BROTHERHOOD UNITY - Part 08

The stretched out column of loaded trucks with ammunition, food and 280 previously wounded and crippled fighters from the hospitals in Korcha, Elbasan, Tirana and Suk was rolling with lights off. They arrived at the village Breznitsa at dawn. The ride for the crippled fighters ended here. After sunrise they were settled in a meadow a short distance from the main road. Five men in officer uniforms, without insignias, conducted reviews. One, with a high pitched hoarse voice ordered: “Heavy machine gun gunners and assistant gunners take three steps forward!” The steps taken did not look like those of military men. There was creaking of wooden braces in the shuffle as the fighters made their way forward. Among them were one-legged, one-armed, one-eyed, mute and deaf men. One of them was the one-legged Numo. He and those like him leaned on their crutches, firmly holding their bodies upright. Half of the newly formed squad was assigned to the 18th Brigade and was ordered to, immediately and without delay, take battle positions on Baro Hill. They left in the afternoon, traveled all night and reached the hill early in the morning. From there, at sunrise, warmed by the rising sun in the valley of the gleaming oak forest, they traveled to a flat valley, an open space in the middle of the mountains. On the left there was Polenata and over past it were Golinata, Bigla and Lundzer and to the east was Vicho. To the right extending up to the Kostur Region flatlands, was Mali-Madi and further beyond Kostur stood Siniachka, engulfed in fog. They spent the day in the valley sleeping and at sunset they were wakened and taken to the bunkers where they were deployed in two’s and three’s. “I know it is difficult for a one-legged man to drag his wooden leg and lean on a heavy wooden crutch,” said the Unit Commander to Numo. “But your bunker is at the centre of Baro. To the left there are three bunkers and to the right about ten. There are thirty bunkers in the second row. You have the best sight. On your right you have part of Iamata in your sight, the entire space in front of the village Gabresh, including the village itself, is also in your sight. On your left you have the hills above Konomladi, the southern part of Polenata and south of it, you have Roto Hill in your gun sight. In front of you are the villages Pozdivishcha and over there a little to the right is Drenoveni and a bit to the left is Tsrnovishta and Zherveni. Everything is in your palm. Clean space. The entire plain is yours. Did you take note of where the other bunkers are located? No? Look and listen. All our bunkers make a triangle. If the bunker on your left or on your right is taken by our opponent, you have them in your sight so let them have it. The gunner on the other side can also fire at them. In other words, each of our bunkers is protected by two other bunkers. This way the opponent is prevented from rapidly progressing. Do you understand?” asked the Unit Commander. “Clear!” replied Numo. “Everything is clear up to now, right?” asked the Unit Commander. “Clear!” replied Numo. “Let’s go on. Your task is to keep the area in front of you on target. Always remember you hold the centre. Our opponent will attempt to place a wedge in our defenses by attacking the centre. We need to hold him back with every available means. You can be certain the attack will be fierce. If you allow the infantry to come close, say fifty to one hundred metres, then there will be no aircraft or artillery support. They would not fire for fear of hitting their own. Then you open fire on them. Don’t wait for orders just begin firing, fire long bursts. From today forward you will exercise every day. You will aim here and there and anticipate where the enemy might attack and, when the time comes, you will fire long bursts and cut him down to pieces. Also, I want you to keep your gun clean, so clean that you can see your face on it. Do you understand? If I find a single hair on it or something even tinier then I will be forced to send you running up there, through the brook and beyond.

