***
They reached Wicz the following afternoon. The villagers turned out to stare at the six hundred-odd ragged guerillas, who marched with no discipline but who were expecting an enthusiastic welcome.
This was not evident. The people watched in silence as the column reached the town hall, where the mayor waited for them, surrounded by his wife and several teenage children, all obviously close relatives of Sasha. Who ran up the steps to embrace them. ‘Papa! Mama!’ Tony and Asztalos waited at the foot of the steps while their people gathered behind them.
Mayor Janitz accepted Sasha’s hug with some reluctance. ‘Why have you come here? With these people? Who are they?’
‘They are my friends. They are my comrades.’
‘You mean they are Communists.’
‘No, Papa, we are not Communists – at least, not all of us. We are Partisans. We have just fought against the Germans, and won. But some of us are wounded. They need medicine and care. And we are short of food. And we are very tired.’
‘You have fought the Germans,’ her father said. ‘Belgrade Radio has warned that anyone giving shelter to guerillas will be shot. Have you not heard what happened at Kragujevac?’
‘I was there.’
‘You? You caused that to happen?’
‘I was fighting the Germans. With my comrades.’ She threw out her arm to encompass all of them.
‘They shot all the men in the town. You knew this?’ Sasha stared at him with her mouth open, then turned to look down the steps at Tony. He couldn’t believe it either. ‘Your futile resistance is destroying the country,’ Janitz said. ‘You cannot stay here.’
Sasha’s face registered even more disbelief. ‘We need aid for the wounded,’ she said. ‘We need food. You must help us. You must help me. I am your daughter!’
‘You abandoned me, you abandoned your family, to go off and become a bandit. You have made your own bed. You must learn to lie in it. My responsibility is to my people. I cannot endanger them.’
Sasha turned to look down the steps at Tony, this time seeking guidance, her expression still registering total disbelief.
‘We are six hundred armed men and women,’ Asztalos said. ‘Let us take over the town, and take what we wish.’
Tony recollected Tito’s warning; that was one command he was not prepared to disobey. ‘There may be another way,’ he said, and went up the steps.
‘This is our commanding officer,’ Sasha said. ‘Colonel Tony Davis.’
‘I have heard of you,’ Janitz said. ‘You are wanted for murder. I have seen the poster.’
‘Quite a good likeness, don’t you think?’ Tony asked. ‘I understand your problem, Your Worship. My people and I will happily move on. But surely your people will not object to selling us what they can spare?’
Janitz frowned at him. ‘You have money?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much?’
‘How much do you have to sell?’
‘I will have to consult my people.’
‘Do that. But while you are doing that, I wish my people to be fed.’
‘I have always heard that the English are a nation of shopkeepers,’ Sasha confided. ‘Do you think it would help if I told Papa that we are to be married?’
‘Ah … at this moment, no.’
The villagers turned out to have a good deal to sell, once they had a look at the gold coins possessed by Tony and Asztalos. They were less impressed by the paper dinars offered by the rank and file, but eventually accepted even these; because of the war and the consequent restrictions upon movement, they had quite an accumulation of food and goods they had been unable to offer in any sizeable market. Asztalos was still reluctant to part with his money when they could so easily have taken what they wanted by force, but Tony reminded him of Tito’s instructions, and he grudgingly obeyed.
When they moved out the next day, they were well fed and their wounded were properly bandaged, although a dozen still needed to be carried on stretchers. But they had not been able to buy more than twenty-four hours’ supply of food for so many people, and this was gone by the next day. And of course there had been no munitions available.
The following day their troubles began again. It was now raining almost all the time, interspersed with snow showers, and was intensely cold, while their hunger grew with every step. As a result of their discomfort and their appetite, both of which led to increasing exhaustion, straggling became a serious problem. Tony and Sasha and Draga roamed up and down the steadily lengthening column, exhorting, chivvying, on occasion even striking people to get them moving; Asztalos preferred to march in gloomy silence. The only good thing about their situation was that the unbroken low cloud protected them from air strikes.
‘Nasturtium soup,’ Sasha explained, handing Tony a steaming mug, and sitting beside him with her own. ‘I made it myself. It is quite spicy.’
‘But tasty,’ he said. ‘My congratulations.’
‘Do you think I am a good cook?’
‘You are an excellent cook.’
‘Do you think we will survive, and reach Foca?’
‘Yes. Most of us.’
‘I hope we do. Because after the fighting has stopped …’ She changed her mind about what she was going to say.
Tony squeezed her hand. ‘I am sorry about your parents.’
‘You are sorry. I am ashamed. They are traitors.’
‘They want to survive. You cannot blame them for that. They’ll forgive you, when the shooting stops.’
‘It is a matter of whether I will forgive them.’
‘They’re your family.’
‘I do not wish them to be my family any more. You are my family now. Will you take me to England after the war? I should like to live in England.’
As with Elena Kostic, he found it quite impossible to imagine this girl living in a Somerset village, having tea with the vicar’s wife … being his wife. Oh, Sandrine, Sandrine! ‘Let’s get to the end of the shooting first,’ he suggested. ‘And then make our plans – if we are still around to make plans.’
