A Bitter Wind, page 19
I heard the whirring crack of a slug as it passed close to my ear, followed by the distant sound of the shot. I hit the deck and crawled the rest of the way inside as another round thudded into the wooden door. I kicked it shut with my foot. Sanja flew by, vaulting up the stairs. Big Mike was at the window. He peered cautiously from the side, his M1 clutched in his hands.
“Everyone okay?” I shouted, louder than I needed to.
“No, goddamn it,” Rudy said. I rolled over to see him sprawled on the floor next to the stairs. Blood oozed through his fingers as they clasped his wounded arm. “He got a piece of me. Somebody better nail that Kraut!”
Shots rang out from the floor above. It was Sanja with her Mauser, working the bolt and sending rounds in the direction of the shooter. Chances were she wouldn’t hit him, but he’d damn well keep his head down.
I looked over to Big Mike, who nodded. I scrambled to my feet, threw the door open, and let loose a burst from my Thompson. I aimed straight ahead and darted across the road as Big Mike banged away with his M1. I took cover behind a tree and listened for footsteps, but with all the shooting going on, it wasn’t in the cards.
Men emerged from the village, running toward the sound of gunfire. I waved, wanting to be sure they knew I was one of the good guys. As for the bad guy, unless he was the stupidest German in Yugoslavia, he was long gone into the fog-shrouded hills.
Vamoosed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THERE WAS A lot of hubbub. Chetniks ran around with rifles aimed in every direction, farmers peeked out from behind barns and outhouses, worried airmen asked questions, and an angry Dilas shouted out orders in English and Serbian.
“That was a near miss, Billy,” Big Mike said. He carried his M1 at the ready on our way back to the house. “It went right by your ear and winged Rudy’s arm.”
“He must have fired as I turned around,” I said. “Probably got tired of waiting all night and took a pop at the first Yank he saw.” Two pops, I reminded myself. The second shot was stopped by the door. I felt the rough edges of the hole. A damn close call.
Inside, Sanja had cut off Rudy’s sleeve and was cleaning his wound. He had a long gouge along his right bicep. The bullet had struck the wall behind him, leaving a hole in the plaster.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” I said. “You have a medic?”
“Yeah. Me. Radio operator and medic. Funny, huh?” Rudy said. “I just need this bandaged tight so it will hold until we get to Bari. Use a lot of sulfa, okay, Sanja?”
“No,” she said. “It must be sewn. I am good with a needle.” She lit a candle and held a needle in the flame, then threaded it.
I patted Rudy on the shoulder and congratulated him on his Purple Heart. He let out a yelp as Sanja started stitching him up, but he quieted right down. I studied the bullet hole and eyed the slug’s likely path. I asked Big Mike to open the door, which he did, one hand holding a lepinja.
“Come on,” I said. I drew an imaginary line from the hole, out the entrance, and to the trees beyond the road. Outside, I did the same from where the slug had hit. I sighted along my Thompson with my shoulder against the door and spotted a mound of something deep in the woods.
Dilas emerged from the trees twenty yards down. When he joined us, I explained what I was up to. We went into the trees, and Dilas and Big Mike spread out on either side. In the thinning fog, I saw that the mound was a stack of logs about six feet long and four high.
“This’d be about right,” Big Mike said. He faced the house. “A good distance off but still a clear view.”
I ran my finger along the topmost log. It had been scraped clean of moss and dirt where a rifle would have lain. Behind the stack, pine needles and leaves had been churned up, revealing fresh dirt underneath.
“Why here?” I said, more to myself than anyone.
“To target our radio operator,” Dilas said. “He must have mistook you for Rudy.”
“I could see taking out the radio, but Rudy can’t be the only guy around who knows Morse,” I said.
“Could he have made it up here in time to see them hike in with the radio gear?” Big Mike asked.
“If he knew the lay of the land and had strong legs, sure,” Dilas said. “He might have waited until morning to leave so he could escape in the fog.”
“Yeah,” Dilas said, his hand on his chin. “What worries me is that he’s seen an American uniform at all. If he goes back with news that there are Americans in Pranjani, all hell could break loose.”
