by Anda Vranjes
The German followed her gaze and spotted Milos. Before he could react, Milos jumped up, kicked the German’s gun away and threw the belt around his neck. The German struggled to get the belt off of his neck, but Milos’s surprise attack from behind gave him the advantage. The girl ran to her friends as O’Donnell came out from behind the bushes. He grabbed the Nazi’s gun, ready to use it if necessary.
After several minutes of struggling, the Nazi collapsed to the ground. Dead. Milos quickly took another flask, filled with plum brandy, and poured it into the German’s mouth.
“Quickly, we must drag him to the river and make it look as if he drank too much and then drowned in the river.” With that, Milos grabbed the man’s legs and dragged him towards the river that was raging not too far away. Confused, O’Donnell ran and picked up the dead German by his arms and the two carried him to the river and threw him in.
They returned to the girls who were tending to their friend. She wasn’t crying anymore. When she saw Milos and O’Donnell, she left her friends and slowly walked up to them.
“Hvala” She said quietly as tears streamed down her face. O’Donnell had heard the word enough to figure it meant “Thank you.” He nodded and said, “You’re welcome.” Milos asked her some things in Serbian. She shook her head side to side. Milos briskly checked her arms and her face. Her left eye had swollen to the size of a golf ball and had turned a dark shade of blue and black from the bruising. He instructed her and her friends to go back home and to stay there, as it was the safest place for them.
They thanked the men again, quickly grabbed their baskets and buckets, and ran back the way they had come.
“Why did you let it get that far?” O’Donnell demanded. “We could have just shot that jerk dead and he wouldn’t have had a chance to bruise up that poor girl like that.”
“Yes, we could have shot him.” Milos agreed. “But that shot would have been heard for miles.”
“So what, the Nazi’s would have found me? Or maybe not. We could have hidden from them. But at least that girl wouldn’t have been beaten. We could have saved her from that.
“You purposely let her get roughed up, didn’t you?”
Milos continued searching the ground for signs of struggle. Satisfied, he looked up at O’Donnell and smirked.
O’Donnell’s adrenaline was still running high. The Serb’s smirk pushed him over the edge. He pushed Milos as he continued, “You did! You ass! What they say about you Chetniks is true. You are sick.”
Caught off guard by the shove, Milos stumbled back and fell.
Angry now himself, Milos jumped to his feet and pushed O’Donnell back. Nose to nose, Milos replied, “If that is what you and your Americans think, so be it. But if we had alerted the other Germans, they would have come. They might not have found us, but they might have found those girls.
“And if they found one of their own dead, especially from a gunshot wound, they would not only have killed the girls. But they would have gone into their village and killed ninety-six more innocent Serbians there. For every German soldier that is killed, they kill one hundred Serbians. Not soldiers, but ANY men, women and children.” Milos pushed O’Donnell away in disgust.
“We are not the Partisans.” Milos spat out as he continued. “We don’t kill the Germans without any care or thought to the consequence to our own people. We don’t sacrifice our people for political advancement.” Milos paused and looked O’Donnell squarely in the eye.
“The Partisans kill Germans, knowing that the Germans retaliation is extreme and many more Serbs would die. They don’t care. They are more concerned with establishing Communism in our country and killing as many Chetniks as they can.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. He stepped back, never looking away from O’Donnell. With a combination of pride and weariness, he continued.
“The Germans are our common enemy. They have taken over our country and are terrorizing our people. We fight them in battles, and we will continue to fight until we have our country back and every vicious Nazi is off our land.
“We also attack the Germans, but in ways that try to preserve innocent Serbian lives from unnecessary death or torture from German retaliation. We are strategic. We are guerilla fighters and we use sabotage when we can to defeat them. When necessary we attack with all out war. But we try to defeat the enemy with minimal loss of Serbian lives in the process. That is the difference between us and those Partisans you have chosen as your allies.” Milos put his belt back on and fastened it.
