Betrayed Valor Page 4

  “We’re dropping too fast. We’re going to have to abandon ship.” Richardson nodded in agreement. O’Donnell picked up the intercom and shouted out his command.

  “Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” The command echoed over the intercom. Everyone quickly clipped their parachutes onto their harnesses and prepared to jump into the unknown. They knew they were somewhere over Serbia. But they didn’t know what was waiting for them when they got there.

  One by one they jumped out of the plane, Richardson and O’Donnell being the last two. Richardson paused before jumping.

  “See you on the ground! Remember to look for the Partisans. They are our only hope at this point.” Then he was out. O’Donnell said a short prayer and jumped.

  CHAPTER 5

  “ONE THOUSAND ONE, one thousand two, one thousand three.” O’Donnell counted to himself as he plummeted towards the ground. At three, he thrust his hand and pulled the ripcord. Nothing. He pulled it again. Nothing. As realization emerged, he began to panic. He was falling even faster to the ground and his parachute wouldn’t open. Trying to stay calm, he tugged as hard as he could on the canvas. He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs weren’t cooperating. Instead, he was breathing faster and faster. The breaths were coming so fast that he couldn’t get any air into his lungs. Even though he was hyperventilating, he kept pulling on the canvas. With trembling hands, he violently tugged and tugged until it finally came loose. The parachute burst open above him, brutally yanking the harness, and stopping his heart-stopping free fall to the ground. As he floated through the sky and approached the ground, he succumbed to darkness.

  “Pozurite! Nemamo puno vremena! Ajde!”

  “Marko! Pazi tamo. Vidi da oni gadovi ne dolazu!’

  The words were fuzzy and foreign. The voices drifted in and out as the tunnel of darkness that enveloped him slowly slipped away. Coming to, O’Donnell tried to open his eyes. He blinked several times as he tried to adjust to the blinding morning light. Attempting to focus, he could only make out several blurred figures around him. Where was he? Who were these people? Blinking several more times, his vision finally cleared. Two tall, bearded men, with khaki green, makeshift military uniforms, surrounded him.

  “Ej, probudio se!” someone whispered excitedly.

  “Who are you?” O’Donnell asked as they worked to free him of his parachute, which happened to be hanging in a low tree. He must have landed in the tree branches when he passed out. Looking down, he noticed two more similar looking men on the ground below.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked again. The men glanced at him and kept on working to free him. Two of the men were up in the tree loosening him from his harness while two others were waiting below to catch him. This can’t be good, he thought. What are they going to do with me?

  “Pazite!” One of the men in the tree shouted.

  With a jolt, O’Donnell fell to the ground. He landed on his feet but then he lost his footing and fell to his hands and knees. The men on the ground immediately put their hands under his arms and lifted him up to his feet, while the others struggled to pull the parachute out of the tree. One of the men standing with O’Donnell ran over to help them. After several frantic minutes of struggling to get it down, the parachute fell to the ground. They pulled it and hid it behind several nearby tall bushes.

  Suddenly, they all stopped and stood very still. They put their fingers to their lips, a silent order to be quiet. They looked at O’Donnell and started whispering and pointing to the bushes. He couldn’t understand what they were saying at first. But when they started dragging him over to the bushes, he understood. They wanted him to hide. An approaching car could be heard as it neared. He crouched to the ground and held his breath. He didn’t know if these were the good guys or bad guys. All he could do at this point was try to figure out a way back to Allied men. And try hard not to get caught by the Nazis. Afraid breathing would give him away, he took a deep breath and waited.

  The jeep stopped fifteen feet away from the bushes. Looking through the tangle of leaves, he saw that it was a German patrol. Two German soldiers spoke to each other for a few minutes while looking at the soldiers who had helped him. The Nazis got out of the jeep and quickly approached the men. O’Donnell still couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he was sure that his rescuers were not Germans. The Nazis were speaking German and the others were speaking a Slavic language, more than likely Serbian. The Nazis were arguing with the men. They were pointing to the sky and gesturing with their arms. It was obvious that they were trying to say that something dropped from the sky and could have landed around here. The unknown men shrugged and shook their heads no.

