35
Friday 1 September 1944*
In the morning mist, Les and Ralph stood near the suicide’s corpse. Nothing had been done about him during the night, so the pair helped bury the man from Maribor now. Those who’d had experiences like Leslie and Ralph’s knew the sort of war that was being fought. Others, caught up in it like this man, weren’t ready to see the reality up close. The Partisans’ hit-and-run tactics meant entrenching tools were low on the inventory, but two Wehrmacht deserters provided Les and Ralph with small standard-issue shovels. They tried not to look at the body while they dug. The hole left by the rifle bullet was huge: the man’s face had collapsed in on itself. The rest of the crew threw nervous glances as Les and Ralph slid the body into a shallow grave.1
Ralph tried to get his mind off it by organizing the spoon rotation again. Between mouthfuls, the men quenched their thirst at a small mountain stream. They may have lacked flasks but they wouldn’t want for water. Today was a rest day of sorts with Brigade HQ. Hidden in thick forest, the rest of the 14th Division gathered down the hill at Rogla, awaiting an airdrop. The escapees tried to snatch some daytime sleep, but heavy rainfall put paid to that.2 Their Partisan counterparts gathered branches and leaves, improvised shelters, and started campfires; the escapees followed their example.3
That day also saw the release of the guards. The most ragged of the Partisans exchanged clothes and boots with their captives and a small group of Partisans then led the guards off back northwards.4 To their dying day Leslie and Ralph believed that Boldan was true to his word, but others suspected that the guards were taken to a quiet spot in the woods and murdered.5 That was what Alexander Connor, who was now working at a different Arbeitskommando in Maribor, heard.6 Eric Edwards, on the other hand, confirmed that at least one was released. Given the nature of the war and previous atrocities, it could be either. The truth of what happened to Gustl and the other guards remains a mystery.
It was time for the escapees to part ways with the 3rd Battalion. Kovačič, its commander, mounted his horse, bade farewell, and ordered the battalion to move out. Seeing their rescuers departing, The Crow turned to his resting escapees. ‘Come on, fellas – three cheers for the 3rd Battalion!’
The 3rd Battalion formed up with the rest of Ljubo Šercer Brigade, heading east. Boldan, with his Lipica, was staying with the escapees, who remained with Brigade HQ while they waited for nightfall and an airdrop. More žganci was eaten. When planes were heard, the Partisans rushed frantically to put out their fires to prevent the pilots picking up the wrong signals. The cargo was dropped – but again it turned out to contain only weapons and uniforms.
SOE had once more failed to drop explosives or radios. It was hoped that secondary drops would be used to supply these essential items, but no other planes arrived that night.7 Franklin Lindsay was furious that SOE or the aircrews had either failed to follow his instructions or were just not up to the job. Without explosives, the whole of Operation Ratweek in Štajerska was in jeopardy.
SOE did succeed in finally dropping Major Losco.8 He parachuted with the supplies to 14th Division HQ late that night. He was too late to aid in the escape, but they hoped there would be many more rescue missions for him to organize.
Meanwhile, the good soldier Švejk had received his orders: he was to take ten men of the Lackov Odred and escort a band of escaped British soldiers to the Savinja Valley. His real name was Franc Gruden, but he resembled another long-dead Partisan who had had the moniker ‘Švejk’ and the name had stuck.9 Švejk was also the name of the famous anti-hero of the satirical Czech novel Good Soldier Švejk about a subversively simple soldier during the First World War. The latest Švejk scratched his face, reflecting on the irony.
It had been a long war already for him. He’d joined the Partisans in the south over two years ago and seen unrelenting service against the Italians and their collaborators, then the Germans and theirs. He’d seen the majority of his comrades killed, most recently on the march to get here, to Štajerska. The death toll of Partisans in the field was high, and few who joined in 1941 or even 1942 would survive the war. Švejk had been transferred from the 14th Division to the Lackov Odred, helping oversee recruitment in Pohorje. New fighters were flocking there, most of them green recruits, teenagers who had come of age under the fascist occupation.