Understood?” ordered the Unit Commander. “Yes sir!” replied Numo. Before leaving, the Unit Commander looked Numo in the eyes, gave him a friendly slap on the back and said: “For us there will be no orders to retreat from Baro. Our orders are to defend Baro at all cost!” When the Unit Commander’s wooden leg could no longer be heard tapping, as he walked away, Numo tightened the belts on his wooden leg, stood up straight and after taking a few laps, spoke to his subordinates: “We now have our own home. What a home; it’s a palace. What do we have here?” he pointed to the left corner where boxes were arranged one beside the other. “What’s in them? Numo asked. “The Unit Commander said they are full of ammunition,” replied one of his subordinates. “And in those metal cans there?” asked Numo. “They are canisters full of water. Enough for twenty days,” replied the same subordinate. “And in that wooden chest?” asked Numo. “Canned food and bread…” replied the subordinate. “Three, five, six. All full. And in those there?” inquired Numo. “There are hand grenades in those. In this box there are two machine gun barrels,” replied the subordinate. “Excellent, then we won’t need to pee on the barrel to cool it when it gets hot,” added Numo. “What else did the Unit Commander say?” asked Numo. “He told us to only look forward…” replied the subordinate. “Well then that’s exactly what we will do! Behind us there is a wall,” interrupted Numo. “…and to not even take a single step back…” added the subordinate. “Of course that’s what we will do… I haven’t forgotten. Did you say you are nineteen years old?” asked Numo. “Yes, nineteen. And you?” replied the subordinate. “I am a little older,” answered Numo. “Are you married?” asked the subordinate. “I am married and last year around this time my daughter was born…” replied Numo. “Congratulations I wish her well! Have you seen her?” asked the subordinate. “No,” replied Numo. “Not even your wife?” asked the subordinate. “I haven’t seen her for two years. I asked around and they told me she is somewhere in those hills carrying logs and building bunkers…” replied Numo. An involuntary, long, deep and violent sigh surfaced from Numo’s chest. There were signs of uncertainty painted all over his face and forehead. He experienced a nagging anxiety and felt a strong pain in his heart. His soul was troubled. Dark thoughts began to enter his head… The subordinate’s voice brought Numo back: “Lucky you…” he said. “You did well in the time you had. Let me ask you something. May I?” and without waiting for a reply he continued: “How are we the crippled, some without arms, some without legs, without an eye, deaf and mute going to find wives?” “I don’t know! Ask the political representative…” replied Numo. “I did ask him,” said the subordinate. “And what did he tell you?” asked Numo. “He told me not to worry and to not concern myself with such matters. The Party will worry about that right after our victory and they will find us young wives, intact, just barely flowering,” replied the subordinate. “Is that so… And where is he going to find them? Did he tell you?” asked Numo. “Yes he did. He told me to fight bravely, to not let the enemy pass, to hold my position firmly… do not back off, not even a step. In the homes he said, there in the [Eastern European] countries our brides are growing and maturing. That’s what he said… Those there, I mean the brides, are growing and maturing, maturing in the homes in the countries from where the Party itself will place them on our laps… That’s what the political representative told me… And they, he was boasting, I mean the brides, will be proud, very proud because they will be marrying the heroes of Gramos and Vicho…” replied the subordinate. “Is that what he told you?” asked Numo. “Yes,” replied the subordinate. “And you believed him?” asked Numo. “Yes... They say that is why he is in this position of trust to be believed. Right?” replied the subordinate. “Yes, for sure. And did you ask him why stupid people don’t grow horns?

Go, go away. Go away I tell you!” Numo ordered angrily. “Where should I go?” asked the subordinate. “Go to the political representative…” replied Numo. “Go to the political representative did you say? And what the hell am I going to do there? Are you okay? Are you sick?” complained the subordinate in a loud tone of voice. “Okay, okay calm down. Look at you, yelling at me… Now let me ask you a question. Our orders are very clear; you and I are not to take even a single step back. But let’s say that they do, for some reason, order us to retreat, then tell me, how are you and I and all the others that have one leg, going to blow the hell out of here?” asked Numo. “It’s easy, very easy. You have your right leg, I have my left. We will grab each other and boom, boom, boom we will blow over the hill. Right? Come here, come here,” said the subordinate. “Why?” inquired Numo. “We will practice. Grab me by my waist. Like that. Now move forward…” instructed the subordinate. When the wood from the two wooden legs side by side began to creak as the two men attempted to run in a tragically comical manner, the bunker filled with giggles and bitter laughter. Tired the two men sat down next to one another on top of the hand grenade case. Numo wiped the sweat off his forehead, leaned against the bunker wall and said: “When you were talking to me about the political representative, I remembered something. Last year when our opponent managed to uproot us from the bunkers and we took new fighting positions, the battles subsided for a while. The political representative, the one that promised you a bride, brought a large funnel to us and said: ‘Every morning and evening, when there are no attacks, use this funnel and call on the government soldiers to surrender.’ The girls were also given a similar order. Our opponents meanwhile, on the other side, were swearing at us, especially at the girls. With their pants down they shook their genitals and yelled, ‘Come here, come here you bandit communist whores so we can nail you.’ Then my turn came to speak. The political representative gave me the funnel and a piece of paper on which he had written what I should say to the soldiers on the other side. I hid behind the trunk of a thick oak tree and in a loud voice, began to read: ‘Brothers, soldiers. One of your brothers is speaking to you…’ Huge laughter came from the opposite side followed by severe swearing. ‘Brothers, soldiers, one of your brothers is speaking, who, like yourselves, has a mother… yes she is a mother of bandits!’ ‘And your sister… bring that communist whore here!’ yelled someone from the other side. That was it for me, I couldn’t take it any more so I threw the funnel away, took my machine gun, fired a few rounds and yelled, ‘Come here you cowards and bring your queen with you, so that I can stuff her along with you!’ Suddenly there was a barrage of mortar grenades thrown at us. Two were killed and five wounded. My commander took my machine gun and exchanged it for the horse reins of his horse. That was my punishment. Up to that day we ended our battles with words. After that there were days when we engaged in heavy fighting. When they threw us out of our defense line there were moments when the guns went silent, and that’s when the war of words would start. There was an awful lot of swearing. We offered them freedom and democracy and cursed their Greek queen, America, along with Truman, and England and its queen. They offered us bread and water (assuming we had neither bread nor water) and many derogatory curses that included swearing at the Virgin Mary, the cross, the Party, Stalin and Marcos (at the time Markos was on good terms with Zahariadis but I can’t remember for sure), they called us bandits and whatever else they could think of. After that they played songs. We sang songs too but through the funnel, while they played their songs through a big box. They swore through the big box too. There was an awful lot of bad swearing but the swearing at our women fighters was the worst.

