CHAPTER XII

SHORTLY before the Italian capitulation the situation in Slovenia had become more and more favourable to the Partisans. Free areas had steadily increased in size, and the Italians were being pressed back so successfully that less than half of Slovenia remained in their possession.

The Slovenian command thought the time was now ripe to increase still further the size of one or two of the principal free areas, and, if possible, to join them up and consolidate as large an area as would afford a more satisfactory base for still further operations. To achieve this it was decided to attack a strong garrison town held by the Italians, the capture of which would have created an exceedingly large free area and strengthened the Partisan position greatly.

<>The town was situated on the steep bank of a river, and, owing to the presence of the hill, was divided into two parts — the lower town at the bridge being the business section. There, in addition to the natural defence of the river, the enemy had provided a series of blockhouses (houses with the walls reinforced from top to bottom and the windows reduced to slits for rifle and machine-gun uses). These blockhouses were manned by from fifteen to twenty-five men each, and, on account of their commanding positions, with an all-round field of fire, they presented a formidable object to attack. The electric light plant was situated in the lower town.

The upper town, covering the crown of the hill, was chiefly residential. The twin-spired church, convent and priest's house were surrounded by a stone wall, 9 ft. high and 4 ft. thick. The church property was in the centre of the upper town and commanded the country round about for a wide radius. The church and other buildings within the stone wall were reinforced in the same manner as the blockhouses in the lower town. Machine-guns and snipers occupied the church spires and other vantage points among the buildings. Defence posts on the perimeter just outside the stone wall, armed with machine-guns, were joined up to the priest's house by tunnel. In this enclosure there were six 105 mm. and ten 80 mm. mortars. The church property, which had been converted into a veritable fort, was further strengthened by heavy defence wire, which completely surrounded it. The garrison stationed in both upper and lower town consisted of 500 Italians and 80 White Guards (a collaborating local element who were recruited and armed by Italians). The Italians also had forces stationed in several larger towns in that section of the country; they amounted to about one division, with a quantity of light tanks and armoured cars, which were used to patrol different sectors along the railway.

This information had been carefully obtained and was studied for a month or more prior to the attack. Several conferences of commanders were held at frequent intervals, and all plans for the attack were fully completed. Troops were assembled and trained to carry out the operations.

Commandant Stanei, who later became General Rozman, had just arrived from an area in Northern Slovenia known as the Staijarska, where he had earned a great reputation as a successful fighter. He had recently been appointed to take over the supreme command of the Slovenian forces, as Commandant Matija was at that time required for special duty. A veteran of the Spanish Civil War, Commandant Stanei — short and wiry, and perhaps forty years old — wore a sling to support a fractured arm, a wound he received in recent battle, and which still needed daily treatment. He was fearless, quick to grasp a situation and to make a decision, and his superb horsemanship was the envy of everyone. He invited us to accompany him in this attack.

It was the Partisan plan to block all enemy forces and to prevent them from reinforcing the garrison. Two brigades were detailed to control all approaches and to cover enemy forces stationed at other towns in the area; one brigade was to make the attack on the garrison and the other was to be held in reserve. Thus four brigades, over six thousand Partisan troops, were to be employed in the operation.

We left the headquarters in the woods with the Commandant, walked a few kilometres to the stables, and at three o'clock on a fine afternoon late in July arrived on horseback at a small village some twenty kilometres from the garrison town. There we had a meal of bread and smoked ham. Small units of troops passed through the village with their pack mules, and a few stopped at the local inn for a glass of wine and a casual conversation with the farmers before going on. There was little evidence of war, and no unusual excitement. We continued ourselves down the same road until we came to a larger village, still fifteen kilometres from our objective. And here it was very evident that something of importance was about to happen. The main road was thronged with many troops, with strings of pack mules and wagons and yet more troops arriving; it was clear that the attack was beginning. We followed the Commandant to a restaurant, where we met several commanders and officers. Greetings over and the wine on the bare table, the council settled down to work. It consisted of Commandant Stanei and his predecessor, Matija, the Chief of Staff, the four brigade commanders, the senior artillery officer, and a few others. The Chief of Staff reviewed the plan of attack, and then called upon each commander to rehearse his particular part, checking all times and details. The discussion was simple and very soldier-like. Sure of his duties, each one was eager for action, with a quiet, firm confidence.

A special request, made by one of the brigade commanders on behalf of his men, enlivened interest. His brigade was detailed to remain in reserve and to be ready to reinforce if called upon. The men had held a meeting and made a petition to be allowed to enter the attack. But no other brigade would give place, and so no change could be made.

The plan of action, as explained to us, was to attack the lower town from the west, in order to draw the enemy's forces from the main fort on the hill. And after capturing the blockhouses and power station in the lower town, to work along through the houses up the hill to the fort. By the time the council had ended we were summoned to take up position at the saluting base and inspect the troops as they marched past. It was difficult to control emotion just then. As three thousand men and women passed before us (the other two brigades having gone directly to their allotted positions), fully armed for battle, each unit headed by its accordion and tailed by its quota of pack mules, one was gripped by the spirit of the men and women themselves. It was the first time that so large a review had taken place, and they were conscious as never before of their strength. As each commander gave the order to salute on approaching the base, heads were proudly turned towards us: a people's army going into battle.

