When the Dawn Breaks

by Emma Fraser

  As the truck rolled out, Jessie watched the diminishing figures fade into the darkness. Archie was out there too. Perhaps dead. Perhaps wounded and calling for help. Evans’s fingers twined around hers. ‘Let us pray,’ the orderly said quietly. ‘They’re in God’s hands now.’

  Jessie closed her eyes, hoping that God would hear her prayers just once more.

  Dawn was breaking when the truck slowed to a crawl. Evans peered out of the back.

  ‘Good grief,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  They all clambered over to have a look. As far as the eye could see there were old men, women and children on foot or riding in every kind of conveyance imaginable. There were wagons heaped high with beds, blankets, chairs, kettles and even live geese. A few lucky refugees had carts, but most carried their belongings or their children – sometimes both – on their backs as they trudged along. A boy led two calves, which were pulling a tiny cart with a baby strapped into it.

  Interspersed between them were the ragged remains of the Serbian Army in their mud- and blood-encrusted uniforms and filthy boots, their eyes downcast. This was a defeated army and a defeated nation, and Jessie’s heart filled with pity for them. But there was little they could do for anyone. What supplies they had, they needed for the injured men in their care.

  With increasing horror she saw bodies by the sides of the road, their white faces and empty eyes staring upwards.

  The road was abominable, churned to a river of mud and potholes. As the trucks crawled along throughout that relentless day, they took turns to jump down and offer what help they could to the sick and dying. But there were simply too many of them. One by one, men and women fell to their knees with exhaustion and hunger.

  It was dark when the trucks stopped.

  Jessie and Isabel got out to see what the problem was. The lights of the vehicles shone on the broken remains of a wooden bridge. They stared at it with dismay.

  Behind them some soldiers appeared and went to investigate. When they returned it was clear from their agitated voices that there was a serious problem. One of the doctors, who understood a little Serbian, translated. ‘There are planks missing halfway across. One of the gun wagons ahead must have damaged them. I don’t see how we’re going to get across.’

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ Isabel said.

  The doctor shrugged. ‘They suggest we take the wagons across. Their wheels are narrower than those of the trucks so they should make it. In the meantime they’re going to chop down some branches and try to repair the bridge.’

  Jessie looked behind her. Several trucks and wagons belonging to the army had yet to cross. The Austrians couldn’t be far away and every passing minute was bringing them closer.

  ‘We must unload our supplies, put the injured into the wagons and get them across without delay,’ Isabel said. ‘At least then they’ll be on the right side of the bridge. Jessie, you and the nurses will have to look after them. We can’t leave our trucks. They could be our only shelter and I’m not leaving our equipment behind. I’ll stay this side with the shovers until we get the trucks across.’

  ‘I’ll take the ox-wagons,’ Jessie said. She managed a smile. ‘I doubt anyone has more experience than I of making beasts do as they’re told.’

  By this time the others had gathered around, shivering in the freezing night air. Quickly, and without further discussion, they unloaded the supplies from the wagons, making space for the stretchered patients and heaping every available blanket on top of them. The men who were able to walk gingerly negotiated the creaking bridge to the other side. Evans and three nurses went with them.

  Jessie leaped onto the front of the first wagon and lifted the reins. As the oxen lumbered forward, she tried not to think what would happen if the bridge gave way. There wasn’t a chance that any of the injured men would survive a fall into the icy water below. To her relief, the cart made it across the bridge.

  She was pleased to see that the soldiers, with the help of some of the refugees, had managed to cut a good amount of wood and had replaced the broken planks.

  On the other side of the bridge, the engines were being started. Would the hasty repairs hold their weight? They held their breath as the first truck shot over the bridge. The chauffeur jumped out, looking relieved. ‘Thought I should go as fast as I could,’ she said. ‘Same way I set a horse to jump a fence.’

  She was followed by the remaining trucks. Then each patient was lifted as gently as the women could manage back into the trucks, and they were on their way again.

  The hours ticked agonisingly by until the convoy came to a halt at a ruined village. Over every spare bit of ground, women sat huddled with their children. Their silence was almost worse than anything.

  A nurse wearing the uniform of the Serbian Relief Fund hurried over. ‘We used this place as a dispensary until a month ago. There may be some supplies left, but if there aren’t at least you can shelter overnight in the houses.’

  Many of the refugees had stopped too and were looking to them for guidance, the children’s faces pinched with hunger, their lips blue with cold.

  ‘I think the children should sleep in the houses,’ Evans said. ‘They need shelter more than we do. We can make do with the verandas, don’t you think?’

  From the rumble of guns, the enemy was only a few miles behind them and advancing quicker than expected. But they had to rest.

  They settled as many of the children as they could gather in the houses. The parents would have to do as best they could. At least there was wood to make fires, which would give them some warmth. The women shared what food they had with the children, and once they were tucked in, they unrolled their mattresses on the veranda, huddling close to one another for warmth. There was no chatter, each woman either too wrapped up in her own thoughts or too exhausted to talk. Jessie closed her eyes as a wave of grief washed over her. In the gaps between distant explosions she heard women sobbing and wondered how many would be dead by morning. But they couldn’t do more to help than they were doing already. She closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.

