Red Burning Sky by Tom Young

Author:Tom Young [Young, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 9781496732958
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corporation
Published: 2022-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Deadly in Your Hands

BUNDLES AND PACKAGES, BOXES AND CARTONS, LAY ACROSS THE pasture. Beside them or across them rested the deflated parachutes that had brought them safely to earth. At first, Bogdonavich wondered why the planes hadn’t dropped the packages at the airfield the men were building. This pasture was miles farther from Pranjani. But then he saw the logic: This way, even if the resupply mission had been compromised, the Germans still might not know the location of the airfield.

But, thank goodness, the mission hadn’t been compromised. The OSS team, or guerrillas working with them, had guided in the airdrop—probably with a Eureka set. From the looks of it, they’d guided in more than one plane. A single C-47 couldn’t have carried all this stuff. Chetniks broke open bundles to find medical supplies, K rations, ammunition, and even weapons and communications gear. One of the largest crates contained M1 Garand rifles, still packed in Cosmoline to preserve them during their ocean journey from U.S. factories.

Vasa came up to Bogdonavich with a broad grin across his face. He carried an M1, his hands smeared in Cosmoline.

“This is the most beautiful rifle I have ever seen,” Vasa said. “But why did they cover it in grease?”

Bogdonavich explained about protecting weapons shipments from salt spray. “The rifle came to Ravna Gora by air,” Bogdonavich said, “but it came to Europe by sea.”

“Very good,” Vasa said. “Please tell all of America we said thank you.”

“We should thank you for all you’re doing, Vasa the Wolf. This is just a down payment.”

Vasa laughed. Bogdonavich had seldom seen the boy laugh.

“Did your army teach you to fire this rifle?” Vasa asked.

“Yes, but because I’m a flier, the pistol is my primary duty weapon.” Bogdonavich patted the .45 holstered on his belt. “I remember how to load it, though. When you get it cleaned up, I will show you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Vasa said. “I am sure Nikolas and Miroslav would like to see that, too.”

Bogdonavich and Vasa joined other fliers and guerrillas in unpacking and sorting the gear. Weapons went under a fir tree beside the pasture. Ammunition went under another, separated by caliber. Bandages and medicines got stacked by the dirt path. Field rations, which made up the bulk of the supplies, were collected in four different piles. The Chetniks wasted nothing. They saved the crates for lumber, or perhaps winter firewood. They even saved the nails.

Bogdonavich searched, however, and did not find any boots. He looked through every package, hoping to find footwear for Vasa. That hole in Vasa’s boots got bigger every day. Most of the Chetniks and villagers needed new footwear.

“Damn, Vasa,” Bogdonavich said. “When I first saw all these packages, I would have bet a year’s pay there were boots for you.”

“That is all right,” Vasa said. “Your aeroplanes have brought so much else.” He pointed to the path where the medical supplies were stacked. Katarina kneeled beside a crate filled with tubes, ampules, and bottles. Within the crate, each box had been wrapped in cotton.

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