The Crow's Flight

18/09/2024

18 September 1944

The Dakota landed at an airfield outside Bari as dawn approached. Medical staff were waiting to unload the wounded and rush them to the hospital, but otherwise, no one else was there to meet the escapees: once the ambulances were gone, they were alone apart from the ground crew. Ralph approached one of them to ask if anyone was coming.

‘Haven’t a bleeding clue, mate.’

They headed for the nearest compound and found a half-asleep duty sergeant, who woke a flying officer. He made some calls, leading to more calls, then more. While this military pantomime played out, Griff popped his head back out of the door.

‘Two more planes have landed,’ he announced. The transport hub for trucks wasn’t far off, and by the time the fourth and fifth planes had landed, there were lorries and even sandwiches to hand.

Leslie and Griff stayed behind to ensure the last plane arrived, and Ralph hopped into the cab of one of the trucks. The convoy’s Sergeant insisted Ralph regale them with tales from behind the lines.
‘Jesus, man!’ said the Sergeant when Ralph was done. ‘You must have been desperate to get home.’

The drive was short: the escapees were deposited in an empty barracks belonging to the British 8th Army. Ralph watched with pride as truckloads of passengers filtered in his railway crew, the farm lads, the Frenchmen, the airman Melrose, Heslop and his escapees. They had made it. They were free.

But soon, Leslie and Griffin turned up with bad tidings. The sixth plane had not arrived; it had suffered an engine failure on the ground. The stricken Dakota had been camouflaged, and the remaining escapees had returned to Semič. It could have been worse; it was better to have an engine failure on the ground than in the air. Still, the absence of twenty of their number weighed heavy as Ralph fell asleep.

‘Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine!’ an English lance corporal was shouting. ‘Time for a wash-up and a brush-up!’ It was strange to be returned to a proper barracks after so many years. Hot showers compensated for any culture shock. Oh, what a glorious feeling!

The first day outside N**i territory went in a flash. Each man received a medical and was cautioned against excessive eating or drinking after the privations of the escape. An officer informed Leslie and Ralph that an engineer was being dropped to repair the last plane. The next day, new clothing and mess kits were issued. Ralph retained his battered old hat, though, now well into its fifth year; there was no way he could lay his hands on a fresh one – the 8th Army didn’t have any in its stores.

On parade, a stern officer warned against speaking to anyone about the escape: doing so could endanger the lives of the Partisans and the many escapees and pilots still to come. The men took the point while feeling a total vow of silence was excessive. Each was then given a piece of paper to write a telegram home.

It was lucky for Ralph that Ronte was living with his parents; he could immediately let them know. ‘ESCAPED SAFE WELL’, read his message. A longer aerogramme was also issued, which would take a week to reach home.

That night, Ralph and Leslie were woken to be told the sixth plane had landed; the last escapees were on their way. Total rescued as a result of their escape: ninety-nine prisoners of war. Fifteen minutes later, the latecomers entered the barracks. Ralph yelled with delight and ran to his friend: Kit Carson was among the passengers! Now it was 100.

The poor bloke had had a longer road here than his fellow captives. After the ambush at the farmhouse, Kit had run deep into the forest, most likely to the north. By good fortune, a few Partisans from a remote mountainous odred, the Koroška Odred, had been heading to the courier station and found Kit. As the courier station was destroyed, they returned him to their HQ in the Kamnik-Savinja Alps. From there, he’d made his way south with more couriers and finally reached Semič on 20 September – too late for the leading group, but in time to catch the sixth and final Dakota.

The party complete, each man underwent an exhaustive interrogation from MI9. All were sworn to the strictest secrecy. They could tell no one any detail of their escape, not their families, spouses, or even comrades. Each escapee signed the following document:

WARNING AGAINST GIVING INFORMATION WHICH MAY BE OF VALUE TO THE ENEMY

This applies to members of all British, American, Dominion, and Imperial Services and continues even after discharge.