  After several minutes, the frustrated Germans returned to their jeep. Their faces contorted with anger as they shouted at the men. One of them took his finger and swiped it across his neck and pointed to the men before they drove off. When they were out of sight, the unknowns turned and gestured to O’Donnell to get up. He walked over to them, still leery, but it looked like they weren’t planning on turning him over to the Nazis. At least not yet. That had to be a good sign.

  “Who are you?” O’Donnell asked again. And once again blank stares as they were directing him to walk up the hill with them. It wasn’t any use asking again. Instead, he just took in his surroundings to see if he could get any clues to his whereabouts. And he needed to figure out who his captors were. Were these guys Chetniks or Partisans? And where were they taking him?

  They walked for hours, up and down steep hillsides, through forests and open fields, eventually stopping in a little hillside village. There were about a dozen little grey stone homes with red tiled roofs scattered throughout. In front of some of the homes were mule driven carts filled with hay or other items. The villagers were busy doing their daily chores, so at first they didn’t notice them walking up. As they approached the first two homes, the villagers saw O’Donnell and his four captors and started towards them.

  An elderly woman, wearing a dark wool vest over a white shirt and a black skirt hobbled up to him. Her sparkling green eyes looked at him warily beneath white eyebrows. Beneath the dark blue handkerchief tied around her heard, her long silver hair wisped across her wrinkled forehead. Placing hands on either side of his face she stared straight into his soul. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Dobro Dosao nas spasitelj! Amerikanac! Ti ces nas spasiti!” she cried and kissed his cheeks. “Hvala Gospode Boze!” He had no idea what the heck the woman said, except that he was confident that they knew he was an American. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. He surprised by the extreme show of affection.

  The woman let go and walked towards an icon of a saint hanging on the outside entrance wall of one of the homes. She bent over and put the thumb, forefinger and middle fingers of her right hand together and placed them on her forehead, her belly, her right shoulder and then her left shoulder, making the sign of the cross. She did this three times and then kissed the icon.

  “Does anyone here speak English?” he asked. No one answered him. The situation, though not as bad as it could’ve been, wasn’t getting much better. He was hungry and his throat was raw from thirst. As if reading his mind, a little girl with her hair in a long braid down her back, walked towards him with a cup of cold water. She looked up at him with a shy grin and with both hands handed the tin cup to him.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” he said as he desperately drank the water. He leaned down and lightly tugged her braid. He gestured to the cup and then to his mouth, trying to find a way to ask for more water. The little girl smiled and grabbed the cup to refill it from a nearby well of water. When she returned, he drank the second cup as quickly as the first. She repeated the same motions he made earlier to ask for more. He shook his head as he bent down to say thank you. She jumped up and threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly with an unexpected show of affection.

  “Hey, there, now. That’s awfully sweet of you,” he whispered as he untangled hims
elf from her grasp. He wanted to ask her name, but knew she wouldn’t understand. So instead, he pointed to himself and said, “Bill.”

  She looked at him curiously and then recognition lit up her eyes. She mimicked his gesture, pointing to her chest, and with a huge smile, she said, “Milka!”

  “Well, Milka, thank you for the cold water!” Milka laughed and ran off towards a group of other children standing nearby. They huddled together, talking fast and pointing and staring at him. O’Donnell looked around and saw that the villagers had begun to disperse. The men who had brought him here were speaking to another older man. They glanced at him occasionally as they carried on their discussion. Finally, the older man gestured for him to come with them.

  O’Donnell was feeling more comfortable with the situation. If they were Nazi collaborators, they would have turned him in earlier. And if they had any ill intentions, they surely wouldn’t have brought him to the village and let the girl give him water. But he sorely wished he knew who these people were and if they could get him in touch with any other Americans or Allied men who might be nearby.

