‘Of course I am not a Communist,’ Elena snapped.
‘Then what are you doing here?’
‘I am a refugee from Belgrade. With my friends.’
‘Tell them to come outside.’
‘To be shot?’
‘If they are truly your friends, and can explain what they are doing here, they will not be shot.’
Elena made a face at Tony, but there was no alternative, so he nodded. She stepped through the doorway into the midst of some twenty men, whose expressions reminded Tony of wolves.
‘Us too,’ he said. ‘But leave the talking to Elena and me.’
He went outside.
‘This man is armed,’ Pavelic said.
‘Of course he is armed,’ Elena said. ‘Captain Davis is an officer in the British army.’
‘British army officers do not wear beards,’ Pavelic said.
‘And I wouldn’t, if I had a razor,’ Tony said.
Pavelic looked him up and down. It was obvious that Serbo-Croat was not Tony’s native tongue. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I was a military attaché at the embassy in Belgrade,’ Tony said. ‘When the embassy was evacuated following the invasion, I was separated from my comrades, so I decided to get out of Belgrade – with Miss Kostic.’
‘He is my betrothed,’ Elena said proudly.
‘You, and a British officer?’ Pavelic looked from one to the other, clearly amazed. Tony could only hope he was not going to say something stupid. But his attention had been caught by Sandrine. ‘And this one?’
‘I am a French journalist,’ Sandrine said. ‘Sandrine Fouquet.’
‘You are Vichy?’
‘Yes, I am Vichy.’
‘Then what are you doing here? You are a neutral. There was no reason for you to leave Belgrade.’
‘She is my friend,’ Elena said. ‘And the Germans tried to rape her.’
Pavelic stroked his moustache, then looked at Ivkov. ‘And who are you claiming to be?’
‘I am Ivkov, the bath-keeper.’
Pavelic frowned. ‘Ivkov. That is the name of the mayor.’
‘He was my brother.’
Pavelic gave a cold smile. ‘Then you had better join him.’ He snapped his fingers, and his men hurried to surround the bath-keeper.
‘You’ll not touch this man,’ Tony said.
Pavelic turned to him. ‘Do you suppose you can give me orders?’
Tony thought quickly, and decided that only arrogance – of which Elena had once accused him – would carry the day here. ‘I am your superior officer.’
‘You? A captain?’
‘Elena was mistaken. My rank is colonel.’ With his tunic and all his papers gone, there was no way of disproving his claim. ‘What is your rank, Mr Pavelic?’
‘Me? I am a commander in the Ustase. I am the commander of the Ustase.’
‘As I understand it,’ Tony said, ‘the Ustase is not a military body. It is a secret society devoted to murder and mayhem.’ He looked around at the scattered corpses, now slowly being concealed by the gathering darkness. ‘As you have demonstrated here today. You, Mr Pavelic, have no military standing, and no right to be here, other than as a condemned criminal.’
Everyone stared at him, including Pavelic himself. The two women were obviously holding their breaths. Well, he was only breathing himself by an act of will.
Pavelic pulled himself together. ‘My military standing is the hundred men I have at my back, Colonel Davis. As for my right to be here, orders were given to me by the German commander in Belgrade to seek out and destroy all Communist nests that can be discovered.’
‘You admit to being a collaborationist?’
‘A collaborationist? My people have no quarrel with the Germans. Rather, we see them as allies, who will free Croatia from Serbian rule and restore its former glory.’
‘If you believe that, then you are as stupid as you look,’ Tony said.
Pavelic flushed. ‘I can shoot you now,’ he said. ‘And no one would be any the wiser.’
‘Are you going to shoot Miss Kostic too? She is a fellow Croat.’
The two men glared at each other. Then Pavelic said, ‘You still have not explained what you are doing here, in a Communist enclave.’
‘When we left Belgrade,’ Elena said, ‘we made our way into these hills. Our intention was to make our way north, into Croatia. But we needed food, and some shelter. So when Ivkov told us his brother was mayor of a village in this vicinity, we decided to come here.’