1. It is the duty of all persons to safeguard information which might be useful, directly or indirectly, to the enemy. Such information includes details of any attempted or premeditated escapes and information of a secret nature of which a P/W may have obtained knowledge whilst in captivity.

2. It is an offence, punishable with imprisonment, to publish or communicate to any unauthorised person any information or anything purporting to be information on any matter that would or might be directly or indirectly useful to the enemy.

3. Information regarding escapes by Prisoners of War, including attempted or premeditated escapes as well as any information of a secret nature of which you have obtained knowledge while in captivity, should be communicated only to an Intelligence Officer or to such other persons as are officially authorised to interview you.

You won't be able to communicate any information to the Press or to representatives of any Red Cross Society.

I have read this warning and understand that I will be liable to disciplinary action if I disclose to anyone information of the kind mentioned above.

Ralph and Leslie then underwent a second joint interrogation, this time by a posh colonel with a large, hoof-shaped moustache. Ralph wondered if he was the model for the cartoon character Colonel Blimp.

‘There’s been a lot of fuss made over this,’ harrumphed the Colonel, ‘but what you’ve done isn’t remarkable.’ He unfurled a map of Slovenia. ‘Look: you’ve covered barely 100 miles as The Crow flies. Can’t understand why more of our fellows aren’t doing it.’

‘Maybe, sir’, replied Ralph, ‘it’s because they’re not bloody crows.’ Leslie paled.

Under his whiskers, the Colonel muttered, ‘Australians . . .’
Ralph returned the following day and found a more sympathetic intelligence officer to tell the story, too. The officer asked Ralph to write a detailed report. True to his word to Leslie, Ralph wrote a remarkable testimonial. He noted everything Leslie had done to launch the escape and asked that he be considered for an award.

Unbeknownst to Ralph, Captain Heslop was doing the same on Ralph’s behalf. There was no Australian presence in the Mediterranean anymore – the AIF had gone home to fight.
Japan—so a particular office of the New Zealand 2nd Division, still in the Mediterranean after all these years, looked after any Australians who happened to pass by. Heslop sought them out and recounted everything, recommending that Ralph be decorated.

The escapees were separated and billeted by British and New Zealand forces. A fair sum of spending money was handed out, not that there was much to spend it on. Separated from the Brits, Ralph spent most of his time with Griff, Phil, and Bob, while Kit was probably bedridden, having used every ounce of strength to catch up.

A few days later, Anzacs and Brits moved on to Naples, which proved far more agreeable. Though the city had been devastated by Allied, then Axis bombing campaigns, the escapees could visit the opera and Pompeii. Once again, Ralph felt more like a tourist than a soldier, but this time, he thought he’d earned it.

14/09/2024

17 September 1944

‘Everyone up! Time to move!’ The cry from the American Sergeant came at just past midnight, only a few minutes into 17 September.

The shock jolted the escapees awake, and the American urged them into the care of a small group of Partisans. There were only a few light sources in Semič, so the dazed men had trouble seeing their guides. The Partisans led the column out in double time: five minutes running, five minutes walking. The escapees were soon gasping for breath – no one could understand how the Partisans kept up this pace.

Once the town's light faded, it was pitch black. Tonight was a new moon, and the only light was from the stars. The more observant realized they were marching southeast—to an airfield, they hoped, to salvation.

An hour of running and marching passed, and the column was called to a halt. Several men dropped to the dirt, face-down, scraping their hands and knees. Ralph could hear the lead Partisan conferring with a courier. Then: ‘Turn round! The evacuation is off!’

The men were in disbelief. They’d waited a week for this, bored out of their minds, with almost nothing but their dreams of freedom to pass the time. Back they trudged to Semič and returned to bed.

Many slept through the day. When the Sergeant burst in again in the evening, most were conscious. ‘All right, we’re giving it another go! We gotta be there by 23.30.’ It was around 22.00, which meant practically running to reach their destination. Everyone just wanted it to be over. It was just as dark, and the Partisans set the same brutal speed.

