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Action of the Adriatic Coast June -October 1944 Part II
by Romuald E. Lipinski,
12 Podolski Lancers Regt., 2nd Polish Corps

Sometimes when I watch a movie about WWII and see scene when allies troops enter a town after Germans are gone, it reminds me of the time when we entered that way the city of Corinaldo (if my memory does not fail me). I may not be sure of the name of the town but I will never forget the great feeling of liberating these people from Germans.

It was in early morning, when a sergeant from the squadron that we were supporting at that time came to our platoon and said that his people are so exhausted that he does not have anybody to accompany him to go for a patrol. We arrived to our positions in the previous evening and we were to attack the Germans who were supposed to be still in Corinaldo. The task of the patrol was to go to the first houses of the town and find out if Germans are still there. The only way to find that was to go, and if you are shot upon you know. Three of us volunteered. Armed to our teeth with Thompsons submachine guns, hand grenades, and as much ammunition as we could carry four of us set out to go to the town. We were going for about quarter of an hour, through an orchard, we passed our most advanced, camouflaged, Staghount cars ( these were armored cars, looked like a tank but were on wheels. They had a 37 mm. gun in a turret, and two machie guns), and left the cover of the orchard. We entered a field on which there were sheaves of some sort of wheat. The first houses of Corinaldo were visible at about ½ of a mile. We started to move, jumping from one sheaf to another, using them as cover from any fire that might come from any of the houses, our guns at the ready. We came quite close to the first houses not knowing what to do, waiting for the orders from the sergeant. Then we noticed a man in front of one of the houses. We signaled him to approach us, and when he came closer we asked him if Germans are still in the town. He said that he does not know. We went forward and hid behind a ridge of bushes close to the houses. A young man came out from one of the houses. Again, we signaled him to approach us and asked him if Germans are still in town. He said that is not sure, but chances are they left because "there was a lot of noise in town during the night." At that time our sergeant said that Germans probably retreated and that we are going to enter the town. As soon as we came closer to the buildings, people recognized us and they came to welcome us. As we were going into the town, the crowd grew. Soon the main street was so crowded that it was hard to move. Everybody was out, clapping their hands, with flowers, shouting. At first they thought that we were Englishmen. Upon learning that we were Poles they started shout "Viva Liberatori Polacchi!" They came to us with wine, some cookies and flowers, girls kissed us, it was a general euphoria. It was an exhilarating feeling. Somehow I associated this moment with my dreams that maybe one day I will be marching that way through the streets of a Polish town and people there will meet me the way they did here. And at the same time I was jealous of their happiness. Why couldn't we bring that freedom to our people that were being slaughtered by Germans and Russians?... Later on I found out that most of our soldiers who returned to Poland after the war were either arrested as "reactionaries" or discriminated in various ways by the communist authorities. What a sad reality! But at that time I did not think about this. I was happy that we can bring freedom to these people on the street, that for them, at least this terrible war was over.

It was arranged that if we find that Germans there are no Germans we will put a Polish flag on the top of the church's steeple. Otherwise, an artillery fire was prepared. We told that to the mayor who promptly followed our instructions. He took us also to the town hall where he gave us some items that were found with bodies of the Italian soldiers of the Corpo Italiano de Liberazione (CIL), who were attacking the town prior to our arrival. From time to time we were coordinating our actions with Italian CIL and partisans who were active in the northern part of Italy. Knowing that Germans like to put a sudden barrage of artillery fire in few hours after retreating, we told the friendly crowd to disperse and be prepared for German fire. After that we returned to our lines.

Throughout the summer of 1944 we were in constant action. As I mentioned before, our mortar platoon had to go to combat with whatever squadron was in line at the time. As a result, we did not have any respite from combat duty from June until late September when I was sent to panzer cadet-officer school.