‘There are elements of the Yugoslav army in these hills. Did you not seek shelter with them?’
‘We saw no Yugoslav soldiers,’ Elena said. Her ability to lie with complete conviction was amazing.
‘So you sought shelter with the Communists. Because you are Communists yourselves.’
‘That is nonsense. How can a British colonel be a Communist?’
She had made a telling point; Pavelic scratched his ear.
‘We did not know these people were Communists,’ Elena added.
Pavelic turned to Ivkov. ‘You did not know your brother was a Communist?’
‘I did not know this. I have not seen my brother in years.’
Pavelic turned back to Tony. ‘And what were you hoping to do in Croatia?’
‘In the first instance, marry Elena.’
Elena gave a happy giggle.
‘And in the second, get out of the country. With my wife.’
‘And her?’ Pavelic jerked his head at Sandrine, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.
‘She must stay with us.’
‘Because she was raped?’
‘I was not raped,’ Sandrine said with dignity. ‘He tried to rape me.’
‘And you kept your legs pressed together,’ Pavelic sneered.
‘I shot him,’ Sandrine said quietly.
Well, Tony reflected, the one burst she had fired from her tommy-gun might have hit one of the men who had been assaulting her.
Pavelic gazed at her in consternation.
‘So if the Germans catch her, they will hang her,’ Elena pointed out.
‘They will tear her apart,’ Pavelic suggested. ‘And you say she is a journalist.’ For the first time he looked at the massacre he had commanded.
‘Quite,’ Tony said. ‘I think we need to discuss this.’
‘Discuss what?’
‘At the very least, Mr Pavelic, you have committed a horrendous crime, for which you may well be indicted after the War.’
‘After the War, I shall rule Croatia.’
‘I have an idea that the British and French governments, not to mention the reconstituted Yugoslav one, may have something to say about that.’
Pavelic snorted. ‘They are defeated, yesterday’s men. The only people with whom I shall have to deal are the Nazis.’
‘Who commissioned you to carry out this slaughter, so that they would not be embroiled with their Russian allies.’
Pavelic frowned at him.
‘However,’ Tony said, ‘I have no doubt that you have written orders from the German commander in Belgrade authorising this business, or perhaps instructing it.’
‘Of course I do not. Orders such as these are never written down.’
‘Hm. Then I strongly advise that you consider what your position will be when the Soviets inquire as to what happened here. They will learn of it, you know, if only when one of their other cells inquires after their comrades and discovers they are all dead. I think you need to determine which will be considered the more important to the Nazis – supporting you, or maintaining their alliance with Russia?’
Pavelic continued to stare at him, his expression indicating that these were aspects of his situation he had not previously considered.
‘However,’ Tony went on, ‘if you were to possess some mitigating evidence, for example if you were to say that you were fired upon as you approached the village . . .’
‘Of course we will say that.’
&n
bsp; ‘But who is going to believe you, Mr Pavelic? You will need corroboration, and that can only come from a neutral or even potentially hostile source, such as Mademoiselle Fouquet, and myself, and Ivkov here, who has just watched his brother being murdered.’
‘You expect me to trust you?’
‘In exchange for our lives, we would give our words. We will give you written statements, if you wish.’
Pavelic considered for a few minutes longer, but Tony had no doubt he had gained a victory, or at least a respite.
‘I will consider your offer,’ the Ustase commander said at last. He turned to his men. ‘Prepare to evacuate this place.’ Already the stench of death was driving away the fresh mountain air. ‘We will make camp for the night further down the valley.’
‘You mean we are free to go?’ Elena asked optimistically.
‘You will accompany us,’ Pavelic said. ‘Until I decide what to do with you.’ Again his gaze drifted over to Sandrine. ‘Until I have talked with you some more.’
