Betrayed Valor

by Anda Vranjes

  O’Donnell also saw the anger in his eyes when he spoke about the Partisans. There was definitely no love there. Interestingly, Mihailovic mentioned that if the Partisans and the Chetniks had joined forces to fight the Nazis, their combined strength would have liberated Yugoslavia from the Nazis. However, instead of working together to win the war, Tito and his Partisans were attacking the Chetniks at every opportunity.

  O’Donnell remembered Wallace had shared a story that confirmed the General’s claim. On one particular mission Wallace and some of the other airmen and the Chetniks were engaged in a battle against the Germans. They were deep in the midst of fighting when the Partisans attacked the Chetniks from behind. They had to fight the Nazis on one end and the Partisans on the other. They barely made it out alive. The Partisans essentially helped the Germans in their battle against the Chetniks.

  The General also discussed the horrible situation with the Ustasha. He told O’Donnell of the countless concentration camps the Croatian Ustasha had and the gruesome murders being committed against hundreds of thousands of helpless Serbs, Jews and Gypsies. He admitted that fighting three fronts - against the Nazis, the Ustasha and the Partisans - was becoming more and more difficult. But he would not give up.

  Before he succumbed to sleep, O’Donnell thought about the many sides of a man who was gravely misunderstood. O’Donnell swore that when he got back to base, he would set the record straight and get the Chetniks the support they deserved.

  CHAPTER 14

  “TITO WON’T LIKE it,” argued a British SOE agent. “It will cause irreparable damage to our alliance with Tito. It could have disastrous repercussions,” Red agreed.

  “This isn’t about Tito. It’s about going in and evacuating our men from Yugoslavia,” Petrovich countered. “If the tables were turned and Tito had to make this very same decision, would he leave his Partisans to be sitting ducks for the Nazis? Tito liking it or not liking it is irrelevant.”

  “It is very relevant. It’s called an alliance, which requires trust. If we break his trust, that will cause a rift in our alliance. That could affect our strategy in Yugoslavia.”

  “Red, if Tito is such a good ally, he will understand our need to evacuate our men. In fact, he should be supportive of that. Unless, of course, he’s scared that we might find out that Mihailovich isn’t really collaborating with the Nazis. And that would mean that the information we have been getting from Tito and his Partisans has been false.”

  “Always the devil’s advocate, Petrovich. Our intelligence has confirmed the reports coming from the Partisans. It’s the principle of the matter.”

  Petrovich shook his head in disgust. He didn’t put much credibility in British intelligence when it came to Yugoslavia. Over the past few months he had learned enough about the situation there to know better. There were too many factors playing out on that battlefield.

  Communism was just as much of a threat as the Nazis, as far as he was concerned. And even though he couldn’t prove it, yet, he had a strong feeling that establishing a communist Yugoslavia was the ultimate agenda for Tito and Stalin. Defeating the Germans was a means to an end for Tito.

  After overhearing Red and the others, he knew that Tito’s agenda was something that some of the SOE and even some of his own OSS were favoring. He worried that the Communists would stoop to any level to achieve their goals. And he wouldn’t put it past them to falsify reports to get the support they need.

  “I don’t think it’s the principle of trust,” shouted Petrovich. “I think it’s a matter of life and death for our American soldiers. There is nothing more important than that. Musulin and Vujnovich feel the same way.

  “With all due respect, those are Americans over there. That should, in itself, make this an American decision.”

  “This base is under British command,” retorted Red. “If the decision is made to evacuate, then the British should perform that operation.”

  Petrovich knew that Red was right; the base was under British command. But his gut told him that the British were being misled about what was really going on in Yugoslavia. The communist moles within the British SOE made sure that Churchill supported Tito, but did Churchill understand the ramifications? Petrovich did not think for a minute that Churchill supported a potential communist Yugoslavia. How deep was the deception within his ranks? If his gut was right, that would mean that a British led operation to evacuate would not end well.

