A Bitter Wind, page 20
Sanja rode her chestnut mare gracefully, erect in the saddle even as the trail dipped and turned. Big Mike and I let our bays follow her lead and kept an eye out for any movement in the deep woods. We rode for an hour, hidden among the forested ridgelines. Pretty soon, my posterior reminded me it had been a long time since I’d last ridden.
We halted before a trickle of water that crossed our path, leaving a patch of mud and wet leaves before it flowed into the stream. Sanja sat taller in her saddle, looking carefully at the wet surface.
“No tracks,” she said. “No one has come this way. This is good.”
We descended farther, the sound of falling water not far ahead. We reached a level surface where flat mossy rocks overlooked churning rapids as the stream grew into a more sizable river. Sanja held up her hand and dismounted. We followed suit, and from the grimace on Big Mike’s face, it seemed we were both glad for a break. We stepped onto a wide ledge, where, for the first time this morning, we were out from under the cover of the forest canopy. Here, there was no fog, nothing but wispy clouds floating over the narrow valley below. Smoke curled from farmhouses along the river where a road led to a cluster of homes around a stone bridge. On one side sat an orchard, fruit trees planted in neat rows. On the other, naked fields waited for spring planting.
“Planinica,” Sanja said. “We have fighters there. Rudy contacted them to watch for us and for the man you seek.”
“How many?” I asked. I scanned the scene below through my binoculars. No one was in sight.
“Ten, I think,” Sanja said. “Some live here and keep their weapons hidden until needed. Others guard the radio and watch the roads for Germans. Or Tito’s Partisans, or Ustaše. Sometimes they find American fliers, but too often it is the enemy who comes through.” She pointed out a rise behind the bridge, which gave a good view of the road where it wound around a hill. “The observation post is up there. They move it every two days to hide their tracks. They may be watching us now.”
We waved and ate lepinja. We watched and listened. The scene looked peaceful. Very quiet. I raised the binoculars and scanned the road and the village.
“I can’t see a soul,” I said. “Where is everybody?” Nobody was out doing chores. No movement. Then I saw it. A body, near the bridge. I found another, sprawled on the ground at the back of a house.
“Look,” I said, and handed Sanja the field glasses.
“Bože moj,” she murmured. “My god. We must go. Now. They could be watching.”
“Who?” Big Mike asked.
“Those who slaughter Serbs,” Sanja said. “There are many to choose from. Follow and be quiet.”
We mounted and trailed Sanja single file down a path worn flat by centuries of feet, beast and human alike. Set along a rock ledge, it provided no cover for about a hundred yards. Most of the way, there wasn’t room to turn around, much less dismount. I should have been nervous, given the drop-off, but I was too busy watching for movement below. If anyone down there had a machine gun aimed at us, a couple of quick bursts would put an end to our search for Johnny Adler.
But no one shot at us, and no one ran to greet us. The path from the ledge emptied onto the dirt road that led through the village, but Sanja took us along the river, giving us cover from anyone hiding in the houses.
It didn’t take long to realize no one was hiding. The river meandered and soon revealed an array of bodies on the bank. Baskets of laundry were overturned, the contents coated with mud and blood. Bodies were half in the river, half on shore. Some had been shot at close range. Others had gaping wounds to their throats. Two children slumped together, silent in their final embrace.
“Shouldn’t we check for anyone still alive?” Big Mike said as we halted our horses.
“No. There are none left alive. This looks like the work of the Ustaše. They enjoy cutting throats and would not leave a Serb breathing. Come,” Sanja said. She kicked her horse’s flanks and ascended the bank, stopping between two houses. She dismounted and tied her horse to a fence post, motioning for us to do the same. “I must look for our fighters. If they are not here, they may still be alive.”
We followed Sanja as she went into each house. Big Mike stayed on guard outside while I helped her search the small dwellings. Most had just one large room with a bed, a stove, and rough-hewn wooden furniture. Not to mention more bodies. Old men, women, kids. A few men of fighting age.