*
They were crammed into the back of one of the trucks, together with its complement of Ustase gunmen and also three of the girls. They were virtually sitting on top of one another, and were jostled against each other as the truck bumped and bounced over the uneven surface. The Serb girls moaned and groaned as their captors continued to play with them; they had been stripped of their clothing.
‘Those bastards,’ Elena said, speaking French. ‘What are they going to do with them when they are finished?’
‘That’s not something to be thought about,’ Tony said. His entire brain seemed to be consumed by a white-hot fury, made worse because it was an impotent fury. Even if he might be tempted to sell his own life dearly while taking as many of these murdering fiends with him as he could, he couldn’t contemplate what would happen to his own women were he not here to protect them.
But was it not going to happen anyway?
‘Are we going to get away?’ Elena asked.
‘It’s something we need to work on.’
‘It has to be done quickly,’ Elena said. ‘That arch-bastard Pavelic has designs on Sandrine.’
‘Yes,’ Tony said grimly.
‘Don’t bother about me,’ Sandrine said. ‘I will survive. Even him.’
Tony tried to look at her – the sentiment was not one he would ever have expected to hear from her lips – but her face was indistinct in the darkness. Yet there could be no doubt that Pavelic did intend to get his hands on her . . . and again, there was nothing he could do about it.
The trucks stopped, remaining in the centre of the road, and there was well-disciplined activity as the men disembarked, tents were pitched and sentries were posted. Within minutes a fire was blazing and goat meat – the gunmen had taken the opportunity to kill several of the animals – was roasting over it, while jugs of rough but drinkable wine were being passed around. The Ustase were certainly capable of relaxing.
Pavelic sat with them to eat. He seemed in a high good humour. ‘I have been considering the situation,’ he said, ‘and I think my best course is to take you into Belgrade and hand you over to the Germans. Do not be alarmed. They will send you to Germany as a prisoner of war.’
‘How exciting,’ Tony commented. ‘And my wife?’
‘Your fiancée, you mean? Well, she will have to remain in Yugoslavia for the duration of the war. I think her best bet is to continue into Croatia. She may accompany me when I return there.’
‘Her parents live in Belgrade.’
‘Her parents have disappeared. I was in that area of the city only a few days ago. Their house is relatively undamaged, but is shuttered up. No one knows where they have gone, but it is most likely that they also have gone to Zagreb. Elena will be able to link up with them there.’
‘There was also a brother.’
‘Svetovar. Yes. A somewhat erratic young man.’
‘He was in the Yugoslav army.’
‘Well, if he has any sense, which I doubt, he will have deserted by now and made his way up to Zagreb as well. That is where all true Croats should go. Anyway, I have said that I will see your fiancée to safety.’
‘And Ivkov?’
Pavelic shrugged. ‘He can go back to being the bath-keeper. Now, will you write this paper stating that we were fired upon by the Divitsar people, and were forced to respond?’
‘No,’ Tony said.
Pavelic raised his eyebrows.
‘I said I would give you that paper in return for the freedom of my people and myself. I don’t regard being sent to Colditz as being set free. However, I do intend to inform the world of the massacre you have just perpetrated.’
‘I am trying to help you. Can you not understand that?’
‘Your help would leave me feeling dirty for the rest of my life.’
‘But if I set you free—’
‘Some things are worth being dirty for.’
Pavelic pointed. ‘Because you are a cheat and a liar. If I were to set you free, you would still denounce me and claim your paper was a falsehood.’
Tony grinned at him. ‘We have a saying in England, that all is fair in love and war.’
Pavelic snorted and stood up. ‘And do you not realise that if I did set you free, you would die very rapidly? In these mountains, with every man’s hand against you, you would not survive twenty-four hours.’
‘That’s surely my problem. Our problem.’
‘Bah. Give me your gun.’
Tony hesitated, but he was surrounded by watching men. At least the Ustase had not thought to search Elena’s satchel, he reflected. He drew his revolver and handed it over.
