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Authors: Benjamin Weiser
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saw that the army was being remade along Soviet lines: their teachers, their drills―how to stand, how to turn, how to use a rifle―even their uniforms and caps. The round Soviet cap, with its red band, replaced the four-cornered cap of the Polish Army. Strict loyalty to the Soviet system was enforced. In class, Polish heroes were no longer discussed, only Soviet figures. In the field, training exercises were run only in a westerly direction―as in an offensive action against Europe―and soldiers were forbidden to attack toward the east. “It was a parody, absurd,” Kuklinski felt. “We didn’t feel as if we were in Poland anymore.” The soldiers had once sung patriotic songs and said prayers before bedtime. Now they felt only fear as the Communists carried out purges of the army ranks.
Under pressure, Kuklinski joined the Communist Party. At night, as he studied in bed, his roommate, Konstanty Staniszewski, a devout Catholic who ranked second in the class, prayed quietly beneath a blanket. Kuklinski, knowing that prayer was forbidden, won his roommate’s loyalty by saying nothing. They remained close.
In 1950, a few months from graduation, Kuklinski was made sergeant. “He was liked by everybody,” recalled Stanislaw Radaj, a classmate and friend who described Kuklinski as kind and generous. But it was around that time that Kuklinski also got his first taste of party discipline. He had repeated a joke to a classmate about Soviet attempts to force collectivization on Poland and was expelled from the party and later from the officers school. During a shooting exercise, his name was called out. Several sergeants pointed their rifles at him and escorted him off the field. One of his closest friends saw what was happening and turned away. Kuklinski was devastated.
Kuklinski was told to get his belongings and was given a document transferring him to the Eleventh Mechanized Regiment in Biedrusko, near Poznan, where he was to spend two years as a simple soldier.
“I’m a sergeant,” he protested.
“Not anymore,” one sergeant replied, telling Kuklinski he had been stripped of his rank.
As he prepared to leave, he was almost overcome with emotion when another classmate, a sergeant from a prominent Communist family, approached and expressed anger at what happened. He said he had passed a hat around and taken up a collection. “We know you are in trouble,” the soldier said. “This is from us.”
From his new post in Biedrusko, Kuklinski filed an appeal and was told to appear before a special Communist Party commission in War-claw. He was told to bring letters from people who knew him as a child, guaranteeing that he had not been a member of an organization that opposed Communists. As he waited outside the commission office, the door opened and a gray-haired colonel walked out sobbing. When it was Kuklinski’s turn, he was ordered to sit at a large table before a dozen people. He acknowledged that he had once tried to join the underground, to fight the Nazis, but had been rejected. He had done nothing more than put up posters. He was a teenager, he said, and not part of any formal organization that sought to undermine the Communist Party. The commission reprimanded Kuklinski and warned him, as he later put it, that he was “stupid, but not an enemy of the people.” He was told to return to school for his exams, and he finished at the top of his class. Still, he was promoted only to warrant officer, just below the rank of full officer.
In the fall of 1951, after a year-long stint with the Ninth Mechanized Regiment in Pila, Kuklinski began higher military studies in Rembertow, just outside Warsaw, where the Communists had converted Poland’s most famous war college into an infantry officers school with a Soviet commander.
In July 1952, at the age of twenty-two, Kuklinski married his long-time girlfriend Hanka, then nineteen. A month or so later, after graduating from
Under pressure, Kuklinski joined the Communist Party. At night, as he studied in bed, his roommate, Konstanty Staniszewski, a devout Catholic who ranked second in the class, prayed quietly beneath a blanket. Kuklinski, knowing that prayer was forbidden, won his roommate’s loyalty by saying nothing. They remained close.
In 1950, a few months from graduation, Kuklinski was made sergeant. “He was liked by everybody,” recalled Stanislaw Radaj, a classmate and friend who described Kuklinski as kind and generous. But it was around that time that Kuklinski also got his first taste of party discipline. He had repeated a joke to a classmate about Soviet attempts to force collectivization on Poland and was expelled from the party and later from the officers school. During a shooting exercise, his name was called out. Several sergeants pointed their rifles at him and escorted him off the field. One of his closest friends saw what was happening and turned away. Kuklinski was devastated.
Kuklinski was told to get his belongings and was given a document transferring him to the Eleventh Mechanized Regiment in Biedrusko, near Poznan, where he was to spend two years as a simple soldier.
“I’m a sergeant,” he protested.
“Not anymore,” one sergeant replied, telling Kuklinski he had been stripped of his rank.
As he prepared to leave, he was almost overcome with emotion when another classmate, a sergeant from a prominent Communist family, approached and expressed anger at what happened. He said he had passed a hat around and taken up a collection. “We know you are in trouble,” the soldier said. “This is from us.”
From his new post in Biedrusko, Kuklinski filed an appeal and was told to appear before a special Communist Party commission in War-claw. He was told to bring letters from people who knew him as a child, guaranteeing that he had not been a member of an organization that opposed Communists. As he waited outside the commission office, the door opened and a gray-haired colonel walked out sobbing. When it was Kuklinski’s turn, he was ordered to sit at a large table before a dozen people. He acknowledged that he had once tried to join the underground, to fight the Nazis, but had been rejected. He had done nothing more than put up posters. He was a teenager, he said, and not part of any formal organization that sought to undermine the Communist Party. The commission reprimanded Kuklinski and warned him, as he later put it, that he was “stupid, but not an enemy of the people.” He was told to return to school for his exams, and he finished at the top of his class. Still, he was promoted only to warrant officer, just below the rank of full officer.
In the fall of 1951, after a year-long stint with the Ninth Mechanized Regiment in Pila, Kuklinski began higher military studies in Rembertow, just outside Warsaw, where the Communists had converted Poland’s most famous war college into an infantry officers school with a Soviet commander.
In July 1952, at the age of twenty-two, Kuklinski married his long-time girlfriend Hanka, then nineteen. A month or so later, after graduating from
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