by Anda Vranjes
“Knowing the odds were stacked against them, the Turks greatly outnumbered us and they had more and better weapons, Czar Lazar chose his fate.
“The next day, he told his men the choice that was presented to them. His soldiers chose honor. They all stepped forward to fight for what was theirs, for what was right, and die for it if necessary. The Czar and his soldiers were blessed by the Serbian Orthodox priests, took their final communion and went off into battle.”
Milos paused to drink from his flask. His face showed an odd combination of sadness and pride as he continued.
“They fought hard and gave their all, but they lost. Over seventy-seven thousand Serbian soldiers died that day in the Field of Blackbirds in Kosovo. It was one of the bloodiest days in their history and one of their proudest. Proudest because they fought, despite the certainty that they would all die in battle. They did not surrender and they died honorably.
“The battle was so ruthless that the green grassy field turned a deep shade of red from all of the blood. God rest their souls,” Milos said as he crossed himself. “And each year, thousands of roses, the color of blood, bloom across the ancient battlefield. A reminder from God of the sacrifice our ancestors made for Him.”
“But they lost.” O’Donnell thought of the Alamo. Similar outcomes, similar pride to never forget. “What happened to the survivors?”
“They became slaves of the Ottoman Empire for five hundred years. It was a tragic era in our history. One in which we stubbornly held onto our identity and our faith in God. But it was not easy.
“In Bosnia, for example, the Turks systematically took all of the first-born Serbian boys from their families and raised them in Turkey. Then they changed the boys’ names to sound Islamic and taught them Islam. They returned them to Bosnia as strangers to their own mothers, fathers, and faith.” He paused as he looked at O’Donnell.
“Imagine the pain in the mother’s heart at not even being able to recognize her own son. But by the Grace of God, we have been free of the Turks for over a century. And during the time of Ottoman occupation, we refused to allow our identity or our faith to succumb to them. We prayed to God and honored our saints in secrecy. And we NEVER forgot Kosovo. It is that spirit of Kosovo that keeps Serbian people alive. It is what keeps us fighting today.”
O’Donnell pretended to understand, but the reality was that he couldn’t fully understand the plight of these people because he had never had to fight for those things. As an American, he had always been blessed with the ability to choose and live free of these kinds of fears. It was something he took for granted, but he realized now that those freedoms that he had were precious. He didn’t think he would ever take even the simplest things for granted anymore.
“We will be stopping shortly. There you will find many more soldiers such as yourself.” Milos interrupted his thoughts. “We will stay there.”
“How many other soldiers are there?”
“Many. Just as we have found you, we have been finding Americans and other Allied soldiers across the country for months. We have been gathering them and keeping them safe, until they can be evacuated.”
“Has anyone made contact with our guys? Do they even know you have us?”
“Yes.”
“Where . . . when is the evacuation?” O’Donnell asked excited at the prospect of being rescued.
“There isn’t one. They refuse to come.”
“What do you mean they refuse to come?” Stunned, O’Donnell gaped at Milos.
“General Mihailovic has been sending messages letting them know that many have been rescued and that he would like to arrange an evacuation. But they have not responded.”
Were the allies getting the messages? O’Donnell guessed they probably were. It ate him straight to the gut, but he knew why they weren’t responding. They didn’t like Mihailovic. And probably didn’t believe him.
How many times did they emphasize to look for Tito’s Partisans? Heck, they painted Mihailovic and his Chetniks as a group of rugged monsters that would torture and kill any Allied soldier without batting an eye. They thought it was a set up. There would be no other reason to ignore the transmissions.
It might be too early to tell, but from all of the people he had met, including Slavko and Milos, he wondered how the Allies could have had it so wrong? These men weren’t monsters. They’d fed him and kept him safe and as comfortable as they could. An enemy, especially cold-blooded killers, wouldn’t go to those lengths. And according to Milos, and from what O’Donnell has seen with his own eyes, they considered the Germans the enemy. And they would fight the Germans until the last man.
“Do not worry. General Mihailovic has not given up. He will continue to try and make contact until he can evacuate you and your fellow soldiers. He is a great man of honor and a man of his word. If he has committed to getting you all out of Yugoslavia safely, then you can be sure that he will not rest until he has done it.”
O’Donnell didn’t know what to say. Their country was being torn apart on so many different levels, so he couldn’t understand how a man with so much responsibility for his own people could place such an emphasis on rescuing the very men who considered him an enemy.
The pre-dusk sky was a kaleidoscope of colors. The light cascaded through the thick forest of trees, creating a show of lights as the trees swayed in the light breeze. In the distance, O’Donnell could hear the explosions and gunfire from the battle raging nearby. It was almost comical to him that it could be so peaceful here and yet a war was being fought all around him.
It was a beautiful country. Green mountains took over the horizon, while deep forests and long grassy fields interchanged along the landscape. The simple villages completed the countryside with their concrete walls and tiled roof homes that were surrounded by farmland that was worked by the villagers.
Tragically, they had passed through several villages that no longer held that simple charm. Instead, they were now charred remains of buildings and farmland as the Germans, or Croatian Ustasha, attacked and wreaked devastation. Their enemies were vicious and showed no mercy.