“You may not understand or agree with our ways. But shooting that one German would have cost the lives of one hundred innocent girls like the ones we just saw. You may think I acted cowardly. But I did what was necessary for an entire village to survive.” With that, Milos turned and walked away. He stopped and turned back towards O’Donnell.
“We need to make it to the next village before dark. If we are going to do that, we must leave now. You can continue with me or you can go on your own, the choice is yours. But I would recommend coming with me. We are your only true allies here.”
Unsure of anything anymore, O’Donnell hedged his bets and followed Milos.
CHAPTER 8
THE COOL EARLY summer night air swirled around Petrovich as he sat outside, absently staring into space. Base activity never fully ceased, but at this time of night it was minimal. Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall and shoved his hands into his coat pockets to keep warm. Frustration and anger surged through him as he thought about O’Donnell.
Two weeks had passed and they still hadn’t heard from him. At least that was the “official” story. But Petrovich didn’t buy it. Not just because all of his instincts screamed that O’Donnell was alive, nor because he knew O’Donnell was one of their best. But because he overheard one of the OSS Agents, Captain George Vujnovich, arguing with a British SOE agent. And Petrovich later confirmed the story through his own contacts on base.
Evidently, there had been some transmissions coming in from Yugoslavia for the past several months from the fliers that had been shot down over the that time frame. But the British SOE agents were adamant that the transmissions were to be ignored. They were “confident” that the transmissions were Chetnik attempts to sabotage the Allies. But Captain Vujnovich disagreed.
The transmissions were coming from General Mihailovich and they were reporting that they had rescued several downed American airmen in Serbia. He was urging that arrangements be made to evacuate them by air. The British continued to ignore the requests.
Petrovich’s gut told him that those transmissions should be taken seriously and not ignored. They should find out for certain if there were men behind enemy lines. But there always seemed to be some SOE agents that were quick to dismiss any positive information about the Chetnik side. Like they had their own hidden agenda. Whatever that could be. Petrovich shook his head. He was becoming paranoid like them, second-guessing even his own allies on base.
The SOE’s position was painstakingly clear. Per British officials, if there were Allied men on the ground in Yugoslavia, the Chetniks were handing them over to the Nazis. And they didn’t believe there were as many Allied men on the ground as the Chetniks claimed.
They were determined that the transmissions, that were coming in suspiciously uncoded, were a Chetnik ploy to ambush the Allies if they went in for a rescue.
Regardless, Petrovich couldn’t understand how they could so easily dismiss the Chetnik claims. Those were American men, for God’s sake! And Vujnovich had enough intelligence through the OSS to be confident that the Chetniks were not planning an ambush.
In fact, Vujnovich and Captain George Musulin, another OSS Agent that had spent time in Yugoslavia with General Mihailovich, were just as adamant that the transmissions were real, and that there were downed airmen in Serbia, Yugoslavia. And that Mihailovich had rescued them and wanted to evacuate them. They were working on trying to get permission to go in and see for themselves. And that w
asn’t going well, at all.
Petrovich opened his eyes, took his hands out of his pockets, rubbed them together and blew warm air into them. Getting up, he stretched his hands high above his head. As he did, he saw a star shoot across the sky. At that exact moment, he decided he wouldn’t sit around any more. He was going to get some answers. And no one was going to stop him.
The next morning, Petrovich made a point to look for the one person who always seemed to know everything that was going on, regardless if it was public knowledge or not. He didn’t care if he didn’t particularly like Red. Sometimes you took one for the team. This was one of those times.
He found Red sitting with a group of British fliers and a few of their SOE agents. They were sitting around a table eating breakfast and talking. They didn’t have any flights going out this morning, so they were blowing off some steam.
Petrovich approached them casually, not wanting to look too eager. He couldn’t say why, but his instincts were always on high alert around Red and these men. But he needed reliable information and he didn’t want to give them any reason to hold back.
“Mornin’ men” Petrovich said as he with an exaggerated yawn.
“Goodness, Petrovich!” Red laughed, “you could swallow us whole with that enormous yawn! Not much sleep last night, I take it.”
