Partisan

by Christopher Nicole

  As to what the Yugoslav army might be doing, if it even still existed, it was impossible to say; there was no evidence of any fighting close at hand, or around Belgrade.

  He heard movement behind him, and looked over his shoulder at Elena. She sat beside him.

  ‘Are you not tired?’ he asked.

  ‘I would rather be tired with you.’

  He hoped she wasn’t going to suggest sex. He was far too tired, and he didn’t know how many of the others were asleep.

  ‘I want to tell you that I love you,’ she said. ‘And that I think you have been magnificent.’

  ‘I think we have all been pretty magnificent.’

  She snorted. ‘Even Sandrine?’

  ‘Sandrine more than anyone else. She couldn’t help her feet being so badly hurt. She has been in great pain, but she has borne up very well.’

  ‘She has complained a lot.’

  ‘She was entitled to. I thought she was your best friend. I thought she was your lover.’

  ‘You are my lover. Nobody else. And for you, too.’

  He put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Relax. She’s not my type.’

  How unethical can you get? he wondered. Lying to your prospective wife before you are even married to her.

  *

  When he was relieved by Matanovic he slept with Elena in his arms, which seemed to reassure her. But when he awoke at another changing of the guards and looked over at Sandrine, he saw that her eyes were also open, gazing at him. When she saw him looking at her over Elena’s head, she gave a quick, nervous smile, and turned away.

  They lunched off the ham, slept again, and made ready to move that evening. Although aircraft activity had continued all day, and from time to time they even heard firing in the distance, they had still seen no Germans close at hand, and by dusk they were rested and full of energy.

  As instructed by Madame Dukic, Tony and Elena had removed Sandrine’s boots and bandages as soon as they had awakened. The Frenchwoman had gasped with relief, and Tony could guess why: her feet were still swelling. And . . .

  ‘My legs are peeling,’ Sandrine said.

  ‘It is only one layer,’ Elena said. ‘You should be glad to be rid of it, all brown and crinkled. You have better skin underneath.’ She put her lips to Tony’s ear. ‘We’ll never get her feet back into those boots.’

  ‘Well, it does not matter, as she is going to have to be carried anyway,’ Tony said. ‘So we’ll let them air. That’s probably the best thing.’

  ‘I am a nuisance,’ Sandrine said. ‘Why do you not just leave me?’

  ‘I’d be obliged if you’d stop making that inane suggestion,’ Tony told her. ‘Where we go, you go.’

  ‘And where are we going?’ Ivkov asked.

  ‘Nothing has changed, except in our favour. We are going to make for Dubrovnik.’

  ‘I have been to Dubrovnik,’ Matanovic said. ‘It is a very long way. We went by truck, as part of an army manoeuvre, and it still took us two days from Belgrade.’

  ‘So it’ll take us a while longer on foot,’ Tony said. ‘We have the time.’

  ‘But what do we eat?’

  ‘Madame Dukic’s ham will last another couple of days. Then there must be farms in these mountains, from which we can obtain food.’

  Matanovic scratched his nose.

  ‘There is a village, not far from here,’ Ivkov said. ‘We could obtain shelter there.’

  ‘Well, glory be. You know this area, Ivkov?’

  ‘I have been here,’ Ivkov said cautiously.

  ‘And you have been to this village before?’

  ‘My brother lives there. I have visited my brother.’

  ‘This gets better and better. I’m jolly glad you decided to come. Right. Point us in the right direction. How far?’

  ‘It is to the north-west. Perhaps forty miles.’

  ‘Forty . . .’ Tony gulped. But it seemed their only hope. ‘Right. Let’s move out. I’ll carry you first time around, Sandrine.’

  ‘I am glad of that,’ she said.

  ‘Well, then . . .’ He stooped, helped her climb on to his back, and checked – from all round them they heard the click of rifle bolts.

  Part Two

  CHAOS

  With women, the heart argues, not the mind.

  Matthew Arnold

  Chapter Four – Serbs

  Sandrine gave one of her little shrieks. Tony checked the instinctive movement of his hand towards his holster. The others merely looked frightened; in their packing up they had forgotten to leave anyone on guard.

