Polish Television, Committee of Cinematography; Agency of Film production 'MARTA TV & Film'
Presents
A gun for hire
That is:
The private war
Of Rafał Gan-Ganowicz
Mao Tse Tung said
That a million pins can even kill an elephant
I took that to heart
And spent my whole life on sticking the Soviet elephant with my own private needle
That elephant bites dust
The stench from its festering carcass wafts around many European countries
People, be wary of the corpse's venom
I was seven when the war broke out
We lived around Wawer, just out of Warsaw
During the German offensive on Warsaw I lost my mother to a stray German bullet
So I lost my mother then, my father took care of me
My father left me in a cellar with the women and children who were hiding there
He told me to wait for him and went to fight in the Uprising
But he never came back
I was twelve years old
My father was a very important figure to me, I was closer with him than with my mother
Besides my father guided me threw life a few years more than my mother who died earlier
And the loss of my father came as a terrible blow to me
Especially since I had no family, no one to turn to
I didn't know what to do with myself, I was totally lost
Wondering in the outskirts of Warsaw I often met Russian troops
This was for me a strong clash with another form of civilisation, completely incomprehensible
It was imbued with some wildness, barbarism...
An excerpt from Gan-Ganowicz's memoir 'The Condottieres':
Who witnessed the passage of the Red Army at the end of the War, will never forget Soviet vandalism
What the Soviet could not steal, he destroyed
Why did they vandalise so?
Were they motivated by envy at the fact that someone could have lived in conditions that they, citizens of a superpower, knew only from cinema?
Or maybe that's the very nature of the Homo Sovieticus, fuelled with vodka
I do not know, but Soviet barbarism I remember
It was very strange to me
Later when I was in so called 'savage' countries
I compared the behaviour of authentic savages in the jungle
with that mob of the Soviet soldatesque
And I noticed that among real wildlings the urge to destroy someone else's possession does not exist
While there it was universal
Then started the Communist order in Poland
My fervent anti-communism that messed up all of my life, because I spent all of it fighting communism
Was not learned at home as of course I never talked with my parents about politics before the war
No one taught me, but communists themselves
This I want to strongly underline
That my anti-communism that consumed, possessed me all my life
Was born from them, it was communists that taught me anti-communism
I hated them.
For the prosecution of patriots, for the murder of AK members, for the 'pathetic reactionary midget'
I had a friend a bit older than me, he walked on crutches. Wounded in the Uprising, decorated.
When, as an orphan and invalid, he reported to the correct institution for support,
The red bureaucrat threw him down the stairs calling him, amongst other things, a bandit
Him, a cripple and a hero.
So... It transpired later, that is around the year 48'
A chance appeared, at least for me it was a great chance... Someone postulated and someone recruited another...
And thus groups formed, small and meagre at first, of snot nosed youth like myself
Engaging in what during the War was called 'small sabotage'
That is putting up some posters, painting slogans and fighting communism with mockery and humour
This seems carefree today, especially since it crossed the boundaries of decency and now hooligans smear over all the walls
...sometimes they pay a steep fine, but then we were shot at. I can affirm that the UB actually opened fire for such activities.
Rafał, the organisation has been compromised, they are looking for you
These few words from an accomplice on the Saturday of the 24th of June 1950, brought about one of the greatest turning points of my life
I had to disappear from where I was known. At first I thought I'd pose as a repatriates from the East somewhere in Wrocław
I had such an option, a contact...
