Partisan

by Christopher Nicole

  Fortunately this street, at any rate, was for the moment empty, of either soldiers or civilians.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  Elena helped Sandrine down the steps.

  ‘I am a hindrance,’ Sandrine said. ‘You should leave me.’

  ‘What, with Ivkov? He may have helped us, but he’d still have your pants off in a moment. He was virtually drooling when he looked at your legs.’

  ‘Come on,’ Tony said, holding Sandrine’s other arm and remembering how affected he had also been by the sight of Sandrine’s legs. But war and obscene thoughts went together, because war was itself an obscene thought.

  ‘That way.’ Elena pointed, and, still clinging together, the three of them hobbled their way towards the corner, the women grunting as they barked their bare toes and insteps on the cobbles.

  There was firing all around them. Tony reckoned they had been very lucky not to be involved so far, but as they reached the corner they encountered a hastily erected barricade, behind which there crouched half a dozen soldiers and three civilians, also armed. They were peering down the street, which had obviously been on fire a few minutes earlier, but turned sharply at the sound behind them, weapons thrust forward.

  ‘Who are you?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘Who do we look like?’ Elena countered.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home.’

  The sergeant pointed. ‘You are in uniform.’

  ‘I am a British officer,’ Tony told him.

  ‘An officer!’ The sergeant was obviously considering handing over his command, but was distracted by a shout from one of his men.

  ‘Germans!’

  As he spoke there was a chatter of automatic fire. Tony forced the women to the ground as bullets thudded into the barricade and whined overhead. One of the Yugoslav soldiers gave a grunt and slumped against the piled rubbish, blood oozing from his tunic.

  ‘Return fire!’ the sergeant snapped, and looked at Tony almost apologetically.

  ‘That seems a good idea,’ Tony said, and crawled to the stricken man.

  He was gasping for breath, each pant accompanied by a froth of blood from his open mouth.

  Elena joined him, also on her hands and knees. ‘He is dying.’

  ‘I’m afraid he is.’ Cautiously Tony peered past the barricade. Beside him the Yugoslavs were firing fiercely, but at no visible target, the Germans having taken cover. ‘I would save your ammunition,’ he suggested. ‘How much have you got.’

  ‘Not enough.’ The sergeant showed him one spare clip for his rifle.

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘We will have to retreat.’

  ‘Don’t you think it might be a good idea to do that before you run out?’

  The sergeant scratched his head.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Elena asked.

  ‘I don’t think we are going to make it to your house. The Germans are between us and it.’

  ‘We can go to my apartment,’ Sandrine suggested. ‘We will be safe there. I am a neutral.’

  ‘I imagine the Germans are in strength along the river,’ Tony said, not wishing to resume the discussion regarding the improbable value of her neutrality in these circumstances. ‘I think our best bet is to pull out with these chaps, and consider our next move later.’

  ‘Well—’ Elena began, and was checked by another sound from behind them.

  ‘You are surrounded,’ someone called in Serbo-Croat, but with a pronounced foreign accent. ‘Throw down your weapons and raise your hands.’

  ‘Shit!’ Tony muttered. While they had been discussing the situation the Germans had used another street and got round behind them.

  One of the Yugoslav soldiers started to climb over the barricade to get to the other side. This was a sound idea, but unfortunately the Germans were still manning the other end of the street. There was a burst of fire, a cascade of blood, and the soldier was dead before he hit the cobbles.

  ‘Oh!’ Sandrine cried.

  The sergeant came to a decision. ‘Hold your fire!’ he shouted. ‘We surrender!’

  He threw down his rifle and stood up. Slowly his men followed his example. Tony looked at Elena. ‘I think we’ve been scuppered.’ He too laid his revolver on the cobbles and stood up, hands held high. The two women did likewise.

  ‘I will protect us,’ Sandrine said. ‘I am a neutral.’

  The Germans emerged and advanced, rifles thrust forward. They wore grey-green uniforms with masses of equipment, and the smaller than usual leather caps of parachutists. Tony recalled that these were elite troops.

