A Speech

With a shriek of brakes, the train slowly came to a stop at the station. The doors opened with a rumble, and a man in a trench coat and a low-brimmed hat stepped out.

He took off his hat and was just about to greet the city when the disorganized crowd crushed in around him. Even his two burly bodyguards couldn't hold back the passenger flood.

At last, the man escaped the heart of the throng and stepped onto the firm gravel path leading to the platform. He raised his chin with effort, trying to look resolute and wise.

But a long blast of the train whistle and the curses of the conductor behind him made him break into a hurried trot.

"You decrepit old bastard! Move faster! You trying to die?"

The man looked thoroughly disheveled, but the people waiting on the platform still greeted him warmly.

Fred Ronov found it strange, but then again, it wasn't unusual for an arms dealer like this to have a few friends. There were always people who liked war.

Soon, the man, the crowd welcoming him, the coal merchants, and all sorts of other people had gone their separate ways.

An hour later, in a factory in Kraków.

To be honest, the workers found it strange. The factory machinery had all been moved away, and the boss had even handed out white bread.

Nobody knew what was going on, but the overseers with their whips soon brought them back to reality. Anyone who tried to leave the factory or whispered to someone else was beaten.

The workers in Poland were used to it by now. They were little different from serfs; they'd only changed where they worked. Even the whips were the same.

Just then, a man wearing a trench coat and