“We will be arriving shortly.”
“OK. Where to after this stop? And is anyone going with us?”
“This is our last stop, Pranjane. That is where we have been hiding most of the American airmen. We hope this is the place from where you will eventually be rescued,” Milos answered.
O’Donnell’s hopes were rising, but only slightly. If they couldn’t convince the Allies that Mihailovich’s claims were legitimate, they might be stuck here until the war ended, or worse, until the Nazis found them.
O’Donnell looked towards the sky and made a silent plea to his friend, Jack. Buddy, if there were any time I could use a helping hand from you, this would be it. Not sure what you can do, but if you can get our guys in Italy to believe Mihailovich, I’d be forever grateful. He didn’t want to stay in Yugoslavia until the end of the war, and he definitely didn’t want to think about what the Nazis would do if they found him. All he could do was pray.
O’Donnell and Milos entered camp a short while later. When they got there, O’Donnell was dumbfounded. He’d seriously underestimated the number of soldiers he would find in Pranjane. When Milos said many, O’Donnell thought twenty or thirty. What he found was incredible! Not twenty or thirty, instead, it was hundreds of soldiers, mostly American!
Seeing O’Donnell’s shock, Milos explained that Mihailovich and his men had been rescuing the Allies for several months, from all over Yugoslavia. As the Chetniks found the men, they hid them from the Nazis, just as they hid O’Donnell. O’Donnell couldn’t fathom how they did it. To hide this many men from the Germans and still manage to fight the war around them, it was truly amazing.
Hoping to find someone from his crew, O’Donnell slowly scanned the groups of people. He recognized several of the men, but not one from his crew. Damn. He didn’t want to think what could have happened to them. He just hoped that they might have been rescued
and were on their way with a different group of Chetniks.
“Hey! O’Donnell?” shouted an American soldier, sitting across camp at a wooden table with a few other soldiers that O’Donnell didn’t recognize.
He walked over to the group, excited to have a fellow American to talk to. At first, he couldn’t recognize the soldier, whose face was covered by a full-grown bushy black beard. But as he got closer, he realized it was Staff Sergeant Mike Wallace. He didn’t know Sergeant Wallace very well, but they’d spoken a few times on base.
“Sergeant Wallace.” O’Donnell saluted. “It’s a relief to see you, sir.”
“At ease, Lieutenant. We’re pretty lax on formalities at this point.” Sergeant Wallace smiled. “Welcome to Pranjane.”
“I have to be honest, I think I am happy to be here.”
Sergeant Wallace burst out with a deep laugh. “Son, this is the best place to be, outside of Allied territory. As long as we continue to stay under the German radar, we are safe here. These guys,” he gestured to the four other bearded men sitting around the table, as well to those walking around the camp, “well, they’ve pretty much committed to keeping us safe until we get back home.”
O’Donnell looked at the men. They weren’t Allied soldiers. In fact, they were a formidable sight. Although they were sitting, O’Donnell could tell that the men were all very tall, probably at least six feet or more. They were wearing black wool hats with pins attached to the front. The pins were bearing the Royal Insignia of a two headed crowned eagle with a crest that had four C’s, backs facing each other, surrounding a cross.
“Sit! Drink!” said one of the men as he poured a small glass of the local favorite, plum brandy.
O’Donnell sat down and joined the men. He swallowed a large sip of the strong brandy. Squinting his eyes as the whiskey burned its way down his throat, he shook his head and started coughing. The Serbian soldier laughed and good-naturedly slapped him on the back.
“Good? Yes?” he asked.
“Yes!” O’Donnell choked.
“How long have you been on the ground?” asked Sergeant Wallace.
“A few weeks. We’ve been traveling by foot through the mountainside, stopping in the local villages to sleep and eat. How about you and the rest of the men?”
“Most of us have been here for several months. I’ve been downed just over three. It’s been a long three months and I’m about ready to get back.” He paused as he drank some of his plum brandy. He was tapping his fingers on the table as he looked fondly at the men seated at the table.
“That’s not to say that these guys haven’t gone out of their way to feed us and keep us safe. They have. In fact, outside of the fact that we are in the middle of a forsaken war, they’ve been mighty hospitable. But, I’d feel a lot better not being surrounded by the Nazis.
“What these people are doing for us is amazing. It’s crazy that our guys think they’re the enemy.”
“I’m having a hard time with that too. They’re nothing like the monsters they were made out to be. I practically jumped into the hands of the Germans as my plane went down. But these guys got me first. What happened to you?”
“Yeah, most of us have similar stories as to how we got here. Mine? Well, like you, we crash landed. A few of our guys were trapped in the plane. We tried to get them out, when a German patrol came by. Before the Nazis could capture us, a group of Chetniks came out of nowhere and held them off until we freed our men.”
Sergeant Wallace pointed to the man sitting across the table. He was young, barely sixteen. He stared at O’Donnell for a moment before he looked at Wallace. A small pride-filled smirk slowly emerged across his face as Wallace continued his story.