  Now they were surrounded by men who stood on the slopes above them; Tony reckoned they might have been there for some time, watching them. But they were not Germans: they wore the uniforms of Yugoslav soldiers. Now one of them, from his insignia a lieutenant, asked, ‘Where are you from?’

  He also had identified the uniforms of Matanovic and the two privates.

  ‘We are from Belgrade,’ Tony said. ‘We escaped last night.’

  The lieutenant frowned at the unfamiliar accent. ‘What is your unit?’

  ‘I am Captain Anthony Davis, from the British embassy.’

  ‘The embassy was evacuated two days ago.’

  Tony nodded. ‘I was not there. I linked up with these people.’

  The lieutenant studied him for several seconds, then looked at Matanovic. ‘And you?’

  ‘Sergeant Anton Matanovic, Fourth Foot, sir. My platoon was destroyed by the Germans, and I placed my remaining men and myself under the command of the English officer.’

  ‘And you?’ the lieutenant looked at Ivkov.

  ‘I am Ivkov, the bath-keeper.’

  ‘Why are you with these people?’

  ‘I did not wish to stay under the Germans.’

  The lieutenant looked sceptical. ‘And two women,’ he remarked.

  ‘I am Elena Kostic,’ Elena said. ‘I am Captain Davis’s fiancée.’

  The lieutenant raised his eyebrows.

  ‘That is true,’ Tony said.

  ‘She is not wearing a ring.’

  ‘We haven’t had time to buy one.’

  ‘And you?’ he asked Sandrine.

  ‘I am Sandrine Fouquet. I am – was – an editor with Paris Temps, but the building was blown up.’

  ‘You are Vichy?’

  ‘Yes, I am Vichy.’

  ‘Then you are a neutral.’

  ‘I do not wish to be a neutral.’

  The lieutenant looked more sceptical than ever, but Tony couldn’t blame him for being suspicious: Sandrine’s abrupt changes of mood were confusing to him as well. ‘And what is the matter with you?’ the officer asked, regarding her bandaged feet.

  ‘My feet are cut.’

  ‘They are also burned,’ Elena said.

  ‘So she cannot walk. Well, then—’

  ‘She will be carried,’ Tony said.

  ‘Do you wish to join forces with General Mihailovic?’

  ‘Mihailovic has escaped the city?’

  Tony had met the chief of the Yugoslav General Staff at various official functions during his short stay in Belgrade, and had formed the opinion that he was a good soldier but an intensely orthodox one; no one could have been further from his concept of a commander who might be capable of coping with a situation like this.

  ‘General Mihailovic left the city before the Germans occupied it,’ the lieutenant said carefully. ‘He has assumed command of all our forces which have refused to surrender to the enemy.’

  ‘What sort of forces would that be?’

  ‘Enough. You are aware that our army was ordered to lay down its arms by the traitors who now command in Belgrade?’

  ‘No, I was not aware of that. So your country has effectively been destroyed.’

  ‘Yugoslavia can never be destroyed. Our country has been occupied, temporarily, by the Germans.’

  ‘But if you no longer have an army—’

  ‘We still have an army: those of us who have ref
used to surrender and now fight for General Mihailovic. Now, do you wish to join his command?’

  ‘My wish,’ Tony said, ‘and my duty, is to rejoin my embassy people as quickly as possible.’

  ‘I do not think that is at all possible,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Your embassy has left Yugoslavia, to travel through Bulgaria to Greece. They are probably there by now. You cannot follow.’

  Tony nodded. He had accepted that some time ago. ‘Well, then, I shall try to make Dubrovnik, and leave from there. With the women. But I have no doubt these soldiers will wish to go with you.’

  ‘Dubrovnik is in German hands,’ the lieutenant said. ‘They came down the Adriatic by ship. There is no place for you to go, Englishman, save with us.’

  Tony shrugged. ‘Then I will come with you, at least to speak with your general.’

  ‘It is a march of several hours,’ the lieutenant said. ‘The sick woman will have to remain.’

  Sandrine gave one of her shrieks.

