Page 33 of A Call to Home (Women of the Resistance #3)

Drvar

March and April 1944

Spring came at last. The snow melted and the grass around the village was suddenly starred with wildflowers. Improving weather conditions meant that there were more air drops, so the food situation got better, but it also meant an increase in enemy activity. The main dropping area was still at Bosanski Petrovac and from there the supplies were distributed on pack horses or farm carts. It was not long before German reconnaissance aircraft spotted what was happening and planes were sent in to machine gun or bomb the columns, so from then on they had to move by night. Sometimes the less experienced pilots released their loads from a considerable altitude, which meant that the parachutes drifted a long way before landing and search parties had to be sent out to recover them. The more experienced, or braver, pilots flew in low along the valley and dropped the supplies exactly where the Partisans were waiting. Sometimes they waited all night and no planes appeared. This was usually due to bad weather conditions around their bases in Italy, or over the Dalmatian mountains, but it was hard to convince Tito’s men that that was the case when there were clear skies over Drvar and too often it was put down not to bad weather but to a capitalist conspiracy. Work was begun on creating an airstrip so that planes could land and take off, but without heavy lifting gear or bulldozers to level the ground it was a slow process.

As soon as the roads were clear the remaining garrison that had been left in Jajce joined them, bringing with them the horses they had been forced to leave behind. Alix was very glad to be reunited with Moonlight.

More British agents were dropped too, and one day Maclean brought a stranger to meet Tito in his cave.

‘May I introduce Major Rogers? He belongs to the Army Medical Corps and I’m sure your doctors will find him a tremendous help.’ He was speaking in Russian, the language he normally used to converse with Tito. The newcomer stood by, looking at a loss. ‘Unfortunately, he doesn’t speak a word of Serbo-Croat.’

‘Nor Russian?’ Tito guessed.

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘French?’

Maclean turned to Rogers. ‘Do you speak French?’ he asked in English.

‘Sorry, not a word.’

Tito did not need to have the answer translated. ‘He’s not going to be much use then, is he?’

‘I think he’ll get by. He’s used to dealing with men of all nationalities. He commanded a field ambulance during the fighting in the Western Desert. Now he wants to make himself useful where there is still some action.’

Tito looked at Alix. ‘You had better take charge of him. At least you speak his language. Koca has had a lot of casualties. Take him down the valley to him.’

Alix accepted the task readily. She was tired of being confined to the cave and a ride down the valley was just what she needed. She smiled at Rogers.

‘If you come with me, Major, I’ll show you where you are badly needed.’

Rogers was a stocky New Zealander with a cheerfully informal manner. ‘Call me Doc,’ he said. ‘That’s want most people do.’

‘Can you ride?’

‘Sure can.’

‘Excellent. Let’s find you a horse.’

Mounted on Moonlight, with the major on a sturdy gelding beside her, Alix enjoyed the ride. The conversation began with the inevitable question.

‘You speak very good English. Where did you learn?’

It occurred to her that in her cut down German tunic, with a pistol at her belt, she must look to him indistinguishable from any other partisanska. She gave him the routine reply she always used. ‘My mother is English.’

He seemed satisfied with that. ‘Tell me about these Patersons,’ he said.

‘Sorry. Who?’

‘These guys you are fighting with.’

‘You mean Partisans.’

‘That’s what I said. Patersons.’

The German winter offensive had put a great strain on the hospitals set up by each detachment, but the ethos of care for the wounded was still an integral part of Partisan culture. Now, with many doctors and nurses killed or wounded they were struggling to cope. At the hospital tent attached to the First Proletarian Brigade Alix introduced ‘Doc’ to a harassed medic. The little major took one look around and said, ‘I can see what’s needed here.’ He beckoned the medic to follow him and set off down the line of beds. Alix watched for a while and it soon became clear that with the use of gestures and the occasional medical term that was universally understood, communication ceased to be a problem.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, and received in return a wave of the hand that conveyed the message that she was no longer needed.

Over the next weeks, reports coming back to headquarters told of hospitals attached to other units being reorganised, standards of hygiene being rigorously enforced, medical outcomes being improved. ‘Doc’ Rogers seemed to be everywhere, galloping from one unit to another, refusing to accept any excuses from those who failed to reach his high standards.

One day in April Brigadier Maclean came up to the cave.

‘I’ve been recalled to HQ. They want a thorough in-depth account of the situation here and the contribution your people can make to ultimate victory. I should like Vladimir Velebit to accompany me, if you agree. He made a great contribution to our discussions when we went to Cairo and I think his input would be very valuable. The RAF is sending a plane to pick me up and they will also evacuate some of your more seriously wounded, men whose condition cannot be treated with the facilities you have here. Major Street will be in charge during my absence.’

Vivien Street was one of the officers who had been dropped with Maclean when he returned.

A message was sent to Doc Rogers and a procession of stretchers arrived carrying the wounded, who were transported to the now functioning airstrip. A Dakota landed, miraculously undisturbed by enemy action. The wounded were loaded aboard and Maclean and Velebit followed. Watching them take off Alix wondered if they would ever come back.

There was still fighting in other areas of the country. As well as the more frequent air drops, the amount of air support increased. Each detachment now had direct radio contact with RAF Brindisi and reports came in of flights of Spitfires and Hurricanes appearing just in time to turn the tide of battle. Alix and the others grew used to hearing the deep drone of heavy aircraft passing over head, though what their targets were they had no way of knowing.

Easter approached and, while it had no significance on Tito’s calendar, the local villagers were devout Christians, as were many of the rank and file Partisans, and he made no attempt to prevent them from celebrating the festival.

On Easter Sunday, Steve came up to the cave.

‘I’ve just picked up a broadcast from London. I thought you should know that the Allies have carpet bombed Belgrade.’