The station was packed full with police and agents, who checked people around the ticket office and everywhere
In hid in the crowd and slipped onto the platforms
And I noticed next to the train for Wrocław a train that, according to schedule, was due to leave for Berlin in an hour
In under a minute I decided I will try to escape Poland altogether, which up till them was not at all my intention
I started to look for a place to hide in the coach
I didn't find any so I went out between the tracks on the other side of the train
And I started to look under the coach
I noticed that between the floor of the compartment and the suspension cart there was enough space for a slim boy to squeeze into
It was the last cart of a compartment
I hid so that I had my legs towards the movement, my head... back, and I wait
All of my fate, my future endeavours and paths of destiny stemmed from that moment
The rocking floor of the compartment touched my chest
I had to close my eyes
And so I sped threw the dark, spattered with gravel and dumbfounded by the roar
I was afraid
In the duration of this crazed journey I started to ponder my possible detection under the coach
I had a Walther with me
I had a Walther with me and I decided that under no circumstances will I be captured alive, because I knew all too well how they could torture a man in UB prisons
I was not afraid of death, I saw so many corpses during the Warsaw Uprising that I got used to it and was not afraid
But after all I was terrified of torture, I'm no hero
I was also afraid that under torture I could potentially betray someone
A man never knows himself enough to say that he will be an hero to the very end
And so I decided I will not hand myself over alive
That I will not die first, that I will defend myself, but certainly I will keep the last bullet for myself
We arrived at Poznań. In Poznań this train stayed for very long
Stayed for a very, very long time
And at some point I hear footsteps and the clangs of a hammer on metal
Threw a crack I see a pair of legs in railway uniform
Just the legs and shoes approaching me
So I with my Walther in hand had a crisis moment, but I decided that in no case will I shoot a railwayman
Because that's not the enemy
And I am 100% sure that the wheeltapper saw me
I saw his surprised face up close
And I noticed he didn't check the rest of the carriages but hurried away towards the station
I had a hard time, since I was sure that, since he stopped tapping, he must have went to denounce me
And then the train started moving, then I could be absolutely sure that the good old railway worker did not betray a compatriot
If it were during the war with Hitler, it would be normal. A Pole would not betray a Pole. But those were times when Poles betrayed each other more. Much more.
The journey lasted 24 hours
I found myself in Western Berlin, which was then reduced to ruin
I started walking in no general direction, I had no clue where to find the western sectors
I decided to pick a direction and stick to it until I find myself in a western sector or retreat and go in the opposite direction if I don't
At some point I noticed a small shop in a side-street, with baskets of oranges displayed in front of it
I saw oranges for the first time since 1939
And so I though that this might already be western Berlin
It was a Sunday, the police station was empty, there were only three German policemen I pointed at myself and said that I am 'Polnish'
And nothing more
So they, also with gestures while squawking in German, communicated to me that I should empty my pockets
They probably wanted some papers
Which I did not have as I tore them up under the train
But when I produced a pencil, some handkerchief or whatnot...
I remembered that underneath my jacket, tucked under my trouser-belt I had a gun
So, an amusing story, I quite innocently pull out my gun from the jacket
But the Germans jumped to their holsters and started to open them frantically as they were afraid it was some kind of an attack
When I gently handed them the gun like so they calmed down, took it away and locked it in a drawer
They put me in a car and drove me threw the city, I was interested so I looked left and right they took me to a big brick building with small, barred windows
It didn't look like a hotel, rather like a prison. I later learned that that was the famous 'Moabit' where so many people suffered during Hitler's times
And night fell, so the first night of freedom I spent in prison
I had to sign a protocol that all my things had been returned
I reminded them that I handed in a Walther at the police station so I told them I will not sign anything as I don't have the gun
And I had a gun
The American who interviewed me was very surprised and said: "You sir are now in a normal country, you don't have the right to bear arms...