  The next morning they were up before dawn. In the dark, they packed their belongings and set off again. The day followed a similar pattern to the one before. Every so often they had to jump out of the truck and help push wagons and vehicles out of the mud. The sound of guns and cannons was now a constant roar.

  By the time they reached Kruševatc, they had spent forty hours on a journey that should have lasted four or five. The staff from other retreating units rushed out to take their patients from them. At least the men wouldn’t have to spend another night out in the cold. For them the journey was over. They would be placed on trains to safety. And they would travel to hospital in relative comfort.

  Dr Bradshaw, her eyes ringed with fatigue, hurried over to them.

  ‘Thank goodness you made it. But you’ll have to leave again tomorrow.’

  ‘Can’t we stay and help?’ Jessie asked.

  Dr Bradshaw shook her head. ‘We expect the Germans to take the town at any moment and the retreating soldiers and refugees will need medical care along the way. My orders are to send as many as I can to Scutari. I’m keeping the smallest number of staff here to look after the men who can’t be moved. We’ll evacuate when we can.’

  Jessie and Isabel looked at each nother. Jessie knew Isabel didn’t want to leave either. Every step would take them further away from Archie.

  ‘You must go. That’s an order,’ Dr Bradshaw finished, seeing their hesitation. They couldn’t disobey a direct command. If Dr Bradshaw said they were needed to look after the sick and injured as they retreated, that’s what they would do.

  They managed to snatch a few hours’ rest before they were ordered to move on.

  The other women gathered around them, those staying pressing hastily written letters into their hands. Fourteen were coming with Jessie and Isabel: Evans, ten of the nurses and three orderlies. All young and fit. The five women Dr Bradshaw
had chosen to stay were older.

  What would happen to them? Would the enemy treat them with the respect they were due, or would they be shot as spies? There was no way of knowing.

  After another gruelling day they reached a village and pitched camp in a field, trying to ignore the shells whizzing overhead. As more wounded arrived, they attended to them as best they could with their dwindling supplies.

  That night, they sat around the campfire, feasting on roasted turkeys a grateful villager had given them.

  ‘I can’t remember when I ever tasted something so good,’ Evans said.

  But Jessie noticed that Isabel was only picking at her food. When there was work to be done, she appeared strong, but as soon as it was finished, the fight seemed to go from her.

  Jessie added more kindling to the fire and lifted the blackened teapot. ‘Tea, anyone?’

  Evans, clutching her ever-present Bible, squinted in the dim, flickering light from the fire and held out her tin mug.

  And so it continued, day after miserable day. Every morning they packed up and moved on, and every night they pitched their tents and treated the injured. The wounds were less severe than they had been a few days earlier, and the Serbian officers explained that the worst casualties had been left on the battlefield as the ambulance parties were being fired on. Jessie and Isabel exchanged a glance. They didn’t need to be told.

  Sometimes an influx of patients kept them busy through the night and they treated the men by the light of storm lamps. When they could, they saw to civilians too. But what the refugees needed more than anything was shelter and food, and although they couldn’t provide shelter they shared the little food they had.

  Often, just as they were ready to move on, more wounded poured in and they would have to unpack their tents and start work again.

  At least it kept them from dwelling on their own misery.

  The enemy was still hard on their heels. They heard that two hours after they had left one of the villages, the Germans had marched through. Then came the news they’d been dreading. Kragujevatz had fallen to the enemy and all the women still there had been captured and they worried that the same fate would await those left behind in Kruševatc. It was their lowest point. Their only hope now was to continue over the Montenegrin mountains towards Scutari.

  Hour after hour, day after day, week after week the horror continued. Thousands upon thousands of Serbian soldiers marched wearily beside the women’s ox-wagons or rode on the horses pulling their gun-carriages. Always in silence. There was no laughter, no singing, no talking. Impeding the army’s progress were thousands of women, children and old men, and amongst them hundreds of Austrian prisoners without guards.

  Every day it became more difficult to buy anything to supplement the rations they had left. What they had, they shared with the children, but there was none to spare for the prisoners.

  Throughout night and day, cars and trucks had to be pushed through the mud. Many died where they lay and news came that a thousand men had been left dead or wounded on the fields near Bargan.

  As they trekked on, the rain and sleet turned to snow. A blockage at the front would stop the whole line. Frightened people, hearing the thunder of guns, would try to squeeze through the gap, making matters worse. Horses fell to their knees, exhausted and starved, throwing riders to the ground. Wagons stuck in deep mud and, to lighten the load, people threw down their possessions. Barrels of precious benzene, chairs, tables, even packing cases with food were flung aside. If a wheel came off, a wagon was abandoned in the middle of the road, slowing progress further.

  As the convoy neared the mountains, the road became impassable and they had to abandon the trucks – their only source of shelter from the driving rain and cold. Now the women had only the wagons and would have to sleep in the open.

