‘The Port Commandant and two of his soldiers,’ George said. ‘They are here because we couldn’t very well leave them behind to raise the alarm the moment we were gone, and we couldn’t very well shoot them, could we? And they’re bound and gagged because we couldn’t very well have them raising a song and dance on the way out of the harbour. You do ask stupid questions, Michael.’
‘This is the Major Massamo that Major Petersen mentioned? How did you manage to get him to sign those permits you have?’
‘You, Michael, have a suspicious mind. It doesn’t become you. He didn’t sign them. I did. There were lots of notices in his room all signed by him. You don’t have to be a skilled forger to copy a signature.’
‘What’s going to happen to them?’
‘We will dispose of them at a convenient time and place.’
‘Dispose of them?’
‘They’ll be back in Ploe, safe and unharmed, this evening. Good heavens, Michael, you don’t go around shooting your allies.’
Michael looked at three bound and gagged men. ‘Yes. I see. Allies.’
They were stopped at roadblocks at the next two villages but the questioning was very perfunctory and routine. At the third village, Bagalovi, Petersen pulled up by a temporary army filling station, descended, gave some papers to the corporal in attendance, waited until the truck had been fuelled, gave the corporal some money for which he was rewarded by a surprised salute, then drove off again.
Sarina said: ‘They don’t look like soldiers to me. They don’t behave like soldiers. They seem so – so – what is the word? – apathetic.’
‘A marked lack of enthusiasm, agreed. Their behaviour doesn’t show them up in the best of light, does it? The Italians can, in fact, be very very good soldiers, but not in this war. They have no heart for it, in spite of Mussolini’s stirring, martial speeches. The people didn’t want this war in the first place and they want it less and less as time goes by. Their front-line troops fight well enough, but not from patriotism, just professional pride. But it’s convenient for us.’
‘What were those papers you gave to that soldier?’
‘Diesel coupons. Major Massamo gave them to me.’
‘Major Massamo gave them to you. Free fuel, of course. That tip you handed to the soldier. I suppose Major Massamo gave you the money as well?’
‘Of course not. We don’t steal.’
‘Just trucks and fuel coupons. Or have you just borrowed those?’
‘Temporarily. The truck, anyway.’
‘Which, of course, you will return to Major Massamo?’
Petersen spared her a glance. ‘You’re supposed to be apprehensive, nervous, not full of nosey questions. I don’t much care to be cross-examined. We’re supposed to be on the same side, remember? As for the truck, I’m afraid the Major won’t be seeing it again.’
They drove on in silence and after another fifteen minutes ran into the town of Metkovi. Petersen parked the truck in the main street and stepped down to the roadway. Sarina said: ‘Forgotten something, haven’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Your keys. You’ve left them in the ignition.’
‘Please don’t be silly.’ Petersen crossed the street and disappeared into a store.
Lorraine spoke for the first time since leaving Ploe. ‘What did he mean by that?’
‘What he says. He knows so much that he probably knows I can’t drive anyway. Certainly not this rackety old monster. Even if I could, what place would I have to drive to?’ She touched the back of the cab. ‘Wood. I couldn’t get five yards – that fearful Alex could shoot through that.’ She looked and sounded doleful in the extreme.
Lorraine said: ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to see him, just once, make a mistake, do something wrong?’
‘I’d love it. But I don’t think we should want it. I have the feeling that what is good for Major Petersen is good for us. And vice versa.’
Twenty minutes elapsed before Petersen returned. For a man who might have been regarded as being on the run, he was in no hurry. He was carrying a large wicker basket, its contents covered with brown paper. This he took round to the back of the truck. Moments later he was back in the driving seat. He seemed in good humour.
‘Well, go on,’ he said. ‘Ask away.’
Sarina made a moue, but curiosity won. ‘The basket.’
‘An army marches on its stomach. Stretch a point and you might regard us as part of an army. Provisions. What else would I have been buying in a food store? Bread, cheese, hams, various meats, goulash, fruits, vegetables, tea, coffee, sugar, a spirit stove, kettle and stewpan. I promised Colonel Lunz to deliver you in fairly good condition.’