The horrible sensation of running blind was worse for the poor men at the rear: 200 boots’ worth of dust were thrown in their faces.

Just before midnight, they arrived in a vast meadow near the village of Otok. They had arrived at the newly created airfield, codenamed Piccadilly Hope.

The moment the men stopped, their perspiration seemed to freeze – at least the forest had retained some heat at night.

The escapees stood milling about in the dark, too nervous to ask what was happening. Then, the silence was broken by the sound of engines – the same engines they’d heard in Pohorje nearly three weeks earlier. Then, more engines – a flock of droning motors approaching.

‘Look!’ Everyone’s eyes were trained on the heavens. Against the stars could be made out the silhouettes of planes. The Partisans had built pyres around the meadow, and now they lit fires under them – beacons to mark the runway. Then Ralph spied a faint white shape drifting down. A parachute. The man hit the ground with a thud.

He got up and greeted the Partisans. ‘Dober Večer’ (Good evening). A conversation ensued. The parachutist switched on a torch and, pointing it at the sky, gave a sequence of flashes. Up above, the pilots would have seen the flashes, and now the roar of engines faded.

It returned as the planes made their approach. The lights of the oncoming plane blinded the onlooking crowd, the outline of the craft becoming clear, along with the khaki colour of its fuselage. It was a Dakota, a stubby, functional, twin-engine transport plane. It lowered onto the grassy runway and bumped to a halt, propellors drumming, and was guided to a parking spot by Saggers’s staff. Then another was coming in, and another – six Dakotas in all, each one laden with supplies that were unloaded eagerly by the Partisans.

Suddenly, the voice of the parachutist was at Ralph’s side. ‘Lovely evening for it.’ The London accent took Ralph by surprise. ‘You’re British?’
‘That’s “sir”, technically. But don’t worry, I’m not one for formalities.’

The plane’s lights dazzled Ralph’s eyes, and he couldn’t see the man’s rank insignia. The parachutist, it turned out, was a lieutenant, and, thanks to chance, he was having a strange war. He’d been safe from conscription as he was in a reserved occupation and, early in the war, had taken in two Slovenians as lodgers. They had wanted to keep their language alive and had taught their landlord, whose middling Slovenian had subsequently been enough to land him an officer’s commission in SOE.

The planes had offloaded their cargo, and the escapees’ eyes adjusted to the dark. Ralph watched some Partisan wounded being taken aboard the first plane. There was still room for more.

Ralph again became the Crow and took the lead. ‘Right, original seven with me!’ The words were bitter in Ralph’s mouth. It was only six, really – Kit was gone. Ralph was holding onto the faintest hope that his friend was still alive and being sheltered by some kindly family. Otherwise, the best to be hoped for was that Kit hadn’t been killed upon recapture. Les, Andy, Bob, Len, and Griff formed up with Ralph.

‘Can’t wait to get away, Crow?’ sneered one of the Australians. Ralph couldn’t tell who it was, but he nearly lost it.

‘I’m going first to make sure the guys at the other end know we’re coming, you idiot! So you don’t have to wait hours around in the cold!’

Les put his hand on Ralph’s shoulder and beckoned him to board. The wounded had the spots nearest the door, so the original six escapees took their seats by the cockpit. A grim-looking pilot emerged.

‘If I don’t get off this route, I’ll be dead in six weeks!’ he declared in a northern English accent. Such charming optimism! Ralph was glad the Partisan wounded couldn’t understand.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Len.

‘Bari, Italy.’

Italy sounded nice. Behind them, the other planes were being loaded. The pilot wasn’t done with the pessimism. ‘You best hold on tight when we take off’, he added. ‘The runway’s far too short, so it’ll be a dicey do.’

