Chapter 189: The Firm Grip
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POV of Lithuanian police
20-August-1921
’’Well, it seems we will not have such a quiet day as the last few. Some people have woken up in a foul temper and are determined to shout their way into the lockup’’ said the police captain as he entered the room at the station where we were waiting for orders to begin our usual rounds.
’’What has happened now? Last time, they were complaining about working conditions at that Latvian landowner’s factory, weren’t they? Hadn’t the government ordered him to improve safety if he wanted to keep it open?’’ asked one of the officers as he pulled on his gloves.
’’Well, take a look’’ replied the captain, tossing a newspaper onto the table.
There was a photograph of a hanged man.
’’One of those Lithuanian politicians who meant to head a provisional government before the Herzog’s forces arrested him has apparently decided to take his own life. He hanged himself in prison with part of his clothing, fastening it to the window bars, as you can see in the photograph. Word has spread quickly, and now we have a good number of his supporters crying out for justice and making the same old demands’’ he explained as he began opening the station armory.
’’Then there are people demonstrating in the streets?’’ I asked, trying not to make my halting German too noticeable.
’’Yes. The governor has ordered us to restore order as soon as possible. If we cannot disperse the gatherings, he will send troops to shoot the demonstrators. So we have good reason to do our duty: if we fail, blood will run in the streets. The government wants no disturbances while it arranges the food shipments to Russia. They need everyone to keep working to fill the Russian order’’ said the captain, motioning for us to collect our equipment.
’’What are we taking?’’ asked another officer.
’’Shields, batons, steel-reinforced boots, and protection for your arms and chests. Helmets too, in case they greet us with stones... And you men will carry rifles, in case someone armed turns up and we have to respond. But only then. We do not want to kill the people we are supposed to protect, either’’ he added, pointing to several of my comrades and then to the equipment in the armory.
We hurried to collect what we needed. We had been taught how to disperse unruly crowds and had drilled with some of the duchy’s troops in putting down rebellious groups, but this would be the first time we had to put all of it into practice in such a situation. Until then, the worst trouble had been the workers’ riot at that factory, where the working conditions were dreadful.
I pulled on my boots and gloves and adjusted the guards over my elbows and knees. Then I put on the vest, fitted with a thin steel plate that covered the front of my torso, and fastened my helmet strap. I picked up a baton longer than the one we carried on our usual rounds, checked that my revolver was still in the holster on my belt, and strapped the steel shield to my arm before leaving the armory.
Before long, every man at the station was equipped to go out and break up the demonstration. We had to put an end to it quickly, or the city’s military governor would carry out his threat to send in the army regiments.
When we were ready, we formed up outside the Wilna police station. The drivers were waiting beside the trucks, and we soon climbed into the beds to be taken to the scene of the disturbances.
We scarcely exchanged a word on the way. Most of the men were Lithuanians, like me, and I was certain that more than a few disliked the thought of raising a baton against our own people. We served a German administration that had done everything in its power to drive our language out of public life. We were not even allowed to speak Lithuanian while on duty.
But what else could we do? Trying to rebel seemed madness to me, considering the Herzog’s immense army and the support he enjoyed among certain parts of the population. Not everyone welcomed the prospect of an independent Lithuanian government. Since the Russians withdrew, the Germans had changed many things, and some people preferred to keep what they had gained under German rule rather than risk it for independence.
The Germans had won the most supporters among the poor, thanks to the resources the state had devoted to their relief. Their factories paid high wages compared with those offered by some local employers, whose establishments had repeatedly faced intervention by the authorities to force them to improve their safety measures.
At last, we reached the scene of the disturbances. We could hear the roar of the crowd before we even climbed out of the truck. A great many people had gathered in front of the military governor’s palace.
’’Form ranks and stand ready. We have to disperse this gathering, but first we will wait for the men coming from the east. They will block most of the exits so we can direct the crowd away from here’’ said the captain, pointing to the streets where the officers from the other stations were expected to arrive.
Many of the demonstrators carried placards. Some were pushing against the palace doors, trying to force their way inside, but the doors held. The ground-floor windows were barricaded with furniture, and on the upper floors I could make out several armed guards moving about.
A shower of stones and broken bricks struck the front of the building. When they noticed us, some of the demonstrators began approaching while we closed ranks, bringing our shields together and preparing for whatever might happen. Then a man carrying a megaphone stepped out from among the placards and political banners.
’’Brothers! Do not play into the Germans’ hands! Many of you may have believed their lies and accepted the government’s bread and relief, but all of this is a deception. They toss us crumbs from their businesses to divide us while they destroy our culture with laws more oppressive than the Russians ever imposed. However much they proclaim that Lithuanian is still taught in schools, what good is that if we can only speak it inside our homes?’’ the man cried, approaching our formation and trying to persuade us not to act against them.
