June 1, 2008. Frank is extremely nervous. The more time passes, the more he fears that the parachutists will find a way of escaping. The water could even help them if they manage to find a leak, because, obviously, the crypt is not exactly watertight. Inside, they’re getting organized. One is in charge of gathering up the grenades and throwing them back outside. Another keeps digging unrelentingly in the tunnel. A third uses a ladder to push the firehose away from the vent. And the other one lets off bursts of gunfire whenever someone approaches. On the other side of the stone wall, soldiers and firemen, bent double, have to keep putting the firehose back in place while avoiding the spray of bullets.
June 2, 2008. The Germans bring a gigantic searchlight to dazzle the men in the crypt, so they can’t aim properly. But before they’ve even had time to switch it on, a burst of gunfire, like an ironic punctuation mark, puts it out of service.
June 3, 2008. The Germans keep sliding the hose into the crypt, to drown them or smoke them out, but each time the parachutists use the ladder like a telescopic arm to push it back. I don’t understand why the Germans couldn’t put the firehose through the trapdoor in the nave, which is still—as far as I’m aware—wide open. Perhaps the hose is too short, or they can’t get into the nave with the kind of equipment required? Or perhaps it’s an unlikely providence that is depriving them of all tactical lucidity?
June 4, 2008. The water is up to their knees. Outside, Čurda and Ata Moravec are brought to the vent. Ata refuses to speak, but Čurda shouts through the opening: “Give yourselves up, lads! They’ve treated me well. You’ll be prisoners of war—it’ll be all right.” Gabčík and Valčík recognize his voice; now they know who betrayed them. They reply in the usual way: with a burst of gunfire. Ata stands with his head lowered. His face is swollen and he has the absent look of a young man with one foot in the land of the dead.
June 5, 2008. After about ten feet, the earth in the tunnel becomes hard. Do the parachutists stop digging so they can concentrate on shooting? I can’t believe that. They go at it even harder. They’ll dig with their fingernails if they have to.
June 9, 2008. Frank can bear it no longer. Pannwitz tries to think. There must be some other way in. They used to put dead monks in the crypt. How did they get the bodies down there? Inside the church, his men continue their search. They clear away the rubble. They pull up the carpets. They demolish the altar. They tap on the stone walls. They search high and low.
June 10, 2008. And they find something else. Beneath the altar, there’s a heavy slab that sounds hollow when you tap it. Pannwitz sends for the firemen and orders them to break the slab. A sectional drawing at this moment would show the firemen hammering away with a pickax at ground level while the parachutists do the same underground. The picture would be captioned: “Race against death—and against all odds.”
June 13, 2008. Twenty minutes have passed and the firemen have worn themselves out on the stone slab, to no effect. In bad German, they stammer to the watching soldiers that it’s impossible to break this stone with the tools at hand. The weary SS guards dismiss them and bring in some dynamite. The explosives experts fuss around the slab for a while, and when everything’s ready they evacuate the church. Outside, everyone is told to move back. Below, the parachutists have surely stopped digging. The sudden silence must have alerted them, coming after such a racket. Something is about to happen—they can’t help but be aware of it. The explosion confirms it. A cloud of dust falls over them.
June 16, 2008. Pannwitz orders the rubble cleared away. The slab has been smashed in two. A Gestapo agent puts his head through the gaping hole. Straightaway, bullets whistle around his face. Pannwitz gives a satisfied smile. They’ve found the way in. They send two stormtroopers down, but it’s the same old problem: a cramped wooden staircase allows only one man at a time to pass. The first unlucky SS guards are shot down like skittles. But from now on, the parachutists have to watch over three different openings. Taking advantage of this distraction, one of the firemen grabs the ladder as it’s being used to push the firehose away from the vent for the umpteenth time, and manages to hoist it up to the street outside. Frank applauds. The fireman will be rewarded for his zeal (but punished after the liberation).