“Nope. I tossed and turned all night. Having a hard time taking it in that O’Donnell hasn’t been in contact with us.” Petrovich looked away then added, “Just feels like we are deserting him and the others.”
Red glanced quickly at the SOE agent across from him. It was just a flicker, so fast that Petrovich almost missed it. Almost. So there was something there. Now he just had to figure out what that something was.
“That sounds quite accusatory. We don’t even know if he is alive. And if he is, where he might be. Can’t desert someone if we don’t have a bloody clue of his whereabouts or even if he is still amongst the living.” Red kept his eyes on Petrovich as he sipped his tea. “Unless you’ve heard something to the contrary?”
“Word around base is that there have been transmissions coming in from Yugoslavia - from Mihailovich’s camp. That he’s rescued some of our men and wants to arrange an air evacuation. Do you know anything about it?” Petrovich asked Red, but looked at the SOE agent as he asked. The agent’s gaze didn’t waiver from Petrovich. But the slight tick in his jaw gave him away.
“That’s rubbish for sure. Mihailovich is not our friend. If he has our men, he’s surely turning them over to the Germans.” Red shook his head, looked into his coffee cup and then continued, “As for arranging an evacuation, that would be suicide for anyone of us. They’d certainly ambush us.”
“I don’t know. How does that make any sense? What’s the point of ambushing one plane’s crew?” Petrovich contemplated out loud. They knew something. He was sure of it. “Not sure that’s it.”
“Petrovich, it’s quite honorable of you to be so devoted to your friend and hold on to hope that he’s alive and well with Mihailovic. We all hope he is alive. But the reality is that if the Chetniks were arranging a legitimate evacuation of Allied men, they would be coding their transmissions” the SOE agent with the tick interjected. “Any successful rescue would have to be through Tito, and only Tito. Mihailovich is our enemy.”
Red and the others all nodded in agreement. Petrovich hadn’t mentioned the uncoded transmissions and he wasn’t about to point that out. Now he was absolutely sure that they knew more than what they were letting on.
“True. I guess. But I’ve heard some of our OSS agents say otherwise. How can you be so sure that Tito has our men and Mihailovich doesn’t?”
“Those OSS agents you are referring to are irritatingly persistent on their quest to go to Mihailovich’s camp. Quite irritating, in fact. They are dead set on dropping in to his camp to verify for themselves whether or not he has them. They are insane for even thinking such rubbish. They would be walking into their own death traps.”
“Maybe. But what if they aren’t crazy? What if they have enough intelligence that says that the transmissions are true? Why aren’t we going in to see? Shouldn’t we be doing everything in our power to rescue our men? And if Tito has them, why hasn’t he contacted us too? Something just doesn’t make sense.”
The SOE agent’s tick returned at Petrovich’s last group of questions. Petrovich watched as the agent looked at the men seated around the table, pause briefly on Red, then look Petrovich directly in the eye.
“Lieutenant Petrovich, Tito is our ally in Yugoslavia. All of OUR intelligence suggests nothing to the contrary. We will not forsake our one and only ally in a volatile region such as Yugoslavia to proceed on a wild goose chase with our enemies.
“Yugoslavia is a hotbed of violent activity as we speak. In Croatia and Bosnia, there are the Ustasha who are viciously torturing and killing Serbs, Jews, and Gypsies by the hundreds of thousands. They are devoted to the Nazi/Fascist cause to a chilling extreme. Their agenda? An independent state of Croatia that is free of these three particular groups of people that they deem dirty and unworthy of life.” He shuddered as he paused.
“At times our intelligence tells us that they are WORSE than the Nazis! They are vicious monsters, skinning people alive, gouging out their eyes and other forms of sheer torture. And they are fulfilling their goal of eradicating the Serbs, Jews and Gypsies to a chillingly accurate degree. Thanks to Hitler himself, they finally have their own country and they will do anything to keep it.