so you should not demand any returned", so I in turn told him that to the best of my knowledge that gun served in the Polish Resistance
And I will not leave it to Germans because I have a sentiment to that gun and that if he insists I can give it to him personally
And I was so stubborn that he actually phoned the police station and the gun got delivered, he pocketed it and I suppose he still keeps it as a souvenir
"We drunk medical alcohol
Night conversations of people from an abnormal state, soldiers of the victorious camp in a camp overseen by the conquered
I was the youngest
From them I learned knowledge about Poland and the World that no school could have given me
It was a school of bitterness and a stifled yearning for revenge"
Maybe 99% of Polish refugees in Berlin chose the same path, that is enrolled for guard duty with the American Army
I spent a good few years in this formation
I joined those detachments with young naivety, I thought these were the beginnings of new Dombrowski's legions, that the Americans are forming a Polish army abroad
That this is under the authority of general Anders
That they will teach us how to chase the commies out of Poland again
But this was just half-civilian guard service, night watch
That was my first disappointment
The other was with that alcoholic hooligan element, demoralised partially by war
So I did not feel good, especially since this was in Germany, at that time I still had a great grudge against Germans
So within this guard formation I applied for a transfer to France
In affect of a deal between gen. Anders and the Fourth French Republic
Trusted Polish officers would have the opportunity to be trained
So that in the event of warfare they would know western codes and tactics and the emerging Polish partisans could establish communications with western HQ's
in this case, the French one
These internships were of course top secret
It took a few years, but I began to doubt whether I would ever be of use
I started doubting that there ever will be a war
Although the Cold War manifested itself, sometimes it did not, I doubted
I was was not counting on returning to Poland
For two reasons: firstly way back in a refugee camp in Berlin an American intelligence officer informed me I had a death sentence on me as they found weapons in my flat after I escaped
That was one reason why I could not even consider returning to Poland under the communist system
The second reason was that I stopped believing that that system will come crashing down any day now
I took my status as a political asylum seeker very seriously
I wanted to be always conscious that I am a political refugee and not an economic one
That I am not in the West to build myself some existence but to be of use in the fight
I won't say poetically: the fight for the fatherland, but the fight against the Red
Because as I already mentioned, the hatred for the Red, for Communism, burned in me all these years
And so I started to look for a way to fight the Red in absence of armed conflict
"If a mercenary is to a soldier what a prostitute is to a lover, I don't think there were any real mercenaries
These soldiers did not sell themselves to anyone who paid, and not even to the one who paid most
It was part of my instinct then"
After a few years such a chance appeared, when the French media informed about the participation of mercenaries in the war in Congo
Where the Congolese government was fighting a rebellion inspired partially by Soviet Russia and in part by China
When I learnt that they were fighting the Commune there, I decided to join
"Were my colleagues reminiscing about Vietnam or the Algerian war, I did not know
Dogs of war? Definitely
War was their element, their drug
I felt that these veterans of forgotten wars were linked together by something not yet accessible to me
I was jealous of them
Immediately I boarded a train to Brussels where I reported to the Congolese embassy where I met many like myself
And where I was accepted
Were the ones in the bar like-minded?
They were anti-communists for sure
But they sought something else in war
Something the taste of which I felt only later
Faithful male friendship, adventure, and above all the constant exposure to challenge
I later learned what paradise life seems when one ventures threw the flame of hell
What thirst of life has he who brushes against death, how tastes a glass of whiskey washing down the taste of sweat or blood
The drug of war"
I was quite insecure whether I would prove worthy, whether I would be an officer
Because it is not rocket science to obtain the rank and the verification
The art is not to mess up later
And until a man does something he can never be sure of himself
I was most afraid that I would be frightened
I was afraid... of being scared
I was afraid that since I had never been on the front-line, I didn't know how I would behave once bullets start whistling about
I decided to do my best, but one cannot know himself
My second problem was that I volunteered to fight the Red, but did not know what forms would that struggle take
The specifics of the war in the Congo I knew only from papers
And as we know journalists write colourfully, but with little substance
So I didn't know my fate
Before I arrived at Stanleyville, terrible things happened there, as is known
The communist revolution in the Congo, started by Lumumba and his collaborators
Was inspired by the Soviets
In the sense that they picked up the slogan of the October Revolution: 'Steal what was stolen'
They disseminated this slogan among the black populace adding a second: 'go murder'
Why murder? This was not a slogan of the Revolution, although they did murder during the October Revolution
But here the slogan 'kill the whites' was used so that the white man would never return
They provoked a real slaughter in and around Stanleyville
All whites were murdered, without distinction
Or rather, with a strange distinction
The better a white was, more popular, the more respected by people the faster they would get eliminated
Priests and nuns were horribly tortured, women were raped and killed; everything was pillaged
Pillaging had the same purpose as during the October Revolution: so that the thief will fear the return of the policeman
So that once he steals his fill he will defend himself from the return of the previous owner lest his loot be taken back
They were completely peaceful Negros from Stanleyville who had stolen something and were afraid because the white man had returned and could hang them
Rumours about us were terrible, that we were here to take revenge and that a slaughter of the blacks was impending
There was panic, nearly all of the black population fled to the jungle where they became the recruiting base for revolutionary units controlled by the Red
Our role was to quench the communist rebellion using the Katangese army
Tshombé's approach to pacification, which was reflected in our orders,
Was to round up as much of that dislocated, disorientated and terrified black population as possible
Take them out of the forest and settle them back into the abandoned villages
Get the health service up and running, make the hospitals and clinics operational
To reopen the schools, to normalise the situation
I used the word pacification, but it was more of a normalisation, a word I would have used had Jaruzelski not befouled it
My God, how that role suited me. I have a knack for community service
I also have a knack for army service, but I there I had the occasion to combine the two
I was simultaneously a soldier and a person bringing back functionality to a society that had suffered great misery
"The enemy's fire was weakening
I heard tam-tam's, repeated by the jungle without end
Time passed slowly
I remembered I had a bottle of whiskey in my internal pocket
Leaning on a trench I took a draft
Someone's eyes staring at me got my attention, I don't know what got over me, but I sprung up, sprinted across the road and jumped into the other ditch, to the surprise of three Italians
I took another small swig from the bottle
And passed it over to Alfred."
