A Bitter Wind, page 30
“Sounds simple,” I said. “What’s the catch?”
“Well, mainly that it’s about two hundred and twenty miles to the coast on bad roads, and we can’t say for sure you won’t run into trouble. Once you get near the coastline, your chance of running into a German or Ustaše patrol increases. Oh, and the truck has a tendency to break down.”
“Okay, enough joking,” I said. “Tell me the real plan.”
“That’s it, Billy,” he said. “Unless you want to wait and see where the OSS sends us next and tag along.”
“Helluva choice,” I said, and gulped the coffee, which had long since gone cold. “Tell me more about the patrols.”
“We know for sure the Krauts have pulled units northward for the anti-Partisan campaign. But they will still have some patrols along the coast to watch for landings. They obviously know about Vis and that we could launch a raid at any time,” he said. “My bet is that they’re light on the ground, and you can get through. I’ll request a diversionary raid down the coast at Dubrovnik to draw their attention.”
I refrained from reminding Marty he was betting on our lives. Big Mike came downstairs and announced himself with a yawn.
“I smell coffee,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Our number, maybe,” I said. “Marty’s got an idea.” I went to the stove and poured a cup for Big Mike, then refilled my own as Dilas went over the plan again.
“They don’t have Lysanders or any other plane large enough?” Big Mike asked. “They could do two trips in no time.” The Lysander was a special-operations aircraft used to deliver agents behind enemy lines. It could take two passengers in a pinch.
“Like I explained to Billy, Vis is a British base, and they no longer support the Chetniks,” Dilas said. “But I can call for an extraction involving you four. Two Yanks and two Brits are right up their alley.”
“Just the four of us on this trip?” Big Mike asked.
“Right. I can’t even send a guide. There’s only enough fuel to get you there, and I won’t strand one of the Chetniks in Ustaše territory,” Dilas said. “I’ll give you a map, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried about a map,” I said. “I’m worried about running into the Black Legion or the SS.”
Sanja, Rudy, and Johnny walked in at that moment. Big Mike and I looked at each other, the same idea slowly dawning in our exhausted brains.
“What?” Johnny said, looking at the two of us.
“Captain Dilas has a plan,” I said. “The good news is that it doesn’t involve horses. But we do need to travel in the company of Sturmbannführer Alfred Hansen, 21st Waffen SS.”
Dilas was confused, which of course he would be, not knowing about the German uniform. I fetched the bag I’d carried in and displayed it for Dilas.
“Impressive,” he said. “Even a Soldbuch.”
“Disgusting,” Johnny said. “But we need to get Nick back. He’s running a fever. Tell me more.”
We went over it again. This time, with the added touch of a German officer in the entourage. I’d wondered about Nick impersonating an Ustaše, but if he was in bad shape, that wasn’t going to work. He could have driven, since a Sturmbannführer wouldn’t be at the wheel.
Sanja mentioned that Nikola had a cousin in Brist, which was very close to Klek. If he volunteered to drive, he could seek refuge with him. Nick, Big Mike, and I would be in the back of the truck, prisoners being transported.
“To Dubrovnik,” Dilas said. “It’s a large town on the coast and garrisoned by the Krauts. I’ve got a German typewriter and I’ll get something official-looking typed up. I’m sure it’ll pass muster with the Ustaše, at least.”
“There’d be a guard in the back,” Big Mike said.
“I don’t know if we can risk another man,” Dilas said. “Nikola’s cousin will shelter him, I’m sure. A second man might be too much to ask.”
“Tie them up,” Sanja said. “They are dangerous men, as we know.”
“This gets better and better,” Big Mike said. “No way for Nick to play the guard?”
“No,” Rudy said. “I have his leg well wrapped and the fever might mean an infection. I’ve given him penicillin, which will help, but he’ll have to lie flat.”
“We’ll all be patients, then,” I said. “Bandage us so it looks like we couldn’t make it ten paces.”
“With pistols hidden in slings, that sort of thing,” Big Mike said. “It’ll be a breeze.”
“Perfect!” Dilas said as he slapped the table. “Rudy, let’s get a message coded and send it off.”
