Piotr Darniko: A Memoir of the Defenders of Warsaw in WW3

**Piotr Darniko: A Memoir of the Defenders of Warsaw in WW3** is a short story written by u/EntertainmentGrand, which simply consists of a BBC interview of a Polish veteran in the aftermath of WW3.

The story is continued in Piotr Darniko’s Heart of Darkness: A Memoir to the Lost and Damned of WW4.

## Story

In memory of those lost in World War 3, BBC News Journalist Cathryn Sawyer meets with a man named *Piotr Darniko* in the suburbs of London, a former member of the Polish Armed Forces and a veteran of World War 3. He took part in the Siege of Warsaw, where Russian forces brutally battered the city for months on end, with his interview describing both the desperation and the courageous efforts of the Poles in the city.

Piotr: “Yeah, it was hell from beginning to end. Every plan our Western Allies proposed had gone into a pit of failure, and we were tirelessly running to Warsaw to hopefully mount a defense, to maybe change the tide of war and kick the Russians back to hell where they belonged.”

Cathryn: How was Warsaw doing at this time?

“Think of it like a bunker that has a city. We had armored vehicles rolling down the streets, we had troops giving firing lessons to civilians, children building barricades across the roads, or even laying machine gun nests in normal people’s homes. It all had the feeling of preparation, ready to either push back our oppressors, or leave our own blood on the ground trying.”

Cathryn: What were your initial feelings before you went into battle?

Piotr: “I just felt… bruised. Tired. Wanting to just forget this war ever existed and go home. Our army had seen the Russians in action, how they had no care for who their damage was affecting. Our unit had seen them in Bialystok, how within days our perimeter fell apart, and the hell that was being described in the Baltics. We knew it would be a cruel battle that would never guarantee rest.”

“But even still, I think a lot of us never wanted to rest, but actually take the Russians head-on. We had witnessed occupation, and the horrors that we had to endure under it. The Germans, the Soviets, and now the Eurasians, so many oppressors that if you had a dollar for each one of them, you’d be a rich man in no time. The Polish people wanted our chains to be freed, and let it stay that way. That’s why we fought so vigorously, so we could keep our chains off.”

“Even with that though, I don’t think it was enough.”

He takes a pause to look at a photo of him and his comrades in Warsaw before the Russians began their siege. The picture taken sees the men, although tired, seemingly ready to take on their enemy. Piotr shows a sad smile on his face.

“The battles began far away. Despite their distance, we could interpret what was happening on our radios. It wasn’t good. Almost every military unit was flocking to Fortress Vistula in retreat, and others were holding last stands of their own, mostly unsuccessful. I knew that everything was on the line when I saw smoke across the Vistula. The Russians had come.”

“Unfortunately for us though, it seemed Russia knew of our inevitable buildup of units across the Vistula, especially in Warsaw, and then clashed with our units head on like we wanted. The battle for our freedom began.”

“That’s when things started to crack. Russia unleashed a furious wrath of artillery and bombers, decimating swarths of Warsaw into rubble, killing untold numbers of people, and making our situation difficult as it was. But we stood our ground, our fighters bravely swarming over the air to pick them off, our drones picking off the artillery as best as they could, every military thing moving piece by piece to defend our city. I remember seeing a fighter jet in the sky pulling off incredible maneuvers above to turn the bombers into useless wreckage before he was shot down, his action being one of courage in an otherwise hopeless time.”

“Then the Russian armor moved into the Eastern part of the city, tanks rolling into the east of Warsaw in an attempt to crush our cries of resistance. My unit was part of those battles, firing rockets at the seemingly unending swarms of armor coming our way. I remember looking down a barrel of a tank while we were reloading an RPG. The barrel aimed at me, I thought my life would end, before the tank exploded, the work of a fellow Pole’s anti-tank rocket plunging into its side-armor.”

“However, the problem was that our enemy had the advantage of attrition. Sure, we could destroy numbers of tanks as we could, but we had a limited supply of everything, they always had one more coming right away, operated by brainwashed fanatics eager to serve for the Devil, and slowly they began to overtake us in the north. Our unit began retreating block by block, as the air swarmed with Russian bombers mercilessly dropping ordinance on anything living in Warsaw.”

“Then the civilians trapped inside got weary. The bombs Russia dropped on us hit the civilians especially. We had to evacuate a pregnancy ward once, and I saw multiple people one second alive and the next, a cloud of smoke. Every single thing had to be rationed, dedicated toward the frontlines, and a lot of people did not like it. Soon, MREs became a commodity, and even fresh water was becoming scarce by the week. I once saw a civilian arguing with a soldier who had been assigned to guard a truck full of food, demanding to get at least one. I don’t blame the soldier, he just had a job to do, but I could understand the civilian’s side of things. That was until he pulled out a pistol at shot the guard in the head, he was disposed of quickly.”

“And then, on our radio inside of a random basement, sharing food and drinks between one another, we got the news of our Western Allies sending support. Their armies larger then ours with soldiers and armor arriving by the week in Germany, we had a glimpse of hope that they would reinforce us. Soon we thought, they would relieve us, and we would change the tide and finally push the Russians out of our city.”

His face then changes to one mixed with sadness and anger.

“But no, that would not happen. If it had, maybe we could’ve beaten Russia back. Maybe, we wouldn’t see the shit-creek of the world that our enemies left in the aftermath. Maybe, everything for us would’ve worked out in the end. No, those limp-dick generals decided to station their troops right in Western Germany! Not even one goddamn American boot which would step onto our city and help us against an enemy that was getting stronger day by day! Those fucking generals, told us over the radio the excuse that Warsaw was a “lost cause”, like we hadn’t been fighting tooth and nail for it for God knows how long!”

“No, we were just a human meat shield for our supposed “friends”. Just the distraction needed just so they could prepare for their own measures. Just the barrier they could hide behind whilst they planned whatever fucking bullshit they had that would fall into oblivion.”

“When we heard that message, any hope we had shattered into a million pieces. Warsaw fell a week later, the Russians making it their prime goal to rid everything we had ever known. Our unit was lucky, we were one of the last ones to leave on a metro system in the city that was still running. We heard of the assault above, the cruelty Russia unleashed after 3 months of holding them back, and we ran from it in desperation. It only continued for about 30 miles, then we and a few others departed on foot toward the so-called safe haven of the German border. We ran and ran, only desperate for survival by this point, until we finally got picked up by a Polish armored brigade near Konin, equally bitter about our “friends” leaving us in the dirt.”

“3 months, 3 months we held the Russians off in the Vistula. 3 months of wrecking armor, destroyed buildings, watching everything we knew die as we attempted to keep our flame growing. And what did we get out of it?”

He stares straight at Cathryn.

“Nothing. Just an excuse and some words of good luck, so fit for a soldier who had lost sense of peace and tranquility.”

“I watch in despair as I see Europe turned into a nightmare only seen since the days of the Nazis. I am one of the lucky ones, I made it to London, whilst my homeland suffers under the Eurasian thumb, irradiated by spoonfuls of propaganda and destruction of Polish identity.”

“I have made a promise to myself, a promise to fight to take back what we lost those months in Warsaw. I want to go back there, to be a part of there, to finally see Poland free from it chains of oppression, not buried underneath and lost to history, but entailed to it for infinity.”

He looks back at the photograph of his comrades.

“If that means my blood is spilt on the ground, then so shall it be.”