by Anda Vranjes
At their approval, the airman sat in front of the radio. He said a silent prayer then sent the transmission. Now all they had to do was sit back and hope that the Americans in Italy would decipher it and rescue them. And fast.
CHAPTER 12
“Mudcat Driver to CO, APO 520. 150 Yanks are in Yugo. Shoot us workhorses. Ask British about job. Our challenge first letter of bombardier’s name, color of Banana Nose Benignos Scarf.”
THE MESSAGE, ALONG with strings of numbers, came through on the all-American link. So an American intelligence officer took on the task of decoding it.
He shut his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. When he opened them, he ran through the words again, looking for a pattern. It took epic concentration to determine the nature of the words and numbers. He scanned the transmission over and over again, focusing until a pattern emerged.
He jumped at the pounding on the door and lost his train of thought.
“Go away!” he shouted and focused back on the transmission. A few minutes later, the door opened and a fellow US Airman walked into the room.
“Why is it that when I need some peace and quiet to put my damn thoughts together, the entire airbase decides they need to walk in and out of this room!” The intruder winced and quickly retreated from the room.
Frustrated by the constant interruptions, he yanked open the door and looked for his secretary. “Do not interrupt me for any reason. Unless it is an officer that outranks me, tell whoever comes by that I’m busy.” He slammed the door and turned the lock.
He sat down at his desk and scratched his head as he dissected the message. Where did he leave off ? The pattern he found moments before had faded.
The numbers meant something. He just knew it.
He broke them apart again, putting them into various patterns. Did they represent letters? If they did, he couldn’t see it. What were they?
Deciding to step away for a minute, he poured a cup of thick, stale coffee. Hopefully, the caffeine would kick start his brain again. Sipping the hot liquid, he peered out the window. As always, the base was busy with activity. War. Never a day’s rest for a soldier.
Soldiers. They were all name, rank, and serial number. That’s it, he thought. Serial numbers! The numbers had to be serial numbers. Putting his theory to test, he bolted back to his desk and grabbed the transmission. He was right.
The serial numbers identified the soldiers. That was a huge breakthrough. But there were still other numbers in between the serial numbers. What did they represent?
“OK. I know who you are. Now I just need to figure out the rest. What are you telling us?” he gnawed on his pencil as he ran through different scenarios.
“The serial numbers tell us that you’re our guys. I got that. But where are you?” He closed his eyes. His eyes flew open as it dawned on him. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
He crossed out the serial numbers. Scanning the remaining numbers and saw the pattern. They were coordinates. They had the serial numbers of the soldiers and the latitude and longitude of their location!
He jumped from the desk and scrambled for the door. It wouldn’t open and he remembered he had locked it earlier. He struggled with the lock until it finally opened and bolted out of the room to look for the commander of the 459th Bomb Group, Major Christi. He found him with Petrovich.
“Sir, the numbers are serial numbers separated by the coordinates of their location. I’m still working on the rest.”
“Good work, officer. Let me take a look at that.” Major Christi took the transmission and read it. His eyes widened as a grin spread across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. ‘Mudcat Driver? Banana Nose Benigno?’ Those are my men!”
* * *
“It’s been three days since we sent that last message, and they still haven’t responded. Maybe they couldn’t break the code,” said O’Donnell. He was sitting under a tree with Wallace and Branko. The afternoon breeze drifted around them, softly rustling the leaves above.
“Either that or they are still ignoring us,” Wallace replied. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. He linked his hands behind his head and leaned back against the tree trunk. “We can only pray that someone tries to figure it out. Eventually, if for nothing else, out of sheer curiosity.”
O’Donnell sat cross-legged in the field, and chewed on a blade of grass as he thought about their situation. It was starting to look like they might never get rescued. And every day they spent hidden by the Chetniks was riskier than the day before.
It’d been months. Eventually, the Germans would discover them. The war couldn’t go on forever. And if, God forbid, they lost, what would happen to all of them-including the Serbs who risked everything to help them? He shuddered at the thought.
“Cold?” asked Wallace.
“No, just thinking about this mess, that’s all. It looks like we may never get out of here. And if the Germans find us, what will happen to the Serbs for helping us?”
“That’s why WE have to win this war. All we can do is keep trying and, in the mean time, do what we can to defeat the Nazis. As for the message, they’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
Branko laid in the grass with his hands behind his head and quietly whistled a tune as he stared up into the sky. After several minutes, he stood and stretched his hands high above his head. He looked down at O’Donnell and Wallace. “Eat?” he asked.
“Might as well,” said O’Donnell. “I know they are working on another sabotage against the Nazis. Let’s eat and then see what we can do to help.”
They walked back to camp in silence. Uncertainty weighed deeply on them. As soldiers, they were trained to survive. They knew that being shot down in enemy territory was a risk they all took. They also knew they had it much better than any of them could have anticipated. And they were all more than grateful.
But even with the extreme hospitality the Serbian villagers and Chetniks showed them, they still wished for an Allied rescue. They wanted to get back to base and eventually go home. Every day they didn’t get discovered by the Germans was a blessing. But how long could their luck hold out?
