The Secret Rescue

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The Secret Rescue Page 8

by Cate Lineberry


  As the party made its way down the street, they passed several shops before Gina stopped in front of a simple, three-story hotel that despite its humble appearance was named the Grand Hotel Kolumbo. A round-faced man in his late thirties wearing a short black coat, gray trousers, and black boots that came up almost to his knees greeted them in English and spoke with Gina and the pilots for a few moments before motioning for the others to follow him into the hotel. His name was Kostaq Stefa, a partisan who, like Gina, had learned English at the Albanian Vocational School and taught there for several years. The father of four children at the time, Stefa had remained in Berat during the war to take care of his family, including his elderly parents. He served as the partisan chairman of the historic quarter of Berat while his brother and three brothers-in-law were fighting with the partisans.

  While several partisans carried Shumway upstairs to a room in the hotel to rest, Stefa escorted the others into the dining room and announced to the great delight of the American men and women that the hotel would serve them a meal. While they sat at a long table and waited for food to be served, Stefa suggested they pool whatever American money they had so they could buy a few items they might need. He would exchange it on their behalf and take some for the cost of the meal. They agreed; and when Stefa returned, he gave the Albanian money to Thrasher, the pilot and senior officer in the group.

  The Americans ate a lunch of mutton, cornbread, vegetables, and the sweet soup Hayes, Rutkowski, and the others had enjoyed so much before. It was the most the Americans had eaten since arriving in Albania, and they savored every bite. When they finished, Stefa, rather than Gina, assigned them to various homes in town and quartered some of the nurses, including Watson, in the hotel. Jens and Lytle, a nurse from Kentucky, would go with Stefa, who seemed to have been designated the Americans’ new leader and who perhaps, the group thought, could lead them safely to the coast where they hoped to find a boat to take them back to Italy.

  Hayes was paired with medics Owen, Abbott, and Cruise, and they were briefly introduced to their host, an Albanian named George, who told them to meet him outside the hotel in a few minutes. In the meantime, they ran upstairs to check on Shumway, who was settled in a bed in a barren room with white plastered walls. Though the room was cold, Shumway appeared comfortable. It was the first bed any of them had seen since they’d been in Albania, and the men suspected Shumway would rest easier that night than any of them.

  Assured their friend was safe, they took their leave and stood outside the hotel, watching people roam the streets. Many of the men who appeared to be partisans carried various weapons and wore homespun woolen clothes and parts of German and Italian uniforms they’d found or taken. Almost everything about Albania was so strange and different to the medics that they weren’t surprised to also see Italian officers and enlisted men in uniform milling about the town despite Italy’s surrender to the Allies a few months before. These soldiers were as stranded as the Americans. After the Germans had invaded, tens of thousands of Italians had run into the mountains fearing that they would be captured or killed, and many now earned just enough from doing menial tasks to keep themselves from starving. Between one thousand and two thousand Italians were thought to have joined the German forces. Others joined the partisans, but the partisans were mostly interested in their weapons, equipment, and coats and resented the Italians for the way they had treated them when they ruled the country. As many as a hundred Italians a day would perish in the harsh winter ahead.

  George came out of the hotel along with four other medics, including Wolf, and told Hayes and the others in his group to follow him. They had only walked a short distance down the road before they arrived at an Albanian bar with a handful of local men perched at tables and nursing their drinks. George introduced them to the bar’s owner, an English-speaking man who would host Wolf’s group of medics that night.

  As the Americans seated themselves, the bar owner asked if they wanted some schnapps. Hayes rarely drank, but the others wanted to try it. The man brought out four glasses and poured about an ounce of clear liquid in each. The three men downed their drinks, one at a time, until only Hayes’s was left. They motioned for him to take it until he finally picked up the glass and swallowed. Before he knew it, his throat burned as if it was on fire, and the top of his head felt like it was going to explode. The other men laughed as Hayes tried to regain his composure. They had just had their first sip of raki, a potent and treasured Albanian spirit made from distilled fruit.

  Hayes, Owen, Abbott, and Cruise followed George to his home after they parted ways with the bar owner and his charges for the night. The men walked along the hilly streets of Berat with a cool wind escorting them, and George warned them that they would need much warmer clothes for the quickly approaching Albanian winter. He said he would find some for them and suggested they stay at his house until spring. The men exchanged surprised glances, and one of them quickly spoke up. The medic explained that though it was a generous offer, they had no intention of remaining in Albania through the winter and hoped the partisans would lead them to the coast. That wasn’t possible, George said, because the partisans didn’t control the coastal areas. The news startled the men, and it reignited their concerns about how much they could trust the partisans.

  When they arrived at George’s home, they were surprised to find it decorated with couches, handwoven rugs, and pictures. He even had electricity, which they had not yet seen in an Albanian home. George’s teenage son brought out a pot of tea and cups, and they sat around a table enjoying the warmth of the drink while George told them about starting his own diner in America in the 1930s. He’d come back in 1939 to get his wife and children after he’d found some success, but then the Italians had invaded, and he and his family found themselves trapped.