“You sure you’re up for this?” I asked Johnny after the two OSS men had gone off to radio the base at Vis.
“I’m sure,” Johnny said. “As long as the breeze doesn’t turn into a hurricane.”
Chapter Forty-Five
THAT NIGHT WE had a feast. Beef stew, courtesy of Uncle Sam. Served with bread, cheese, and wine, all sent unofficially by Colonel Harding himself to thank the Chetniks and the OSS for helping us. The food, mostly C rations, was given to the villagers. The case of wine stayed with Rudy, and when the first bottle was opened, I sent up a silent prayer I’d soon be able to compliment Harding on his good taste.
Dilas confirmed the Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron had received his message and agreed to both the pickup and the diversionary attack at Dubrovnik. The attack would kick off at 1800 hours and last thirty minutes. Our pickup was set for 1815 hours. Dilas gave me a map and pointed out a small inlet near the town of Klek. A bombed-out hotel with a concrete quay was our rendezvous. I’d use a flashlight with a red filter to signal the boat.
“I used your name and connection to SHAEF in the message. In code, of course,” Dilas said. “I thought it might impress the Royal Navy.”
“You should have mentioned Johnny and Nick of the Royal Air Force,” Big Mike said. “Escaped from the Nazis and made it halfway across Yugoslavia.”
“Živeli,” Sanja said as she gave the Serbian toast. With her glass held high, her eyes searched out each of us. “To victory. And peace.”
We all drank to that.
THE NEXT MORNING, we gathered at the town hall to begin our journey. Dilas had the Opel Blitz truck ready, an extra jerry can of gas stowed in the back. Nikola checked the engine and declared it dobro. Good thing.
Big Mike helped Nick into the truck. His fever was down, but he was still hurting. While Johnny paraded around in the SS uniform, Rudy bandaged Big Mike and me, wrapping cloth around our heads and legs. Then came the slings, each with a pistol hidden inside. Would it work? I hoped we wouldn’t need to find out.
Nikola pulled the Ustaše cap on tight and declared us ready.
I shook hands with Rudy and Dilas.
Sanja gave me a hug and told me to return when her country was free.
“I hope that’s soon,” I said. Big Mike and I climbed in the back and made Nick as comfortable as we could with the few blankets available.
Nikola started the engine. Johnny tossed off “Auf wiedersehen” to everyone and it got a laugh. I prayed it wouldn’t be our last.
We waved goodbye from the truck bed as Nikola pulled onto the road. We tied down the flapping canvas but left it loose enough to see through the gaps. Johnny slid the small back window open.
“Comfortable, gents?” he asked.
“Ask me in a couple of hours,” I said. “Do you have the map?”
“Nikola said to leave it. He knows the way, and the Ustaše would be suspicious of a stranger who needed a map,” Johnny told us.
“It’s his backyard,” Big Mike said, and closed his eyes.
It was a smooth ride for the next hour and a half. We saw no one, even as we drove through two small villages. Armed men on the road meant it was a good time to stay indoors. Then it began to rain. A light mist at first, then a steady downpour. The road was two lanes of hardpack dirt, the dips and depressions filled with water. Nikola had to slow down.
“He says not to worry about the rain,” Johnny relayed to us. “If I understand him properly, the Ustaše are too weak and cowardly to get wet. And lazy, especially if they’re doing Jerry’s work for him.”
“I’ll buy that,” I said. “Right, Nick?”
“Same here,” Nick said. He sounded tired, but alert. “Chetniks have been saving my skin for days, no reason to think different now.”
“Good man,” Big Mike said. He glanced at his watch. “We’re making good time, even with the rain.”
The next twenty minutes were spent navigating a switchback route that took us to a higher elevation, where the rain turned to snow. That caused Nikola to drive even more slowly. Johnny explained that although Nikola had faith in the engine, the tires were another matter. The treads were worn down, and since Nikola didn’t want to skid off the road and into a gully, we’d have to putter along at twenty miles an hour.
“I think horses would have been preferrable,” Nick said.