Where Švejk was sitting on the peak of the mountain had once been a tavern, Ribniška Koča, the highest in the whole Pohorje mountain range, but over the past years it had been the scene of bitter fighting. The tavern had long ago been burned (it is rebuilt and operating again today). Camped with him by the ruin were 100 fighters of the Lackov Odred. As a commissar with the Partisans, Švejk had a range of responsibilities, but was often called upon to perform duties more suited to an officer. Unfamiliar with this odred, Švejk formed them up and called for volunteers to help him bring the British POWs to safety.10
First to step forward was Alojz Volern. A teenager, he’d had a lucky escape already. Drafted from Štajerska into the Wehrmacht, he’d been posted to Normandy on the English Channel, but had fortunately been given home leave a fortnight before D-Day. While in Vienna, he fled and defected. He’d already received a promotion of sorts with the Partisans, being made a machine-gunner wielding a British Bren gun. Alojz’s motivation for volunteering was personal: he was from the Savinja Valley, and he hoped to see his family again.11 The young corporal brought both good military training and local knowledge. To have him on board meant Švejk’s unit had got off to a good start.
Next was Franj Vesenjak, ‘Franjo’, another teenager. Fresh-faced and handsome, Franjo had done a year of underground work in Maribor before taking up arms this summer. He’d seen the murder of the Soviet prisoners and watched the men being forced to bury them. The rest of the squad filled up with local youths eager for action.
Švejk was relieved when Karl Čolnik, ‘Čolo’, also stepped forward. Čolo had been watching the other volunteers sign up and knew some more experience was needed if Švejk’s unit were to survive. Čolo had joined the Partisans alongside his brother two summers before. He was one of the few to regroup in Pohorje, after the Pohorje Battalion’s destruction in 1943.12 Švejk didn’t know him, but could tell he was an experienced soldier; from what Švejk knew of the war in Štajerska, Čolo had had to endure even more of an ordeal than he had. Švejk thought he could do a lot worse.
Saturday 2 September 1944
Come daybreak the escapees moved with Boldan and a few other HQ staff a short way west up to Ribniška Koča, crossing the meadows to the camp of the Lackov Odred. Though the rain had passed, threatening clouds still lurked. On a clear day, one could see near half of Slovenia from here. In the woods was the smoke from several campfires, each topped with a big cooking pot and shielded by a small bivouac. Salutes were exchanged between Švejk and Boldan.
The former prisoners were invited to more žganci. After the luxuries of Maribor most escapees found it foreign and unpalatable, but it was the fuel that had kept generations of mountain farmers going and it did the job. Ralph hoped the Partisans wouldn’t notice how low the prisoners’ morale was after years of captivity; their legs were not fit enough for marches. Yesterday had involved no walking but had been cold and wet. The first day’s thirty-kilometre forced march with an ascent of 1,300 metres had also caused a lot of soreness. The decline in the quality of the food didn’t help – The Combine and the Arbeitskommando had treated the crew very well, despite the air raids. Indeed, with the exception of Nazi Party officials, the men of 1046GW might have been the best-fed men in the Third Reich. ‘What do you think you’re doing spoiling our nice billet?’ hissed someone at Leslie after a spoonful of žganci.13 There were a few grumbles of support, though with so many well-armed Partisans around the complaints weren’t going to get too loud.
‘You’re welcome to try finding your way back,’ retorted Les. One of the odred saw the state of the crew and passed round a bottle of schnapps.14 Grog to wash down the buckwheat helped reduce dissent a little, though the French escapees were particularly morose.
Ralph and Leslie went to meet Švejk. Franjo was standing next to the new commander. ‘Hello,’ he said in German. He had an air of mischief that told Ralph that they were going to get on well. ‘I am Franjo. I will be your interpreter.’
With Franjo, Ralph had an instant connection. Franjo was full of a vigorous youthfulness. He had a handsome face, a thick head of soft brown hair, and a shining pair of German infantry boots. Franjo’s hair was so precious to him that he never covered it with the typical, red-starred Partisan cap. ‘This is my commander, Švejk,’ Franjo said. It would be another twenty-five years before Ralph knew Franc Gruden as anything other than ‘Švejk’.
