Eastern Approaches

by Fitzroy MacLean

  At first sight, landing by plane had seemed an infinitely more normal and agreeable method of entering a country than what Mr. Churchill called ‘jumping out of a parachute’. But, when we reached our destination and, in the pitch blackness of a moonless, overcast night, began to circle lower and lower through the clouds, over hilly country, towards what might or might not be a suitable landing-strip for a Dakota, I found myself wondering whether a parachute jump would not after all have been preferable. Then, through the mist, the signal-fires flared up on the ground below; we circled once or twice more; the flaps went down, the revolutions of the propellers became slower, and soon we were bumping and jolting to a standstill over the uneven soil of Serbia.

  There was no waiting about. As soon as we were out of the plane, some Partisan wounded, who had been waiting, were bundled into it, the doors were shut, and the pilot, who had kept his engines running, started getting it back into position for the take off. A minute or two later it was airborne again and on its way back to Italy.

  A Partisan came out of the shadows leading some horses. We had kept our personal kit to a bare minimum, and, once the wireless set had been strapped to a pack-pony, we were ready to start. Then the Partisan officer who had come to meet us took the lead and we galloped off. As we left the flat open ground of the landing-strip and, crossing a little bridge, entered a clump of trees, some shots were fired from nearby and the bullets whistled past us in the darkness. It was too dark to see anything, but clearly there were people in the immediate neighbourhood who were not on the same side as we were.

  The ride that followed was long and dreary, through thick bush and scrub, mostly uphill, but with occasional abrupt descents, slithering and sliding down the sides of stony ravines. There was still no moon and the horses were anything but sure-footed, needing constant helping and coaxing over the rougher patches. Their German Army saddles, too, were far too big for them and threatened ceaselessly to slide under their bellies or even over their heads. It was with frayed tempers that we eventually reached our destination in the early hours of the morning.

  After a good deal of rather irritable groping about in the dark, I found John Henniker-Major asleep under the trees in a kind of wigwam made of part of a parachute stretched over some branches. In a few minutes I had fixed up a similar shelter against the steady drizzle that was now falling, and, spreading out my sleeping-bag beneath it, lay down for a few hours’ sleep.

  When I woke, the sun was shining through the trees and Campbell and Duncan were busy frying a tin of bacon we had brought with us. It smelt delicious. We were on the edge of a little clearing in the wood. Somewhere nearby I could hear the sound of running water. Behind us, a great forest of oaks and beeches stretched up towards the summit of the Radan. Immediately in front of us, sloping downhill, lay a brief expanse of green turf, like an English lawn. Beyond, the woods began again, covering the lower slopes and the foothills with a blanket of foliage. Then, beyond that again, for mile upon mile, stretching away to the hazy blue of the horizon, the rich rolling countryside of Serbia was spread out before us in the sunshine, a patchwork of green orchards and yellow maize fields, with, dotted here and there the white-washed walls of a village and the onion spire of a church. There could have been no greater contrast with the austere uplands of Bosnia or the stony barrenness of Dalmatia than this peaceful, smiling landscape.

  Crawling out of my sleeping-bag and pulling on my boots, I spent the next few minutes rousing John Henniker-Major, always a heavy sleeper. In the course of the night he had rolled out of his improvised tent and half way down the hill. There his progress had been checked by the stump of a tree, round which he was now curled, snoring peacefully. This was to repeat itself night after night during the weeks that followed. The distance which he covered in the course of his slumbers varied according to the steepness of the hill on which we happened to be camping, but he scarcely ever woke on the same spot where he had gone to sleep. He had had a bad time of late and I suppose that the effect on his nerves showed itself in this way. Certainly, there was no other indication that his composure was in any way ruffled.

  After breakfasting lavishly off black bread, crisply fried bacon and some freshly brewed tea, we sat down on the grass in the sun, and John settled down to give me some account of his experiences and impressions since first being dropped into Serbia four months earlier.

  They had been eventful months. When he had first arrived in April, he had found the Partisans neither numerous nor well equipped. Since the withdrawal of Tito’s main forces from Serbia after the disasters of 1941 the Partisan detachments who had remained behind had not had an easy time. Conditions had not favoured them. Geographically the green, fertile, rolling country was for the most part less suited to guerrilla warfare than the wilder and more mountainous regions of Bosnia and Montenegro. They had been obliged to operate in quite small bands without the same central organization as elsewhere, and lacking proper communications. The civil population, too, had been inclined to prefer the relatively passive attitude of the Četnik forces or the open collaboration of General Nedić to the more strenuous conduct of the Partisans, whose intentions they had in any case been led to suspect. As a result the enemy had long enjoyed greater security in Serbia than elsewhere, being able to count on the help of the inhabitants and of local troops to guard their main lines of communication against Partisan attacks; indeed in many areas these duties were carried out almost entirely by Nedić troops and Četniks. Finally, the Partisans had lacked supplies. The necessarily limited scope of their operations had made it impossible for them to equip themselves at the expense of the enemy on the same scale as their more fortunate brothers elsewhere, while all Allied help, and the prestige derived from it, had gone, not to them, but to the Četniks. Harried by the Germans, by Nedić, by the Četniks, by the Bulgarians and by the Albanians, out of sympathy with the population, out of touch with their comrades in the rest of Jugoslavia, lacking arms and equipment, the Serb Partisans were the Cinderellas of the Movement of National Liberation. It was largely owing to the skill and determination of their leader, Stambolić, that they nevertheless survived and continued to operate.