Branko slapped O’Donnell on the back and put his arm around his shoulder. O’Donnell looked at the young soldier and laughed. “OK, young Chetnik. Let’s eat.”
* * *
The downed American soldiers sat around the radio and wished for a response from their last transmission. It had been a few days and they were losing hope by the hour. The anxious silence in the room was interrupted by the loud voice over the radio.
“Standby for aircraft, 31 July, 2200 hours...”
Chairs flew back across the room as the American officers jumped out of them and scrambled outside to share the good news with the rest of the camp.
“They heard us! They got our message!” they shouted with joy. “They are sending an aircraft!”
A nearby officer whooped loudly, waving his hat in the air. The others laughed and joined in. Some cried tears of joy at the thought of going home. The rest of the soldiers hugged and cheered as the news cascaded. All across camp, men toasted each other with their new favorite drink, Slivovitza.
“Yes!” cheered Wallace. “Our boys are coming to get us, O’Donnell. It’s just a matter of time now.” He grabbed O’Donnell and hugged him hard.
“It sure is!” he replied, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. He put his arm around Wallace’s shoulder and looked around. Everyone was celebrating!
Wallace laughed as he watched the excitement around them. “You’d think the Serbs just won the war! They are about as happy as we are!”
“It’s humbling, isn’t it? I wonder what would happen if they were in a similar situation in the States?”
“I’d like to think we would do the same for them,” Wallace replied.
O’Donnell let go of Wallace and put his hands in his pockets. He watched as the men continued to celebrate. They had a long way yet to go. They still had to get past
the Nazis. But even with that threat, this was the best news any of them have heard in a very long time.
Branko walked over and handed O’Donnell and Wallace a small cup each. With a wide smile, he winked at them as he filled each cup with a small amount of Slivovitza.
“You think we can get this stuff back home?” O’Donnell asked Wallace as they drank.
“I sure hope so.”
“So,” O’Donnell continued after his drink, “the allies know we’re here. Now how the heck are they going to get us out?”
CHAPTER 13
O’DONNELL WOKE UP earlier than usual. He’d tossed and turned the entire night as he obsessed about the potential rescue. He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the early morning rays of dawn to filter through his window.
When dawn finally arrived, he dressed and stepped outside. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. Several soldiers, both Serbian and American, were up and about. It seemed that everyone was too excited to worry about lack of sleep.
O’Donnell saw Wallace and Branko drinking coffee at a nearby table and joined them.
“Good morning. I guess you had a hard time sleeping too,” O’Donnell said to Wallace as he sat next to him on the wooden bench.
“Too excited, I suppose.” Wallace carefully sipped his coffee. “Branko says that General Mihailovic has decided to pay us a visit. He heard the news and wants to be here to help coordinate things. I guess he’s supposed to be here later this morning.”
“I wonder what he’s like,” O’Donnell muttered. He could only imagine General Mihailovich. After all, he was the commander of over three hundred thousand troops. O’Donnell pictured him as highly egotistical - barking out orders and demanding the peasants and soldiers to run to his beck and call.
Even worse, this was the man that went from being a highly regarded freedom fighter - revered enough to be on the cover of Time Magazine as the ultimate symbol of freedom - to being classified as a ruthless enemy in the span of just a few years. Which description depicted the real Mihailovic?
O’Donnell thought of the Chetnik soldiers and people that he had encountered from the very first day he was shot down in Yugoslavia. Milka and her brothers, Slavko and Anda, the old woman, Milos, Branko and all of the countless villagers and soldiers along the way.
They were also a part of Mihailovic. For O’Donnell, that was enough to create a curiosity about Mihailovic that was short of obsession. He wanted to meet the man that inspired so much loyalty, and yet so much controversy, all at the same time.
He didn’t have to wait long. Mihailovic arrived about an hour later. He walked into Pranjane, his sack on his back and surrounded by dozens of laughing children who blatantly adored him. He patted one of the children on the head as the child spoke to him with a lot of enthusiasm. He smiled at the child as he replied to him. The child grinned from ear to ear and saluted the General.
Mihailovic was average height and had a wiry build. His blue eyes twinkled from behind his horn-rimmed glasses as he spoke to the children. They laughed at whatever he said and continued to follow him into camp. He scratched his salt and pepper beard as he spoke to them. His military stature was evident in the officer’s uniform he wore. Ironically, there was a certain underlying strength that seemed to emanate from him that was not diminished by the humble demeanor he displayed towards the children and the peasants that gathered around him.
The crowd of peasants continued to grow. He waved one of his soldiers over and spoke quietly to him. The soldier chuckled and nodded in response. General Mihailovic smiled at his soldier and shook his hand. The soldier walked away, beaming from the General’s words.
“He isn’t what I expected, that’s for sure,” observed O’Donnell.
“What did you expect? Horns and a tail?” Wallace laughed in response.
“Not really sure, to be honest. I guess I thought he’d at least be driven in by some of his men. And I figured he’d be a lot more, I don’t know, rigid.”