  They entered what appeared to be the older man’s home. Inside, they gestured for him to sit at a long wooden table. He pulled out one of the chairs, scraping the concrete floor, sat down and wondered when he was going to be able to eat. He figured he was safe for now and his stomach started to grumble. He didn’t even realize how hungry he was until he sat down. Now that he knew it, he could eat enough for the whole Air Force. After several minutes, he was joined by the older man, his three young sons, and to his pleasant surprise, little Milka. Milka’s mother was busy getting dinner together.

  The men all sat at the table, while Milka and her mother served them. At first, O’Donnell didn’t quite understand what was happening as they placed a small half loaf of bread, a card deck size piece of goat cheese, and lard on the table. The others patiently stared at him. He finally realized that they were waiting for him to eat. He took a piece of the bread and eagerly bit into it. To his dismay, it was stale and hard. But he took it gratefully and ate. He had never eaten goat cheese and found that he wasn’t too crazy about it. But he was incredibly hungry and this was better than starving to death. He wasn’t sure what they did with the lard, so he just left that alone.

  He greedily devoured the small amount of food placed in front of him. As he chewed, he contemplated their choice of food and decided that they were more than likely giving him their scraps. He was a stranger to them, why share the good stuff ? Who was he to judge anyway? As they say, beggars can’t be choosers and at this point he’d take anything they could give him. After several minutes, he glanced at his hosts and realized that they hadn’t started eating. It was only then that he realized that they were waiting for him to finish eating before they began. And they weren’t going to be eating some delicious food they had on the side. They were going to share whatever he left for them. Ashamed, he pushed his plate back and thanked them for their kindness. Seeing he was finished, they took what was left, which wasn’t much, and shared it amongst the five of them.

  He watched them as they quietly ate, savoring each morsel of food. The children listened eagerly as their father spoke, interrupting him only occasionally, and laughing every now and then. O’Donnell wasn’t sure what the conversation was, but he enjoyed watching the way this family interacted. It reminded him of his home and his own family. They were worlds away from each other, but still so much the same.

  Deep in thought, a sudden pounding on the door nearly startled O’Donnell off his chair. The father opened the door and a young, dark haired man stepped in. He said something to the family and they jumped up from their chairs. Milka and her mother scattered to hastily clean up dinner. The two men were in a heated discussion, their voices just this side of shouting. The young one pointed at O’Donnell as his voice boomed across the room. What’s that all about? wondered O’Donnell.

  The two men continued their discussion until the door swung open and the other man’s child ran in. Struggling for a breath in between words, he tugged on the younger man’s shirt. The men abruptly stopped their discussion and asked the boy a question. His head violently bobbed up and down. Milka’s father dismissed the man and his son with another nod, and he closed the door immediately behind them.

  He grabbed O’Donnell by the arm and dragged him to the other side of the room, stopping in front of a small bed. He pointed to the space beneath the bed and placed his forefinger over his mouth ordering him to be quiet. He was gesturing quickly now, pushing O’Donnell down. He crawled under the bed, barely fitting in the narrow space beneath. Just as he pulled his entire body underneath, there was a pounding on the door. Milka’s mother turned towards the icon of a saint on the east wall of the house, said a silent prayer and then crossed herself as O’Donnell watched the old lady do earlier. Milka grabbed her mother’s dress and apron tightly. The boys sat quietly at the table, their faces pale with fear, as they watched their father cross himself before he slowly opened the door.

  CHAPTER 6

  PETROVICH LOOKED OVER at his co-pilot, Graves, and gave him a thumbs up as they saw the Italian base slowly come into view. And boy was that a sight for sore eyes. He shifted the gears for their landing, waiting as each of the remaining planes in their formation landed.