‘Good,’ Pavelic said. ‘Now you will not be tempted to do anything stupid, eh? Now, you . . .’ He pointed at Sandrine, seated a few feet away. ‘Come with me.’
‘Now wait a moment,’ Tony said. ‘She was part of the deal.’
‘But now we have no deal, Englishman.’
Sandrine got up. ‘Do not concern yourself, Tony. He only means to fuck me.’ She gave a twisted smile. ‘Have I not been fucked before?’
Tony felt Elena’s hand on his arm. She wasn’t prepared to risk his life to save Sandrine some discomfort. He nearly shrugged her away and went for Pavelic anyway as the Ustase commander gave a contemptuous smile and led Sandrine away into the darkness, but then common sense came to his rescue.
Was it common sense, or cowardice? He did not think he was a coward. He had never been aware of fear before, of either death or serious injury. And throughout this disastrous period of his life, and the life of Yugoslavia, he had endeavoured to keep his sense of perspective, his sense of responsibility to the three people who had entrusted themselves to his care . . . It would certainly be irresponsible to get himself killed in a dispute over a woman.
What was clouding his mind was the fact that the woman was Sandrine, that the thought of her lying naked in the arms of another man was like a knife twisting in his gut . . . and that he was not sure he would have felt this deeply had Pavelic chosen Elena to be his bedmate.
Elena continued to squeeze his arm. ‘She will survive,’ she assured him. ‘As I would survive.’
He wasn’t sure whether or not she could read his thoughts, and was grateful for the darkness.
*
The sentries were changed, and the camp settled for the night.
‘You come in here, eh?’ invited one of the Ustase gunmen, gesturing at the flap of the nearest tent. From the sounds within at least one of the captured Serb women was already inside.
‘We’ll bivouac,’ Tony told him. It was a fine night, moonless but clear of cloud.
The man shrugged, and went into the tent. Most of the other men were also in tents, although some chose to sleep in the open. Ivkov curled himself into a ball and appeared to go immediately to sleep. More and more he made Tony think of a large, helpless dog.
Elena snuggled against Tony, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘What is going to happen?’ she asked in a whis
per.
‘You heard the man.’ He could not stop himself from thinking about Sandrine.
‘I do not wish you to be sent to prison.’
‘Join the club.’
‘I do not wish us to be separated.’
‘Snap. But—’
‘Listen. I am sure, when everyone is asleep, we could sneak out of here.’
‘We’d never get past the sentries.’
‘I still have my pistol.’
‘I don’t think one pistol and a dozen rounds of ammunition is going to work very well against a hundred men armed with tommy-guns. Anyway, we can’t possibly abandon Sandrine.’
She digested this for some minutes. ‘You fucked her, didn’t you.’
‘You told me I could,’ he countered.
‘And now you do not wish her to be fucked by anyone else.’
‘Well . . . I regard her as my responsibility. All of you,’ he added hastily.
‘She is very beautiful,’ Elena said.
‘Well . . .’
‘Far more beautiful than I am.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
There was another short silence. Then she asked, ‘Are you really going to marry me?’
‘Of course,’ he said fiercely.
She seemed reassured, and a few moments later he heard her snoring gently. How ambivalent could you be? he wondered. But it really was irrelevant, at least until he could think of some way of getting out of this mess – together – and at the moment he couldn’t think of any. Tomorrow they would return to Belgrade, and then . . . There had to be a way, but right now . . .
He realised he was too tired to think straight, and, although he had been a soldier all of his adult life, he was still shocked by the cold-blooded murder of over a hundred people, of whom a good twenty had been small children. When he thought of that his blood started to boil all over again, and even more at the way he had been forced to stand by and watch it happen, simply to protect the women . . . who were now beyond protecting.
He slept, without meaning to, and awoke with a start from a nightmare as a hand touched his arm. He gazed right into Sandrine’s eyes.
*
Her face was as calm as always. He recalled that even when weeping or moaning in pain, her face had remained essentially composed.
He sat up, and she touched her lips with her finger.
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