  The men talked for hours until George’s son cleared the dishes, and George took them back to the hotel where they were served a dinner of liver and vegetables, the only selection offered. Hayes’s lifelong aversion to liver was tempered by his hunger, and he managed to eat several bites of it along with everything else on his plate.

  When they returned to George’s house that night, Hayes and Cruise were given a room to share. Though George apologized for having only one bed to offer, the men had come to appreciate every small luxury, including the fresh water they were given to refill their canteens and the towels they’d used for washing in a small basin of water. While Cruise slept in the bed, Hayes took off his uniform for the first time since they’d crash-landed and slept soundly on the floor on a soft mattress with clean white sheets and a blanket.

  They were so grateful for George’s hospitality that when he offered them tea the next morning and apologized for not having sugar, an expensive and scarce item few in Albania could afford, they offered him the box of sugar cubes Abbott had taken from the plane. After their tea and a small breakfast, George escorted the men through town to meet the other Americans. Their path took them along the busy main street, where locals bought and sold fruits and vegetables and a butcher used an ax to chop off pieces of meat from a carcass hanging from a tree limb.

  When they finally arrived at the meeting place, a former school, they were led to a large room on the second floor. Stefa stood in front giving orders to several men while dictating to one who typed. Jens and Lytle were also there. The night before, Stefa had taken the two nurses to his home to meet his family, including his wife, his children, and his parents. The women had even played a few rounds of cards with Stefa’s mother before being given the chance to bathe and to sleep in a bed for the first time since their arrival.

  As the rest of the Americans filed in to sit in wooden folding chairs, they waited anxiously to hear about plans for their escape. Outside the room a group of men bellowed out partisan songs, and when they finished their performance, Stefa and another partisan leader named Gjin Marku began an hour-long speech about Albania’s troubled history. They talked about the prestigious Albanian Vocational Sc
hool and how much the partisans desperately needed the Americans and British to send them arms and supplies so they could liberate their people. Though the Americans listened patiently, they kept waiting to hear some reference to how the partisans were going to help them get to the coast, but it never came.

  Stefa finished the lecture by teaching the Americans the partisan salute, a clenched right-handed fist touching the right side of the forehead and accompanied by the phrase Vdekje Fashizmit, which meant “Death to Fascism.” They learned the proper response, which included the same salute followed by the words Liri Popullit, or “Freedom to the People.” The rival BK, of which the Americans were still unaware, also had a slogan: Shqipëria Shqiptarëvet, or “Albania for the Albanians,” to which the proper reply was Vdekje Tradhëtarëvet, or “Death to the Traitors,” meaning the partisans. When the speech finally ended, Thrasher and Baggs asked Stefa what they all wanted to know, but the Americans didn’t receive the answer they’d hoped for. Stefa simply replied that he had to “make preparations,” a refrain they’d hear from him often. In the meantime, he told them, the Americans would see Berat.

  For the next two days, while Shumway recuperated in the hotel, spending some of his time taking pictures of a horse-drawn taxi on the street or scenic views from the rooftop with the little bit of film he had left in his camera, the other Americans were paraded around Berat with Stefa in an old orange Fiat truck. At many of the places they saw—the martyrs’ cemetery, the castle towering over the town, a hall where partisans performed a play, and local partisan headquarters—they heard more speeches about the virtues of the partisan movement, which were often feverishly accompanied by the salute they were expected to return. Though they knew Stefa was likely following orders, the Americans were growing impatient with the endless propaganda they heard, but they were helpless to do anything about it.

  At night, they were once again parceled out into small groups to various homes or to the hotel. Most were sent to a different house each night. At one of the houses Jens stayed in, her English-speaking host told her that some of the people the Germans had taken away had never come back. Those left behind had hidden or buried any items of value to prevent them from getting into German hands.

  On their third night in town, the Americans went back to the hall where they had watched the partisans perform and expected to hear more propaganda. Instead, a man played an accordion for their enjoyment before the partisans showed the Americans an Italian movie.

  Though the conditions and the food in Berat were far better than what they’d had in the villages, several of the Americans were starting to suffer from severe diarrhea, or, as many in the military called it, “the GIs.” Also of great concern to the Americans was what they had noticed while being driven around town. The photographer who had snapped their pictures as they entered Berat had posted half a dozen photos of the uniformed Americans in the window of his shop on the main street for all who passed by to see.

  Hayes and Owen awoke early on their fourth morning in Berat to the sound of gunfire. They’d heard it sporadically since they’d arrived in the town, and it was usually a partisan firing off a few rounds for entertainment. But when their host and his teenage son came racing into their room looking worried, the two medics knew there was trouble. The man said something to his son in Albanian, and the teenager dashed out of the room. Then the man turned to the Americans and said, “It is not good. Get your clothes on.”