  Then, at about the time of John’s arrival in April, there had been a change. The increased interest which Tito was now showing in Serbia had started to make itself felt. Popović, who, after Tito himself, was perhaps the most successful and popular of the Partisan military leaders and who himself came of a well-known Serb family, had arrived to take command in Serbia itself. At the same time a strong Partisan force, largely composed of Serbs and commanded by Peko Dapčević, another of Tito’s best Commanders, was dispatched from Montenegro, through western Serbia, to reinforce the Partisans already there.

  Finally — and this was perhaps the most important factor of all — there had come the change in Allied policy. The decision, which had hitherto held good, that no supplies should go to the Partisans in Serbia, had been reversed. Supplies to the Četniks had ceased, and arms and ammunition were now being dropped to the Partisans in very considerable quantities. This had enabled local commanders not only to equip the troops under their command on an improved scale, but to arm large numbers of volunteers whom they had up to then been obliged to turn away for lack of equipment.

  The change in our attitude had also had an important psychological effect. All the prestige which the Četniks had hitherto enjoyed as a result of Allied support was now transferred to the Partisans. The effect was increased by the news that Tito had come to terms with King Peter and by the King’s proclamation calling on his subjects to support the Partisans, which undermined General Mihajlović’s claim to be fighting for the monarchy.

  As often happens, all these developments, coming one after the other, had a snowball effect. Allied support and supplies had brought more volunteers; better equipped and more numerous, the Partisans had been able to increase the scale of their operations; their successes in the field had, in turn, brought in larger stocks of captured weapo
ns and, incidentally further increased their prestige; so that in the space of a few months the Movement had gone on from strength to strength.

  The civil population, too, had at length come to the realization that the more active policy of the Partisans was not as foolhardy as it had once seemed. It dawned on them that it had been this very policy which had won for Tito the Allied support which Mihajlović, however well-meaning, had in the end forfeited by his caution and inactivity. It dawned on them, too, that the Germans, who for so long had seemed invincible, were beginning to weaken, that the early liberation of Serbia was not only possible but probable. The feeling of hopelessness, which had so long weighed upon them, began to lift, and was replaced by a spirit similar to that which had inspired the original national rising of 1941.

  With this change of heart, the mood of the people swung over, away from the Četniks’ policy of compromise and inactivity and into sympathy with the total war of the Partisans. In response to these feelings, in response, perhaps, also to a conscious or unconscious desire to get on to the winning side before it was too late, daily more and more of their former supporters deserted the Četniks and more and more volunteers flocked to the standards of the Partisans. Again and again, during the weeks that followed, we were to see long columns of men and boys straggling in to Partisan Headquarters to draw their rifles and ammunition, part deserters, part prisoners, part conscripts, part volunteers, some still wearing their old uniforms and the traditional beards of the Četniks, others in their ordinary working clothes.

  Nor were these desertions limited to the rank and file. While I was in Serbia I was to meet Radoslav Djurić, until recently one of Mihajlović’s best known Commanders and now Chief of Staff to a Partisan Division. This amusing, somewhat cynical, character seemed to have been received by the Partisans with open arms, although in the past he had always been known, even amongst the Četniks, for the ruthless brutality with which he had waged war against them.

  The Partisans made the best of their opportunity. A free pardon was offered to Četniks and Nedić troops coming over before a certain date. Much play was made with the Tito-Šubašić understanding and with a proclamation made by King Peter calling on the people to support Tito, both of which carried a great deal of weight in Serbia, where Royalist feeling was strong. Finally, Communist aims and policy were kept in the background, and very little was seen of the red stars, hammers and sickles, which were so prominently displayed by the Partisans in other parts of the country, but which would have had little appeal in this land of prosperous small-holders.

  For the whole of this period during which the fortunes of the Serb Partisans had undergone such a complete and rapid change, Headquarters, Serbia, and John Henniker-Major with them, had been almost continuously on the move. At first their weakness had told against them; then, as they increased in strength, the Germans had put in one heavy attack after the other in the hope of dealing them a decisive blow before it was too late. Many of the Četnik leaders had joined in these attacks with all the forces which remained at their disposal, only too glad to profit by German assistance if it would help them to get rid of the Partisans. The Partisans, for their part, while welcoming Četnik deserters who came over to them, did their best to eliminate all remaining formed bodies of Četnik troops, whether they were collaborating with the enemy or not. Never for a moment did either side lose sight of their ultimate political objective, namely the elimination of all rival factions and their own accession to power.