Ralph looked their new commander up and down. Švejk was gaunt and thin. He wore a pilfered Wehrmacht tunic that might have fitted him once, but no longer. He wore glasses under his Partisan cap, giving the impression of an exhausted scholar. ‘Švejk, as in The Good Soldier Švejk? I’m Ralph Churches, and this is Leslie Laws.’ Ralph didn’t know how much German the Commissar understood. He must have got the gist, but remained dour at the question. Ralph took him to be a serious and humourless commissar. He had read The Good Soldier Švejk and wondered if the Partisans were pulling his leg. Literary Švejk was good-humoured but often deliberately incompetent. This one didn’t seem to have any of the character’s enthusiasm.
‘We usually use nicknames in the Partisans,’ explained Franjo, ‘to protect our families.’ Švejk had good reason to be sour. The task was beyond anything he could have imagined: escorting over 100 prisoners who spoke two different languages to the Savinja Valley. Nothing like this had ever been attempted anywhere in Europe, never mind Slovenia, and he was responsible for the whole thing.
If he were to succeed, he’d have to get this rabble of Brits and French into line. ‘When we move out, your men are under three orders,’ said Švejk, through Franjo. ‘Follow us. Do not talk except in a whisper. And no smoking.’ The reason for no smoking stumped Ralph, but he soon understood when he learned they would mostly be marching by night.
Introductions complete, the column of escapees and Partisans together was near 150 strong. They set out from Ribniška Koča in the afternoon, on a thirteen-hour march through the night. Čolo went ahead; he was a natural scout. Scouting meant more running and isolation; the other Partisans lacked the experience for it and Čolo appreciated the quiet. Ralph thought well of him, for Čolo had reacted with amusement on seeing Ralph’s slouch hat.
In eastern Pohorje, the Šercer Brigade were helping take the heat off the escapees and providing more cover for Ratweek by attacking a German military school. It was well fortified, and an enemy patrol spotted the Partisans as they approached. Many Partisans fell in the assault. Kovačič sent in the 3rd Battalion to break the deadlock, but many were seeing their first combat, and were too inexperienced to hold the line. The Germans broke out and evaded them.15 All the Partisans’ efforts for Operation Ratweek: taking Lovrenc, freeing the POWs, and attacking the school, counted for little. Ratweek was a failure, thanks to the SOE’s inability to get explosives to the Partisans. The 14th Division attacked the railways as ordered, resorting to tearing up sections of track by hand, but the damage was easily repaired by German engineers.16
The mass escape might be Ratweek’s only success. Čolo turned them south and they began a 1,000-metre descent into the next valley. The ground covered by the forest had not turned to mud yet after yesterday’s rain, but the first autumn leaves made the paths slippery and the going slow. It was well past nightfall when they reached the village of Dovže, at the bottom of the valley. Along the valley floor ran the busy road between the garrison towns of Slovenj Gradec and Velenje. Švejk knew from his time in the 14th how dangerous this crossing could be, but tonight was as good as could be hoped. Both flanks were covered by woods, which crept right up to the road. Švejk had Franjo pass on new orders: they’d pull the same trick as the Partisans had used on the way to Ožbalt – divide into groups of ten, and cross one group at a time. The Crow exercised his position as leader and picked out men he trusted to head each group. Among them were Les and Len and a large, burly Australian called Donald Funston.
Ralph looked over at the Frenchmen, who were giving him the evil eye. ‘Les, mate. I’m sorry to ask such a crap job of you. Can you babysit the Frenchies? I don’t trust them.’ Les sighed, but there was no one else for the job; no one spoke the language well enough to be commandingly blunt.
Čolo led the way over the road and a small livestock bridge across the Mislinja river. Two Partisans headed down either end of the road to watch for enemy patrols while the column quietly passed.
Sunday 3 September 1944
The column reformed, heading straight south, up the other side of the valley wall. Ralph’s objections to anything other than a summer escape were proving wise – in a different season, this late at night, they’d be frostbitten. The ground levelled, and the column turned west along a ridgeline before finally coming to rest in the early hours of the morning at a farmhouse somewhere south of Podgorje. Čolo went to chat with the farmer, and another Partisan prepared žganci.