In that march-past we saw young and middle-aged men, girls with first-aid kit and barefooted men — some with sacking or old cloth tied round their feet; many were in Italian and German uniforms, while others had only a part of a uniform, or else wore civilian clothes. Hundreds were armed with rifles and machine-guns, but hundreds were unarmed and carried equipment stores, hopeful of securing arms in battle. A few men carried large balls of high explosive in their bare hands; everyone a hand-grenade. The engineer section had cross-cut saws, sledgehammers, ladders, ropes, long poles with sheaves of straw tied to the top. These were held aloft in the dark to draw enemy fire high over the heads of the attacking troops, as well as for the more obvious purpose of setting buildings and obstacles on fire. The artillery section passed with its light Italian guns and ammunition, carried by pack mules. And, bringing up the rear, came the women with their pots and pans. There were thirty-eight girls scattered throughout the ranks, seventeen barefooted men and over ten per cent unarmed in those two brigades. It was a truly impressive sight. The column marched a few kilometres down the road and then halted until half-past ten that night.

For no apparent reason, enemy mortars were screaming over our heads into a nearby hill. When, after half an hour, all grew quiet again, we approached a river bank at a point midway between two bridges, and at that particular place two enemy garrisons were stationed a couple of hundred yards on either side of us. Our column forded the river, climbed a steep, wooded bank and groped its way for several hours in pitch blackness down a barely visible track until, just before daybreak, a tiny village was reached. Here we were billeted in barns and houses, had breakfast of milk and polenta (corn meal undisturbed whilst cooking) and lost no time in getting some sleep. We were obliged to lie low that day and not roam about, as we were only three or four kilometres from our objective. No one was allowed to leave the village, and a civilian who wanted to do so was kept with us and had to accompany us when we moved forward that evening.

Just how the women of that village managed to cook for so many was never discovered, but cook they did, and without any fuss whatsoever, and at about four o'clock in the afternoon we all had roast lamb-on-spit and potatoes. After which equipment had to be checked and weapons cleaned; stretchers were evolved out of farmers' grape vine poles and potato sacks, and finally the order was given to proceed discreetly to a small clearing in a dense patch of woodland just beyond the village, where we were to await our final instructions.

Up to this time the troops had not been told the name of their objective, though they had been well trained in what to expect and how to deal with it. It was a beautiful summer evening. In the enclosure, among the trees, we faced the two brigades formed up on three sides of a square. The atmosphere was tense. The Commandant turned to his men and told them the name of the town they were about to attack, and wished them success in battle. There was a roar of cheering, a sudden, spontaneous outburst of song until Luka, great Partisan veteran that he was, came forward to address the men on behalf of the people's executive. The hush was again shattered, and as the cheering finally slackened one lusty voice soared in a battle song, and a moment later a thousand others joined him and the woods trembled in a melody which tore at the heart. Units then began to move off quietly and eagerly to their various positions. They kept to the edge of the trees, and within a few minutes had all disappeared. They were to be in their positions "by ten o'clock, and be ready to attack at the half hour.

The Commandant, wishing to make a last-minute reconnaissance, went to a high, wooded point which brought us to within eight hundred yards north of the twin-spired church, from where we were able to see the upper town clearly through our glasses. It all seemed quiet enough, and there was no indication that the enemy was aware of our presence. The church windows burned fiercely, trapping the last of the day's light. In darkness we moved to another position west of the church, a height on which stood a smaller church overlooking the lower town. All we could see were the twinkling lights below us. The half hour approached.

We went into a nearby farm, and the woman of the house put cornbread and ham before us. The first courier arrived. His brigade had crossed the river, was lying in position on the bank, ready. We made our way back to the small church.

The half hour — zero hour. Not a sound. Ten minutes passed slowly. A loud report, some rifle shots. A machine-gun. Two or three more reports. And then the incessant rattle of machine-guns and the whine and crack of shells finding their targets. Now the fort on the hill was springing to life. First a few rifles then the splutter of machine-guns, and a few minutes later the mortars, heavy and light. The firing was intense now. The lower town was becoming an inferno. A sawmill was burning. Neighbouring buildings danced crazily in the glow; the thunder of guns deepened.

Eleven o'clock was approaching. And at eleven o'clock, should all have gone well, the power-house was scheduled to be blown up. But lights were still to be seen in the houses. It was impossible to determine how the attack was progressing. Another, more distant, fire blazed up suddenly near one of the blockhouses, to be followed by a deafening burst of machine-gun fire and bombing. Then a shattering explosion, and in the same instant off went the lights. The power plant was destroyed. Though slightly behind schedule, the attack was going well.

For the next hour there was bedlam in the lower town. The mortars from the fort were spewing their shells in all directions, ours included. Several times we had to move hurriedly, and rifle fire sang harmlessly a few feet above our heads.