  Hayes and Owen rushed to put on their uniforms, which they’d taken off the night before when they were given clean bedding. As Hayes laced up his shoes, the son returned and spoke to his father again in Albanian. Hayes had heard the sound of the front door opening and closing and figured the teenager had gone out into the street to see what was happening. The man told them they must hurry because the Germans had already entered Berat. It was not only the Germans but also the BK who were attacking the town, though the Americans still did not know of the BK. As the man spoke, Hayes heard artillery shells explode nearby. The two Americans tried to thank their host for letting them stay in his home, but he motioned for them to quickly get on their way.

  The medics darted to the gate in front of the house as the sun came up and watched as crowds of panicked people ran toward the main street. Despite their own worries, the men decided they had to go back to George’s house to get their field jackets, medical bags, and musette bags, all of which were too valuable for them to leave behind. They had kept their belongings at George’s house at his suggestion rather than taking them to various homes throughout the town. Though Hayes still had his reservations about leaving anything out of his sight, George had earned his trust.

  They pushed through the crowds until they reached George’s house. Despite the danger to himself, George stood at his front door with their belongings in his hands. They thanked him quickly and rummaged through their bags until they found their canvas leggings. The leggings, which had straps that went around the bottom of their shoes to keep them in place, were intended to keep pants from getting dirty and caught on brush, and to keep stones and snow out of shoes. The two men were putting them on when some of the other medics came running by. One shouted, “You don’t have time for that. Get going!” But Hayes and Owen were determined. When they finished, Owen said, “You ready? Let’s haul ass!” and the two took off running as fast as they could.

  As they neared the edge of town, they spotted Stefa yelling for everyone to get into the same orange truck that had been used earlier to escort them around town. Medics, nurses, and partisans continued to pile in as Hayes and Owen joined them. Shumway, the injured crew chief, was in the back along with Thrasher and Baggs, who were helping some of the nurses climb on board. When the attack had started, Baggs had told Shumway at the hotel that they didn’t have time to find him a horse; he would have to do the best he could, so Shumway had hobbled alongside Baggs until they reached the truck.

  The machine gun Baggs had carried was now gone. The pilots had decided the whole group might be safer if they were all unarmed. When the partisans had sent Gina home sometime during the last day or two, the pilots had given him the gun and several clips of ammunition as a thank-you. Hayes had hoped to thank Gina for all he had done for them, but he was gone before he could say good-bye.

  When the truck was completely full, the driver cranked the engine and sped away, barreling down the exposed and uneven road with each bump jolting the passengers. It had traveled about a mile when those on board heard the engines of nearby planes followed by the sound of bombs bursting. The Germans were attacking Berat from the air as well as the ground. A German Messerschmitt Bf109 flew past them, turned around, and headed right for them. The truck driver stopped, and everyone jumped out and scattered as the plane started strafing the road. Jens landed in a puddle of mud, while Hayes dove to the ground and soon heard another Messerschmitt approaching. When he looked up, the plane seemed to be diving straight for him. He kept waiting for it to veer off, but it continued to come. He pressed his face into the ground and waited for the worst to happen, but suddenly the pilot pulled up and eventually the sound of both planes drifted away. When he looked up again, they were gone.

  People climbed back into the truck as fast as they could, and they were soon moving, but they hadn’t traveled far before the planes returned. The truck came to a screeching halt, and those on board scrambled once again to get out. As Hayes jumped off, the butt of a partisan’s rifle smashed into the back of his head, momentarily disorienting him. When he recovered, he was furious at the partisan until he looked at the man and saw the fear in his face and realized the partisan was even more scared than he was.

  Hayes started running west until he reached a bank rising almost six feet above a stream. He jumped down and over the water. Owen and Zeiber, the medic from Reading, Pennsylvania, were right behind him. The three men, out of breath from running, crouched behind the bank. Though they couldn’t see what was happening, they could hear the planes flying up and down the
road in strafing runs.

  When it sounded as if the airplanes were gone, Hayes raised himself above the edge of the bank and looked toward the road. One plane remained. It was a Fieseler Fi-156 Storch, a German observation plane that could travel as fast as 110 miles per hour and had a stalling speed of 31 miles per hour, which gave it the appearance of hovering in the air. Hayes also saw that the truck had been strafed repeatedly and all but destroyed. There was no going back.

  While Hayes scouted the road, Zeiber yelled he was going back to find the others and took off. Hayes and Owen decided to follow the path of the river leading away from Berat while they kept a lookout for their party. It wasn’t long before they found Kopsco, the nurse from Louisiana who had also taken cover behind the bank and was as shaken as they were. As they followed the river they ran into more from their group including the pilots, nurses Jens and Rutkowksi, Ebers, the medic from Steeleville, Illinois, and a couple others, bringing the group to a total of ten. Also with them was Qani Siqeca, a twenty-three-year-old partisan with a slight build whom they’d met on their second day in Berat and who had performed in the partisan play. Fortunately Qani, whom the Americans mistakenly called Johnny, spoke some English from his days at the Albanian Vocational School. Stefa and the other twenty Americans were nowhere in sight.

  The group returned to the road and saw that it was covered with German trucks and at least one armored tank. Qani thought it would be best to head for the mountains to the east of them. They waited behind the bank until the trucks left the area before making a quick dash across the road and marching toward higher elevations.

 

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