The commander called me and said: ‘You are the best marksman we have. Grab a gun and come with me. Do you see that tree?’ ‘Yes I see it,’ I said. ‘What do you see there?’ he asked. ‘In my site I see a box,’ I said. At that moment they started playing a song. Sofia Vembo, a famous singer from the Greek-Italian war was singing. She sang beautifully and I even remembered the words of that song:

Τωρα που αιµα ελληνικο το χωµα ιδρωνει Κ’η Ελλαδα σφαζει την Ελλαδα απ’ τα βουνα Ξυπνα απ τον ταφο Θωδορη Κολοκοτρονη Να δης πως Ελληνας τον Ελληνα σκοτωνει

(Now that Greek blood is watering the earth And Greece is slaughtering Greece from the mountains Rise from the grave Theodore Kolokotrone To see how a Greek kills a Greek) ‘Now take aim,’ said the commander, ‘and shoot!’ I took aim and bang. It went silent. I killed it…” said Numo. “The singer?” asked the subordinate. “No you idiot, the song…” said Numo. “And here I thought you killed the singer… Look, I broke into a sweat. I am going outside,” said the subordinate. He left and returned about half an hour later. He sat on the ammunition box and dropped his head. “Why are you all wet?” asked Numo. “What can I say. I went to the bunker of Manolis…” said the subordinate. “The guy with the glasses missing a left leg?” asked Numo. “Yes at his place. And what do I see? He holds a book open and writes. ‘What are you writing,’ I asked. ‘Everything that happens,’ he said. That’s when I broke into a sweat. The same as before. And do you know why? …Because I am illiterate…” said the subordinate. “All he has finished is gymnasium, right?” asked Numo. “Yes gymnasium, but not like me. I have only completed grade two, primary school. I worked nine years as a shepherd and two years as a Partisan… That’s my education. And who knows how many books he has read. And that, they say, is education, to know how to read books and to understand them... If I only knew half of what he knows, then I too, I swear on my mother’s life, I would take a notebook and I would write all the swearing done by the other side, I would write how we responded, I would write how in the early Partisan days they told us we were fighting to free Macedonia, and after that, after they made their agreement, they then told us that from now on we were fighting against Anglo-American imperialism and its Athenian lackeys. I would also write how, last year, we defended Aliabitsa for 59 days and that we started out with 500 fighters and ended with 90 heavily wounded survivers. I would write that in the fall of 1947 under the beech wood trees in Gramos, we were cleaning old rusted out rifles, all naked without clothes, hungry and barefoot, singing Partisan songs and thinking that it would all be worth it after our victory. I would write that then, with only several days of learning and practice, we were sent to battle and learned the practical side of war while bleeding. I remember we were very hungry and they fed us grass, there at Gramos, do you remember? And that too I would register in my notebook. I would write about how we dug trenches and built bunkers up at Pindus Mountain. I would write about Kopanche, Sv. Ilia and Gupata, about Gorusha, Bel Kamen and Krusha, about our retreat from Gramos. I would also write all the names of those who we permanently left there... I would write how I carried Manolis on my back after last year’s great battle at Mali-Madi, when we broke the government 22nd Brigade’s back and chased the Royal goons all the way to Kostur. My unit had reached Maniak when the order was given to break off the attack. We needed only twenty more minutes and we would have taken Kostur from where the Royal armies, the police, the collaborators, the priests along with the bishop, were fleeing to Kozheni. ‘Break off the attack,’ the order was given and we broke off the attack. I found Manolis under the village Sliveni all covered in blood. ‘Adelfe,’ (brother) he begged me, ‘don’t leave me here. Save me,’ so I returned, put him on my back and carried him all day until we reached the hills above the village Sveta Nedela. That’s when the airplanes came. I could also see dust clouds in the valley; they were tanks charging at us. The airplanes pounded us for twenty minutes and after that the tanks began to shell us with hundreds of shells. We needed only about twenty minutes of running time to take Kostur, at least the first houses. We seeded the entire valley from Kostur to Sveta Nedela with the bodies of our people and with my leg. If I were literate I would write exactly about this in my notebook, just like Manolis does.