’’I do not understand what you are saying, Lithuanian, but consider yourselves warned! This gathering has not been authorized by the authorities, and you are speaking a language whose use is forbidden in public! There will be no second warning! Clear the area and return to your homes, or we will use whatever force is necessary to disperse this unlawful demonstration!’’ replied the captain through his own megaphone.
The answer was a volley of stones and bricks. The captain raised his shield, and several of my comrades hurried to cover him with theirs, forming a barrier against the missiles being hurled at us.
’’As soon as the other companies cover those streets, we will charge those rats. They have had their warning, and there is nothing left to negotiate. Bring me the one with the megaphone. He can take the cell of that politician who hanged himself. Let us see whether he takes it into his head to imitate his idol’’ said the captain as he returned to the formation, while we raised our shields a little higher to protect ourselves from the stones.
The clatter of missiles against steel echoed along the street. We tried to keep our faces covered as the minutes dragged on, each seeming endless to me. At last, we saw several police companies arrive, occupying the nearby streets and blocking many of the routes of retreat. The demonstrators began splitting up, and some approached the newcomers, apparently intending to repeat the same appeals that had failed with us.
Although our company consisted mostly of Lithuanians, with only a few German officers, they had not won the support they expected. I saw the captain raise his whistle to his lips.
’’Forward, against those rebels! Restore order at once!’’ he shouted before blowing it.
We began advancing slowly, shields raised, while stones continued striking them.
The other companies moved forward as well, narrowing the space in which the demonstrators could move. We held formation until the whistle sounded again, giving the order to charge.
Without stopping to think, I broke into a run alongside my comrades. Seeing us rush toward them in a body, the demonstrators turned and began to flee.
The thunder of our boots filled the street as we pursued them. The first fell when they stumbled or were knocked down by one of our men. Before long, I saw several policemen beating those on the ground as they tried to shield their heads with their hands.
I caught up with one of the demonstrators and struck him hard across the back. He fell at once, crying out and reaching for the place where I had hit him. As he writhed, several of my comrades surrounded him and began beating him with their batons until he stopped moving.
I let out a deep sigh and forced myself to carry on with my work. The crowd fled through the streets that had been left open, while those who became separated from the others were arrested or beaten unconscious.
Shortly afterward, I joined in again against a man who had decided to stand his ground against the officers. Several of us surrounded him and struck him so many times that he lost some teeth. We nearly smashed his head apart with our batons.
The charge continued for several minutes, until we managed to clear the main street in front of the governor’s palace. Only then could the staff who had been trapped inside by the crowd leave the building.
Then the other part of the work began: sending the wounded to the hospital and gathering the many prisoners to be taken to prison. There they would wait to be brought before a judge, who would decide how many years they would serve for taking part in the disturbances.
Once everything had quieted down, we returned to the station and handed back the equipment we had used to break up the demonstration. We left it soaked with sweat; running and struggling under all that weight had worn us out.
Then we collected our usual clothing and weapons to return to patrol. We had to watch the streets and prevent the demonstrators from gathering again and trying to attack another government building.
We resumed our usual round through the city, although the streets were emptier than normal. Between those arrested during the disturbances and the residents who dared not leave their homes, we scarcely encountered anyone.
We were passing through some of the areas where the gatherings had begun when we heard shouting from an alley. We drew our revolvers and approached. A truck stood inside with its engine running.
’’Police! Hands up!’’ I shouted, aiming my revolver as several of my men entered the alley.
Two men with handkerchiefs covering their faces were beating a man they held by his clothes. The prisoner’s lips were split and bloody.
’’Don’t even think about reaching into your pocket!’’ I warned when I saw one of the strangers attempt it.
’’State Secret Police’’ the man replied before taking out a badge and showing it to us.
’’What are you doing here?’’ I asked, lowering the barrel of my revolver, though I remained ready to fire.
’’We have arrested one of the organizers of the demonstration. The fellow was resisting our attempts to handcuff him and put him in the truck’’ explained the man, whose handkerchief left scarcely more than his eyes exposed.
’’Help them’’ I ordered my men.
They stepped forward, twisted the prisoner’s arms behind his back, and handcuffed him. Then they brought his legs together to fasten the shackles around his ankles.
’’How do we get him aboard?’’ I asked, looking at the truck. I recognized the markings of one of the state factories.
’’Throw him in like a sack of potatoes’’ replied the agent, pointing to the truck bed.
My men obeyed without a word. We heard a groan of pain as the prisoner landed on the floor of the vehicle.
’’There you are’’ I said, turning toward the agents.
’’Get back to your work’’ one of them replied before climbing into the truck.
We walked away to continue our round.
We had reached the next intersection when we heard the engine behind us. I turned to look. The men in the cab were no longer wearing their coats or the handkerchiefs that had covered their faces. They looked like ordinary workers from the factory that owned the vehicle.
’’Shit...’’ I muttered before turning back toward my men, hoping none of them was an undercover agent as well.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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