A Bitter Wind, page 29
“I wonder if someone went to the radio post when they didn’t check in,” Big Mike said.
“It will be dark soon, and the machine will not be able to hunt us,” Sanja said. For the first time, I sensed real worry in her usually upbeat voice.
We put a few miles between us and the barn and took a break where the trail crossed a stream at the bottom of a ravine. The Storch’s motor was still buzzing around above but hadn’t come close. We tied the horses to saplings at the edge of the stream where they could drink and arranged ourselves on a pile of rocks to divvy up the German rations. We’d need the energy to get through the night.
There were two tins of biscuits, plus one of a meat spread that resembled liverwurst, and another with cheese.
“Not bad,” Big Mike said. He munched away, chewing on the hard biscuit for all he was worth.
“But not as good as American spaghetti in tomato sauce,” Sanja said with a smile. “Of course.”
The Storch flew closer, then banked and headed north. The drone of the small engine was replaced by a louder, more insistent thrum of aircraft at a much higher altitude.
“What the hell?” Big Mike uttered as he searched the bits of sky visible from between the branches.
“The horses!” Nick shouted, and moved toward them. Twenty yards away, they were in plain sight from above and clearly a target, which meant our cavalry ruse had failed.
“No! Stukas!” Sanja said. She leapt up as the screaming sirens on the Stukas’ wings heralded their steep turn into a dive-bomb attack.
“Take cover now!” I yelled, and dove behind the jumble of rocks where we’d been seated. The shrill sirens whined and reached an earsplitting crescendo as they plummeted straight at us. The horses panicked, heads raised and ears held back. My mount reared and pulled her reins free, taking off as the two Stukas dropped their bombs. They pulled out of their dives and soared upward. I watched the bombs fall.
I ducked as Nick sprinted for cover. Multiple explosions erupted around us, raining debris and choking the forest clearing with smoke. I kept my head down, ears ringing from the blasts, until I heard a shriek of pain.
It was Nick. He writhed on the ground and clutched his leg. The incoming roar of engines meant the Stukas were coming back for a strafing run, a coup de grâce by machine gun. I vaulted over the rocks just as Big Mike did the same. He grabbed Nick by the shoulders, and I took hold of his feet, ignoring his screams of pain. We scrambled back over the rocks and went flat, as we covered Nick with our bodies.
The percussive chatter of machine guns hammered at us. Bullets zinged off the rocks and shredded branches, which cascaded from the treetops. Then they were gone, their deadly work done. Big Mike and I untangled ourselves and rolled off Nick, who groaned through gritted teeth. I shrugged off my rucksack and dug out the medical kit.
“You’re going to be okay, Nick,” I said as I pulled out the supplies. “Where are you hit?”
“Legs, I think,” he gasped. “My arse too. Oh my god.” He reached down to feel his privates, then breathed out a sigh that told me things were intact.
“Okay, we’re going to roll you over,” I said. Big Mike and I eased him onto his stomach, and I set to work cutting away his blood-soaked blue wool trousers.
“We’ll look for the horse,” Johnny said. He knelt by Nick and squeezed his arm. “It’ll only be an improvement to your backside, mate. Be right back.”
“How bad is it?” Nick asked. He was calmer now, likely because Johnny had made that joke. If it were really bad, he wouldn’t have played it for a laugh.
“You caught some shrapnel,” I said as I snipped off cloth around his left thigh and buttock. I splashed water to wash away the blood and see what I had to deal with. A jagged piece of metal protruded from his upper thigh, and I plucked it out with the forceps and sprinkled sulfa powder on it. I repeated the process up and down his left leg, which had taken the brunt of the hit. He’d lost blood, but there wasn’t any serious damage I could see.
“I hit the dirt, soon as Sanja yelled,” he said. “I was worried about the horses.”
“Billy’s broke free,” Big Mike said as I wrapped gauze bandages around compresses as best I could. “As for the others, you would’ve been a dead man if you were anywhere near them.”
For the first time, I looked over the rocks that had sheltered us. It was a bloody mess. The bombs had been right on target, leaving a mass of gore that even the swiftly flowing stream couldn’t wash away.