Three more hours ticked by, and the landscape began to slope toward the sea. The snow turned to a mist, which gradually faded away. Nikola pulled off the road and filled the gas tank from the jerry can. Then after a brief break to eat bread and goat cheese, Nikola started up the truck and gained speed on the downhill.
“Dobro!” he said, and pointed to the horizon emerging from the low clouds.
“Dobro bloody well indeed,” Johnny said. “The Adriatic, dead ahead.”
Nikola drove on, the clear road and downward slope welcome after the long slog through filthy weather. The thin blue line of the Adriatic Sea was still far off, maybe thirty miles, but our luck held. No patrols, no roadblocks.
The road rose again and took us to the crest of a small hill. A sign pointed to the village of Hutovo. From here, the blue waters seemed very close. As we rounded a curve on the downhill run, the village came into view.
It was filled with Germans. Trucks drove across our path in the village center as Krauts unloaded a truck twenty yards ahead, blocking most of the road.
“Johnny, any ideas?” I said through the rear window. He shouted at me in German, which I hoped meant he was getting into character. He rolled down his window and tapped the horn for Nikola to give it a workout.
Johnny gestured with his arm as he leaned out the window enough for the startled soldiers to see his SS runes and rank on his collar tabs. Nikola laid on the horn and glared at the Fritzes scrambling to the side of the road. One of them, a Wehrmacht sergeant, gave Johnny a stiff-arm salute and then got his men out of the way. As the truck slowed, Johnny shouted at the noncom and pointed to the traffic cutting across our path. The guy jumped to it, probably happy to get this loudmouth SS officer on his way. He ran into the intersection and stopped traffic, windmilling his arm to signal Nikola to proceed. At which point I shut the rear window, lay back, and gratefully felt Nikola accelerate through the intersection.
It took another hour for us to get close to our destination. Nikola took a back road to skirt the village of Klek in case there were any Germans about, which suited Johnny just fine.
“My acting days are over,” he said. “Give me a nice quiet bomb run over Berlin any day.”
The sun was about to set as Nikola parked outside the deserted hotel by the inlet. Bombed and burned, the three-story structure was blackened and shattered. But the squat concrete quay was intact, and we didn’t have long to wait. We helped Nick out and discarded our white bandages as Nikola gave each of us a knuckle-crushing handshake. He and Nick spoke, then the big Chetnik drove off.
“What did he say?” Big Mike asked.
“That we should tell the generals in Italy not to forget the Chetniks,” Nick said. “They want freedom from both Hitler and Stalin.”
“Freedom. Ain’t that what we’re fighting for?” Big Mike asked.
“Tell it to the generals,” Johnny said.
Chapter Forty-Six
IT HAD BEEN dark for two hours. The luminous dial on my watch read almost six, which was when the diversionary attack to our south would kick off. We were on the quay, trying to stave off the cold. Nick was wrapped in his blanket, and Johnny paced to keep his blood flowing. Big Mike scanned the dark horizon with the binoculars while I watched for the six o’clock fireworks.
Bursts of yellow and red lit the sky, miles down the coast. Tracers arced toward the shore as explosions boomed. Rapid machine-gun fire mixed with the blast of antiaircraft guns from the attacking motor torpedo boats.
“They’re putting on one helluva show. All eyes will be on Dubrovnik,” I said, then turned away from the display to retain what night vision I could.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Big Mike said. “They’ll probably come in on muffled motors, and with all that racket we won’t hear a thing.”
I got my flashlight ready. The firing continued to light up the sky, creating strange flashes and sudden shadows. I thought I saw movement on the water and blinked my eyes to bring it into focus. Big Mike elbowed me and pointed.
“Movement at eleven o’clock.”
“Got it,” I said. I picked up a large object floating silently toward us. I flicked on my flashlight and gave the recognition signal. Three short and one long flash of red. It came back, one long and three short. “It’s them.”
The hundred-foot motor torpedo boat was thirty yards away before I heard the low rumble of its engines. It eased up gently to the quay, and two sailors leapt out with mooring lines.
“Four of you, right? Hop aboard,” one of them said.