There were ten houses in the little village, each with its own horrors. Some were blood spattered, with corpses in unimaginable poses, and family belongings scattered. Others were intact, traces of domesticity still evident, like the dying embers of a fire. Plates set out for the midday meal. A child’s doll on the bed. Chaos was almost preferrable.
In the last house, a card game had been in progress. Glasses on the table. A hand dealt and in play. The queen of hearts sat waiting to win or be taken.
“We are done,” Sanja said, her mouth set in a grim line. “Jovan and Stephan are not here. We will find them.” She left, her Mauser clutched in her hands as if she ached to find a way to take her vengeance.
I stood at the table, unable to take my eyes off the red queen. I was unaccountably drawn to it and held the card in my hand as if it had some greater meaning than a dead man’s last play. I placed it in my pocket while I tried to put the jumbled thoughts that ran through my mind into some sort of order. They didn’t cooperate.
“We can’t just leave these bodies like this,” Big Mike said as we walked to the horses.
“We must leave them,” Sanja said. “There is no time to dig graves, not if you wish to find your friend and return for the last flight out of Pranjani. But it is also important to not disturb the dead. If the Ustaše return and see the bodies have been cared for, they will hunt us. So, we leave everyone as they fell. It is their last duty.”
“We don’t need the people who did this on our trail, buddy,” I said to Big Mike.
“Veliki Mihajlo, I am sorry you had to witness how we make war,” Sanja said. “There are many villages like this poor place. Serb, Croat, Albanian, Catholic, Muslim. We all suffer revenge many times over. It is no good, not for anyone, yet we cannot stop ourselves.”
“Do you think Jovan and Stephan are alive?” I asked.
“Yes. If no one betrayed them. They know their duty is to protect the radio, so they would have stayed hidden. There was not much two men could have done, but it must have been difficult,” she said.
“If they’re here, they must have spotted us,” Big Mike said. He looked toward the hill at the edge of town. The road forked at its base. One route followed the river and the other headed east. “Where are they?”
“Watching,” Sanja said, and led us to the hill. She explained that since the observation post was frequently relocated, there was a hidden meeting place. We walked the horses into the woods and tethered them in a small glen. Sanja whistled, and in a moment, a Chetnik emerged from the trees. He was tall and thin and had the usual bushy beard and cloth cap with the Serbian double-headed eagle. His eyes were vacant, his mouth agape, and he moved with a halting gait, as if his body and mind were ill at ease with each other.
“Stephan,” she said. They embraced, and Stephan led us silently uphill. In a few minutes we were on a rocky outcropping, the valley floor spread out beneath us. The houses, the orchards, the bodies. Jovan sat under a pine tree, almost invisible behind the low-hanging branches. He nodded to Sanja, glanced at us with indifference, and returned to his dials and headset. Stephan spoke to Sanja and pointed to the road below with a sweeping gesture, the bitterness evident in his curt, clipped tone. When he was finished, he rubbed his eyes and turned away.
“It was the Ustaše Black Legion,” she told us. “They came this morning. Four truckloads. They began to kill immediately.”
“Why?” Big Mike asked. “A reprisal?”
“The Black Legion are the most savage Ustaše,” she said. “Even the SS is shocked by their butchery. They need no reason to kill Serbs.”
“Which direction did they go?” I asked. “After.” I felt ashamed to ask, inquiring about our own safety in the wake of this massacre, but we needed to keep moving.
“That way, to the east,” Sanja said. “Jovan has news. Two escapees are with our men in Virovac.”
“How far?” I asked.
“Six hours, perhaps. We may not make it before dark. In the morning, certainly,” she said. “We take the road along the river. Jovan said our men sent out a patrol to meet us.”
Stephan spoke hurriedly and pointed to the eastern road. A tiny plume of dust arose in the distance.
“The Black Legion,” Sanja said. “We must go.”
I trained my binoculars on the road and made out the trucks headed our way. I pivoted to the river road and was relieved to see it clear. Then I scanned the path that we’d taken to the village as we’d come down from the top of the ridge.