The engines groaned back into life. Ralph could feel his guts making the same noise. He’d never flown before, and a first time on a short runway in the dead of night wasn’t ideal. The plane accelerated and began to lift. Ralph had a sudden sense of almost being able to touch freedom. A loud clang put paid to that feeling as the plane’s undercarriage smacked the trees' tops at the meadow's far end. For a moment, all aboard thought the craft was poised to crash. But the Dakota continued lumbering into the sky and flew to Italy.

14/09/2024

14 September 1944

By now, Axis forces had moved out of the vicinity to fight Partisan formations west of Ljubljana, and the most immediate threat to the escapees’ safety had departed. At Semič, the day brought more new arrivals, seven POWs, led by a Kiwi, Captain Walter Heslop.

Heslop’s escape deserves its own book. He had been captured in North Africa in November 1941 and imprisoned in Italy. After Italy’s surrender, Heslop was transferred to Germany, but he had broken out of his train before it had even left Italy. He stumbled upon and fought alongside Italian Partisans before his unit was forced to disperse after its commanders were killed.

Heslop had spent another eight months on the run before leading six others east to the Slovenian Partisans. Heslop was a modest man: seeing 100 other runaways, he had no desire to burnish his legend, only to hear Ralph and Leslie’s story. Not muzzled by intelligence officers, they told Heslop everything: how Leslie had established contact with the Partisans, how the original plan of a complete rescue had not been fulfilled, how the Partisans had been happy to put the plan back on.

Ralph and Leslie now realized they were not the only escapees; they were part of a most successful escape line.

13/09/2024

13/09/2024

13 September 1944

With so much time on their hands, the inevitable rumours circulated. The reality of the civil war in Slovenia was not lost on the escapees, and many feared one of the townspeople would slip out and give up their position to the Domobranstvo.

There was a welcome distraction when several American airmen arrived. Ci******es were shared, and stories were exchanged. One of the newcomers said he was the sole survivor of a bomber and had had the most miraculous escape. He was a tail gunner, and under enemy fire, the tail of his plane, with him still crouching in the rear turret, had been blown clean off. The detached tail spun away with such ferocity that it began acting like a rotor, slowing its descent. The tail had crashed into a pine forest, which had cushioned the fall. An astonished Partisan had come to check the wreckage, only to find the young man dazed but unharmed.

The airmen were less than happy about the accommodation and hated the soup, but they were amazed by the escapees’ contentment.

Ralph and Leslie were lounging outside and looked up to see an American sergeant blocking their sun. Accompanying him was another American with bags of camera equipment. He was a photographer for Life magazine, and his name was John Phillips. He’d been further south, taking photos of Tito and the Yugoslav Partisans; now, he was with the Slovenian Partisans. He asked the pair for a quick interview. ‘Could I take a photo of your whole group?’

‘Sure, mate,’ said Ralph. ‘We’ll see who we can rustle up. Oi! You buggers! Get here on the double. The world’s press is calling!’

Soon, all those within earshot – around seventy of the ninety-nine – had assembled by Base 212. In the photo, Ralph’s slouch hat is visible in the background, and he stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Leslie. The picture and story of the escape never made it to the pages of Life magazine; it gave away too much intelligence.

11/09/2024

11 September 1944

The sunny morning brought a reckoning for the escapees’ feet. Since the escape, no one had had more than a riverside sponge bath, and by now, the soles of their feet had softened to a spongy, livid pulp, but Donald Luckett now found that pointing the soles towards the sun hardened them. Their new home had a lone toilet and water tap at the back that saw constant use.

Of Semič’s inhabitants, only the very young and old remained. For breakfast, the elderly women of the town had prepared a large soup. Their situation must have been awful: their sons were all dead or out fighting on opposite sides of this war, and it had fallen to these women to do everything: tend the crops and the animals and raise the children. And now, on top of all that, they had to feed the guests of the Partisans. Yet all offers of help with cooking were refused. The soup was devoured with gratitude by the escapees.

The following days were slow. Semič itself was pretty, if mournful. Pictures of ‘the Big Four’ adorned the town: Churchill, Roosevelt, Stalin, and Tito. There was little recreation. Heeding Saggers’s warning, no one left the town.

