第 50 页

Abel wanted to hit him, but he knew that wouldn't help get him into uniform.

'No, thank you ... sir,' he said. 'I want to fight the Germans, not send letters to them!

He returned to the hotel that evening despondent, but Abel decided that he wasn't licked yet. The next day he tried again, going to another recruiting office, but he came back to the Baron with the same result. Admittedly, the second doctor had been a little more polite, but he was every bit as firm about his condition, and once again Abel had ended up with a 4F. It was obvious to Abel that he was not going to be allowed to fight anybody in his present state of health.

The next morning, he found a gymnasium on West Fiftyseventh Street and paid a private instructor to do something about his, physical condition. For three months he worked every day on his weight and general fitness. He boxed, wrestled, ran, jumped, skipped, pressed weights and starved. When he was down to one hundred and fifty-five pounds, the instructor assured him he was never going to be much fitter or thinner. Abel returned to the first recruiting office and filled in the same form under the name of Wladek Koskiewicz. Another recruiting sergeant was a lot more hopeful this time, and themedical officer who gave him several tests finally accepted him as a reserve, waiting to be called up.

'But I want to go to war now,' said Abel. 'I want to fight the bastards!

'We'll be in touch with you, Mr. Koskiewicz,' said the sergeant. 'Please keep yourself fit and prepared. You can never be sure when we will need you.'

Abel left, furious as he watched younger, leaner Americans being readily accepted for active service, and as he barged through the door, not sure what his next ploy should be, he walked straight into a tall, gangling man wearing a uniform adorned with stars on the shoulders.

'I'm sorry, sir,' said Abel, looking up and backing away.

'Young man,' said the general.

Abel walked on, not thinking that the officer was addressing him, as no one had called him young man for ... he didn't want to think for how long, despite the fact that he was still only thirty-five.

'The general tried again. Young man,' he said a little more loudly.

This time Abel turned around. 'Me, sir?' he asked.

'Yes, you, sir.'

Abel walked over to the general.

'Will you come to my office please, Mr. Rosnovski?' Darnn, thought Abel, this man knows who I am, and now nobody's going to let me fight in this war. The general's temporary office turned out to be at the back of the building, a small room with a desk, two wooden chairs, peeling green paint and an open door. Abel would not have allowed a junior member of his staff at a Baron to work in such surroundings.

'Mr. Rosnovski,' the general began, exuding energy, 'my name is Mark Clark and I command the U.S. Fifth Army. I'm over from Governors Island for the day on an inspection tour, so literally bumping into you is a pleasant surprise. I have for a long time been an admirer. Your story is one to gladden the heart of any American. Now tell me what you are doing in this recruiting office.'

'What do you think?' said Abel, not thinking. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he corrected himself quickly. 'I didn't mean to be rude.' it's only that no one will let me get into this darnn war.'

'What do you want to do in this darnn war?' asked the general.

'Sign up,' said Abel, 'and fight the Germans.'

'As a foot soldier?' enquired the incredulous general.

'Yes,' said Abel, 'don't you need every man you can get?'

Watux-ally,' said the general, 'but I can put your particular talents to a far better use than as a foot soldier!

'I'll do anything,' said Abel, 'anything.'

'Will you now?' said the general, 'and if I asked you to place your New York hotel at my disposal as army headquarters here, how would you react to that? Because frankly, Mr. Rosnovskl, that would be of far more use to me than if you managed to kill a dozen Germans personally!

'The Baron is yours,' said Abel. 'Now will you let me go to war?'

'You know yoere mad, don't you?' said General ClarL 'I'm Polisk' said Abel. ney both laughed. 'You must understand,'he continued in a more serious tone. 'I was born near Slonim. I saw my home taken over by the Germans, my sister raped by the Russians. I later escaped from a Russian labour camp and was lucky enough to reach America. rm not mad. This is the only country in the world where you can arrive with nothing and become a millionaire through damned hard work regardless of your background. Now those same bastards want another war. I'm not mad, GeneraL rm, human-'

Vell, if yoere so eager to join up, Air. Rosnovsk4 I could use you, but not in the way you imagine. General Denvers needs someone to take over responsibility as quartermaster for the Fifth Army while they are fighting in the front lines. If you believe Napoleon was right when he said an army marches on its stomach, you could play a vital role. The job carries the rank of major. That is one way in which you could unquestionably help America to win this wax. What do you say?'