In spite of herself, she smiled faintly. ‘You sound as if you wanted to deliver us in prime condition at a slave market. Overlooked your fat friend, didn’t you?’
‘My first purchase. George had the top off a litre flask of beer within five seconds. Wine, too.’
They cleared the outskirts of the town. Sarina said: ‘I thought the permit took you only as far as Metkovi?’
‘I have two permits. I showed only one to Carlos.’
Half an hour later Petersen recrossed the Neretva and pulled up at a fairly large garage on the outskirts of apljina. Petersen went inside and returned in a few minutes.
‘Just saying “hallo” to an old friend.’
They passed through the village of Trebiat and not long afterwards Petersen pulled off the highway and turned up a secondary road, climbing fairly steeply as they went. From this they turned on to yet another road which was no more than a grass track, still climbing, until they finally rounded and came to a halt about fifty yards from a low stone building. They could approach no further because the road ended where they were.
They dismounted from the cab and went round to the back of the truck. Petersen tweaked back one of the canvas flaps. ‘Lunch,’ he said.
Perhaps a minute passed without any signs of activity. Sarina and Lorraine looked at each other in a puzzled apprehension which was in no way lessened by Petersen’s air of relaxed calm.
‘When George ties a knot,’ Petersen said cryptically, ‘it takes a fair deal of untying.’
Suddenly the flaps were parted and Major Massamo and his two soldiers, untied and ungagged, were lowered from the tailboard. Massamo and the older soldier collapsed dramatically immediately on touching the ground.
‘ “Who have we here and what have the wicked Petersen and his evil friends done to those poor men”,’ Petersen said. The young soldier had now joined the two others in a sitting position on the ground. ‘Well, the officer is Major Massamo, the Port Commandant, and the other two you have already seen. We have not broken their legs or anything like that. They’re just suffering from a temporary loss of circulation.’ The other four men in the back of the truck had now jumped to the ground. ‘Walk them around a bit, will you?’ Petersen said.
George lifted the Major, Giacomo the young soldier, and Michael the elderly soldier. But the last was not only old but fat and didn’t seem at all keen to get to his feet. Sarina gave Petersen what was probably intended to be a withering glance and moved to help her brother. Petersen looked at Lorraine and then at George.
‘What shall we do?’ His voice was low. ‘Stab her or club her?’
Not a muscle flickered in George’s face. He appeared to ponder. ‘Either. Plenty of ravines hereabouts.’
Lorraine looked at them in perplexity: Serbo-Croat, evidently, was not her language.
Petersen said: ‘I can understand now why the boyfriend is along. Bodyguard and interpeter. I know who she is.’
‘So do I.’
Lorraine could be irritated and imperious at the same time and she was good at being both.
‘What are you two talking about? It is bad manners, you know.’ In another day and age she would have stamped her foot.
‘It is our native language. No offence. My dear Lorraine, you would make life so much easier for yourself if you st
opped being suspicious of everyone. And yes, we were talking about you.’
‘I thought as much.’ But her voice was a shade less assertive.
‘Just try to trust people occasionally.’ Petersen smiled to rob his words of any offence. ‘We’re as much looker-afterers as your Giacomo is. Will you please understand that we want to take care of you. If anything were to happen to you, Jamie Harrison would never forgive us.’
‘Jamie Harrison! You know Jamie Harrison.’ Her eyes had widened and a half-smile touched her lips. ‘I don’t believe it. You know Captain Harrison!’
‘ “Jamie” to you.’
‘Jamie.’ She looked at George. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Tush, tush! Suspicions again. If Peter says he knows him then I must know him. Isn’t that so?’ He smiled as colour touched her cheeks. ‘My dear, I don’t blame you. Of course I know him. Tall, very tall. Lean. Brown beard.’
‘He didn’t have a brown beard when I knew him.’