Three days later they reached Foca.
‘Tony!’ Tito embraced him. ‘We had given you up for lost. It is good to see you.’
‘And to see you, General. My people need food and rest.’
‘And they shall have both. We have heard how you fought a German column, and came off best.’
‘It was more like a draw.’
‘An English term. As you prevented them from achieving their objective, you were the victor. Now, tell me, what do you think of Foca?’
‘I think it is ideal,’ Tony said. The little town, perched on the slopes of a mountain and possessing a fast-flowing moat in the River Drina, was certainly defensible. It could only be approached from one direction, and the mountain looming above it made it difficult to bomb with any accuracy. ‘All we need is some logistical help.’
Tito grinned. ‘We have had that. While you were, as usual, covering yourself in glory, we were also having our success, admittedly with the aid of a little luck. It so happened that we entered the town of Bradina by surprise, and came upon a train just pulling out of the station. We halted it, and captured its contents. You will not believe this, Tony, but it was a German supply train. It was loaded with arms and ammunition. And not only that, with goodies as well. Here, have one of these.’ He pushed a box across the table. Tony opened it, and surveyed the rows of liqueur chocolates. ‘There were dozens of those, and special cheeses, as well as a lot of good quality liquor.’
Tony chose one and munched. ‘Delicious. Have you any plans?’
‘A great many,’ Tito said. ‘The enemy are claiming that we have been destroyed. Well, I expected this.’
‘How many effectives have we got?’
‘Now that you have brought in your people, as well as Asztalos’s … How is he, by the way?’
‘Not in very good shape. I am speaking of his mental condition.’
‘Well, we must br
ing him back to health, and confidence. And of your six hundred … ?’
‘I have about fifty carrying wounds of one sort or another – physical ones, that is. Almost everyone is bruised in some way or other from the terrain. I also have a dozen cases of frostbite.’
‘They will be attended to.’
‘And morale, I’m afraid, is generally very low.’
‘Even after your victory?’
‘It was costly. We lost seventeen people, six men and eleven women.’
Tito frowned. ‘Why that proportion?’
‘I would say it is because the women are more enthusiastic when the shooting begins, and are more inclined to show themselves as they look for a better target.’
‘Hm. You have got our medics to work?’
‘On the physically wounded, yes.’
‘Well, we shall have to restore their morale. Anyway, as I was saying, even if you have only five hundred effectives, we muster some two thousand. And we are already recruiting – both sexes. I think that in a few months we shall again have a sizeable army.’
‘Will we be allowed a few months, General?’
‘I think so. Winter is now upon us, and the Germans reckon we are beaten. We will lie low during the cold months, and plan an offensive for the spring. Though I intend to demonstrate that we are still in being as a military force before then.’
‘And Mihailovic?’
‘I have that gentleman very much in mind, Tony. It will be interesting to see what sort of relations he maintains with Belgrade during that time. Obviously, I am very reluctant to inspire a civil war on our domestic front as well as having to fight the Germans, but equally obviously we can never again place any trust in his cooperation. Now, we have managed to bring out some radio equipment. This is being set up now. What I want you to do is make contact with Alexandria, and persuade them not to believe anything the Germans, or the Cetniks, may be telling them about our collapse, and equally persuade them that we are the people they should be supporting. Despite what we managed to pick up from the German supply train, we still lack the requisite ammunition to mount any kind of serious offensive. If they will arm us, we can again be a most effective fighting force.’
‘Judging by what Curtis had to say, I’m not exactly flavour of the month with my superiors,’ Tony reminded him.
‘Nevertheless you must try.’
Tony nodded. ‘I’ll do my best. May I take a box of these chocolates for my captains?’
‘Of course.’ Tito grinned. ‘Must keep the ladies happy, eh?’
Hermann Ulrich stood to attention in front of General von Blintoft’s desk. ‘I congratulate you,’ the general said. ‘You say you have chased the bandits into the Bosnian mountains? Well, let them stay there and freeze. How many escaped?’
‘I do not think it can be more than a few hundred, Herr General.’
‘That is good. That is very good. Now, what is the report on Major Wassermann?’
‘I’m afraid it is very bad, sir. He underwent emergency surgery at the scene, to remove the bullet. Fortunately, it did not penetrate the lungs, but several ribs were broken, and his stomach is damaged. He also lost a great deal of blood.’ He paused; he was surprised that the general had not been to visit his prospective son-in-law.
‘So, is he going to die?’ Blintoft asked.
‘The surgeons think they can save his life, Herr General, at least for the time being. He has been given a massive blood transfusion, and is at present stable. But he is going to need several more operations, and they are unhappy about his prospects here in Belgrade. They feel they lack the proper equipment for such complicated surgery.’
‘So they wish him sent back to Germany.’ Blintoft snorted. ‘Well, I suppose he will have to go. When?’
‘That is another complication, Herr General. The surgeons feel it would be dangerous to move him before he has regained some strength. They say it may take a few weeks for him to do this.’