War in Italy was often called "gentlemen's war", and I think there was a reason for this. It could not be compared with the Russian front, where hundreds of thousands Russians were taken prisoners in one operation or where in one battle of Kursk 6,000 tanks were used. This was a small scale war, brutal as all wars are, but some degree of consideration for human life was observed. There seemed to be an unwritten agreement that at about five o'clock in the afternoon both sides stopped fighting. At that time it was possible to get out from the foxhole, go to the neighbor and chat about "good old days", smoke a cigarette. One time, we had a squadron of British tanks attachment to our regiment. Our commanding officer sent three of their tanks for reconnaissance. We were observing them moving cautiously through the no-man's land. Then, at 5:00PM, they brought their tanks to one place, got out and started to have tea. I am sure that Germans were observing them also. There was no fighting during the tea time.

At one place there was a self-propelled gun that was always at the same time, usually at about 5:00 AM, would fire several rounds at our positions. I got used to those nightly artillery explosions that I could sleep throughout the night without waking up. I heard them, I felt the earth shaking and pressuring me in my foxhole (the foxhole was so narrow that you could lay in it only on your side and any shaking of the earth was exerting pressure on the chest or the back) but it did not bother me. Sometimes I woke up, and a minute later I would fall asleep again. Sometimes I did not even wake up; next morning my friends would tell me about the shelling. Then, one day our guys had enough of this. They found out that the Germans come with the gun every night to the same spot at certain time after dark, wait until 5:00 AM, fire few rounds, and retreat after shelling. They found the place by the traces of tracks on the ground and set up an ambush. When the Germans came there next night they took them as prisoners. We were not bothered by night shelling any more.

I have to devote a few words about discipline situation in the regiment, and I presume, this was common throughout the 2-Polish Corps. Nothing unites people like common cause and common danger. Being exposed to a common danger develops some bond that is very strong. Being together in combat men got to know each other, respect each other. In an hour of danger the real man, with his best and his worst, comes to the surface. Under these conditions, discipline, the basic condition of any military organization was developed not because it was imposed by orders but on the basis of that human bond between the people who had something in common, that common cause that we all had in our hearts. In the regiment I felt that I was like in the family. When we were marching I had that feeling that this is my place and I felt good about it. I knew that in an hour of need these men will help me, and I was prepared to help them if needed. I understand heroism of soldiers who throw themselves on grenades to save their friends. At that moment they don't think about themselves - they think about their comrades who may die. This is a result of that common bond that I am writing about. We had examples of such a heroism right in my platoon. To describe, I have to say a few words about mortars. Mortar shell is loaded through the outlet of a barrel. At the lower end of the barrel there is a pin that hits the small detonator, located at the bottom of a shell, which in turn ignites gun powder located between the fins of the shell. Range of the projectile is determined by the number and size of the pellets of gun powder. Another detonator is located in the front part of a shell and it detonates upon contact with a target and an explosion results. One time, we were firing our mortars so long and at such a frequency that the barrel was so hot that, apparently, the gun powder between the fins of the shell ignited on its way down the barrel. As a result, the ignition of the gunpowder was not spontaneous but gradual, reducing the effect of the ignition. The shell emerged from the barrel, and fell a few yards in front of us. The result of this could be devastating. We did not have time to build and any protection around the mortar, in the situation that we were we had to fire immediately after our arrival to our position. Everybody fell flat on their faces watching in terror the shell that was whirling in front of us. Then one of the guys jumped to the shell grabbed it and threw it into a nearby creek. We reported this incident to our commanders and he got some decoration, I don't know what. In my opinion, he is a hero, because if the shell did explode when he held it in his hands there would be only a few guts of him left.

Another example of closeness in the regiment was the case of my brother, Tadek. During the occupation he was deported from Warsaw to Germany to the infamous Krupp factories for forced labor. After the war, somehow he knew that I am in the 12-Podolski Lancers, and he made his way to Italy. He came to my regiment, and all he did is to declare and show that he is my brother. At that time I was in Beirut, away from the regiment. My friends took complete care of Tadek: they gave him a uniform, they fed him, and they brought him to England. I don't know if they did give him even some pocket money. Anyhow, when I met him in England he had only good words about the guys in the regiment in general and about the platoon in particular.
In October 1944 I was sent to the cadet-officers school. But this is another story…

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