A horseman was perched at the overlook, a flash of white fluttering in his hand.
It couldn’t be.
I pulled the red queen out of my pocket. Finally, she spoke to me.
I knew exactly who the horseman was.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“POŽURI!” SANJA SHOUTED. I didn’t need a translator to understand she wanted us to hurry. We scrambled down the rocky path, burst through the undergrowth, and raced to the horses in the glen. By the time we emerged onto the road, we could hear the trucks rumbling closer. Following Sanja’s lead, we went into a canter since the turn was close.
As we reached the fork and went right, I risked a quick glance up to the overlook. The horseman was gone, and I cursed his perfect timing. He’d spotted us and also avoided running smack into the Black Legion. I couldn’t focus on more than that as I pressed my calves against the horse’s flanks and urged her into a gallop.
Sanja was well ahead of us. She rode hard, her horse’s hooves sending clumps of dirt flying. I gripped the reins and leaned forward, resisting the temptation to look over my shoulder again. Maybe I’d hallucinated him because I’d seen the queen of hearts on that table. But it had been a damn vivid hallucination, especially with him astride the light gray horse we’d spotted in Pranjani.
The road curved with the river and narrowed as pines encroached on the path. Sanja leaned into the turn and picked up speed, her body close to the horse, the two of them moving with an animal’s grace. I pulled the reins to my right and managed to stay upright even as branches flashed by my face. Engines growled in the distance, and I knew if the Ustaše spotted us, they could floor it and have us in their sights at any moment.
The image of the horseman was burned into my mind, but it was only now, as I gripped the reins and kept my knees tight against my mount’s flank, that I saw one detail clearly. The flash of white I’d spotted? It had to be the map Sanja had marked up for Rudy, which detailed our route to Majur. How else could he be on our tail?
Sanja pulled in her reins and slowed her mount. I did the same and checked on Big Mike. Just behind me, he stood tall in the saddle, his feet braced against the stirrups. I didn’t see or hear anyone behind us, but I didn’t waste a lot of time craning my neck since I was too busy trying to save it. I followed Sanja as she veered off the road onto a narrow path through the conifers. She patted her horse’s neck, murmuring encouragements. I gave mine a few rubs and was rewarded with a playful snort. She liked to run, but I didn’t want to overtire her. We still had a long way to go.
The trees thinned out until we were on open ground with a ridgeline looming over us. The path ended by a stream, where we halted and let the horses drink from the gently flowing water. Leather creaked as Big Mike looked around and cupped a hand behind his ear.
“Nothing,” he said. “Maybe they took the other fork.”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said, and withdrew the playing card from my pocket.
“Quiet!” Sanja hissed. “If they did take the other fork, they could be close. That road is behind the ridge. There.” She pointed to the rocky outcropping above us.
“Look,” I said to Big Mike, my voice low. I held up the red queen.
“Goddamn,” he said, his eyes widening. “It can’t be.”
“Come!” Sanja said. “This is no time for card games. We are in the open. Follow me.” She made a clucking sound, and her horse moved off smartly as they worked their way upstream. The banks were rocky and blocked with boulders, so we splashed through the water. I kept an eye on the high ground above us. She was right, this wasn’t the time and place to talk about what that card meant. But from the look on Big Mike’s face, he knew.
Our mounts picked their way through the clear mountain waters, dislodging rocks that clattered in the streambed. The noise echoed sharply against the stony ridge, and I kept scanning the horizon for Ustaše. The air was cold, and the sun settled low in the western sky, nearly touching the top of the crest to our right. I hoped Sanja had some place in mind for us to spend the night.
On the left, the bank flattened, and Sanja urged her mount out of the streambed and onto dry land. I turned for a last check of the high ground and caught a flicker of movement. Even with the sun in my eyes, I made out three figures, silhouetted against the sky.
Three men. With rifles.