“Jesus,” I said. I returned to tying off bandages while I wondered what the hell we were going to do.
“What?” Nick asked.
“The horses. Four of them took a direct hit. Mine’s missing.”
“Nick, I gotta ask. Can you walk?” Big Mike said.
“Walk? Bloody hell, I’m not sure I can stand. Give me a minute,” he said with a wince as he worked his leg.
“There may still be shrapnel in your leg,” I said. “I took out what I could see, but for now you’re patched up as best as I can manage.”
“Listen, Nick,” Big Mike said. “It’s getting close to sunset. We only have one horse, and that’s if Sanja and Johnny can find her. You need to walk or, hopefully, ride. Can you manage it?”
“You’re a cheery fellow, aren’t you? I’ve just had shrapnel pulled out of my rear end, and you want to know if I can ride a horse? Lend a hand, will you?”
Big Mike helped Nick stand. He was wobbly and complained of the cold, so I wrapped the rest of the gauze bandages around his leg to keep his trousers intact. Nick took a few tentative steps and asked if there was any morphine in my medical kit. I told him there was, but only for serious injuries. Big Mike walked with him while we checked for any further bleeding.
Johnny and Sanja returned, leading my horse by the bridle. She was unhurt but kept shaking her head, ears back and eyes wide open.
“We cannot take her past the other horses,” Sanja said. “The smell of death frightens her. I will take her through the woods to the path beyond them.”
“Good to see you up on two feet, Nick,” Johnny said. “We need to move.”
“What difference does it make?” Nick asked, his voice bitter and angry. “We’ll never make it on foot.”
“The difference is that those Stukas carry four bombs on their wings and a larger five-hundred-pounder under the fuselage,” Johnny said. “They dropped the smaller hundred-pound bombs on us. If they come back, we won’t be so lucky when they unleash the rest of their payload.”
“Lucky?” Nick said. He winced as he took a few exploratory steps on his own. “Speak for yourself, mate.”
Chapter Forty-Three
BIG MIKE CUT a stout branch for Nick to use as a cane. We crossed the stream and skirted the disemboweled carcasses of the four horses. Two of the bombs had hit next to where they were tethered, which was more than enough to gut them. It looked like the second plane had missed entirely, according to the four bomb craters up the trail.
Sanja awaited us with my horse, keeping a tight grip on the reins as she stroked the mare’s neck.
“She is calmer now,” Sanja said. “Nick, you will ride.”
“Johnny’s the one you need to get on that plane,” Nick said. “He’s the bloke the Jerries are after.”
“You forget, I’m dead,” Johnny said. “Come on, I’ll give you a boost.”
“Hard to keep track,” Nick said. “All right, help me get my foot in the stirrup, but then hands off. It hurts everywhere.”
Johnny helped with the foot and Big Mike got on the other side of the horse and pulled Nick by the hand. He got onto the saddle with a groan and a wince.
“You okay, Nick?” I asked.
“Nothing a nice soft pillow wouldn’t take care of,” he said.
Johnny had cocked his head skyward. I heard it too. The Storch, coming back to make sure the job had been done.
“Let’s go,” Sanja said, and led the way. “Do not fall off the horse, Nick.”
“It might hurt less than this,” he said as he leaned against the horse’s neck to take pressure off his hindquarters.
We trudged on as the light faded behind the high ridgelines. Big Mike cut up the hard sausage, the last of our food, and passed it around. We ate and walked, stumbling along the rocky path. The Storch made a few more passes and then gave up. I envied them their evening meal. And soft bed.
We walked silently for hours, too exhausted for words. In the light of the partial moon, the landscape looked familiar, but whenever I thought we were close to Pranjani, I spotted a landmark that told me we still had too damn many miles to go.
Nick was doing okay, holding tight to the reins while resting with his face buried in the horse’s mane. His bandages were caked with blood, but there was no new bleeding. My biggest worry was an infection from any shrapnel left inside. He’d have to wait for Rudy to look, then a real doctor in Bari.
I glanced at my watch. I tried to focus my eyes, which were gritty from lack of sleep. I blinked until I could make out the luminous dial. Quarter after three in the morning.