‘And they can keep him alive for that time?’
‘They seem confident of this. Although, because of his internal injuries, he will have to be kept under sedation.’
‘Well, I am sure they will do all they can. Now, Ulrich, about this other matter …’
‘With respect, sir, may I ask how Fräulein Angela is taking the news?’
‘She does not know of it yet.’
‘But … is she not engaged to the major?’
‘Yes,’ Blintoft said sadly. ‘But I feel that for her to be told of his condition, while the memory of the death of her mother is so fresh, might have a depressing effect.’
‘But has she not asked about the campaign? About the major’s part in it?’
‘I have told her that he is commanding the force that is chasing the bandits, and that he will continue to do so for a few weeks yet. If I were to tell her the truth about his part in the campaign … You were there, Ulrich. You were at Kragujevac. Is what Brigadier General Leesing put in his report true?’
‘I have not seen General Leesing’s report, Herr General,’ Ulrich said cautiously.
‘Well then, is it true that Major Wassermann shot five thousand men and boys before their womenfolk?’
Ulrich sighed. ‘I regret to say that is correct, Herr General.’
‘Did you not try to stop him?’
‘I protested, sir, but there was no way I could stop him. General Leesing tried to stop him, but he did not succeed either. He had an order’ – Ulrich cleared his throat – ‘signed by you, sir.’
‘Yes,’ Blintoft said. ‘I had no idea he would go so far. And is it true that he massacred the wounded taken at Uzice by driving tanks over them?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The man is a monster.’ Ulrich preferred not to reply to that; it was permissible for the general so to describe an inferior, but not for him so to describe his boss. ‘So, he executed every prisoner he could lay hands on,’ Blintoft mused.
‘Will there be repercussions from Berlin, Herr General?’
‘If there are, I doubt they will be very stringent. When you think what they are doing to guerillas in Russia, I do not think they are going to bother very much about a few thousand Yugoslavs. That does not make me feel any better. And then, what about the prisoners he was supposed to take? What about this Tito, and the man Davis and his girlfriend, the people who murdered my wife? They have all escaped, eh?’
Proving, Ulrich thought, that the general had been more interested in avenging his wife than in destroying the Partisans. But he also realized that he now had to feel his way through a minefield. Ulrich was well aware that the SS was responsible to no one save Heinrich Himmler, and through him, ultimately, the Führer. As far as the army went, it was a state within a state, over which the generals had no jurisdiction. Whatever this moon-faced blithering idiot might report to his superiors could not have the slightest effect, good or bad, on his career. Whereas what Wassermann put in his report, whenever he was in any condition to make a report, might make all the difference between promotion and demotion. And whether the major was ever going to be capable of returning to duty or not, he was apparently going to survive, and would undoubtedly remember that he had given Ulrich explicit instructions that Fouquet was to be kept incommunicado.
At the same time, he did not feel he should tell the general a direct lie. So he chose his words with great care. ‘Some prisoners were taken, Herr General. I escorted them back to Belgrade myself. They were people Major Wassermann intended to interrogate personally when he returned. Would you care to see them?’ He reckoned that if Blintoft went to the prison of his own volition, he was off the hook.
‘No, no,’ the general said. ‘I do not like that place, or the people who work there. Oh, yourself excluded, of course. Will you be interrogating them?’
‘Ah … when I am sure that the major will be in no condition to do so for some time, sir.’
‘Very good. If you do get around to it, and discover anything of interest, you will let
me know.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Though I imagine that Davis and Fouquet are either lying unrecognisably dead somewhere, or have escaped into the mountains. Thank you, Ulrich. Dismissed.’
Ulrich stood his ground. He needed to know how Angela, who knew that the prisoner was Fouquet, was going to react to what had happened. ‘With respect, sir, I feel that Fräulein von Blintoft should be informed of her fiancé’s condition.’
‘You may be right. But frankly, I cannot bring myself to do so. I have explained my reasons.’
The cue for which he had been waiting. ‘I quite understand, Herr General. I would be prepared to undertake the task for you.’
Blintoft raised his head. ‘You?’
‘Well, sir, I am Major Wassermann’s closest associate. I may be able to tell her in an acceptable way.’
‘And will she not feel that I have been neglectful of my duty?’
‘I do not think so, sir. If I explain your reasons – that you are reluctant to add to her grief over her mother – I should think she will entirely understand, and be most sympathetic.’
‘Hm. Well, very good, Ulrich. I give you permission to tell my daughter.’
‘And allow her to see the major?’
‘Oh, very well. If that is what she wishes to do.’
Ulrich clicked his heels.
Angela stood at the bedside, and looked down at Wassermann. Ulrich stood at one shoulder, and the sister at the other, waiting to catch her if she should fall. The doctor stood on the other side of the bed, also watching her. As if I would, she thought. I did not faint when I looked at Mama. Why should I faint now?
In fact, she could see very little of him; as with the last time she had seen her mother, the sheet was pulled to his neck, and there was an oxygen mask over his face. His eyes were closed.
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