  ‘She says she is Vichy French,’ the lieutenant pointed out. ‘All she has to do is tell the Germans this.’

  ‘And prove it?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Does she not have a passport?’

  ‘She has lost her passport.’

  ‘Well, I am sure that if she is who she claims to be, an editor with Paris Temps, there will be several people in Belgrade who will vouch for her.’

  ‘There will be even more people who can vouch for the fact that they saw her as part of a group – us – killing Germans in order to get out of the city. No, lieutenant, she is coming with us.’

  ‘We have no means for carrying wounded. It is accepted that they must be abandoned.’

  ‘We have the means: our backs. We have brought Mademoiselle Fouquet this far. We are not going to abandon her now.’

  ‘You will slow us up.’

  ‘So leave us behind. Just tell us where to go, and we will get there.’

  The lieutenant snorted. ‘And when you are captured by the Germans, you will tell them where General Mihailovic is to be found.’

  ‘Good point. It looks as if you will have to travel slowly.’

  The lieutenant glared at him, and then looked at the others. Tony could tell exactly what he was thinking, what he was tempted to do; they had become nuisances. But that would be undertaking an enormous responsibility, and Tony was technically his superior officer. Additionally, if he did decide that they would have to be eliminated, he had no idea what sort of resistance might be encountered; Tony’s group appeared to be very well armed. The lieutenant could not know that they had only about a dozen rounds between the seven of them; he could only be sure that a shoot-out might involve him in unacceptably heavy casualties. Fighting his own people.

  ‘You will answer to the general,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  *

  Tony took Sandrine on his back, and they followed the soldiers.

  ‘He does not like me,’ Sandrine muttered into his ear. ‘He disliked me on sight.’

  ‘Any man who can dislike you on sight has the wrong idea about women,’ Tony told her.

  ‘He is a Serb,’ said Elena, walking on his other side. ‘All Serbs are swine.’

  ‘For God’s sake, keep that opinion to yourself,’ Tony begged. ‘Mihailovic is a Serb, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, loading her voice with sinister inflection.

  Tony reflected that life was not getting any easier, and the future was becoming increasingly difficult. He had no fears for himself. As a soldier who had already been wounded he accepted that he was living on borrowed time. But to his fears for Sandrine’s health were now added his fears for Elena’s safety, if – as was becoming increasingly likely, from what he had seen over the preceding twenty-four hours – this so carelessly cobbled-together nation disintegrated into separate, and mutually antagonistic, ethnic groups under the impact of defeat.

  At least he could for the moment concentrate on the physically demanding but mentally simple task of getting his motley band to safety. It was a long night, and as they penetrated various valleys and mountain passes he lost all sense of direction or awareness of his whereabouts. To make matters more obscure, this night there was a low cloud cover, and it was impossible to see the stars. The cloud brought with it several rain squalls, which soaked them to the skin and left them chilled, but at least willing to keep moving in an attempt to get warm.

  As before, Sandrine was passed from man to man throughout the night. In the beginning the other soldiers merely watched the proceedings with amused contempt, but as the night wore on they began to consider what might be in it for them, and soon several volunteered to take their turn. Tony did not feel that he could refuse them without antagonising them, but unlike Matanovic and his two men, or even Ivkov, they had not agreed to accept his command, and therefore his discipline; several times he heard Sandrine complain about an uninvited intimacy, and once he heard the sound of a slap.

  ‘To be felt up by a dozen men in the course of one night,’ Elena remarked. ‘There is an achievement.’

  ‘I think you mean, an experience,’ Tony suggested.

  Lieutenant Vidmar was unhappy about the whole thing. ‘This is very bad for discipline,’ he said, dropping back to walk beside Tony. ‘I will be very relieved when we reach the camp.’

  ‘Amen,’ Tony agreed. ‘But your men volunteered.’

  ‘They are men,’ Vidmar pointed out. ‘And she is a pretty woman, who is also a foreigner. Is she something special to you?’

  ‘Just a friend. She had a boyfriend in Belgrade, but we do not know what happened to him.’