“Happy New Year,” I said, not feeling much joy about it.
“What time is sunrise?” Big Mike asked.
“Seven o’clock, or very close to,” Sanja said. “You are thinking of the aircraft?”
“Yeah. They’ll probably take off from Bari before dawn and cross the coastline just before first light to avoid detection,” I said. “Then land at Pranjani the moment there’s enough daylight.”
“In four hours, then,” Big Mike said. “They won’t want to stay on the ground long. Maybe twenty minutes and they’ll be gone. The last flight out of Pranjani.”
“They know we’re coming, right?” Johnny said. “Tomas would have radioed the news, and your chaps in Pranjani are sure to wait.”
“No, they’re not,” I said. I rubbed my eyes and tried to make out the rocks and roots in the trail ahead. “First, it’s politics. Both the Brits and the Yanks have withdrawn their support for Mihailović. Churchill has eyes only for Tito, and this operation to rescue downed airmen is our last hurrah. Our OSS contact told us the flight this morning was the last one, to extract any stragglers.”
“What’s second?” Johnny asked.
“They probably think we’re dead,” I said. “There had to be a lot of radio communication between Tomas and other units. Rudy would’ve heard about the ambushes, spotter planes, and bombers. When we don’t show up on time, it’s the obvious conclusion.”
“Maybe they’ll be delayed by weather,” Big Mike suggested. It was cold, but the stars were bright and the wind light.
“Mechanical failure,” I said. “The whole thing’s postponed until tomorrow.”
“I’ll buy that,” Johnny said.
The trail smoothed out and, finally, the going was easier. Staying awake wasn’t. I lost track of time until we halted on the outskirts of Planinica. It had taken about an hour and a half for us to ride here from Pranjani in daylight. On foot, it would take more than twice as long. I could see the first signs of predawn as a diffuse, reflected light in the east.
I explained to Nick and Johnny what had happened there, as Sanja and Big Mike went to scout things out.
“We don’t know if the Ustaše have come back or if any villagers returned,” I said. Johnny and I leaned against the horse, feeling the welcome warmth of its flanks. Just as I began to worry about how long they were taking, Sanja and Big Mike jogged back.
“Most bodies have been buried, where they lay. Not all,” Sanja said. “Some houses are burnt.”
“Everything’s been looted,” Big Mike said, and threw a blanket over Nick. “This was all I could find.”
We moved out without a word. In the faint light, doors gaped. Roofs had fallen in where they’d burned through, and flares of soot framed the windows. It smelled of woodsmoke and decaying flesh. I looked straight ahead, my eyes fixed on nothing but taking the next step, and the next, and all the while I tried not to think of what had happened to that village with its neatly tended apple orchard.
It soon grew lighter but no warmer. We were now on the wooded trail we’d taken from Pranjani. Carpeted with leaves, it ran along a gurgling stream and rose steeply until it led us out from under the forest canopy and onto a main road. I was exhausted.
As we stood on the road, gasping, a C-47 Skytrain flew overhead, gained altitude, and banked on a westerly course to Italy.
The last flight from Pranjani.
Chapter Forty-Four
VILLAGERS SURROUNDED US as we made our way into town. They embraced Sanja, patted us on the back, and commiserated with Nick over his injuries. I shuffled through the gathering crowd, the image of the departing C-47 burned into my mind. I didn’t know what to do next except lie down and sleep for a day or two.
Rudy and Captain Dilas ran over and joined the throng, full of apologies and concerns. Rudy gave Sanja a hug and I told him to help Nick. He led the horse to the town hall, where a makeshift infirmary was set up. Nikola helped to ease Nick off the horse and carry him inside. I told Nick I’d figure something out, but that was just to cheer him up. He knew it too.
I untied the sack with the German uniform from around the pommel. I don’t know why it mattered at this point, but maybe the OSS crew could use it.
Dilas said he’d have Rudy send a radio message to Colonel Harding at Bari, once he’d gotten Nick patched up. He said some other things, but they weren’t about food, soap and water, or a warm bed, so I ignored him. I followed Sanja, who was being swept along by four older women who seemed to have taken charge of her.