“I’ve heard that he believes respect is earned, not demanded or forced,” Wallace replied. “And from what I’ve gathered while I’ve been here is that he has definitely earned their respect.”
His interpreter introduced Mihailovic to the American airmen. After introductions, they all proceeded to the nearby field where the Chetniks entertained the General and Americans with songs and dance.
“Chicha Drazha!” men called out to Mihailovic as they greeted him or asked him a question.
“What does that mean?” asked O’Donnell.
“Uncle Drazha. It’s what the people and his men call him.”
Afterwards, the American airmen gathered with General Mihailovic nearby. He sat on a rock and looked out at the unshaved American soldiers that surrounded him. The General shifted his gaze towards the heavens as he gathered his thoughts.
With the help of his interpreter, he told the Americans, “I admire Americans and the freedom loving principles and ideals that America offers. I hope that one day ALL of the people of Yugoslavia will one day again enjoy all those very same freedoms.
“I am disappointed that the Allies have forsaken us. I am fairly sure that the British are the ones who have pushed for the mistaken support of Tito. I am also well aware of the false reports that Tito has been broadcasting about my men and me. It makes me furious to hear those lies. But I am not surprised.”
He paused for a moment then looked at each of the airmen, holding their gazes for emphasis, “I know my people and as such, I know they have taken care of each of you. That is our way. When you go back to America, please tell everyone the truth about the Chetniks and our homeland. Do not allow Tito’s and Stalin’s lies to prevail.
“How strange,” he continued with watery eyes, “the bitter ironies of war. I am slaughtering thousands of German troops, fighting for the freedom of my people while Tito has befriended the Nazis for his own gain. He deceives the Allies with the help of Stalin. And as such, he is now the favored one in Yugoslavia and I have somehow become the enemy.
“However, I have not lost all hope. We will continue to resist the Nazis as we have done throughout this war. We have no choice if we are to survive as a people and as a nation.” He paused as he took off his round wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. He replaced the eyeglasses and continued. “And it is my hope that the Allied nations will see the error they have made, and that they will return their support to us.”
O’Donnell was speechless. This man is still loyal to us?
Mihailovic admitted that he had made mistakes and that he had some regrets. However, every decision, every act was made with the intention of ridding his country of the Nazis and their Axis partners and to ensure that Yugoslavia would remain a free country.
“As for the evacuation, we will turn the field, that we used earlier for entertainment, into an airstrip. I will have over eight thousand of my men surrounding it within twenty-four hours. If the Nazis somehow discover the evacuation, my men can hold them off until you are evacuated.
“As for logistics. There are approximately six thousand Nazi troops stationed about twelve miles away at the city of Cacak.” At this, many of the airmen groaned.
“Don’t be concerned,” assured General Mihailovic. “The Nazis may be far better armed, but they would have trouble maneuvering the difficult mountainous terrain in their vehicles. And to resort to hill fighting would be to their disadvantage.” He paused as he looked out at his Chetniks. And then with pride he added, “Because when it comes to fighting in the these mountains and hills, my men are by far the best.”
“Woohoo! Yea!” cheered the men.
“We get started in the morning,” concluded Mihailovic.
Everyone dispersed. The General stood and greeted the airmen individually. Many asked him to sign different pieces of memorabilia. Some offered their thoughts on the current situation, others their apologies and all offered their assurances that they would go back and tell the truth about him and his Chetniks.
The General invited O’Donnell and several others to join him for dinner at a nearby farmhouse. The family who lived there welcomed them all in and seated them while they brought out food and placed it on the table in front of them. To celebrate, their son grabbed his accordion and began playing festive Serbian songs.
Everyone was singing and dancing and toasting to victory.
“Zivio!” toasted the owner of the farmhouse as he clinked his glass with O’Donnell’s.
O’Donnell laughed as a few of the Americans attempted to dance the traditional Serbian dance known as kolo. They held hands with the locals and tried to follow the complicated steps of the dance. As the Americans hopped their way among the peasants, General Mihailovic leaned towards O’Donnell.
“Tell me about your family,” he said through his interpreter. O’Donnell told him about his mother, father, brother and sister.
“I have a fellow airman who I consider to be my brother,” O’Donnell continued. “His name is Petrovich.”
“Petrovich? How ironic that your friend is a Serb! That is something we can toast to.” The General laughed as he lifted his glass.
“He is ethnically Serbian, but a true blue American soldier. I think you’d be proud to know him.”
“Maybe one day I will have the honor. Now tell me, what are your plans when this war is over?” he asked with sincere interest.
After an evening of singing, dancing, and toasting to victory, O’Donnell collapsed onto his bed and replayed the events of the evening in his head. General Mihailovic had spent most of the evening engaged in conversation with the Airmen.
He also shared pieces of himself that O’Donnell found intriguing. Although Mihailovic was confident in his actions and decisions, he still had regrets as to how he had handled various situations. He reiterated his deep hurt that the Allies viewed him as an enemy – and his astonishment that they viewed Tito as their only ally in Yugoslavia.