I had another problem, the problem of discipline
Discipline in such cases is based exclusively on personal authority
You can't punish a soldier because during the first ambush his friends can shoot you in the back
That means the commander must earn authority and only personal authority: no stars count, only the man counts
My battalion looked... miserable, the others had it all
They had Kalashnikovs, Degtyaryovs, they had Czech weapons, Soviet and Chinease anti-tank equipment, their arsenal was great
While fighting small detachments we captured large cashes of weaponry, nearly every time
In total I captured 42 tonnes of weapons
42 tonnes of weapons, while throughout the conflict I dispersed units totalling in number maybe some 2000 people
"Mulele mai! Mulele mai! Waves of frenzied Negroes walked, run, fell and rose up again. Bellowing and shooting blindly they dangerously approached
The jeep-mounted machine-gun shuddered in my hands with short bursts, sweat streamed down my face and only with terrible, almost inhuman will I suppressed the panic overwhelming me
I was afraid of that terrifying crowd approaching me. howling, almost invisible, maddened, roused by its own cries; inhuman
Not to overheat the barrel... save ammo... rationally... efficiently
More crowds came from the bush, urged on by the tam-tams
Mulele mai! Mulele mai! The black wave is coming, it will engulf us soon
Half a tape. The enemy is near. I have to make a wider arch with the muzzle. The tape is ending. Death?"
They also made use of the local population, but local as in from the jungle
Tribe wizards were afraid of the teacher and the priest
Every white man was a doctor, a sage, a person who knew everything
My Red Devils, who were the best Negro troops, also had it so,
When they were sent to attack alone, they would retreat upon being fired at
When there was a white man with them they followed him bravely because they were convinced whitey knew what he was doing
This system made whites indispensable,
Not only to instruct the army but to lead by example
That's why during the 4 years of fighting in the Congo 500 died
Which shows that the casualties among whites were 25% a year, much greater than for example the American losses in Vietnam
The shamans made use not only of their backwards authority
But also hashish, this they used to confound the dancing warriors, to induce a state of complete oblivion of any danger
These people were so intoxicated with drugs that they were unaware of bodies falling left and right of them, they pressed on, unto certain death
Fighting them was perhaps less dangerous than with the trained rebels, but harder because one was conscious that he is shooting at innocent people
At hazed innocent people
We were forced to do so, but their deaths, even by my hand, incriminates the ones who forced them
The shamans were quite diverse
One of my detachments once captured a small camp in the jungle
And there they caught a terribly painted, lipsticked savage
Dressed in monkey skins, with some amulets, animal fangs, a crocodile skin pouch with herbs in it... a complete half-naked savage.