  Eventually they reached a gorge. On one side was a river, on the other a steep path up almost perpendicular mountains, too narrow to take their wagons. The night was black with neither moon nor stars to help them see their way. But they had no choice. With the Germans closing in behind them, and in danger of being cut off by the Bulgars attacking from the east, the only way was forward. They cut the carts in half and made them into two-wheelers, gathered the few horses they had left and set out again.

  With only a little food remaining, no shelter and the freezing cold, Jessie wondered how much longer they could go on.

  Chapter 48

  They had been walking for twenty days when Isabel knew for certain that she was pregnant. She’d vomited her breakfast, just as she had the last few mornings. At first she had managed to convince herself that bad food and poor hygiene were making her sick, but now her breasts were tender and, despite the weight she’d lost, fuller.

  She was horrified. She and Archie had made love only twice, yet she was pregnant with his child. She was unmarried and carrying a baby, with little or no prospect of marrying its father. She wrapped her arms around herself as a fierce glow spread through her. Despite everything, she could not regret this child. It was a part of Archie she would never lose. Leaning against a tree, she wiped her mouth as best she could. They were still miles from safety and were still climbing. It was possible they would all die on the frozen plains. Perhaps it would be for the best. No one would know her shame. To be an unmarried mother was unthinkable.

  But as soon as the thought entered her head, she pushed it away. She had no intention of dying, and the baby inside her needed her so that he or she could live.

  If it could survive this. The snow-covered mountain was littered with dead bodies, arms and legs sticking up, as if in some sort of macabre dance. Near the road, she could see the corpse of a child, still wrapped in a shawl, the little face blue. She wouldn’t let her baby die.

  She pulled her greatcoat tighter around herself. She wouldn’t tell the other women unless she had to. They had enough to worry about, without having to help her. She thought of Archie and her father. Papa had said she was the strongest woman he knew. She could almost see their faces, urging her on. She smiled to herself, drawing strength from their images.

  Whatever it took, she had to make it to safety.

  Chapter 49

  They continued into Montenegro – the Land of the Black Mountains – walking through the night until exhaustion forced them to stop. So many had died or given up along the way that they were now a skeleton column.

  The track became increasingly treacherous and slippery. Wherever they looked, horses, oxen and people stumbled and fell, only to lie in the snow and freeze to death. To stop and help anyone now would mean death for those who still had hope that they would reach Scutari alive.

  They trudged on, leading their one remaining horse and cart when the track became too narrow to be safe. The sound of cannon behind them told them that the enemy couldn’t be more than a day behind. They could no longer afford the time to stop and rest during the day. They continued ever upwards in the snow, always on the look-out for bread from the few Serbian military stations along the way, but there was never any to be had as it was rationed for the remaining soldiers at the front. In the end they were forced to eat the meat of dead oxen and horses.

  They scrambled across jagged rocks through mud and snow, over passes and between mountains thousands of feet high, through rivers with no bridges, until finally it became impossible to travel at night.

  ‘We have to make camp soon,’ Isabel said finally. ‘We can’t risk taking the paths in darkness.’

  Jessie knew she was right. The tracks along the mountain were barely wide enough to take even their half-wagons. One slip would send them hurtling into the valley with no chance of climbing out again.

  ‘But where?’ Evans looked around at the endless expanse of knee-deep snow in dismay.

  ‘See those trees a little up the side of the hill?’ Jessie said. ‘They’ll give us some shelter. If we scrape away the snow we can make a fire.’

  ‘We can’t sleep there, surely,’ Evans objected. ‘Ther
e’s nothing to stop us spilling down the hill.’

  ‘If we place logs behind us they’ll act as a wedge and stop us rolling,’ Jessie replied.

  Although they were exhausted, they set about scraping away the snow and foraging for dry twigs and branches for the fire. Then they fed a few leaves to the painfully thin horses. For themselves, they made tea with melted snow, and nibbled small chunks of stale bread and maize meal. At least they had something to fill their stomachs, unlike the refugees.

  In weary silence, they unrolled their mattresses and started their preparations for the night, setting their frozen boots by the fire to thaw. Jessie thought longingly back to her first days in Royaumont – if she’d thought it cold there, it had been nothing compared to this.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleep was difficult. She woke several times, lying shivering until she finally fell asleep again. Once, she woke and, needing to relieve herself, reluctantly slid out from under her covers. To her surprise, Isabel was silhouetted against the dark sky. Jessie stumbled over to her. They hadn’t spoken much since they’d set out on their trek.

  ‘You should be in bed,’ Jessie said, teeth chattering in the freezing air.

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ Isabel replied. ‘Isn’t it lovely? It’s hard to believe that so much horror can exist alongside such magnificence.’

  The mountains loomed up on either side, a haunting beauty in their jagged ridges.

  ‘Come to bed,’ Jessie coaxed. ‘We have another long day in front of us tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m going to have a child,’ Isabel said suddenly.

  Dear God! They were barely surviving as it was. ‘Are you sure?’ Jessie asked. ‘I mean, we’re all hungry. It wouldn’t be surprising if your monthlies were disrupted.’

  ‘I’m quite sure,’ Isabel said.

  The silence stretched between them.

  ‘Is it … I mean, of course it’s Archie’s?’