“Maybe we should stop hunting for him and focus on blocking his way back,” I said. “Keep him bottled up.”
“Good idea,” Dilas said. “I’ll step up security in the village and send out patrols along the ravine.”
“The fog might have kept him from making out the uniform,” I said as I tried to think it through. “But he had to have a reason for staking out Sanja’s house in particular.
“That’s one dedicated bastard,” I continued. “We got the drop on those SS at the bridge, but they didn’t seem like savvy frontline combat veterans. They acted like security troops who were used to having their way. This guy’s different.” I walked a few paces into the woods and saw nothing but mist dripping from pine boughs. The only way I could tell he was gone was the fact that I was drawing breath.
“I’ll move Rudy to another house, just to be sure,” Dilas said. “After I get the horses organized.” Dilas and I turned to walk back, but Big Mike was intent on scanning the ground behind the log pile, so we stopped to watch.
“You see something?” I asked.
“No.”
I joined him as he scuffed aside ground debris and felt with his hands between the logs. He didn’t speak but raised an eyebrow in my direction.
“Damn,” I said. With a cop’s eye for evidence, Big Mike had spotted what should have been there but wasn’t. “Two shots. There should be at least one shell casing here.”
“Odds are he would have worked the bolt to chamber another round after he fired the second shot,” Big Mike said. “Just to be ready.”
“So?” Dilas said with a shrug.
“He policed his shell casings,” I said. “That’s the mark of an assassin, not a regular soldier.”
“If he left them, it would have marked this as his firing position,” Dilas said. “Maybe he’s planning a return visit.”
“Maybe,” I said, unconvinced. There was something at work here I didn’t understand. Either a highly skilled German commando was roaming these hills, or it was someone else. Either way, I wanted him stopped before he adjusted his aim a tad and put a bullet in my head. I scoured the ground for any evidence we might have missed. I came up empty. But there had to be something I’d overlooked. Something besides the absence of shell casings. What, I had no idea.
Nothing came to me. I walked back to the house with Big Mike while Dilas corralled wandering Chetniks for patrols. As we entered, Sanja was wrapping a gauze bandage around Rudy’s arm.
“Feeling okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Sanja’s got a steady hand and a tight stitch,” Rudy said.
“And I will take them out when I return,” Sanja said. “You did not find the German?”
“No trace,” I said. “Is it common knowledge that Rudy stays here?”
“Every person in the village knows where everyone lives,” Sanja said. “Of course they know about Rudy and the radio. Do you think the sniper was after him?”
“It’s possible,” I said.
“I’m not that important,” Rudy said. “Marty knows Morse, he’s just slow at it. If a German wanted to take out anyone, it would be him. He’s the senior OSS officer.”
“The German is still running, I think,” Sanja said. “He knows he is being hunted. But right now, I must go over the map with Rudy. He needs to see the path we will take to contact our units in the villages we will pass. Then we should eat. It will be a long ride.”
It was good advice, even though my heart was still pounding more than my stomach was growling. Big Mike and I sat in the kitchen while Sanja tended to Rudy in the sitting room. I nibbled at a lepinja. It was soft and chewy, the sausage inside warm. The nibbles turned to full bites, and before I knew it, I was washing the last of it down with coffee.
“That’s good,” I said, and took another. “I told you about the two attempts on my life in England, right?”
“Yeah. Someone tried to clobber you during a storm and then slashed the bed you’d slept in the night before,” Big Mike said. “Whoever did that is pretty far away, Billy.”
“I get that. I may be paranoid, but I’m not crazy. What I do know for sure is that those two attempts made sense. There’s a murderer on that base, and he was trying to stop me,” I said. “Now I’m here in Serbia, and someone is gunning for me.”
“In the middle of a war. Hardly surprising.”
“But why me? Why did the shooter stake out this house? Why did he risk so much to take that shot?”