  “Prepare for landing” he called out to his crew as they began their descent to the landing strip. The buildings on base became larger as they quickly approached the ground. The landing gear engaged and he steadied the plane. Landing was such a rush. He never got tired of how he felt as the plane dropped towards the strip and the satisfaction he felt as he successfully landed back at base each time.

  They slowed to a complete stop and disengaged themselves from the plane. Petrovich waited to be the last man to climb down the ladder out of the plane. It was a ritual meant to show his crew the respect they deserved for a job well done.

  “Good job, boys” he exclaimed as they walked from the strip. They removed their helmets and Petrovich ran his fingers over his thick dark crew cut. “Not an easy task in that hell up there, but you all did good. Uncle Sam would be proud!” They laughed at the old joke. Petrovich said the same thing after every successful mission.

  And was he happy to be on base this time! That was a close call. Those German fighters came out of nowhere, just as he thought they got through the worst of their defenses. He sadly remembered Thomson and his crew. He grieved for his fellow airmen, and prayed that their families could somehow find comfort and get past their inevitable grief.

  “Tough break for Thomson and his guys” said Graves.

  “Yea. He was a good guy. His wife had their baby right before he was deployed. He never even got to see his boy.” Petrovich’s voice was hoarse with sympathy.

  “Man. That sucks. Those other guys were all right too. I hate that they had to go out like that. It’s going to play over and over in my mind, the way that plane burst into flames.” Graves shook his head as he unzipped his flying suit.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen anything like that. But it never gets easier. I don’t know if I will ever forget the sight of it.” Petrovich switched the helmet from his right hand to his left and unzipped his suit.

  “We’re going to clean up and get out of these suits. Maybe meet up after the debriefing. You coming?” Graves asked.

  “Maybe later. I’m going to get cleaned up myself. See you.”

  After he showered and changed, he headed out of the barracks. He decided to look for O’Donnell. They’d share their stories of the mission, like they always did. It had become a tradition, and a way to get past the stress and sadness when they lost some of their own. He walked across base and saw Red and one of the British SOE agents sitting at a table. They kept their voices low.

  “Hey, you guys see O’Donnell?” he asked. They abruptly stopped their conversation as he came closer. Red glared at the initial interruption. But that was quickly replaced by a frown as he looked up at Pe
trovich. He looked back at the SOE agent and shook his head.

  “Didn’t you hear? They didn’t make it back.” Red replied staring at his hands on the table.

  “What?” Petrovich froze. He didn’t expect that. He slowly ran his hands over his head as he digested Red’s response. His throat was suddenly too dry. “No, I just got back. I mean, I knew he was having some difficulty and had to fly low and out of formation, but I thought they made it back.” Petrovich couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Willing himself to move, he placed his hands on the table and closed his eyes. Replaying the events of the day in his head, he couldn’t remember when he last saw O’Donnell’s plane. He looked at Red with apprehension. Fearing the worst for his best friend.

  “When he fell out of formation, German fighters attacked. And from what we gathered, the plane crashed in Yugoslavia. There hasn’t been any communication from them. I’m sorry, my friend. But it doesn’t look good.” Red put his hand on Petrovich’s shoulder. “He’s a good pilot. I know you two were close. I’m really sorry.”

  Petrovich stood there, not moving and barely breathing. He didn’t want to believe that O’Donnell was dead. He stared at Red and the other Brit for a few long minutes, processing the information.

  “Are you sure?” was all he could say. Red nodded slowly, confirming Petrovich’s fears.

  “All I know is that his plane went down. We don’t know if they made it out as of yet.” He paused for a few moments and scanned Petrovich’s face. “If they did, and they found Tito’s men, then they are OK and the Partisans will contact us. It’s too early to know at this point.” He looked at the SOE agent, a silent message passing between them.

  Petrovich still couldn’t believe it. He knew, each time they went out, that it could happen. But that didn’t make it any easier to take. O’Donnell was his friend, and one of the best fliers they had. He hoped with everything he had, that he did parachute out and was in the right hands. Whoever that happened to be.