‘He has now. And a moustache. Brown hair, anyway. And, as they say in English, he’s terribly terribly English. Wears a monocle. Sports it, I should say. Claims he needs it, but he doesn’t. Just English.’
She smiled. ‘It couldn’t be anyone else.’
Major Massamo and his two men, their grimaces bespeaking their still returning circulation, were now at least partially mobile. Petersen retrieved the heavy wicker basket from the back of the truck and led the way up grass-cut steps to the stone hut and produced a key. Sarina looked at the key, then at Petersen but said nothing.
Petersen caught her glance. ‘I told you. Friends.’ The combination of the creaking hinges as the door swung open and the musty smell from within was indication enough that the place hadn’t been used for months. The single room, which made up the entire hut, was icy, bleak and sparsely furnished: a deal table, two benches, a few rickety wooden chairs, a stove and a pile of cordwood.
‘Be it ever so humble,’ Petersen said briskly. ‘First things first.’ He looked at George who had just extracted a bottle of beer from the basket. ‘You have your priorities right?’
‘I have a savage thirst,’ George said with dignity. ‘I can slake that and light a stove at the same time.’
‘You’ll look after our guests? I have a call to make.’
‘Half an hour. I hope.’
It was an hour later when Petersen returned. George was no believer in doing things by half and by that time the hut was a great deal more than pleasantly warm. The top of the stove glowed a bright cherry red and the room was stiflingly hot. Petersen pointedly left the door open and set on the table a second wicker basket he had brought with him.
‘More provisions. Sorry I’m late.’
‘We weren’t worried,’ George said. ‘Food’s ready when you are. We’ve eaten.’ He peered inside the basket Petersen had brought. ‘Took you all that time to get that?’
‘I met some friends.’
Sarina said from the doorway. ‘Where’s the truck?’
‘Round the corner. Among trees. Can’t be seen from the air.’
‘You think they’re carrying out an air search for us?’
‘No. One doesn’t take chances.’ He sat at the table and made himself a cheese and salami sandwich. ‘Anyone who needs some sleep had better have it now. I’m going to have some myself. We didn’t have any last night. Two or three hours. Besides, I prefer to travel at night.’
‘And I prefer to sleep at night,’ George said. He reached out for another bottle. ‘Let me be your trusty guard. Enjoy yourself. We did.’
‘After Giovanni’s cooking anyone would be ravenous.’
Petersen set about proving that he was no exception. After a few minutes he looked up, looked around and said to George: ‘Where have those pesky girls gone to?’
‘Just left. For a walk, I suppose.’
Petersen shook his head. ‘My fault. I didn’t tell you.’ He rose and went outside. The two girls were about forty yards away.
‘Come back!’ he called. They stopped and turned around. He waved a peremptory arm. ‘Come back.’ They looked at each other and slowly began to retrace their steps.
George was puzzled. ‘What’s wrong with a harmless walk?’
Petersen lowered his voice so that he couldn’t be heard inside the hut. ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong with a harmless walk.’ He told him briefly and George nodded. He stopped talking as the girls approached.
Sarina said: ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Petersen nodded to a small outhouse some yards from the cabin. ‘If that’s what you’re looking for –’
‘No. Just a walk. What’s the harm?’
‘Get inside.’
‘If you say so.’ Sarina smiled at him sweetly. ‘Would it kill you to tell us why?’
‘Other ranks don’t talk to officers in that tone. The fact that you’re females doesn’t alter a thing.’ Sarina had stopped smiling, Petersen’s own tone was not such as to encourage levity. ‘I’ll tell you why. Because I say so. Because you can’t do anything without my permission. Because you’re babes in the woods. And because I’ll trust you when you trust me.’ The two girls looked at each other in incomprehension then went inside without a word.
‘A bit harsh, I would have thought,’ George said.
‘You and your middle-aged susceptibility. Sure, it was a bit harsh. I just wanted them to get the message that they don’t wander without permission. They could have made it damned awkward for us.’