  Save that he is probably back in the city by now, Tony reflected. Lord of all he surveys. He wondered if Bernhard would waste any time looking for Sandrine.

  ‘Ah,’ Vidmar commented. ‘You mean she is, how do you English say, footloose and fancy-free.’

  ‘That’s very clever of you,’ Tony said. ‘However, you should know that I promised her boyfriend that I would see her to safety, and that is what I intend to do. So you had better tell your people that I will shoot dead any man who assaults her, much less attempts to rape her.’

  ‘You think you can make threats like that? Are you not my prisoner?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Tony said. ‘I am your ally. An ally without whom you have no hope of surviving this war. The sooner you realise this, the better.’

  Vidmar stamped off to resume his place at the head of his men.

  ‘I suppose one of the things I most admire about the English,’ Elena said, ‘is their quite insufferable arrogance. Do you really suppose you can shoot a Yugoslav soldier?’

  ‘Probably not. Although as an officer I do have the right to execute any man found guilty of rape.’

  ‘After a court martial,’ she argued. ‘That would not be practical, here.’

  ‘I don’t think Lieutenant Vidmar is quite sure of that,’ Tony said. ‘Just remember that you’re on our side.’

  Tony was glad when it was his turn to carry Sandrine again.

  ‘I really am sorry about all this,’ he said to her.

  ‘Bah,’ she commented. ‘They are only men. And they are afraid of you, eh?’

  *

  He was also very relieved when, soon after dawn, they were challenged by a lookout, and a few minutes later staggered into the guerilla encampment. Situated in a deep valley between two mountains, it could be overlooked only from the air. Because of its size, however, it was certainly vulnerable to discovery by aircraft; Tony estimated there were well over a thousand men camped here, and quite a few women and children as well, not to mention animals of every variety from horses, donkeys and sheep to dogs and chickens. The encampment, which consisted of various tents and makeshift dwellings, most of them still under construction, stretched for half a mile on either side of a fast-running mountain stream.

  ‘A bath!’ Sandrine said. ‘Oh, how I would love a bath.’

  ‘You have water on the brain,’ Elena remarked. ‘
You had a bath . . . when was it?’

  ‘Two days ago,’ Tony suggested.

  Elena gave a shriek of laughter. ‘When she got dunked in that stream.’

  ‘I was actually thinking of the baths in town.’ Was that two days ago, or three?

  ‘I feel filthy,’ Sandrine said.

  ‘Well, I think you had better wait until we find out what the local custom is,’ Tony said as Vidmar came up to him.

  ‘Tell your people to wait here,’ Vidmar said. ‘You will come with me to General Mihailovic.’

  *

  Draza Mihailovic was a thin man with a prominent nose and chin, both reasonably concealed by his heavy beard and moustache. Wire-rimmed glasses gave him a studious, thoughtful air; Tony felt this was a fairly accurate indication of his personality. Once again he reflected that the general, spic and span in his uniform, was an unlikely leader of a guerilla army. His headquarters were situated in a large tent, in the centre of which there was a trestle table covered in maps and sheets of paper. Two senior officers stood to either side, and two orderlies waited at the back. All the officers were smoking, and the air in the confined space was heavy.

  But Mihailovic looked pleased to see him. ‘Captain . . . Davis, is it not?’

  ‘Sir.’

  Mihailovic shook his hand. ‘I hardly recognised you, out of uniform and with that growth of beard.’

  Tony stroked his chin in surprise. It hadn’t occurred to him that he would have sprouted a beard by now. ‘I apologise, sir. I haven’t actually had an opportunity to look in a mirror for a few days. And I lost my tunic getting out of Belgrade.’

  Mihailovic waved his hand. ‘No matter, Captain. You have brought word from the embassy? About British aid?’

  ‘Ah . . . no, sir. I became separated from the embassy staff when they evacuated.’

  ‘But still, you know about the aid, eh?’

  ‘There will be no aid, sir.’

  Mihailovic frowned.

  ‘At least in the immediate future,’ Tony added.

  ‘But we are all on the same side now.’

  ‘I know that, sir. And so does London, I am sure. It’s a matter of logistics. Our people cannot get to yours.’