  Petrovich thought of O’Donnell. He didn’t know for certain that he was trapped in Yugoslavia. But there was a chance. And for O’Donnell’s sake, Petrovich hoped that the Americans would take the lead.

  * * *

  Musulin would not back down.

  “If there is to be any mission, then we will take the lead,” proclaimed the British officer discussing the transmission with Musulin, an American OSS Agent.

  “No way. Those are our men. We should take the lead,” argued Musulin.

  “I must insist. This base is under British control. Please remember that we are on the same side of this war. You should feel confident that we would treat this as if we were going in after our own British airmen.”

  “We are on the same side. So there should be no reason you or any of our British friends should prohibit us from going in after our own,” Musulin countered.

  He was determined that the mission would be approved and that Americans would take the lead. He reasoned. He argued. But the British objections were so strong, that the Americans sent their appeal all the way to President Roosevelt.

  Days later, a deeply frustrated Musulin sat at his desk, his hands fisted in his hair as he formulated yet another argument in favor of him going in to the Mihailovic camp. Argument after argument filtered through his thoughts and all made perfect sense to him. So why didn’t it make any sense to the British officers that made the decisions?

  Vujnovich found him at his desk and nodded in understanding. But this time, he came to Musulin with a different message.

  “Keep pulling at your hair like that, you won’t have any by the time you get back to the States.”

  “Funny guy,” retorted Musulin. “I’m losing my mind with this one. Just trying to find a different angle to get someone to see our point of view with this.”

  “Well, stop losing your mind. President Roosevelt came through for us. He personally approved a rescue mission,” Vujnovich said as he watched Musulin slowly rise from his chair in disbelief.

  “That’s right. Get your gear together. Stop looking for an argument to get you in. Start planning your mission. You’re going in.”

  * * *

  Petrovich was hungry. But he was too mad to eat. How could anyone be so damn stubborn? Why wouldn’t the British budge? He looked down at his food and his stomach churned.

  The door opened and General MacKenzie walked through. Petrovich watched as the General scanned the room. His eyes found Petrovich and he stalked to him. Petrovich rose.

  “General,” he said as he saluted.

  “Petrovich. I know this has been a personal mission for you since O’Donnell’s been missing. That’s why I came to find you as soon as I heard.”

  Petrovich’s stomach fell as he considered the General’s words. Only bad news could make him come looking for Petrovich.

  “Sir. What have you heard?”

  “We are sending in an Air Crew Rescue Unit to assess the situation, code naming the mission as Halyard. If O’Donnell is there, we will know soon enough.”

  Petrovich let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and rubbed his eyes. “That’s great news, General. Who’s commanding the mission?” asked Petrovich.

  “Musulin,” answered the General.

  “Thank God!” exclaimed Petrovich as a relieved grin spread across his face.

  Later that day, Petrovich learned from Musulin that two other Americans, OSS Master Sargent Michael Rajacich and radio operator Arthur Jibilian, were going to join him on his mission. Petrovich was a little concerned abo
ut Jibilian, as he had heard that he had been in Yugoslavia before, but with the Partisans. But Jibilian was an American first and foremost. He had to trust that.

  “We’ve been ordered not to give any political commitment on behalf of any of the Allies. This is a rescue mission only. Nothing more. And the Chetniks are not to get the wrong impression,” explained Musulin to Petrovich.

  Musulin had spent time on OSS missions in Yugoslavia with the Mihailovic camp. He had gotten to know Mihailovic and his men very well over the course of his time there. He didn’t believe the propaganda that was being perpetrated against Mihailovic. However irritated he might be about that, his foremost concern with this mission was for a safe return of the American airmen.

  “Vujnovich has been working on trying to come up with a plan to get us there safely. First, we will verify the transmission and see if there are truly airmen in need of evacuation. If they are there, and I am confident that they are, then we will formulate a plan to get them out of there.” Musulin put his hand on Petrovich’s shoulder and added, “If O’Donnell’s there, we will bring him home.”