'I'll do it, General.'

'Thank you, Mr. Rosnovski?

The general pressed a buzzer on his desk and a very young lieutenant came in and nluted smartly.

'Lieutenant, will you take Major Rosnovski to personnel and then bring him back to me?'

'Yes, ur' The lieutenant turned to Abel. 'Will you come this way, please, Major?'

Abel followed him, turning as he reached the door. 'Thank you, General,'he said.

He spent the weekend in Chicago with Zaphia and Florentyna. Zaphia asked him what he wanted her to do with his fifteen suits.

'Hold on to them,' he replied,'wondering what she meant. 'I'm not going to get myself killed in this war.'

'I'm sure you're not, Abel,' she replied. 'That wasn't what was worrying me. It's just that now they're all three sizes too large for you.'

Abel laughed and took the suits to the Polish refugee centre. He then returned to New York, went to the Baron, cancelled the advance guest list, and twelve days later banded the building over to the American Fifth Army. The press hailed Abel's decision as a 'selfless gesture, worthy of a man who had been a refugee of the First World War.

It was another three months before Abel was called to active duty, during which time he organised the smooth running of the New York Baron for General Clark and then reported to Fort Benning, to complete an officers' training programme. When he finally did receive his orders to join General Denvers and the Fifth Army, his destination turned out to be somewhere in North Africa. He began to wonder if he would ever get to Germany.

The day before Abel left, he drew up a will, instructing his executors to offer the Baron Group to David Maxton on favourable terms, and dividing the rest of his estate between Zaphia and Florentyna. It was the first time in nearly twenty years that he had contemplated death, not that he was sure how he could get himself killed in the regimental canteen.

As his troop ship sailed out of New York harbour, Abel stared back at the Statue of Liberty. He could well remember how he had felt on seeing the statue for the first time nearly twenty years before. Once the ship had passed the Lady, he did not look at her again, but said out loud, 'Next time I look at you, you French bitch, America will have won this war.'

Abel crossed the Atlantic, taking with him two of his top chefs and five kitchen staff. The ship docked at Algiers on 17 February 1943. He spent almost a year in the heat and the dust and the sand of the desert, making sure that every member of the division was as well fed as possible.

'We eat badly, but we eat a damn sight better than anyone else,' was General Clark's comment.

Abel commandeered the only good hotel in Algiers and turned the building into a headquarters for General Clark. Although Abel could see he was playing a valuable role in the war, he itched to get into a real fight, but majors in charge of catering are rarely sent into the front line.

He wrote to Zaphia and George and watched his beloved daughter Florentyna grow up by photograph. He even received an occasional letter from Curtis Fenton, reporting that the Baron Group was making an everilarger profit because every hotel in America was packed because of the continual movement of troops and civilians. Abel was sad not to have been at the opening of the new hotel in Montreal, where George had represented him. It was the first time that he had not been present at the opening of a Baron, but George wrote at rea&nuing length of the new hotel's great success. Abel began to realise how much he had built up in America and how much he wanted to return to the land he now felt was his home.

He soon became bored with Africa and its mess kits, baked beans, blankets and fly swatters. There had been one or two spirited skirmishes out there in the western desert, or so the men returning fronx the front assured hini, but he never saw any real action, although often when he took the food to the front he would hear the firing, and it made him even angrier.

One day to his excitement, General Clark's Fifth Army was ordered to invade Southern Europe.

The Fifth Army landed on the Italian coast in amphibious craft while American aircraft gave them tactical cover. They met considerable resistance, first at Anzio and then at Monte Cassino but the action never involved Abel and he dreaded the end of a war in which he had seen no combat.

