Page 16 of A Call to Home (Women of the Resistance #3)

Pljavlia, Montenegro

May 1943

Steve sank down on a grassy bank at the side of the narrow mountain road and eased his feet out of his boots. There were holes in his socks and the beginnings of a blister on his left heel and he was bone weary. Local people had told him that Mihailovic and his men had passed that way some days earlier, but he had no news of Bailey and Hudson and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever catch up with them.

As always, he turned to his diary for consolation and began to write.

Pljavalia, May 23rd

Been on the road for three days now. I have to keep taking cover

as convoys of German troops pass, going in the opposite direction. My

unkempt appearance and shabby sheepskin coat might allow me to pass as a

local peasant but I know that one glimpse of my Air Force blue trousers

would give the game away. I’ve been wearing them continuously now for

two years and they’re stained and ragged at the hems, but I’ve never

found any others made of such hardwearing material so I’ve stuck with

them. Also, there is always the possibility that I may get caught and

they might help to convince the Boches that I am a British serviceman

and so entitled to be treated as a prisoner of war.

I couldn’t take the direct route to Serbia because there seem to be large forces concentrating along the valley of the River Tara. Seems like the attack at Kolasin was part of a bigger operation. I can hear a lot of firing in the direction of Mount Durmitor. Is it the Chetniks they are after, or the Partisans, I wonder. I’m getting pretty tired. The mule carrying the radio and all my supplies disappeared along with Mihailovic, so I’ve had to rely on the charity of the peasant farmers along the way. I feel very sorry for them. They have a hard enough life in normal times, farming this rough terrain, but now the land has been fought over so many times a lot of them have abandoned their villages and taken to the high pastures. Those that are left are always willing to share what they have. The laws of hospitality are sacred, even in these hard times. But they have so little to spare and often refuse any payment so I take as little as possible. As a result, I am always hungry and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going. I’m on the outskirts of Pljavalia, which is the first reasonable sized town I have come to. It will be taking a risk to go into it but I have a little money and I might be able to buy some food, and even possibly a mule.

Steve moved cautiously between the first houses of the small town. No one seemed to be taking any notice of him so he went on, hoping to find a market stall where he could buy some food. As he approached the centre of the town a figure stepped out from a doorway and levelled a rifle at him.

‘Who are you, and what do you want here?’ the man demanded.

‘I’m just passing through,’ Steve said.

‘Going where?’

‘To Serbia.’

‘Where in Serbia?’

Steve hesitated. He was assuming that Mihailovic was heading for his old base at Ravna Gora but he might be wrong. Instead, he asked, ‘Have you seen a big group of men with horses and weapons pass this way?’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve seen plenty of Boches pass this way, if that’s what you mean.’

‘No, not Germans. Resistance fighters.’

‘You mean Chetniks or Partisans?’

‘Chetniks.’

The man studied him for a moment, then he said, ‘You’d better come with me.’

Steve opened his mouth to argue but a gesture of the rifle showed that he was not being given any option. He was marched to a house in the central square where his captor threw open a door and announced, ‘Found this guy wandering into town. Thought you might want to question him.’

Steve’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, then the occupants of the room came into focus and he caught his breath.

‘I know you! You’re Radulovic!’

‘What?’ The man he had identified came closer and peered into his face. ‘How do you know me?’

‘You were in command of the Niksic odred. I remember you came to a conference with General Mihailovic.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Stefan Popovic, Draza’s radio operator.’

‘The Englishman?’

‘American, actually. But I’m in the British Air Force.’

‘Of course! Now I remember you. But what are you doing here, on your own?’

In as few words as possible Steve explained how he had been left behind after the attack at Kolasin. By the time he had finished he was seated at a table and bread and slivovitz had been placed in front of him.

‘So I’m trying to catch up with Draza and the rest of them. I’m pretty sure they are heading back into Serbia,’ he concluded.

‘So they have given up the fight?’

‘No. It’s a strategic retreat. The plan is to carry on the fight from there.’

‘Hah!’ Radulovic’s tone was caustic. ‘Back to where Nedic and his quisling government can protect them.’

‘He has been promised British aid if he goes back to Serbia.’

‘No one takes those promises seriously any more.’

Steve studied Radulovic for a moment. ‘So what are you planning to do? Are there more of you?’

‘Yes. We were defeated at Niksic but we regrouped and moved north. Now we are ready to carry on the fight.’

‘Shouldn’t you take your men to join General Mihailovic? He is your commanding officer, after all.’

The Chetnik’s face darkened. ‘And leave our people here unprotected? We joined up to save our own villages from being overrun, not to protect Serbian villages.’

‘The Germans seem to be here in force now.’

‘I’m not talking about the Germans. It’s that communist rabble under Tito that is the real enemy. The Boches have got most of them kettled up around Durmitor. But there are still others who have moved into villages not far from here, stealing our crops, raping our women. This is our chance to drive them out. The Boches have committed most of their forces to wiping out Tito in Montenegro. They won’t get in our way.’

‘Well, good luck with that,’ Steve said.

‘Oh, you had better hope for that. You are coming with us.’

‘No…’ Steve began to protest, but Radulovic cut across him. ‘Draza abandoned you. You don’t owe him any loyalty. And you won’t get to Serbia on your own, without any protection. Either the Boches or the Partisans will get you. Come with us. Our radio operator was killed at Niksic.’

Over the next few minutes it became clear to Steve that he was not being given a choice in the matter. The Chetniks had made up their minds to take him with them, either willingly or by force. He had no wish to risk his life in the internecine warfare between Chetniks and Partisans, but at the same time he was realising more and more clearly that his chances of making it through the German lines to reach Serbia were very small. And it was true that now he owed Mihailovic nothing. At least with this group of Chetniks he would not be alone, and he would be fed. At the end of the best meal he had eaten for a long time, washed down with plenty of slivovitz , he raised his hands in token surrender and agreed, ‘Okay. I’ll come with you.’