10/09/2024

Evening 10 September 1944

‘They have arrived at Base 212.’

The Partisan’s message was brief. Captain Saggers ought to have been feeling pleased – after all, getting escapees and aircrews home was his job. Now, it was a problem.

He had over 100 escapees in his care, more than anyone in the history of MI9, and, thanks to the Domobranstvo, no airfield to fly them from. Scouting a new site, clearing it, and flattening the ground would require a monumental effort. He didn’t even want to consider the labour required for adequate drainage if it rained.

He had no planes, thanks to Britain’s commitment to the exiled Greek government. Every RAF transport plane in the Mediterranean flew nonstop, helping with the second British intervention in Greece. He’d have to get on with it and pray they were not discovered again.

The steep descent to Semič tested the escapees’ will. The party shuffled down the hill, propping themselves up with sticks, sweat pouring off them. It was near 21.00 when they finally arrived. Then Leslie caught sight of something.

‘Officer ahead! Form up!’ The arms supporting each other dropped, and every man held himself high with his last strength. Again, they sang ‘Long Way to Tipperary’, shuffling forwards as the tune rang out.

‘Eyes right!’ shouted The Crow. Captain Jack Saggers was the officer standing in front of a large building in the town centre. All turned to salute. Saggers, a stickler for protocol, had had such a mess of a day he’d forgotten his cap. Blushing in embarrassment, he couldn’t return the salute, but he could tell from the state the column was in that he should skip further formalities.

Saggers turned to face Base 212. It was the old schoolhouse, now called the American School by the locals. Little more than a cleaned barn now, this was Saggers’s safe house for Escapees and Evaders. Semič was as secure as possible in Partisan territory, which wasn’t saying much.

Saggers opened the doors to reveal the most beautiful sight: piles and piles of fresh hay. No more dusty barns, no more cold forest ground. The men stormed in like an invading horde and collapsed in the hay.

Saggers turned to Leslie and Ralph. ‘Rather over-egging the pudding, aren’t we?’

Leslie was too tired to be fazed by droll remarks on the scale of their success. ‘Well, we’re here, sir.’

‘Quite so. Genuinely well done. Hell of a thing you’ve pulled off, and the Partisans, of course.’

‘We owe them our lives, sir,’ said Ralph. ‘Are we safe now?’

‘Yes, you should be. We lost one of our airfields, but we’re working on another. Should be getting you out within a few days. When the time comes, we’ll fly you out.’

For the first time, the party had a sense of hope. Seeing the men relax, Saggers tried to hold their attention a moment longer. ‘But I must stress, gentlemen: you may have to leave immediately. Never stray out of earshot during the day. And go nowhere at night. I’ll leave you to it.’

So that was it then: evacuation by air. By ship had been the most popular theory, though Ralph had hoped that wouldn’t be the case; it was unlikely they had it in them to reach the Adriatic. A number had thought they’d be evacuated by submarine. Planes had been on no one’s mind. This was understandable: of the working crew, only a half dozen of the party had ever been airborne, and those that had, only on joyrides at country fairs.

As his colleagues flopped in the hay, Ralph congratulated everyone on their achievement – ‘We must have walked 200 miles!’ The only reaction was a roll of the eyes. But they had covered two hundred and eighty-six kilometres in eleven days. Marched for twenty-one of the last twenty-six hours, covering over sixty kilometres, and, they prayed, made it to safety.

10/09/2024

10 September 1944

Ralph and the column had again been marching for five hours when midnight arrived. Soon after, they passed the old fortress town of Žužemberk and had an unexpected encounter with the local press. A writer from the regional Partisan paper arrived with an English-speaking female assistant. There was no time to stop, so the interview was walk-and-talk.

Ralph was first up. The questions were standard:
‘Are you from London?’ was the last. Ralph knew the words for Australia, Avstralija, and Austria, Avstrija, were similar.
‘No, dear, I’m from Australia. That’s Australia, not Austria.’ Ralph pointed north to the Alps and shook his head to illustrate the point. The reporter’s assistant scribbled it down, then made her way along the column to get more quotes.