Though the sun was rising and the men eating dinner, the ‘day’ was not done with them yet. Two Partisans from another unit arrived with a stocky man tied up with rope, an informer who’d sold out members of the underground in Maribor. Švejk was ordered to deliver the spy to the Savinja Valley for interrogation and presumably execution.17 Yet another responsibility . . . The farmhouse had a shed, and Švejk locked the informer inside. Everyone else found what straw they could and fell asleep. Švejk wanted everyone to have a good feed, so he purchased one of the farmer’s sheep and, while they all slept, the farmer butchered and skinned the animal, and sawed it in half lengthways. The two halves were lashed to poles to be carried and eaten in the safety of the Savinja Valley.18
In the early afternoon the escapees woke to shouts: ‘He’s gone! He’s gone!’ Pandemonium.
Franjo had gone to check and found no prisoner, and two boards in the wall of the shed prised free.19 Either the sentry had fallen asleep or Švejk hadn’t posted one. ‘Everyone up, now!’ shouted Švejk – the informer could be in Slovenj Gradec by now and an SS battalion already en route. The farm was compromised. They had to get to the Savinja Valley as fast as possible.
Stomachs were growling. They’d skip breakfast, or whatever meals were called on this schedule. Four escapees were picked out to carry the mutton, and the column moved off along the ridge in a hurry. They had to stop and wait for nightfall to cross the road at Zavodnje, which, like the road they’d already crossed, led to an enemy garrison. Would the Germans secure all the roads? It was a nervous wait. They were due to arrive at a Partisan courier station – the Lackov Partisans had come beyond the limits of their local knowledge and a guide would be needed to lead them further.
When the sun finally set, the column crossed the narrow valley floor in groups as before. A full moon lit it well. They climbed out of the valley for an hour and halted below a farmhouse and secret Partisan courier station. Čolo flashed his torch. No reply. He flashed again. Codes were a finicky thing, after all – had he not got it right? A voice rang out from the house, speaking German.
‘Wer da?’ Who’s there?
Čolo was silent. The Partisans unlatched their safety catches.
‘Wer da?’ Louder this time.
‘Partizani!’ Čolo replied. Everyone held their breath.
‘PARTISANEN!!!’ yelled the occupants of the house. German machine guns opened fire. The whole column except for Švejk hit the deck. He put his Sten to his shoulder and returned fire. Alojz dived, braced his Bren gun against the ground and sprayed the farmhouse. Franjo got down with Ralph and Les. ‘Back! Go back!’ he urged. The escapees didn’t need telling twice.
Švejk didn’t know if it was a single machine-gun crew or a bigger ambush. Either way, a direct assault would be suicidal – they had too many unarmed men and were too disorganized. But he had an old trick up his sleeve. If he could give the impression of having enough men – if the escapees could be brought up, and the Germans led to think they were fighting a whole brigade – they would believe they were being overrun. The night was well lit, but not enough to tell that most of his charges were unarmed. Švejk ceased firing so everyone, and especially the Germans, could hear better. ‘1st Battalion, left! 2nd Battalion, right! Advance!’20
The Partisans formed two columns and moved through the forest. Švejk scanned the treeline and saw Ralph and the others backing away. ‘Churches! Naprej!’ Švejk bellowed, gesturing at a path on the left flank.
The Crow took a deep breath. He needed to regroup his men. He mustn’t let them down. ‘Don’t run! Don’t scatter!’ He learned a lesson in issuing positive orders. His men heard ‘Run! Scatter!’ and took flight as fast as their legs would carry them.21
Donald Funston did not flee. He came rushing to Ralph’s side, slapping a hand on The Crow’s shoulder. Ralph was shaking now, unable to speak.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Donald asked. He got no response, so Donald took charge. He formed his hands into a cone and bellowed, ‘Everyone! Get back here at the bloody double, or you’ll get left behind! We’re moving off in three minutes flat!’22 As the escapees returned, so did Ralph’s nerve.
Franjo came rolling down the hill. ‘Ralph! It worked! The Germans fled. We have to go before reinforcements arrive.’
The Germans had gone, but the courier the Partisans were supposed to meet was probably dead. Without a guide, they’d be marching near blind. ‘Čolo! Find us a guide!’ ordered Švejk.
