32
‘Stoj!’1
Thank Christ, Ralph thought, he’s Slovenian.
Breathing again, the seven examined this strange figure as Anton exchanged passwords. The sentry wore a German uniform but was holding the same odd kind of gun that Leslie had seen the Partisans carrying. He also wore a khaki side cap with a red star sewn into the front, the only uniform marking him as a Partisan. Leslie had seen the same headwear on the three men he had met in the forest. For good or ill, the escapees had reached the Partisans.
Every 500 metres, they were challenged, again, again, and again. Partisan security impressed them. Woods and sentries gave way to level paths and small streams, and then the escapees were making their way down to the town. It had reclaimed its Slovenian name, Lovrenc na Pohorju. The evening sun warmed steepled churches and light-coloured buildings.
Within minutes they were in the centre of town. Partisans milled about the streets, along with small groups of curious townsfolk. Some seemed apprehensive, some ecstatic, some curious. Others, if they had favoured the Germans, were terrified.
Les’s baffling Maid of the Mountains reference began to make sense to Ralph. A few of the Partisans were in civilian clothes but most wore an array of uniforms, either looted or ancient. Some wore Wehrmacht green-grey, some the old Nazi-style brown shirts of the Wehrmannschaft. Others sported blue-grey Italian uniforms that the escapees recognized from North Africa. There were even a few Royal Yugoslav Army greys. All were adorned in bandoliers, bullet loops, pouches, and belts; many were also covered in grenades. They sauntered about, explosives jiggling, with a nonchalance that made the escapees nervous. These were people used to combat. They expected no new supplies in battle, using what they carried with them.
Among the Partisans’ ranks were many women, also well-armed. They seemed to be comrades in arms, which shocked the escapees’ sensibilities.
The Partisans were preparing a party. Food and liquor were being carried to the town hall, and everyone except Leslie and Ralph were invited to join the festivities. Anton led the two ringleaders to the local tavern. Inside were four men: Ljubo Šercer Brigade deputy commander Jože ‘Silni’ Boldan, 3rd Battalion commander Ivan Kovačič,*2 and two Allied officers.3 Who these two officers were, and what they said, is not known; their presence was later covered up. It is almost certain they were members of Lindsay’s Cuckold staff, and one may have been Lieutenant Bush, but Major Losco was not the other. Like the new radios, fuel, and now even explosives for Ratweek, SOE had failed to deliver – either due to their own incompetence, RAF nervousness, or Partisan mistakes with the signals. Things were particularly grim at SOE’s Force 399 HQ in Bari, Italy. Dr Rogers, a New Zealand surgeon running a secret Partisan hospital, described the HQ as a bureaucratic merry-go-round where stores were plenty, but apathy high. So high that Rogers wrote that SOE did not seem to care if its operatives lived or died.4 It is likely that the mission to rescue the whole crew was cancelled due to Losco’s absence. The Cuckold staff had their hands full with Ratweek and supply, and needed a dedicated MI9 agent before embarking on an ambitious rescue.
Boldan and Kovačič beckoned Ralph and Leslie to sit down. Neither spoke German very well, so Anton translated where necessary.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Boldan. ‘Want a drink?’5 He was only a year or two older than Ralph, but younger than Leslie, and here he was, deputy commander of a whole brigade. Boldan seemed much more youthful than the other officer. Kovačič was a tall, stern man with a skinny frame harried by guerrilla warfare. Ralph nodded and took a glass of Riesling.
Leslie turned his attention to the matter at hand. ‘There are seven of us. Can you get us to safety?’
‘Oh, yes, we can send you south back to your people. We’re doing it all the time. It’s not a problem at all.’ Boldan raised his glass. ‘Na zdravje!’ They toasted and drank.
‘Seven of us, no problem?’ Ralph asked. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.
‘No problem. Cheers again!’ The Commander refilled their glasses. ‘We’re doing it all the time. Your airmen get shot down over Austria or Slovenia. We pick them up and get them out. Here – try this.’ Small glasses appeared, along with a bottle of plum brandy. Slivovica or schnapps, depending on which part of Slovenia you asked in. The hard spirits were poured. Food emerged, washed down with yet more wine and spirits. Boldan and Kovačič regaled Ralph and Leslie with the story of how they’d seized the town several days ago with a few hundred men. The local authorities and police had been detained, the armoury was now emptied, and all local records burned. The Partisans were on a recruitment drive. Kovačič commanded the new 3rd Battalion; the 1st and 2nd Battalions were going village to village, taking on recruits.6 The Partisan officers suggested Leslie and Ralph go into town. Well-fed and lubricated now, they should enjoy themselves. Everything would be all right.