“Branko, here? He came out of the trees like a damn monkey, firing his rifle and surprised the heck out of those Germans. The Nazis didn’t see him nor the rest of them coming.
“The fighting was brutal. And the Chetniks suffered tremendous casualties that day, just to save us. It’s humbling to think of what they sacrificed. But they freed our men and got us out of there. And they’ve been by our side ever since.”
O’Donnell listened as Sergeant Wallace told him how even the peasants refused to tell the Nazis where the Americans were. The Nazis knew how many they were hiding, because they counted the parachutes as they came down. But the peasants wouldn’t turn over the Americans. And because they didn’t, the Nazis executed one peasant hostage, including women and children, for each American parachute they saw. The warning was clear: if they continued to hide the Allied airmen, they would execute that many more peasants until they were found. Regardless, the peasants still wouldn’t turn in the Americans.
“I witnessed Nazi brutality and what they’re capable of. But I didn’t see anything like that,” said O’Donnell. “It’s sick. They have no regard for human life.”
“I have no way of understanding the way the Nazis think. I just know we have to do whatever we can to stop them. And in the meantime, figure out a way to get out of here, so we can stop them once and for all.”
“How the heck are we going to do that, when Mihailovich’s messages aren’t getting through?” Looking over his shoulder, then at the men at the table, O’Donnell lowered his voice to a whisper, “And you know our guys are getting them. They’re just ignoring them because they don’t trust him. How are we going to get them to realize that he isn’t the enemy?”
“We’ve got some guys working on it with Mihailovic. Let’s hope their idea works.” Wallace replied as he stood up. “In the meantime, we have a debt to repay. If you’re up to it, come with us and let’s take down some Nazis.”
CHAPTER 10
WALLACE, O’DONNELL AND Branko ventured into the forest along with several other Serb and American soldiers. Scattered into small groups of two to three men each, they carried grenades, ammunition and rifles that they carefully hid beneath their clothing.
The Nazis relied heavily on the local trains to transport ammunition and fuel to their troops throughout Yugoslavia and the rest of Europe. As luck would have it, there was a train stopped nearby that was unloading supplies to the Nazis and it would be leaving the station shortly.
“There’s the station,” whispered Wallace. On cue, Branko slipped ahead of the groups and continued alone towards the station. The others spread out and hid in the trees and bushes. O’Donnell was amazed. Barely sixteen, and Branko was taking the lead on this mission.
Up above on the grassy and forested hill, they had a direct view of the station below. O’Donnell glanced at Wallace who was crouched next to him, keeping Branko in his view at all times.
“Stay down, O’Donnell. The element of surprise is our best offense. And you can’t get better at guerilla warfare than these guys. Just watch,” Wallace whispered.
Two Nazis casually patrolled the train and the station. They paused at the far end of the train to light their cigarettes. One leaned against a train car and lifted his head and exhaled the cigarette smoke while the other one crouched on the ground. They erupted in laughter at the obvious joke that passed between them. Realizing that he caught them at the right moment, Branko snuck around to the other side of the train and climbed to the top of the engine.
He lifted himself up and over into the car, careful to make as little noise as possible, then peeked over the top to make sure that they were still at the other end of the train. They were still taking their break, so Branko opened his bag and pulled out a grenade. But instead of pulling the pin and throwing it, he dug through the coal and hid the grenade about a third of the way down.
The Nazis threw their cigarette butts on the ground and started their leisurely walk back. They were still laughing from whatever story they had started earlier. Branko peeked over the top and saw that they were one car away. He quickly crawled out of the car and down the side and jumped onto the ground.
The Nazis stopped abruptly. Branko froze. He placed his hand on the rifle strapped across his back and slowly brought it forward. He h
eld his breath and waited to see what they would do next.
O’Donnell watched in horror as the Nazis suddenly stopped their slow walk back up the train line. He needed to create a diversion to give the kid a chance to get away. He tried to get up. But before he could move, Wallace raised his hand, shook his head and nodded toward the train. Not sure he completely understood, O’Donnell mouthed “Why?”
“Wait,” was all Wallace whispered.
The Nazis leaned in close to each other and pointed at the train. They crept forward and kneeled down to look underneath the car. Branko was a dead man if they found him. Ready to pounce, O’Donnell’s chest throbbed with the anxious beating of his heart.
Apparently unsatisfied, the Germans separated, one moving forward and the other going back the way they came. Branko hung upside down, his knees wrapped over the rungs of the ladder on the side of the car. He peeked underneath the train and watched them go in opposite directions. Taking his chances, he pulled himself up and quietly climbed to the ground.
He bolted into the woods. Just as he disappeared behind the trees, the Nazis rounded to the other side of the train. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, they continued their patrol, business as usual.
O’Donnell, Wallace and the others left their post and retreated back towards camp. O’Donnell scanned the hills for any sign of Branko.
“What about the kid?”
“He’ll be fine. This is what they do best,” Wallace replied.
“I thought we were going to take them down. Branko didn’t get to finish what he started.”
“The intention wasn’t to battle it out with them in an outright gunfight. Nor to blow up the train . . . right now. That would cause a backlash onto the local peasants. We need to avoid that as much as possible. This was better.