  Their officer was in front, armed with a tommy-gun, although a pistol holster hung from his belt. ‘What is your unit?’ he demanded.

  ‘The Fourth Regiment of Foot,’ the sergeant said.

  The officer spoke in German, and the man beside him slung his own tommy-gun to take out a notebook and write the information down.

  ‘You.’ The officer pointed at Tony. ‘You are not a Yugoslav.’

  ‘I am a British officer,’ Tony said.

  ‘Serving with the Yugoslavs?’

  ‘Not actually. I was with the embassy.’

  ‘The embassy has been evacuated.’

  ‘I know. Unfortunately I was not there at the time, and so was left behind.’

  ‘You are a prisoner of war.’

  Tony nodded. ‘That does seem to be the case.’

  The officer looked at the three civilians, and at the weapons lying at their feet. ‘You are guerillas.’

  ‘We are patriots, comrade,’ one of the men said.

  The captain gave a cold smile. ‘One man’s patriot is another man’s guerilla.’ He gave an order in German, and four of his men moved forward; they seized the three civilians by the arms, pulled them from the barricade, and forced them across the street.

  ‘What is going to happen to us?’ one of the men shouted.

  ‘You are going to be shot. All civilians found in arms against the Reich are to be shot on sight. Those are my orders.’

  ‘You cannot do this,’ Tony protested. ‘It is against the rules of war.’

  ‘I obey the rules of the Reich,’ the captain informed him. ‘Not the rules of war.’

  Tony swung round to look at the civilians at the same time as the executioners opened fire. The men had been thrust against a wall, and were being shot at a range of only a few feet. They collapsed in a welter of blood, and Sandrine gave another of her shrieks.

  ‘I will report this to your senior officer,’ Tony said.

  ‘You are welcome.’

  His sergeant asked a question, gazing at the two women and pointing at the Luger which lay at Elena’s feet.

  ‘Is that your weapon?’ the captain asked. ‘My sergeant says he saw you drop it when you surrendered.’

  ‘Yes, it is my weapon,’ Elena said.

  ‘You are a civilian.’ Another order, and some more of his men moved forward.

  ‘Now, hold on,’ Tony said, and a rifle butt was swung into his stomach, which had him gasping.

  The sergeant asked another question, and the captain shrugged. The men gave a whoop of anticipated delight and surrounded Elena, beginning to tear the dress from her shoulders. Elena endeavoured to resist them, but two of them held her arms and she could only kick, albeit ineffectively.

  Two more men held Sandrine and began tearing at her clothing as well.

  ‘You cannot do this,’ Sandrine shouted. ‘I am a French citizen. I have a Vichy passport.’

  ‘Wait,’ the captain commanded. ‘Show me this passport.’

  ‘Well, I do not have it with me,’ Sandrine panted. ‘It is at my apartment.’

  ‘And where is that?’

  ‘It is north of the river.’

  ‘I do not believe you, Fräulein.’

  ‘I can prove I am French. Listen. I am French, born and bred,’ she said in French.

  ‘I do not know what you are saying,’ the captain said. ‘I
do not speak French.’

  ‘Help me,’ Sandrine begged Tony.

  ‘She is French,’ Tony said. ‘I can vouch for her.’

  ‘I do not believe you either, Englander. She is a civilian, in arms against the Reich.’

  ‘I have never fired a gun in my life!’ Sandrine shouted. ‘I have never touched a gun.’

  ‘However,’ the captain said, ignoring her protests, ‘as they are going to die anyway, I have told my men they may have them first. They will enjoy that.’

  ‘Bastard!’ Tony shouted, and received another blow in the belly, which had him on his knees.

  Elena reacted. Her dress had been torn from her shoulders and hung from the belt round her waist, but the men stripping her had stopped for the moment, distracted by the discussion about Sandrine. Now she slid through their arms to kneel on the cobbles and pick up the Luger; it had only been fired once and contained a virtually full magazine. She brought it up and in the same movement shot the captain through the chest. He half turned as he fell, landing at Tony’s feet. He had still been holding his tommy-gun, and this rolled away from him. Tony grabbed it and sprayed the men around him, then turned towards Elena. One of the Germans had struck her on the back of the head, and she had slumped forward. Now he was straightening up and at the same time unslinging his rifle to hit her again. Tony cut him down with a single burst and then turned his attention to his companion.