The party continued on, following the Krka River south-south-east. They halted at 06.00 and bunked down at a forest farmhouse near where the river turns east.

At 03.00, one of the German attack parties should have established radio contact with the other columns and begun the assault on the Nardlesk airfield. Portable radios were notoriously unreliable – mountains, rain, and forests could all interfere with the signal. Failing to establish contact, the commander hesitated. Only after hearing gunfire in the distance did he finally advance at 08.00, by which time most of the Partisans had had time to pack up and escape the encirclement.

The German vanguard could see the airfield’s staff – a few Allied soldiers and Partisans – loading onto a jeep. Someone took a shot at the car. The bullet smashed through the windscreen but missed the driver, and the jeep took off, smashing its way out of town and joining the comrades fleeing east. Nadlesk had fallen, but the men who ran it had escaped.

At 09.30, the escapees were rudely awoken. Normally given the whole day to rest, only a few hours of sleep had been snatched when the Dolenjska Partisans roused them, gave them a dollop of žganci, and urged them on.

A daytime march was a shock. Bleary-eyed and tired, they saw the southern countryside for the first time. It looked like a postcard of Štajerska in miniature. It had valleys, rivers, and windswept meadows, but the valleys were shallower, the rivers slower, and the sun beat harder on the grass down south.

Near the river, apples ripened on the trees, but the fields that should have been overflowing with corn were covered in weeds: the war had not been kind to Dolenjska.

The column crossed the Krka river and continued south-south-east. The Partisans were clearly spooked – not since the farmhouse ambush had the escapees been pushed this hard. At 13.00, having marched for fourteen of the last seventeen hours, the Partisans allowed a two-hour rest.

The men were near collapse. Most were limping by now, either from huge blisters or ankles twisted during night marches. Anyone who hadn’t procured a sturdy branch-turned-walking stick soon did. The Partisans moved them on, trying again to set a terrifying pace. But the escapee’s walk had slowed to a crawl. The Partisans, showing little patience, seemed to be leaving them behind.

‘Get them to slow down,’ pleaded Leslie. ‘We’ll never keep up.’
Ralph made several attempts, but the Partisans either didn’t understand or pretended not to. Then they relented and slowed the pace, with one Partisan sent to the rear to ensure no one fell behind.

Leslie and Ralph took Švejk’s old position and watched from the flanks to do the same. All afternoon and into the evening, the march went on dirt roads hardened by summer, the surface wrecking what was left of their boots and reflecting the sun’s heat. They saw few signs of life save the occasional elderly villager, so thorough was the region’s devastation.

Eventually, they came to a long, steep hill covered with dense forest.

‘Where are we going?’ Ralph asked the lead Partisan. ‘Why are we moving by day?’
‘We’re going to Semič. We arrive today.’
‘And is that it? Are we going home from there?’
‘I believe so.’
That’d have to do. Ralph needed something to rally the men. ‘How far to Semič?’ he asked.
‘A few hours,’ came the curt reply.

The men lay shattered and sprawled out in the shade of the trees. ‘Listen up, lads!’ barked The Crow. ‘This is it. We’re moving by day because it’s the final stretch. One more push, and we’ll be home free.’ Ralph hoped his stirring words told a true story.
The news seemed not to elicit any emotion. Then, one of the men piped up. ‘We’ll be with you, Crow, you slave-driving old bastard!’ Those still with a sense of humour burst out laughing. They gathered themselves up for one last push.

It took another two hours in the heat to climb the hill. Once at the top, they could see a broad plain with mountains in the distance. Below was what seemed to be a moderate-sized town. Please let this be Semič, Ralph thought. The path down was as steep as the climb up. It took another hour to reach the valley floor.