He was dragged to my camp where he shouted wildly and thrashed about
When I had his pouch ripped off him I found a very strange document inside
It was a diploma from the medical department of the University of Prague
And so I had yet another piece of evidence, direct evidence
That, firstly, scholarships from so-called socialist countries were used to recruit revolutionaries all over the world
Secondly, that the Red's cunning was to make a certified medic into a shaman
Because a sorcerer generates enthusiasm than a doctor
And here someone who learnt how to cure people
Swore the Hippocratic oath
Came not only to kill, but to force others to kill
That's how events today completely unknown to the broader public transpire
That was the reality of the so-called liberation wars that happened in various third world countries
"It has been almost a year since I returned to Europe from the Congo
It was hard to return among ordinary bread eaters which I held in subconscious disdain and had deep contempt for their mundane and human problems
'It's better to live one day as a lion than a whole life as a hare' I thought
I didn't want to agree to lay down my weapon
For a few months an urge was growing in me, the thirst for sun, for war, for great adventure
Life seemed to me a hellish roundabout of days: work, bed, metro, work, metro, bed and so on
Up until the horizon of a meagre retirement
I begged the god of war for yet another adventure
Upon returning to civilian life, my actions in the Congo turned out to have a net positive balance
Firstly, my dream to fight the Red came true
Secondly I took from the Congo a sense of self worth and a boosted morale
and a great sadness that I cannot return there due to political developments that would take too much time to describe
"The doors of 'Berbant' opened and two men entered the bar. I knew one of them, it was an old colleague of mine from the Congo
When they crossed the bar, tanned and confident, with typical, almost cat-like moves, the usuall bar clients scattered before them
I sprang from my chair to welcome them
I started looking around for another conflict with the Reds in which I could be of use
The only opportunity that was at the time possible was the conflict in Yemen
I found myself in Yemen at the best possible moment, that is when the Soviet advisors divided into two groups...
...one in was based in Sana'a and another in the port city of Hodeida on the Red Sea, where they were preparing a base for the Soviet Navy
Cave entrances masked with camouflage netting and the ominous silhouettes of machine guns reminded that this was not a summer camp
I was again a soldier
Foggy Paris vanished from my memory, only tomorrow counted
My best mate George slept in the grotto; I had a rifle within arms reach
I was happy
This was an excellent chance to face real Soviets and not their puppets as was the case in the Congo
My role in Yemen was variable
At one point I was an advisor to Emir Mohamed, first-in command of the royalist forces
At a certain point I headed the 'Military Academy' as we jokingly called it, I simply taught the Yemeni how to use modern weaponry
Especially armour-piercing
Then again at some point I directed artillery fire, that is the fire of our mortars
It was for me an undeniable source of joy that every piece of advice I gave and every shell fired harmed Soviets directly
"The first ones blew up on the roofs, the next on floors
party-members and people in Soviet uniforms were jumping out of windows
In a little-known country, in a war that few heard about, for the first time in many years a Pole could again stand with weapon in hand, facing the Red Army
My colleagues were surprised that I listened to the howling of the Katyushas with a smile and that my hands trembled while holding the binoculars
"Let him be" said George "he has his own score to settle here"
I "shot into" this avenue and "drove" the mortar over all the buildings
granting shells to the Eastern and Western embassies equally, as I thought the Western embassies were too eager to recognise the Red regime
When I shot into the Soviet embassy I kept up continuous fire for some time, so to be sure that that hive of thieves would be reduced to rabble
When the next day they said on the radio that diplomatic personnel are leaving Sana'a, I was greatly satisfied
"The red pest kills, it kills the body when it cannot kill the soul
We traversed burned villages, the Soviets were already then using genocidal tactics that they would later turn against Afghans and Chechens
Their aircraft attacked without mercy any human gathering
women and children died in villages destroyed by bombs and rockets
meagre crops were burned with napalm, cattle and flocks of sheep died massacred on purpose by Soviet pilots
That war against the weaponless was not a symptom of great sadism or animalisation on the part of the Soviet advisors
These were cold rules for waging war, planned in Moscow
At this time in the UN considerable pressure was put on Saudi Arabia to stop employing foreign mercenaries for the Yemenese conflict
That is, the Soviet Union and a host of third-world countries demanded our withdrawal from this war
"The MIG turned to face us. George started to shoot, I passed tape after tape
