On a spring day in 1939, a weary, grey-haired giant slipped across the Czech border. Behind him lay his ravaged homeland, echoing the Wehrmacht's goosestep; before him, Poland's reluctant refuge. The man was Ludvik Svoboda, a battalion commander, 44.
This week Colonel Svoboda was an army chief, awaiting orders to join the great Red offensive. Waiting with him was his Russian-armed Czech army, tough, confident, thirsty for revenge. The army's heart was in the green valleys and forests of its native land. The army's motto was on its banner: Verni ZustanemeWe Remain Faithful.
To Svoboda, the sight of his new army must have...
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