Čolo ran to another farmhouse and barged the door open, startling a lad a bit younger than Franjo. It wouldn’t be long before he was old enough to be conscripted into the Wehrmacht, but for now he was recruited by the Partisans. Čolo grabbed the lad by the neck of his pyjamas. ‘You’re leading us out.’ The presence of firearms and the sound of gunfire left no room for negotiation. The boy had enough time to slip on shoes and a jacket before being led out of the house and hustled over to Švejk.
‘Take us through the forest to Bele Vode,’ Švejk ordered. Bleary-eyed and alarmed, the lad complied; every teenager knew the tracks around their village well. With this local knowledge, he led the column through the forests for three hours. Ralph threw nervous glances, trying to count how many were still with them. Down two hills, up two hills, the column’s reserves were ebbing by the minute. But the only choice was to keep going. If the prisoners were caught with Partisans, the SS might kill them all.
Monday 4 September 1944
An hour before sunrise, they reached the edge of the village of Bele Vode. The lad was thanked for his services and let go.23 Švejk knew the way from here. If they could cross the village, they could go south around the 1,500-metre peak of Mount Golte and then head west, which would put them on the path to Savinja, the same way Švejk had left the valley a month previously.24
Bele Vode was a small village and thankfully didn’t sit on a major road, but Švejk wasn’t taking any chances and ordered the column to separate into groups of ten. It gave Ralph an opportunity for a headcount. They were six men down: four of his own and two of the Frenchmen. Worst of all, his friend Kit was among the missing.25 Ralph felt the ground falling from under him. He tried to explain the situation to Franjo and Švejk, but the latter was in no mood for delays. ‘I’m sorry, Ralph,’ said Franjo. ‘There’s nothing we can do. If they’re lucky, they’ll be found by Partisans from another unit or sheltered by the villagers. We can’t risk sending anyone back for them.’
Not willing to waste any more darkness, Švejk moved them out. They were half a butchered sheep down too, but the second pole of mutton had been dutifully retained.26 The column crossed to the side of the village unchallenged and walked on for another hour. They had no food save the raw meat and hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Ralph still had a tin of beef which he took a few mouthfuls from and passed to Leslie. They drank from the rivers coming off the mountain. Finally they came to a stop halfway up the south slope of Golte and lay down on the forest floor for what remained of the night.27 Some Partisans snapped leafy branches off the trees and used them as crude blankets.28 Sleeping by day at least corrected the clothing shortage. As the forest warmed, the men in shorts could sleep.
Les awoke late in the afternoon to see Čolo sitting off in the distance, keeping watch. He could see that morale among the prisoners had taken a dark turn. Those escapees upset at the breakout now regarded Les and Ralph with contempt. Most were certain the six missing men had been cut to pieces during the ambush, and that it was Ralph and Leslie’s fault. Though no one had seen it for themselves, some believed for the rest of their lives that the escape had led to the missing men’s deaths.29
Švejk was also pondering the situation: he knew the way by road, not obscure forest trail, so Čolo, as exhausted as the rest of them, would have to lead and warn of any trouble. If there were Germans ahead, he’d have to move everyone deeper into the forests and pray they didn’t get lost. But Švejk had a bigger problem. Though most escapees’ morale had plummeted, they were still willing to continue. The Frenchmen were not, refusing to march any further and attempting to convince a few of the others to join the strike. What they hoped to achieve is unclear. Leslie’s attempts to mediate went nowhere, and eventually the Partisans had to compel the Frenchmen to move at gunpoint.30 That got them marching at least, and as night fell, the column moved out in silence, slowly, at a trudge. It made less noise, but in any case no one had the strength to go any faster. Soon they heard the gentle rushing of the Ljubnica river and turned south to follow it. The water was a welcome sound, obscuring their steps – though it could also cover any enemy lying in wait. Čolo was far ahead, scouring the forest for any sign of trouble.
Down they marched, passing little fields, isolated farms, and churches the size of cottages, the escapees growing hungrier, sleepier, angrier, and convinced they would never see home again. When the sun rose, it lit the edge of the valley. Escapee and Partisan alike collapsed at the vision before them: Ljubno and the Savinja Valley.31 They had reached temporary safety.