  By now, however, the strategical initiative had begun to pass to the Partisans. Tactically the Germans and Bulgarians by the use of armour and artillery might still be able to keep them on the move; but this, was only to be expected. It did not prevent the Partisans from carrying out constant raids on enemy communications and garrisons, or even from liberating considerable areas of territory. There could be no doubt that throughout Serbia the enemy position had of late greatly deteriorated. In other words, everything lent itself admirably to a concerted attack of the kind we had planned.

  Next I discussed with Koča Popović the detailed plans for RATWEEK.

  He was living nearby, and after breakfast we strolled across to where he was encamped under the trees. On the way John pointed out to me a wooded hill-top standing out from the rest a couple of miles away, across the valley, which, he said, was held by White Russians who were fighting for the Germans. To the west and the east, respectively, the Germans were installed in the Ibar and the Morava Valleys. To the north the Bulgars held Niš, Prokuplje and the valley of the Toplica. To the south were the Albanians, and the local Albanian minority, the Arnauts.

  I found Koča sitting with Crni under the trees, a brisk, business-like figure in his neat grey uniform with his large black moustache. When he talked the words came rattling out like bullets from a machine gun, and his deep-set brown eyes sparkled with energy and intelligence. Very able and, for all his talk of only wanting to retire to study philosophy, extremely ambitious, he was clearly delighted with his new command and with the prospect which it brought him of being first into Belgrade.

  Maps were brought and we got down to work without further delay. He showed me the latest dispositions of the enemy and of his own forces and told me which targets the Partisans could attack by themselves and where the support of the R.A.F. would be needed. I told him what help we could give him from the air and what additional supplies were available. Together we worked out a joint scheme covering all the most important road and railway targets in Serbia, with special emphasis, of course, on the Belgrade-Salonika railway, and this I wirelessed back to Bill Elliot for his views.

  During the days that followed we put the finishing touches to our plan. Signals passed backwards and forwards between Allied Force Headquarters in the great palace of Caserta and our little camp under the trees. Almost daily fresh information came in concerning enemy troop movements, necessitating minor alterations. Supply drops were made to the points we had indicated. Confirmation was received from B.A.F. that air support would be given where it was needed.

  Almost every day I spent an hour or two with Koča.

  One day while I was sitting with him a patrol came in with a prisoner. He was a German Colonel who had been on a liaison mission to the Bulgars. His car had been ambushed by the Partisans on the road between Niš and Prokuplje and he himself had been shot in the leg in the ensuing encounter. Now he was carried in by two Partisans and set down on the grass at our feet.

  A sallow, slightly built man with an intelligent, sensitive face, in appearance, at any rate, he was as unlike the German officer of popular fiction as anyone could be. It was evident, as he lay there, that his leg was hurting him, and Koča told the man who had brought him in to make him more comfortable. Then, giving him a cigarette, he started to ask him questions.

  He was, it seemed, a regular soldier and a member of the General Staff. Much of what he told us was of considerable interest. He had served on von Kleist’s Staff and, with him, had helped to plan the proposed invasion of England in 1940. Later he had gone to Italy where his task had been to reorganize the railway transport system which the heavy Allied bombing had thrown into a state of chaos. His last Mission had been to try to rally the Bulgars, about whose intentions the Germans were, it appeared, beginning to have grave doubts.

  The questions we asked him were answered readily enough and with a frankness which, in the circumstances, one could not but admire. Everything the man said and the way in which he said it reflected the intense love and admiration which he felt for Hitler and the Nazi Party and his equally intense hatred for the Allies and above all for the Partisans. Indeed, he made it clear that he was surprised that even the British should have officers serving with such Bolshevik scum.

  Before he was taken away, Koča asked him a final question: ‘What chance, would you say, Colonel, that Germany now has of winning the war?’ ‘No longer’, he replied, ‘a very good chance, for I am afraid that we cannot now hope to hold out long enough to be
able to take advantage of the clash which there must inevitably be between Russia and her Western Allies.’ It was, in the circumstances, as telling an exit as anyone could hope to make, and, one that was wasted on neither Koča nor myself.

  By the last days of August our preparations for RATWEEK were complete, and we started to watch with redoubled keenness for any signs of an impending enemy withdrawal. But still there was no indication that the Germans had made up their minds to move, and we reflected, a little sadly that it would, after all, have been too good to be true if we had really guessed the enemy’s intentions to within a few days. At any rate it was something that, when they did start to go, they would find their road and railway communications well and truly wrecked.

  As the appointed day approached, I decided to make my way down to join the Partisan force which was to attack the railway in the Leskovac area. Having taken leave of Koča Popović, who was also moving off to supervise operations elsewhere, John and I set out, accompanied by Sergeant Duncan and by Sergeant Campbell, with his wireless set on a pack-pony. The sun was shining as we started downhill towards the valley. It was hot and we marched in our shirt sleeves. Soon we came out from under the trees to find the maize turning golden in the fields and the trees in the orchards weighed down with fruit. From the clover came the hum of bees and a lark was singing somewhere high above us. The track under our feet was white and dusty. The scene had all the serenity of a late summer’s day at home.