At Sanja’s place, a gray-haired lady was already at the stove stirring a pot. The smell and warmth hit me hard. I dumped my gear by the couch and collapsed. Big Mike and Johnny fell into chairs. We slept, but for how long, I had no idea. I awoke to the sound of a creaking pump and gushing water. I managed to get up to investigate, only to be shooed out of the kitchen by two women, but not before I caught a glimpse of Sanja at the far end of the kitchen, wrapped in a towel as she stepped out of a wooden tub.
At some point we were invited to remove our boots and wash our feet in the tub. Our coats and boots were taken away, and we wordlessly soaked our aching feet and cleaned our faces with the clear, cold water.
Rudy returned. He’d removed more shrapnel and stitched Nick up. He didn’t think there were any other pieces, but only an X-ray could confirm it.
Then came the goulash. Lamb, I think. It warmed my stomach and soul, but I still felt lost, stranded behind enemy lines. We were alone, except for these good people who shared all they had. Sanja appeared, dressed in clean clothes, her hair still damp. She poured slivovitz and we drank.
“Now sleep,” she said as she set her empty glass down with a thud. “Then we talk.”
THE NEXT THING I knew, I awoke in bed to the sound of Big Mike’s snoring. It was dark outside, my watch showed five o’clock. I didn’t know if it was late afternoon or early morning. Groggy, I rolled out of bed and found my boots by the door. Cleaned and buffed, with my socks, stiff from being dried in front of a fire, draped over them.
I went downstairs and found Marty Dilas at the kitchen table. “Good afternoon,” he said. That answered that.
“Which day?” I asked.
“Same day you arrived,” Dilas said. “But you looked beat enough to have slept straight through.”
“Where’s Johnny?” I asked. I had a recollection of leaving him asleep on the couch.
“He and Sanja went to check on Nick,” Dilas said. “He’s doing okay, considering.”
“Considering that we’re stuck here,” I said. “Do I smell coffee?”
“Yeah, I just made some,” Dilas said. He got a cup and filled it. “Figured you might be up. They resupplied us this morning. Our orders are to wait here for orders.”
“Sounds like the army,” I said, and accepted the cup. I drank it and felt more awake than I had in days. Dilas looked like he had something to say, but I was in no mood to drag it out of him. “You got everyone else on the plane okay?”
“Yeah. Ten guys. They all left their boots,” he said.
“So did I. The only difference is I’m still wearing them,” I said, and took a sip of coffee.
“Listen, Billy, we had orders,” Dilas said. “Ten minutes on the ground, no more. It was out of my hands.”
“I know,” I said. “No one’s to blame. We would’ve made it, but things went wrong after we left Virovac.”
“What went wrong is that you ran into a German anti-Partisan offensive,” Dilas said. “Units were brought in from Belgrade to Sarajevo. You’re lucky you made it at all.”
“That explains the Luftwaffe,” I said. “It seemed pretty heavy-handed just to track us down.” I didn’t have the energy to tell Dilas the story about how we met Flint. “Are they headed this way?”
“No, doesn’t look like it,” he said. “Sanja told me about the Black Legion at Planinica. That’s as close as they came to us. Which raises an interesting possibility.”
“If it doesn’t include bombs and hiking in the dark, I’m ready to listen,” I said.
“There’s a large Allied base on the island of Vis in the Adriatic,” Dilas began. “It’s about forty miles offshore, manned by British and Yugoslav troops. Tito’s Partisans, to be exact. Nice little stronghold. There’s an airstrip for fighters and a Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron as well.”
“If there’s an airstrip, why can’t they fly us out?”
“It’s a British operation in conjunction with Tito, that’s why,” Dilas said. “Plus the fact that the runway is too short for anything except single-seat fighters.”
“I get it. Politics. So we’ve got an island bristling with guns thirty-five miles off the coast,” I said. “What good does that do us?”
“How about I fix you up with a ride?” Dilas said with a grin. “I can arrange a rendezvous with a motor torpedo boat for tomorrow. At night, of course. The Germans have damn few warships of any size in the area, but as you know, they’re not short of airpower. So it must be after dark. Then we get you to Vis and figure things out from there. There have to be ships supplying them from Italy.”