But he could never devise a plan which would get him into the front lines.

His chances were not unproved when he was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and sent to London to await further orders.

With D-Day, the great thrust into Europe began. The Allies marched into France and liberated Paris on 25 August 1944. As Abel paraded with the American and Free French soldiers down the Champs Elysses behind General de Gaulle to a hero's welcome, he studied the still magnificent city and once again decided exactly where he was going to build his first Baron hotel in France.

The Allies moved on through northern France and across the German border in a final drive towards Berlin. Abel was posted to the First Army under General Bradley Food was coming mainly from England: local supplies were almost non-existent, as each succeeding town at which they arrived had already been ravaged by the retreating German army. When Abel arrived in a new city, it would take him only a few hours to commandeer the entire remaining food supply before other American quartermasters had worked out exactly where to look. British and American officers were always happy to dine with the Ninth Armoured Division and would leave wondering how they had managed to requisition such excellent supplies. On one occasion when General George S. Patton joined General Bradley for dinner, Abel was introduced to the famous general who always led his troops into battle brandishing an ivory-handled revolver.

'The best meal I've had in the whole damn war,' add Patton.

By February 1945, Abel had been in uniform for nearly three years and he knew the war would be over in a matter of months. General Bradley kept sending him congratulatory notes and meaningless decorations to adom his ever-eVanding uniform, but they didn't help. Abel begged the general to let him fight in just one battle, but Bradley wouldret hear Of it.

Although it was the duty of a junior officer to drive the food trucks up to the front lines and then supervise the meals for the troops, Abel often carried out the responsibility himself. And, as in the running of his hotels, he would never let any of his staff know when or where he next intended to pounce.

It was the continual flow of blanket-covered stretchers into the camp that damp St. Patrick's Day that made Abel want to go up to the Front and take a look for himself. When it reached a point where he could no longer bear a one-way traffic of bodies, Abel rounded up his men and personally organised the fourteen food trucks. He took with him one lieutenant, one sergeant, two corporals, and twenty-eight privates.

The drive to the Front, although only twenty miles, was tiresomely slow that morning. Abel took the wheel of the first truck - it made him feel a little like General Patton - through heavy rain and thick mud; he had to pull off the road several times to allow ambulance details the right of way in their return from the Front. Wounded bodies took precedence over empty stomachs. Abel wished that most of them were no more than wounded, but only the occasional nod or wave suggested any sign of life.

It became obvious to Abel with each mud-tracked mile that something big was going on near Remagen, and he could feel the beat of his heart quicken. Somehow, he knew this time he was going to be involved.

When he finally reached the command post he could hear the enemy fire in the distance, and he started pounding his leg in anger as he watched stretchers bringing back yet more dead and wounded comrades from he knew not where. Abel was sick of learning nothing about the real war until it was part of history. He suspected that any reader of the New York Times was better informed than he was.

Abel brought his convoy to a halt-by the side of the field kitchen and jumped out of the truck shielding himself from the heavy min, feeling ashamed that others only a few miles away were shielding themselves from bullets. He began to supervise the unloading of one hundred gallons of soup, a ton of corned beef, two hundred chickens, half a ton of butter, three tons of potatoes and one hundred and ten pound of baked beans - plus the inevitable K rations - in readiness for those going to, or returning from, the front. When Abel arrived in the mess tent he found it full of long tables and empty benches. He left his two chefs to prepare the meal and the orderlies to start peeling one thousand potatoes while he went off in search of the duty officer.

Abel headed straight for Brigadier-General John Leonard's tent to find out what was going on, continually passing stretchers of dead and - worse - nearly dead soldiers, the sight of whom would have made any ordinary man sick but at Remagen had the air of being commonplace. As Abel was about to enter the tent, General Leonard, accompanied by his aide, was rushing out.

He coy3ducted a conversation with Abel while continuing to walk.

'What can I do for you, Colonel?'