  Later that afternoon, Petrovich sat on his bed and thought about the upcoming mission. They were scheduled to go out late that night. He rested his face in his hands as he thought about O’Donnell.

  It had been months since he was shot down over Yugoslavia. And although they hadn’t heard anything from him, Petrovich knew he was alive. He couldn’t explain it, but deep down in his soul, he felt that O’Donnell was alive and with the Chetniks.

  * * *

  July 31, 1944

  Musulin, Rajacich and Jibilian were ready. The C-47, painted black so that the dark night would camouflage it from the Nazis, waited on the tarmac, ready to embark on their mission.

  They were about to fly through enemy skies and jump into unknown territory. No one ever really knew what would be waiting for them once they were on the ground, despite the best-laid plans. And any mission conducted in the dark added another level of complications and danger. Regardless, Musulin was anxious to get the mission started and complete it successfully.

  After takeoff, they sat quietly in the plane. The cabin cooled substantially as they increased their elevation. Minor turbulence shook the plane, but overall the ascent was smooth. Musulin rubbed his hands on his legs and silently thanked God for the smooth flight.

  As they neared the drop zone in Pranjane, his heart raced and adrenaline pulsed through him. He would have been happier with an all American crew, but the circumstances of being under British command warranted a joint mission. So, the pilot and jumpmaster were both British. But, with all the British opposition to the evacuation, Musulin was happy to be on this mission at all.

  He and the other two airmen stood and checked their parachutes and other gear, preparing for their jump. Satisfied that everything was in order, they waited for the jump light to turn green.

  Several minutes later they were still waiting. Musulin yelled out to the jumpmaster, “What’s going on? Why haven’t we been given the signal?”

  “There aren’t any ground signals over the drop zone,” shouted the jumpmaster. “And they haven’t responded to our signals.”

  Musulin couldn’t understand it. Why wouldn’t Mihailovich’s men respond? They knew they were coming. Something didn’t add up.

  “It’s too dangerous. Without the ground signals, we can’t complete the mission. We have to abort,” shouted the jumpmaster.

  At the command the pilot turned the plane around and returned to Italy. Musulin returned to his seat. Confused, he contemplated what went wrong.

  Missions were aborted often. If everything was not aligned correctly, it was better to abort than to take unnecessary risks. Musulin was disappointed, but he didn’t want to jump into the hands of the Nazis. So they had no choice but to accept it and focus on trying the mission again tomorrow.

  The next night, they once again boarded the C-47. Unlike the previous night, Musulin cursed the unlucky weather. Flying over the mountains of Yugoslavia, the plane violently bounced up and down and left and right in the highly turbulent air. In the night sky, flashing lightning eerily illuminated the interior of the plane. The crack of thunder boomed throughout the plane, jolting the men from their deep thoughts. The storm raged around them as the plane tried to fight its way through the turbulence then dropped several feet. In the interest of safety, both during the flight and after they jumped; the mission was aborted, again.

  Back at base, Petrovich watched the planes land. He kicked the tarmac, dumbstruck that this second mission had aborted too! He hoped that Musulin’s next mission would finally get them into Yugoslavia. It had to.

  The third night, the plane took off into the night. Musulin and the others sat in the plane, with their gear on, anxiously waiting for a successful drop. As they approached Yugoslavia, Musulin became more hopeful.

  “This looks like the night. I guess it’s true,” Musulin said, “third time’s the cha . . . .” The plane jolted strongly to the right as enemy anti-aircraft fire exploded around them. The night sky lit around them as bombs and missiles exploded all around the plane.

  Musulin and the others held on tightly as the plane zigzagged through the air to avoid the bombs that exploded around them. His disappointment mounted as he realized that with this kind of antiaircraft fire, the chances of a successful mission dropped with each violent jerk of the plane.