‘I suppose so. Of course I know they could. But they don’t know they could have. For them, you’re just a big, bad, bullying wolf and a nasty one to boot. Irrational, they think you are. Orders for orders’ sake. Never mind, Peter, when they come to appreciate your sterling qualities, they may yet come to love you.’
Inside the hut, Petersen said: ‘Nobody is to go outside, please. George and Alex of course. And, yes, Giacomo.’
Giacomo, seated on a bench by the table, lifted a drowsy head from his folded arms. ‘Giacomo’s not going anywhere.’
Michael said: ‘Not me?’
‘No.’
‘Then why Giacomo?
Petersen was curt. ‘You’re not Giacomo.’
Petersen woke two hours later and shook his head to clear it. As far as he could tell only the indefatigable George, a beaker of beer to hand, and the three captives were awake. Petersen got up and shook the others.
‘We’re going shortly. Time for tea, coffee, wine or what you will and then we’re off.’ He started to feed cordwood into the stove.
Major Massamo, who had kept remarkably quiet since his gag had been taken off, said: ‘We’re going with you?’
‘You’re staying here. Bound, but not gagged – you can shout your heads off but no-one will hear you.’ He raised a hand to forestall a protest. ‘No, you won’t perish of cold during the long watches of the night. You’ll be more than warm enough until help comes. About an hour after we leave I’ll phone the nearest army post – it’s only about five kilometres from here – and tell them where you are. They should be here within fifteen minutes of getting the call.’
‘You’re very kind, I’m sure.’ Massamo smiled wanly. ‘It’s better than being shot out of hand.’
‘The Royal Yugoslav Army takes orders from no-one, and that includes Germans and Italians. When our allies prove to be obstructive we’re forced to take some action to protect ourselves. But we don’t shoot them. We’re not barbarians.’
A short time later Petersen looked at the three freshly-bound captives. ‘The stove is stoked, there’s no possibility of sparks, so you won’t burn to death. You’ll certainly be freed inside an hour and a half. Goodbye.’
None of the three prisoners said ‘goodbye’ to him.
Petersen led the way down the grassy steps and round the first corner. The truck was standing in a small clearing without a tree near it. Sarina said: ‘Ooh! A new truck.’
‘ “Ooh! A new truck”,’ Petersen mimicked. ‘Which
is exactly what you would have said when you’d come back to the hut after finding it. It’s as I say, you can’t trust babes in the woods. Major Massamo would just have loved to hear you say that. He would then have known that we had ditched the old truck and would have called off the hunt for the old truck – there must be a search under way by now – and, when freed, ask for a search for another missing truck and broadcast its details. It’s most unlikely, but it could have happened and then I’d have been forced to lumber myself with Massamo again.’
Giacomo said: ‘Someone might stumble across the old one?’
‘Not unless someone takes it into his head to go diving into the freezing Neretva River. And why on earth should anyone be daft enough to do that? I drove it off only a very small cliff but the water is deep there. A local fisherman told me.’
‘Can it be seen underwater?’
‘No. At this time of year the waters of the Neretva are brown and turgid. In a few months’ time, when the snow in the mountains melts, then the river runs green and clear. Who worries about what happens in a few months’ time?’
George said: ‘What kindly soul gave you this nice new model? Not, I take it, the Italian army?’
‘Hardly. My fisherman friend, who also happens to be the proprietor of the garage I stopped at on the way up here. The army has no local repair facilities here and he does the occasional repair job for them. He had a few civilian trucks he could have offered me but we both thought this was much more suitable and official.’
‘Won’t your friend be held answerable for this?’
‘Not at all. We’ve already wrenched off the padlock at the rear of the garage just in case some soldier happens by tomorrow, which is most unlikely, as it is Sunday. Come Monday morning, as a good collaborator should, he’ll go to the Italian army authorities and report a case of breaking, entering and theft of one army motor vehicle. No blame will attach to him. The culprits are obvious. Who else could it be but us?’
Partisans Page 10