“The Chetniks are fighting Tito and the Ustasha. The Ustasha are fighting the Chetniks. But Tito is the only one who is also fighting the Germans and the Italians. He is our only hope in that region. The rest can fight each other all day and night. They can kill each other off as far as we are concerned. Because if they fight each other, then, Tito can focus on helping us fight and defeat the Germans, win the war and free Yugoslavia.”
“Don’t be a fool, Petrovich.” Red added. “If Mihailovich has any of our men, they are doomed. And so would be anyone who would go in and try to arrange an evacuation plan with him. We just need to wait and when the time is right, go in and work with Tito to free any captured men. Sorry, my friend, but that is the reality of the situation. It is, as they say, the cold, hard truth. If O’Donnell is there, his only hope is Tito.”
O’Donnell’s heart raced as he realized that they had no intention of supporting any rescue mission. They were perfectly fine ignoring the calls for help from their own men in Yugoslavia, just because they came from the other camp. He struggled to keep his voice calm.
“I appreciate what you’re all telling me. But where I come from, you don’t just sit and wait for things to be easy before you go after what you want. If Mihailovich says he has them, then I strongly believe that we shouldn’t just ignore it and wait for Tito.” He picked up Red’s tea and drank. Looking Red in the eye, he set the cup down.
“From the looks of it, I’d say that Tito is your man. But from my perspective, anyone who is willing to save a friend or two of mine from the hands of the Nazis is my man. Regardless of whether he is a Partisan or a Chetnik. You ever think your intelligence just might be wrong?” he asked the SOE agent.
“No, I don’t, Lieutenant. I trust my colleagues in the field. To survive this war, we truly have no choice. Do we?”
“I guess not. But I’ve also learned that people can be duped and people make mistakes. And the one and only solid thing I can count on in every situation is my gut.” Placing his hands on the table he leaned in close to Red. “And my gut tells me that O’Donnell is safe. And that he isn’t with Tito, that he is with Mihailovich. That’s enough for me.” With that, he got up and walked out of the building.
He slipped on his jacket and sunglasses as he closed the door behind him. They may want to wait for their buddy Tito to make a move. But Petrovich wasn’t waiting around for that. They knew something and they weren’t talking. He was more determined than ever to find a way to get someone to arrange that
forsaken evacuation. And there wasn’t any time to lose.
CHAPTER 9
THEY WALKED FOR weeks, only stopping to sleep in tiny villages ripped apart by war. The villagers were amazing, O’Donnell admitted to himself. Despite the devastation they’d endured, they made a point to go out of their way to greet him, make him comfortable, and feed him. Then to top it all off, they’d do generous things like give up their beds to give him a soft place to sleep. The kindness was never ending.
They were enduring heart-wrenching struggles. Even with barely enough food to feed themselves, they were still adamant about feeding him first. Just like Milka and her family, they would only eat after they felt that he had enough, and that usually meant scraps for their families.
The war had turned their lives upside down - again. World War I had demolished their country. The death and destruction were enormous-so was the bitter hatred for the Germans because of it. They had just begun to rebuild their lives, to move forward with their families. Then Hitler decided to plow through and essentially take over their country-without their permission. They refused to let him take it without a fight. And boy, were they fighting!
According to Milos, from the very beginning, when Hitler tried to force young King Peter into a pact, a wave of rebellion flowed through the countryside. People were rioting and shouting, “Bolje rat nego pakt! Bolje grob nego rob!” (A war is better than the pact! Better to be in the grave than to be their slave!) And they vowed to fight until the very last man.
“The Balkans,” Milos boasted, “have a history of war.” He wasn’t proud of the wars, but he was proud of the way his ancestors had reacted during those wars. Honor was a word he used often in his descriptions. And then there was the Battle of Kosovo.
“Over five hundred years ago,” Milos explained, “in June of 1389, the battle for Kosovo took place between the Christian Serbs and the Islamic Ottoman Turks. Legend has it that Serbian Czar Lazar was visited by an Angel the night before the battle and presented the Czar with a choice. He could forfeit the battle and submit to the Turks for a Kingdom on Earth. Or fight the Turks and be assured a reward in the Kingdom of Heaven.