“You have a point,” Big Mike said. “I’m thinking you could have been a random target. But what I can’t figure out is what motivates this guy. His whole unit has just been blown to hell. If he wanted vengeance, it would make sense to observe and then get back with word that Americans are in this village. The Luftwaffe could flatten it in a heartbeat.”
“Instead, he’s stalking us.”
“Stalking you,” Big Mike said. “You got enemies in Yugoslavia, maybe?”
“Seems like I do now.”
I sipped the last of the coffee, trying to come up with a rational explanation. Maybe I was overthinking things, and we had nothing more than a foolish Fritz taking potshots after curling up behind a woodpile.
I worked to mentally reconstruct the scene. Opened the door and went outside. Trees shrouded in mist. Turned at the crack of a bullet past my head. Dove and kicked the door shut as the second round hit. Rudy held his bleeding arm. Sanja fired from the upstairs bedroom, the loud report from her Mauser alternating with the click-clack of the bolt action. Burst outside with Big Mike and found nothing but confusion.
Which was the state I found myself in when my coffee was gone. I tried to stop thinking about it and went upstairs to grab my rucksack. I was back downstairs when Dilas came in, his face lit with excitement.
“They’re bringing the horses, and you’re in for a surprise,” he said.
“Is Johnny Adler riding one of them?” I asked. Otherwise, I’d had enough of a surprise already.
“No, but you’re about to meet General Draža Mihailović himself,” Dilas said. He explained that the Chetnik leader had stayed at the farm where the horses were kept and wanted to meet the new Yanks who’d arrived in Pranjani. Dilas had tried to warn him off because of the German, but Mihailović and his men had only laughed. He didn’t sound like the kind of general to worry about a single enemy soldier.
We hefted our gear and filed outside to get our mounts and meet the Chetnik leader. Sanja wore her Mauser rifle slung over her shoulder. I blinked, knowing something important was right in front of me.
The bolt.
The shots that came my way were fired quickly, one after the other. Too fast for even a skilled marksman to work the bolt and take aim.
It wasn’t a Mauser. It was an American M1 Garand.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
NOT ONLY HAD it been a semiautomatic M1, but I doubted it was fired by a German. Why would a Kraut bother to pick up his shell casings? It wasn’t unthinkable that the enemy would favor a semiautomatic over the bolt-action Mauser, but only someone on our side would want to remove any evidence of the weapon. The only question left was, Yank or Chetnik?
I didn’t have much time to think about that as a half-dozen men on horseback paraded down the street with villagers walking beside them. Chetnik fighters, children, and older folks smiled and chatted with the man in the lead. He wore a green felt cap with the Serbian double-headed eagle coat of arms and wire-rimmed glasses that gave him the air of a renegade professor. His beard was full but neatly trimmed, his mustache twirling up at each end. He was the kind of guy you spot thirty yards out and know you’re never going to forget.
“General Mihailović,” I said, coming to attention and offering a salute that would have made Sam Harding proud.
“Welcome to Serbia, my American friends,” Mihailović said. He returned the salute, dismounted, and made right for Rudy, whose arm was now in a sling. “You were not badly injured, I see.”
“No, General, I’m fine. Sanja stitched me right up,” Rudy said.
“Good. We need you and your radio. Captain Dilas, my men will assist you in the hunt for this Nazi,” Mihailović said. “He cannot be allowed to escape.”
“Thank you, General,” Dilas said. “We’ll use them to patrol the roads. I’ll get started right now and have some men from the village guard you.”
“Do not worry about me, Captain,” the general said with a smile. “The Germans have yet to find me. I will stay the night and my men are yours while there is light.”
Dilas went off to speak with the mounted guard while the villagers held the reins of the three horses brought along for us.
“General, this is First Sergeant Mike Miecznikowski, known as Veliki Mihajlo,” I said.
“Well named, my friend,” Mihailović said with a grin as he shook hands with Big Mike.
“I’m Captain Billy Boyle,” I said, and took the general’s offered hand. His grip was firm, and his eyes drilled into mine.
“I understand you both helped defeat the fascists at the ravine,” he said. “A good fight, except for the one who got away. No matter, a single German in our mountains is a dead man.”
