Partisan by Christopher Nicole

Author:Christopher Nicole [Nicole, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-05-01T22:00:00+00:00

Part Three

RESISTANCE

Phoebus, arise:

And paint the sable skies,

With azure, white and red.

William Drummond

Chapter Seven – Massacre

For a moment neither Petar nor his companions moved; they even attempted to laugh, assuming that what they had just been told had to be a joke. Then it slowly dawned on them that it was not a joke.

‘Haste,’ Pavelic said. ‘We have not got all night.’

The villagers exchanged glances. In their eagerness to greet people they had assumed to be friends, they had left their firearms in their houses.

‘Get in there,’ Tony muttered, pushing the two women into their hut. Ivkov followed him.

‘What is happening?’ Sandrine asked. ‘He can’t be serious.’

‘I’m afraid he is serious.’ Tony looked at Elena. These were her people. But for the moment even Elena looked utterly confounded.

‘You too, ladies,’ Pavelic was saying. ‘Be sure you have your brats with you. Captain Grosnic, make a selection.’

Tony watched through the slightly open door of the hut as the Croatian captain walked up and down the still shocked line of women.

‘You,’ he said, pointing. ‘And you. And you. Step out.’

The three girls – they were only teenagers – looked at each other, then left the ranks.

‘Marina!’ one of the older women screamed.

The youngest of the girls stopped to look over her shoulder, and had her arm seized by one of the Croat militiamen, who jerked her, and her companions, into their midst. Captain Grosnic selected three more women, these slightly older, and all married; the six women were the most attractive of the villagers.

‘What do they want with them?’ Sandrine whispered at Tony’s elbow.

‘What do you think? For God’s sake, keep out of sight.’

Petar Ivkov had at last regained some of his composure. ‘You cannot be serious,’ he protested.

‘I am always serious,’ Pavelic told him. ‘Now, all of you, turn round and face the wall.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Petar shouted. ‘You are Yugoslav. We are Yugoslav. We should be fighting the Germans, together.’

‘But you are Communists,’ Pavelic said. ‘You are the enemies of mankind. Your fate is to be exterminated. Besides, the Germans are our friends. Commence.’

The tommy-guns began to chatter, and the evening dissolved into horror. Several men, women, and children fell in the initial bursts. Too late, some of the men turned and ran at their assassins, but were cut down before they could cross the street. Mrs Ivkov ran to her husband’s side, and died on her knees before she could reach him. Petar himself just stared at his murderers, his right hand clutching his medal of office, then he joined his wife on the ground. Some of the villagers tried to run up the street, and were met by the bullets of the men posted to block the road. Others tried to regain their houses, but were followed by the chattering tommy-guns. A few tried to get between the houses, but suffered the same fate. The machine-guns were turned even on the dogs, but only a few of these were hit; the rest scampered off into the gloom.

The

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