08/09/2024

9 September 1944

Ralph and the group had been marching blindly for five hours, guided only by the sound of footsteps in the dark. They reached a safe house near Gabrovka after sunrise, heightening anxiety as they walked during daylight.

Ralph got a few hours of sleep, rose early and wandered into the farmhouse next to the barn, where the Partisan commander was conversing with the farmer and an RAF officer. All had glasses of slivovica. The officer noted Ralph’s hat.

‘Ah, you must be the Australian!’ he said in German. Ralph took a seat, and a glass was poured. ‘So, you speak German with an Austrian accent?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘Capital! What a coincidence.’

‘How’s that, sir?’

‘Well, we need a man to go into Austria for us. We’ll sort you out with papers and funds and send you over the border to meet some contacts. You’d be perfect!’

Ralph was aware his mind wasn’t in the best place, but he knew he wasn’t completely crazy. Speaking as an Australian with an Austrian accent was one thing; passing himself off as Austrian would be quite another. ‘There’s one problem, sir. My nerves are shot. I’d crack if I was asked to show my train ticket, never mind questions by the Gestapo. Besides, I haven’t seen my wife in four years. I need to get home.’

The officer looked disappointed; he seemed to have thought he’d found the answer to his prayers. ‘Fair enough, old boy. It was pretty rough of me to put it on you. Though I still think you’d have done a fine job. You might have even foxed the Gauleiter (regional governor)!’

Whether it was MI9 or MI6 remains unclear, but Ralph's refusal was wise given the dangers, as resistance cells were often traps set by the N**is. In the following month, an OSS mission led by Lieutenant Taylor ended in capture, with Taylor imprisoned in Vienna and later Mauthausen concentration camp.

The escapees' march was gruelling, with deteriorating boots and worsening foot injuries. The hard dirt roads only worsened their situation, as marching at night left them with nothing but pain to focus on.

Meanwhile, Axis forces were advancing towards an airfield less than fifty kilometres away. Though some Partisans evaded capture, German troops managed to destroy a Partisan camp and capture recruits. As night fell, the Axis column was close enough to the airstrip to spot planes landing with supplies and evacuating Partisan wounded, along with five New Zealand POWs. By morning, the Axis columns would converge and destroy the airstrip, ending the escape line.

08/09/2024

September 8 1944

Ralph, Leslie and the POWs didn't know it, but they were very close to their destination.

With an Anglo-Partisan team, MI9’s Captain Jack Saggers had carved out a dirt airstrip at the isolated village of Nadlesk (codenamed Piccadilly Club). Shielded by a large, hilly forest, the airfield received Allied aircraft in late July 1944. Weapons, uniforms, and food were delivered by the box load while wounded Partisans and escaping US bomber crews and British POWs departed to southern Italy on the return journey.

However, the Domobranstvo (armed forces of Slovenian collaborators) were not far off. Gathering intelligence for the Germans, they had learned of the airfield but lacked the strength to strike alone. The Domobranstvo’s only chance of victory was to isolate the Slovene Partisans from the wider war, the Yugoslav Partisans, and the Allies. To achieve this, the airfield and any escape lines with it must be destroyed. The Allied missions that ran them were to be killed or handed to the Germans.

The Domobranstvo called for German aid and was assigned battalions from the 14th SS-Police Regiment and Wehrmacht mountain troops from the 188th Gebirgsjäger Division. Their combined force would attack the Allies in three prongs, with the airfield as the central objective.

The first prong, dubbed ‘Schmitz’, would attack from the northeast, pushing any Partisans towards the airfield. The second, ‘Schumacher’, would begin a drive from the north-west on 9 September and link up with Schmitz. The third column, ‘Buchberger’, would stalk the forests and move in from the west.

The three prongs would launch a combined assault before dawn on 10 September. The operation began as the escapees slept through the day.

The rains had passed at Štangarske Poljane, and the escapees and Partisan recruits moved out at 19.00. They now followed different paths, the escapees heading southeast, almost parallel to the Sava, away from Ljubljana.