  Realising what was happening, the remaining Yugoslav soldiers also seized their weapons and began firing. The men holding Sandrine released her to reach for their own. Sandrine fell flat on the road with one of her shrieks while the men above her died.

  The remaining Germans ran for shelter, but they were firing as they did so, if for the moment wildly. Tony grabbed Sandrine’s shoulders and dragged her up. To his surprise – and, he thought, hers – she was holding a discarded tommy-gun.

  ‘Run!’ he shouted at Elena, who was just recovering from the blow on her head. She scrambled to her feet while Tony threw Sandrine over his shoulder and ran for the next corner. He was surrounded by firing but neither of them was hit. He reached the shelter of the buildings, set her down, leaned against a wall and panted. Elena joined them, along with the Yugoslav sergeant and two of his men; the other two had fallen. Although they did not appear to be dead, yet, as they were on the exposed street there was nothing to be done about them.

  Sandrine was sitting on the ground, fondling her newly acquired tommy-gun. ‘I want to shoot this thing,’ she said. ‘Tell me how to shoot this thing.’

  ‘You squeeze the trigger,’ Elena told her. ‘After pointing it at the enemy,’ she added hastily as Sandrine’s fingers curled round the trigger guard.

  ‘Where are we?’ Tony asked.

  ‘In hell,’ the sergeant said.

  Sandrine fired a burst round the corner, and then said, ‘Shit! Nothing is happening.’

  ‘Your magazine is empty,’ Elena told her.

  ‘Then give me another magazine.’

  ‘Where am I supposed to get that?’

  ‘Shit!’ the Frenchwoman said again. ‘Do you think I hit anyone?’

  ‘Just let’s assume you did.’ Elena was trying to do something about her dress; her vest did not leave a great deal to the imagination.

  ‘Where is your headquarters?’ Tony asked the sergeant.

  ‘Over there.’ He gestured vaguely at the city. ‘But it has been overrun. That is why we left.’

  ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Will you command us?’

  Tony hesitated, but there did not seem to be any alternative.

  ‘Is there any movement?’ he asked the soldier who was peering round the building.

  ‘They are talking. I think they are waiting for a new officer to come.’

  ‘We need to be out of here before that happens. We need to get out of the city. It is no longer defensible.’

  ‘In the open they will pick us off like flies,’ Elena objected.

  Tony looked at his watch. It was only eleven o’clock. ‘Let’s get back to the baths. We’ll shelter there until it’s dark.’

  ‘Don’t you think the Germans will look there?’

  ‘Only in passing. Ivkov will have to hide us.’

  *

  They hurried down several side streets, seeing no one, although the sound of firing continued to hang over the city.

  ‘I am so hungry,’ Sandrine said. ‘Do you have no rations?’ She still carried her empty tommy-gun; Tony reckoned it gave her a sense of security.

  ‘Only a few biscuits,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘I would love a biscuit,’ Sandrine said.

  ‘Well . . .’ The sergeant unslung his haversack.

  ‘Over there,’ Elena said suddenly.

  They looked across the road at a charcuterie. It had been struck by a bomb blast and the windows were shattered.

  ‘There will be food inside,’ she said.

  ‘Looting is a criminal offence,’ the sergeant said. ‘Punishable by death.’

  ‘So is starvation,’ Elena told him, and crossed the street.

  The rest hesitated only a few minutes, then followed her. Beyond the broken glass was a treasure chest of cold meats and bowls of coleslaw. The men, and the women, crammed some of the food into their mouths, then filled their haversacks.

  Ten minutes later they were at the back of the baths. Tony banged on the door, and it was cautiously opened by Ivkov.

  ‘You!’

  ‘Spot on.’

  ‘There were soldiers here, only a few minutes ago. They were looking for . . .’ He gaped at the six people, all armed, all looking very desperate. ‘You!’