And did you know what Manolis said to me?” asked the subordinate. “I don’t know,” replied Numo. “He said that ‘Only what’s written will remain forever and everything else will be forgotten, it will die when the person dies.’ He also said, ‘Do you know why we Greeks have a great history? Because our predecessors wrote everything that happened.’ That’s what he said. Do you understand?” concluded the subordinate. “Why shouldn’t I understand? I understand completely,” replied Numo. “I will say it again and again, it is a loss, a great loss, that I don’t know how to write. Take Manolis for example, he sits in the bunker and writes, he writes every day. He says, ‘I write in my journal how we Greeks fight.’ I asked him if he also writes about us the Macedonians? And he said, ‘But you are not Greeks!’ So I asked him if he writes about me on account that we are together, him a Greek, me a Macedonian, fighting side by side, suffering in these dark humid bunkers, sharing lice and bread crumbs? Again he said, ‘But you are not Greeks! I only write about the Greeks!’ Well now let me ask you this but I don’t know if you can understand me. Here is Manolis writing something every day, documenting what is happening and nothing is written about me, a Macedonian. I am sure there is nothing written there about you there either. You understand? There is nothing written about me in his daily journal, which means I will remain nameless, because there is no one to write down that I, a Macedonian, am here in this bunker, that last year I was in Gramos and that I ran from Mali-Madi to Maniak, and that I only needed twenty minutes to enter Kostur. There will be nothing there about me having to carry Manolis on my back and about the circumstances under which I lost my leg. There will be nothing written about how and why my brother fought in Voden and lost his life in Lerin. Manolis’s words ‘only what is written will be remembered’ ring very loud in my mind. And for God’s sake, look, a little piece of paper tomorrow will be one hundred times, no, a million times more important than me because when I am gone it will remain, it will be protected and I will become dust and all forgotten because nothing will be written about me. That is why my pain and my dilemma are so great. Wait. Don’t go, I have more to tell you. Stay and hear what I have to say, it’s a big concern for me, I swear on my mother’s life. Again I will tell you, but I don’t know if you will understand me. First they told us this, then they made us do that and at the end they stuck it to us, so what do you say to that, do you understand me? And who knows how much more they will be sticking it to us… Listen, for God’s sake, all this time we are in the mountains they are telling us we are the same as them and tomorrow when the books will be opened it will come out that we are not the same, as if we did not exist, and how can you not swear and say that someone is not lying…? You’re laughing? Why are you laughing? Did I say something funny?” concluded the subordinate. “No, what you said is not funny…” replied Numo. “What’s so funny then?” asked the subordinate. “I thought of something and it made me laugh…” answered Numo. “What was it, tell me?” asked the subordinate. “Last year the Unit Commander, somebody from Rumeli, ordered me to bring him honey. So I asked, ‘Where do I find this honey?’ And he said, ‘Do you see that flower?’ ‘I see it I said.’ ‘What’s on it?’ he asked. ‘A fly,’ I said. He said, ‘It’s not a fly, it’s a bee’. ‘Chase it and follow it, it will take you to the honey. I did as he said and where do you think the fly led me?...” asked Numo. “I understand… What can I say?” replied the subordinate. “Don’t say anything; just get some canned meat out of that case… You can think better on a full stomach…” concluded Numo. The Great Lie – Chapter 22