The pilot clearly wanted to waste us
If the enemy had good intel, the pilot could have recognised by our vehicle type that he was dealing with European advisors
Just as we, by the masterful piloting of the MIG knew, that we were dealing with a Soviet pilot
Under Yemenese sky, a Frenchman a Belgian and a Pole on one side, and a Soviet pilot on the other, waged war
This had its symbolic meaning"
After shooting down that MIG we learned that it's pilot was colonel Kozlov, head of the Soviet air force in Yemen
And he had with him a list of all Soviet personnel in Yemen, at least the officer part of that personnel
These documents, passed on to Saudi Arabia proved to the UN that the other side was not Yemeni, but Soviet
These documents caused the whole affair to be hushed up, and allowed us to stay in Yemen a bit longer
This war also ended unfavourably for the Reds, the Soviets never established a base in Hodeida and had to leave the premises
This is for me, a member of a nation that in one way or another was the looser of all wars, a certain success
The Yemeni episode concluded my career as an officer on the front line of the fight against the Red
It was not because I wanted to
Because I had the will and there were multiple occasions, but after my divorce I had to take care of my adolescent daughter
And so for family reasons I left the mercenary circulation
My colleagues fought on, I envied them terribly
Even though some of them lost their lives
They were good boys
Regarding mercenaries you would think, because that's what the word implies, that it was all about money
In this profession where you risk your life every day the wages were not high, so what pushed those people to put their lives on the line for a few coppers?
Some knew only the military life and sought to continue it
The motive of living a life of adventure, an unusual, non-banal life was strong
The financial motive played almost no part
Political motives dominated all other considerations
Moreover this was the case on both sides of the front-line
On the revolutionary side there were also mercenaries, but no one calls them that
The most famous Red mercenary was a certain Che Guevara
Cuba paid him to make revolutions in other countries and he was very good at it
No one slandered him to be a foul mercenary
Cuba approached me and my colleagues, we declined, although the wages were higher
To the average European the word 'war' is associated with a nightmare, this is also my opinion
The last World Wars, millions of dead, burnt cities, slaughtered women and children: this is a nightmare. I am not a proponent of war, I don't like war.
I don't like wars in which civilians die apart from the ones who wage it
What makes war abhorrent is the death of people who are not conducting it
A soldier we may accept is to die on the front-line, but not his wife or daughter
'My' wars, that is the ones in Congo and Yemen, almost were not violate the civilian populace
Our fight was exclusively against armed enemies
In both cases the enemy was better equipped than we were
So when we won it was due to brain warfare, it was a victory or tactics and strategy
You would win with IQ, not weapons
And such a war has a totally different aspect, it can be compared to a game of stalking, a great adventure
This is a war that is on one hand more humanitarian and on another much more picturesque
And such a war can attract it's 'postcard children'*
Around 1985 I started working for Radio Free Europe
RWE did not want me to use my real name so not to give gen. Kiszczak a chance to shout that a mercenary is working for Free Europe
So I worked for many years under the pseudonym Jerzy Rawicz
This did not stop gen. Pożoga from pointing me out in an article slandering the whole Paris immigration
singling me out, with name and address, as a bandit and murderer, although I never earned such epithets
But to him I owe a certain pleasure
In France a political asylum seeker cannot own a firearm, while I, out of sentiment, rather like to
So to gen. Pożoga I owe that the French authorities offered me a gun permit
From that time I have this little gun, which I really like
And so if gen. Pożoga will hear me, thank you, general
In Free Europe I worked honestly and eagerly
The atmosphere began to deteriorate around the time of the Round Table Talks
My political options stopped being liked and I stopped liking the options of Free Europe
So although I was paid regularly per month my presence on the ether became sporadic and in the end they actually paid me not to say anything
All in all, today, although I lost a lot of health and a few years on my wars, if one had to return to these years, I would return to them
I would again tread the same paths
That's it. I will not say anything more. I have nothing to tell.
Rafał Gan-Ganowicz, born 1932 in Warsaw, of Tartar roots, Rawicz coat of arms.
His father was in the Foreign Legion and later went to Argentina where he made a fortune, returned to Poland very rich during the Second Republic; his family lacked nothing.
Screenplay and directing
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Fragments from 'The Condottieres' by Rafał Gan-Ganowicz read by:
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