Couriers started arriving: there was stubborn resistance to the attack on the lower town. One blockhouse had been captured, the Partisans were trying to encircle the others and blow them up. Other forces were making their way up the hill towards the fort. The Commandant ordered the artillery to concentrate on the fort from the west and south, to cover the advance of the troops.

Word came in that the two small towns several kilometres away were now in Partisan hands. Elsewhere enemy forces were being successfully blockaded.

The situation was clear by about half-past one. With the exception of one blockhouse, the lower town had been captured. Three machine-gun posts of the fort on the hill had been silenced and the Partisans had reached the wire defences outside the wall. But resistance was very strong and showed no signs of weakening. Daylight was fast approaching.

The Commandant had two courses open to him; he could call off the attack altogether — which no one wanted — or he could leave holding forces in the lower town and withdraw his other troops to nearby villages till nightfall before continuing the attack. One thing worried him — his troops had entered the attack with only thirty rounds of ammunition per man. Had they still enough to press the attack? Word then arrived that his commanders unanimously supported the second course of action, and that large quantities of ammunition and food had been captured in the lower town. We withdrew to a small village five kilometres away.

We slept until late that morning on the straw in a barn. A dinner of beef stew was served at midday, and we were sitting about talking when the drone of approaching aeroplanes was heard. The 'planes, four light Italian bombers, swooped low over the roofs of the houses and barns, but could see nobody. They returned with machine-guns rattling, but still saw nobody.

About that time a courier arrived from a large town ten kilometres to the north of us with the news that an Italian force of eleven tanks, five hundred men and a battery of seventy-five millimetre guns had arrived by rail, and were stopped by the Partisans five kilometres to the north of the town.

It was obvious that the Italian column would pass our village on its way to relieve the fort of the garrison town which we were attacking. Immediately one of our artillery guns was placed in concealment at a sharp bend of the road, and several high trees were felled as a temporary road block. The aeroplanes appeared again, flying up and down the road at very low altitude, strafing anything they saw, or nothing.

About four o'clock the report was that the enemy column had reached the town ten kilometres away and was heading down our road. By this time the aeroplanes were bombing our village heavily and the buildings were burning furiously. From one of the houses we heard a woman screaming — almost frantic because she could not chase the pigs out of a burning barn. Thatched roofs offer little resistance to fire. The pigs were blind with smoke and squealing their heads off. We had to rough-handle the poor old soul or she would have dashed into the barn just as the roof dropped to the ground. She seemed to think life had no purpose without her pigs, and perhaps they were all that she had to look forward to. The appearance of a somewhat charred and blistered porker wriggling its way through the blazing thatch brought tears of compassion as she followed it to the house.

At six o'clock we drew away from the village to a copse beside the road and awaited developments.

We were comfortably resting under the trees when the rapid gunfire of a tank was heard only a few hundred yards away. A heavy explosion followed and all became quiet. An hour later a wagon appeared with the turret and quickfiring gun of an Italian tank. The road block had worked well. A tank was destroyed by the Partisan mine and the Italian column beat a hasty retreat.

Just before dark the Italians tried to force the road again. They lost a second tank and this time withdrew to the town ten kilometres away.

Immediately after dark we took up position in a small wood very near the fort. The enemy had been quite nervous all day, keeping up sporadic fire with his mortars and machine-guns.

The local committee in the lower town had greeted the Partisans warmly and were grateful for their deliverance. This they expressed by feeding them and caring for the wounded.

An armoured car from the fort had attempted to break the Partisan blockade but was destroyed, and the personnel were captured, From them it was learned that the defenders in the fort were in a bad state, that many were killed the night before, and the wounded were having a depressing effect upon the others. The commander of the fort, a staunch Fascist, had tried several times by wireless during the day to summon aid, and had received instructions to hold out as reinforcements were on the way: he had ordered his men to fight to the last.

All night long the attack continued. We could see fire after fire break out within the wall of the fort, yet resistance was strong. About midnight there was a lull and we heard loud shouting, then silence for a minute. We suddenly realised someone was delivering a speech. It sounded weird, but it was assuredly true. It was a Partisan broadcasting to the Italian garrison the news of Mussolini's downfall and calling upon them to surrender. As real as it was, we found it difficult to believe. Right in the heat of battle. Originality knows no bounds.

Three more machine-gun posts had been silenced, and it appeared to be only a matter of time before the fort would fall.

We moved over to a dressing-station in the lower town and saw many Partisans wounded, boys and girls. They were lying on the floor of a farmhouse, and several women were attending their wounds and giving them drink. Some were in great pain and obviously had not long to live. But they were brave; they had fought well.

As everything was well in hand and the surrender of the garrison expected hourly, we returned with the Commandant to the headquarters early in the morning. There were other matters that required his attention. Things were happening in Italy in those days and each event had its influence on conditions in Slovenia.

The Partisans maintained their siege for five days. The fort was all but captured, but the lack of ammunition and explosives finally compelled them to withdraw their troops.

Two days later we attended a service held quite near our hut in the woods. The bodies of a brigade commander and three of his staff had been brought all the way over that rough trail to give them a Partisan burial on their favourite hill.