  ‘That’s reasonable. But if they were here and did not find us, they are unlikely to come back. We wish to stay here until dark.’

  ‘Here?’ Ivkov’s eyes rolled.

  ‘We won’t be any trouble. We have our own food. But we will require water.’ He pushed the bath-keeper aside and entered the building. The women and the soldiers followed.

  ‘They will shoot me,’ Ivkov protested.

  ‘Only if you tell them we were here,’ Tony pointed out.

  Sandrine stood on the edge of the pool. ‘My legs are so painful. I would like to bathe them.’

  ‘Why not? Now,’ – Tony turned to the sergeant – ‘we will mount a guard, two hours on and six off, eh? He will situate himself just inside those broken doors, and he will watch the road and alert us if there is any movement towards this building. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the sergeant said enthusiastically, deputing one of his men. He had no intention of taking the first watch himself, now that Sandrine was sitting on the edge of the bath, her skirt pulled to her thighs and her legs dangling in the water.

  ‘That feels so good.’

  ‘I am going to wash all over,’ Elena announced, and commenced removing her tattered clothing.

  ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ Tony asked, realising that he might be going to have problems which had never been visualised at Sandhurst.

  ‘I do not like being dirty,’ she pointed out, now completely naked.

  Tony did not suppose anyone actually made a sound, but it seemed as if a collective sigh seeped through the building, reaching from Ivkov to the man who was supposed to be watching the street.

  Elena dived into the water, swam beneath the surface for some yards, and then emerged, tossing wet hair from her eyes.

  ‘I wish permission to bathe, sir,’ the second soldier said. ‘I am also very dirty.’

  Tony and the sergeant gazed at one another.

  ‘Why don’t you come in, Sandrine?’ Elena said. ‘You will feel much better.’

  ‘I cannot undress in front of these men,’ Sandrine said.

  Elena blew a raspberry.

  ‘Sandrine is right,’ Tony decided. ‘We will go outside while you bathe. That includes you, Ivkov.’ He turned to the private. ‘You can bathe when the women are finishe
d. They will not be long.’

  He shepherded the reluctant men out of the pool area into the lobby.

  ‘Do you know them well?’ the sergeant asked wistfully.

  ‘Yes,’ Tony said, and joined the sentry at the doors, trying not to listen to Sandrine’s squeals as she entered the water. There were definitely going to be problems ahead, he thought – and perhaps not only with the other men. The only saving factor was that Sandrine seemed to be off sex, at least for the moment.

  He stood beside the sentry and gazed at the rubbled street. He wondered if Belgrade would ever recover. And there was still fighting going on, although the continuous gunfire had slackened. But the city continued to burn; the morning sky was almost obliterated by the clouds of smoke.

  ‘What are we going to do, sir?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘Do you think your army is still intact?’

  ‘I do not know, sir.’

  ‘If it is, our best bet would be to link up with it.’

  ‘They will have retreated to the hill country,’ the sergeant said. ‘We should go there.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Thirty miles.’

  Tony pulled his nose. Thirty miles, and the women were shoeless. He supposed Elena, big and strong and essentially coarse – however attractively so – could make it. But Sandrine . . . She was a creature of the Champs Élysées, not the mountains.

  ‘Listen!’ the sentry said.

  The sound crept across the morning, a steady grind.

  ‘Tanks,’ the sergeant said unnecessarily. ‘That means the German army is here on the ground. They will have taken over the entire city by tonight.’

  ‘It’s a big city,’ Tony said, more optimistically than he felt.

  ‘Soldiers,’ the sentry said.

  A patrol had appeared at the top of the street.

  ‘Inside,’ Tony snapped. ‘You stay here, Ivkov.’

  ‘They will shoot me,’ the bath-keeper wailed.

  ‘Of course they will not. Just don’t tell them we are here.’

  ‘And when they wish to come inside?’

  ‘Tell us where to go.’

  Ivkov chewed his lip. ‘The pump room. Go in there and hide behind the pump. It is a very small area. They should not wish to look in there.’

  ‘When you say small . . .?’

  ‘You will fit in. If you squeeze. But you must take all your weapons. And the women.’