“Give us a hand,” Big Mike said as he helped Nick limp over the gunwale. Arms reached out to haul him in.
“Someone keep a bead on the Jerry!” the sailor with the rope shouted, pointing at Johnny.
“That’s Sturmbannführer to you, mate,” Johnny said as he went aboard, one step ahead of me. “Let’s get the bloody hell out of here.”
“Aye-aye,” the sailor responded with a surprised grin. In seconds, the boat was moving away from the quay. I made my way midships, past the twin Vickers machine guns, and looked up to the bridge where an officer stood at the helm.
“Thanks for the lift, Captain,” I said.
“No problem, Billy,” a familiar voice said. “Come on up.”
“Harry? Is that you?” I said as I clambered up the ladder. Harry Dickinson of the Royal Navy Reserve. It wasn’t my first time on a boat of his. “How long has it been? Since Sicily, right?”
“Half a year, half a lifetime, who knows?” Harry said. He offered his hand and we shook. He still had his rugged good looks beneath bright blond hair, and, as always, carried himself with a piratical air. But now he looked tired, with lines around his eyes and a furrowed brow. I’d been on a few runs with him. Once he slugged me over a mission that had gotten some of his crew killed. But that was all water under the bow by now, or at least I hoped it was.
“Good to see you, Harry. What are the chances you’d be the one to pick us up?” I said, genuinely glad to see him. Even with our past differences, I’d never forget the debt I owed him. He’d saved Diana’s life back in Algiers.
“Chances were very good once I saw your name on the orders,” he said. “I was curious what you were up to and wanted to handle the pickup myself. Something interesting I’d say, based on your pal in the German uniform. Hope things worked out inland.”
“Thanks, Harry. That means a lot,” I said. “We got stranded after the last flight for Bari left with a load of downed airmen. Johnny—the guy in the uniform—is important, let’s just say. We needed to get him out.”
“Yeah, we heard that the Chetniks sheltered fliers,” he said. “Seems like Winston has taken a liking to Tito, so we’ve been told ‘hands off.’”
“Well, there’s no Chetniks here, so you don’t have to worry. You have any trouble on the way over?” I asked.
“No. Unless we get spotted by a shore battery, we’re safe at night,” he said. He called down to his radioman and told him to give the signal for the other vessels attacking Dubrovnik to disengage. Then he opened the throttle, and the motor roared to life. “Hang on.”
I had to. It was cold, but the rush of movement was exhilarating. As we sped out into open water, Big Mike came up onto the bridge.
“Billy’s told me a lot about you,” Big Mike said after I introduced them.
“Did he mention how I usually end up wounded when he’s around? Shot in the leg, shrapnel in the arm, that sort of thing?” Harry said.
“No, but it sounds familiar,” Big Mike said. Big Mike had joined our crew in Sicily, but after I’d last encountered Harry. A lot had happened since then, so I caught Harry up on Diana and Kaz as we raced along.
“We need to get to Bari pronto,” Big Mike said. “Any chance of hitching a ride over there?”
“We’ve made the trip several times,” Harry said. “On a calm, sunny day with air cover, it’s delightful. But we’ve got an operation coming up, so the long-range taxi service is out. But there is a destroyer bringing supplies next week. You could return with them.”
“Can’t wait,” I said. “We heard the runway at Vis is short, suitable only for single-engine fighter planes. Is that right?”
“Basically,” Harry said. He spun the wheel to starboard as he took the boat around one of the offshore islands. “The runway’s only twenty-two hundred feet and bombers need five thousand. Impossible to land anything larger than a fighter. Except for the guy who just did it in a four-engine heavy bomber.”
“That’s a fellow I’d like to meet,” I said. “How’d he manage it?”
“Guts and skill, I’d wager. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself,” Harry said. He slowed the boat as he eyed the horizon. “Last week a B-24 came in with one engine dead and the other on fire. It was trailing thick black smoke, and I thought it was going to hit hard and explode. There are several wrecks of bombers that have tried it alongside the runway. Not very inspiring to see, but he had no alternative. He needed every inch of that runway, but he did it, with the help of a couple of parachutes.”