  “The flak is too intense!” shouted the pilot, a British flier, confirming Musulin’s thoughts. “It’s too dangerous! We need to turn back!” With that, he maneuvered the plane through the massive flak surrounding the plane and flew back to base. Once again, Musulin, Jibilian and Rajacich were disappointed and cursed their luck.

  * * *

  “A series of unfortunate events,” commented Red after Musulin and his crew returned the third time. “Perhaps it just isn’t meant to be.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Petrovich growled. “But, we won’t give up.”

  “As if I have any control over things like weather and flak. Petrovich, I’ve said it before, you have become quite the conspiracy theorist!”

  “A realist, Red. I just call it like I see it.”

  * * *

  Musulin, Jibilian and Rajacich prepared for the fourth try. They were more anxious this time than any of the last three. This had to be the last attempt. There couldn’t possibly be anything to stop them this time.

  They were suspicious of the British who joined them on their missions. Musulin was especially weary of their motives. Last night, as he replayed the events of the past few nights, he’d learned that on their first attempt, the pilot had flown to the wrong coordinates! When he reviewed the specifics of the first night’s flight, he noticed that the drop coordinates that were given to the pilot were not the same ones originally outlined within the mission. That was the reason they didn’t have any ground signals; they weren’t in the right area. That would have been a rookie mistake, and the pilot that night was no rookie.

  He couldn’t prove that the other two were deliberate attempts to sabotage the mission by flying directly into a storm or into an area with known fighting. But he had his suspicions.

  Regardless, this was their latest attempt, and Musulin was confident that this time it would happen. It had to. What were the chances something would go wrong again? However, since he knew that the pilot flew to the wrong area the first night, he decided to double check their drop point soon after takeoff.

  “Verify the coordinates of our drop zone,” demanded Musulin.

  The pilot complied and read off the coordinates. Musulin checked the map to verify they were flying to the right destination. They were planning on sending them straight into Partisan territory! He threw the map at the pilot.

  “Are you crazy?” he exploded. “Where did you get this?”

  “Just following orders,” he replied.

  Angrier than before, he turned to head back into the cargo when he noticed a young
solider with a red star on his cap sitting in the back of the plane. The red star was indicative of the Partisans.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” screamed out Musulin. “A Partisan on our plane during my mission?”

  “He’s our jump master.”

  “That commie is supposed to push me and my crew out of this plane? I’m supposed to trust him to send me to the right place? Into his enemy’s hands? Are you guys trying to get us killed?”

  The pilot swallowed hard and his eyes widened in fear of Musulin’s reaction. Musulin was already a very large intimidating man. He was even more intimidating as his voice boomed throughout the noisy plane. The Partisan scooted as far back as he could and looked away.

  “You can forget this mission. I am aborting it. Take us back . . . Now!”

  “You don’t have the authority to abort the mission.”

  “I couldn’t care less what authority I have or don’t have. My men and I are not jumping out of this plane. I said ABORT!”

  As the plane turned around and headed back to Italy, Musulin was speechless. What was going on? Could the British really be sabotaging this mission? They were allies! Would they purposely endanger the lives of Musulin and his crew?

  Whatever was going on, he wanted to believe that it was purely coincidental.

  Back at base, Musulin and the others discussed the series of aborted missions. They all agreed that it couldn’t happen again. If it did, it couldn’t be called a series of coincidences any more. But they were still worried about the rumors of the communist moles within the British SOE.

  “Do you think the moles are that far into the SOE that they could be purposely sabotaging our attempts to get into Mihailovich’s camp?” asked Jibilian.

  “I don’t know,” replied Musulin. “The problem is that at this point, those are just rumors. The British are our allies, I don’t want to think they would sabotage efforts to retrieve our men from behind enemy lines.”

  “Well, the British officials in London wouldn’t. But who is to say that those down the ranks aren’t being fooled by these supposed moles?” countered Rajacich.