against bombs