“Go!” I shouted just as shots cracked and bullets zinged off the rocks. Sanja ducked, her head on the horse’s mane, and darted into the woods. My horse followed, but Big Mike’s reared in terror as a slug ricocheted off a rock not a foot from her hoof. Big Mike held on, but as his mare bolted out of the stream, he tumbled off and hit the ground hard.
“I’m okay,” he grunted, and got up. “Go.”
There wasn’t much for me to do except serve as a second target, so I made for cover as Big Mike ran behind me. At first, the trees were nothing but saplings. They screened us from view but wouldn’t be very good at stopping a bullet. I pulled on the reins and waited for Big Mike to catch up. He crashed through the branches, M1 slung over his shoulder, carrying his helmet.
“Are you hurt?” I asked. Branches snapped as bullets flew overhead.
“Only my pride and my backside,” he said as he hustled by me. I urged my horse forward, weaving between trees, until we came to a small ravine where Sanja awaited us.
“Where is your horse?” Sanja demanded.
“I don’t know,” Big Mike said. He looked around, surprised, as if he’d misplaced it accidentally. “She threw me and bolted.”
“Vamoosed?” Sanja said. “That is not good.”
“She got spooked by a bullet,” I said. Seeing Sanja’s furrowed eyebrows, I clarified. “Scared.”
“She will find us. I hope. Horses smell each other. Now hurry.”
Sanja clucked again and headed up the trail. I told Big Mike we’d switch off riding and walking until we got to our destination, then trotted closer to Sanja.
“How far to Virovac?” I asked.
“Farther than I planned,” she said. “This is the long way. The Ustaše took the shorter path.”
“Why didn’t we?”
“It is too rocky for the horses to go fast,” she said. “If the Ustaše also took that route, they would have caught us. So we go this way and hope to find the road before dark. Virovac in the morning.”
“But if the Ustaše continue on that road, they’ll be in Virovac before us,” I said.
“Yes,” Sanja said. “Would you like to turn back?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well then, watch for Veliki Mihajlo’s horse,” she said. “That would be the most useful thing. Unless you wish to stop and play cards?”
“I’ll tell you about that tonight, over some slivovitz,” I said. “Where are we staying?”
“We will find a house,” Sanja said. “The village where I hoped to stop is not on this road.”
“This isn’t exactly a road,” I said as our horses walked on the path thick with pine needles.
“Look for the horse,” she said, and clucked.
Big Mike and I switched, and I hoofed it for a while, which felt good after being in the saddle all day. Shadows were growing longer, but at least we were on a dirt track that looked well used by horses and carts. No Black Legion trucks, thankfully.
The path took us by a field with neat rows of stubble from fall crops. Woodsmoke drifted in along with the sound of a mooing cow, announcing a farmhouse nearby.
“Friendly?” Big Mike asked.
“In this area, people should be, but I cannot be certain,” Sanja said. Ahead, a dull yellow light glowed from a window in a one-story farmhouse set back from the road. It had outbuildings attached and a barn in the rear.
We dismounted and led our horses to the house. Sanja called out, alerting the family to our presence. The light was doused and the door swung open. A man holding a shotgun stepped outside. His beard was shot with gray, and his huge hands held the scattergun like it was a toy. It wasn’t pointed at anyone, which I took to be a good sign.
Sanja spoke in soothing tones and gestured to us. The farmer gave us a stare. Americans were unexpected, and I could see the wariness in his eyes. But there was interest too. We were something new and different, commodities in short supply on a farm in winter.
He spoke to Sanja, sounding friendly. Then he pointed to the barn and said a few things with a lot of emphasis. As he did, two young girls, around twelve or thirteen, poked their heads outside. Sanja made agreeable sounds and spoke to the girls, greeting them.
“Give them some food,” she said, glancing at me. I dug into the sack and produced two Hershey’s bars and a pack of Chesterfields. Sanja took them, gave the smokes to the farmer with a small bow, then handed the chocolate to the girls, who looked to their father for permission. He nodded and spoke to each of them. Now we were all friends.