“I’d be happier seeing his dead body, sir.”
“As would I, and many more,” Mihailović said. “I understand you brought in supplies for my men. This is appreciated. But we need much more. Boots, medicines, and ammunition. First the British abandoned us. Now the Americans are about to. Will this change, do you think?”
“General, it’s been my experience that the brass takes care of the thinking and the rest of us are left to make the best of what they’ve thought up,” I said. “I’m glad we could help, but it doesn’t repay you and your people for what you’ve done for our aircrew.”
“Watch out, Captain Boyle. You may end up being a diplomat when this war is over. Thank you for your words, but your air force carries the war to the Germans in their homeland. This is good for us. You, our allies, we are obliged to help. Sadly, I think the British have poisoned the American leaders against us. Tito and his Communists now have the upper hand, and I grieve for my nation if they take control. To go from Nazis to Communists is only another form of enslavement,” Mihailović said. “Tell your generals that when you return.”
“I will, sir,” I said. I hoped I’d have a chance to ask Uncle Ike about what was happening to the Chetniks. It sounded like they were getting a raw deal, but then again, maybe Tito had his side of the story to tell.
“Now, you must go,” Mihailović said. “The air is clear. I hope you find your men. The last flight will leave soon enough.”
“You should be on it,” Big Mike said. “Tell the generals in Italy what the story is. So many airmen owe their lives to you.”
“Veliki Mihajlo, you have a great heart, I can see that,” Mihailović said. He laid a hand on Big Mike’s shoulder. “But I will never leave this soil until my people are free. Now go. With Sanja as your guide, I am sure you will have success.”
He and Sanja embraced, then the general left. He walked his horse and chatted with a gaggle of kids who’d gathered around him like he was Father Christmas. Dilas had a few words with him before he returned to us. A couple of Chetniks brought our horses close. We stuffed the saddlebags with rations and food, leaving our packs for ammo and medical supplies.
“Here, take my binoculars,” Dilas said. “Might come in handy for spotting your POW.”
“Thanks,” I said, and hung the powerful binoculars around my neck. I motioned for Big Mike to come closer and spoke in a low voice. I told Dilas about my suspicions.
“You’re saying one of our people is the shooter? That there’s no Kraut?” Dilas said. “That’s crazy.”
“Billy’s got a point,” Big Mike said. “Those two shots came in bang bang. Just enough time in between to take aim. Working a bolt would’ve meant more of a delay.”
“I know that, goddamn it,” Dilas said. “But I can’t believe it was one of us. Maybe we got a Kraut smart enough to know an M1 is a better rifle. We’ve had a few arms drops go south and they’ve gotta have a fair supply.”
“All I can tell you is what makes sense to me,” I said. “Keep an eye peeled.”
“You too,” Dilas said. “And get back in time to make that last flight.”
He didn’t need to tell me twice. I wanted to come back with Johnny Adler in tow and get to Italy, where I was pretty sure no one wanted me dead. I mounted up. Dilas slapped my horse’s flank, and we were off. We rode out of the village, past the town hall where three Chetniks tied their horses to a fence, and joined Mihailović at the entrance.
“Some kind of powwow going on,” Big Mike said as two more Chetniks rode into town. These fellows sported relatively clean uniforms, as opposed to the rough garb of the local fighters. We exchanged greetings as I admired their horses, one a light gray, almost white, and the other jet black. A striking pair.
“Probably trying to figure out what to do once we leave them high and dry,” I said once we’d passed each other.
“It ain’t right,” Big Mike said, and settled into a surly silence. We stayed on the main road, which wasn’t more than a dirt road barely wide enough for a truck. In about a mile, Sanja led us into the woods on a narrow path that dropped down to the level of a stream. Fallen leaves carpeted the route, and the bare branches of trees arched overhead. Sanja and the horses seemed to know the way, and our mounts were sure-footed on the rocky slope. Serbian mountain horses, Sanja told us. Small and nimble, they possessed thick, muscled necks and stout legs. Even Veliki Mihajlo would not be too heavy a load, she promised.
