And then he saw the first airman at the door bend down and unlace his army boots. He held the boots up high and yelled to a local villager he had befriended. "Radisa! Here! For you! Take these!" Then another man was at the door of another plane shouting the same thing. In seconds, the doors were crowded with airmen shucking their boots and throwing them out the door to the astonished villagers, many of whom were making do with nothing but traditional felt slippers even when the weather turned cold and snowy. The airmen were glad to have some way to show their appreciation, some even tossing their flight jackets, socks, and shirts to the villagers, who cheered and shouted their thanks, their eyes filling with tears all over again.

With the doors finally closed for the last time, the crowds moved away and Musulin gave the order for the first plane to take off. He wasn't at all sure the celebration would last, because he knew the C-47s were going to have a hard time getting in the air again.

This could all be for naught if they crash trying to take off. This isn't over by a long shot. Not yet.

Everyone else knew the challenge facing the pilots, too, and the mood quickly turned from celebratory to anxious again. The hundreds of airmen and villagers spread out along the sides of the runway and prayed for the best, all knowing that this moment was every bit as risky as the landings that had scared them so much a half hour earlier. Musulin stood with Rajacich and Jibilian, watching as the plane's engines roared to full throttle and the pilot started off down the airstrip, b.u.mping along the uneven ground so much that the airmen in the back struggled to stay in their seats. In a reversal of the landing they had just witnessed, everyone in Pranjane stared intently at the plane as it picked up speed, its nose pointed high as it rumbled along toward the trees at the end, hundreds of prayers following it along. In what seemed slow motion, the rear of the plane left the ground so that the body was horizontal and the nose pointed forward; then finally the plane's big front wheels left the ground. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the plane rose into the air and those watching on the ground tensed with antic.i.p.ation. The trees were so near, and the plane was not gaining alt.i.tude quickly . . .

A long moment pa.s.sed as the plane struggled upward . . . and then the plane roared over the treetops, pulling its wheels in just in time to give it the few inches of clearance that made the difference between success and failure. From his guard post in the woods, Petrovich watched with wonder and admiration as the plane nearly brushed the treetops and flew right over him. He turned to watch the plane fly on and climb ever higher. Then within a few minutes, another C-47 repeated the same feat with about the same margin of error. Before long, all four planes were back in the air, circling Pranjane as they climbed higher and higher for enough alt.i.tude to get over the nearby mountain range.

Onboard the planes, the airmen were excited to be going back to Italy, and relieved that they hadn't died on takeoff. They settled in for a long, cold flight, many of them shoving their bare feet in canvas bags and wrapping themselves in anything else they could find on the plane.

Musgrove and the other men left behind were overjoyed at the sight of the four planes flying off and disappearing into the inky black night. All of the waiting and worrying, all the hard work they had put into this airstrip had paid off. Those men were on their way, finally, and every other airman could finally let himself think that he too would be back in free territory before long. left behind were overjoyed at the sight of the four planes flying off and disappearing into the inky black night. All of the waiting and worrying, all the hard work they had put into this airstrip had paid off. Those men were on their way, finally, and every other airman could finally let himself think that he too would be back in free territory before long.

Felman and Musulin were thrilled to see the planes get off the airstrip, but they were worried. It all seemed too dicey to do it over and over again. Everything about the rescue was on a knife's edge, requiring nothing but a gust of wind or a pilot's uncertain push on the yoke to turn the success into a disaster. The two men conferred and ultimately it was Musulin's decision as the OSS team leader. He called Jibilian over and told him to send a message to Bari.

"Tell them this was too much, Jibby. We're pushing our luck. Tell Bari we're not doing any more night landings. Let's try again at dawn."

Jibilian sent the message as instructed, but the OSS team didn't know what would happen next. He kept looking for a return message from Bari that would confirm the landings for the next morning, but there was no signal. Did that mean Bari disagreed and wouldn't send the planes again? Or were they just not hearing the radio reply?

Musulin wasn't sure yet what the army would decide to do if night landings were too risky, so he was waiting to see. The army had insisted that night landings were necessary to keep the rescue planes safe from German attacks, and Musulin knew that they were right. Those planes were lucky to get in and out without running into a Messerschmitt even at night, and it would be asking even more of them to come in during the day when German planes were everywhere. How much could they ask of these C-47 pilots? Was it too much to think that tonight's rescue could be repeated over and over? Surely those C-47 pilots were going to report that the landings and takeoffs were death-defying feats. Musulin and Felman worried that, as exhilarating as it was to see those forty-eight men rescued, it might have been a lark. They were incredibly lucky tonight, but what would happen next time, and the next time after that? They had to consider the idea that, as much as they hated to even think it, maybe those forty-eight men were the only ones who would be rescued in Operation Halyard.

Word spread throughout the airmen that the night landings had been canceled. Felman did his best to keep the men's spirits up, a.s.suring them that the planes would be back, but the airmen's emotions were on a delicate balance now. The least thing could send them soaring into euphoria or plunging into despair. The news that tonight's feat would not be repeated made more than a few conclude that the operation was over and they had not been lucky enough to get out on the first night. Surely those C-47s wouldn't stroll right into German territory like this in broad daylight.

No one left the airstrip that night. They huddled in the woods or out under the stars, unwilling to leave the field in case the planes returned unexpectedly. Some were optimistic and scanned the skies for any signs of an incoming plane, but many grew depressed at the idea of remaining behind enemy lines for G.o.d knew how long.

But at eight a.m., as the men huddled in the cold, everything changed. A few men heard it first and perked up, standing to scan the horizon. They heard planes. Others joined them in looking for the source of the sound, a loud rumble that signaled more than just a lone German scout plane. Had last night's debacle tipped off the Germans to their location? Was a whole wave of German planes about to bomb and strafe them?

Many of the airmen, along with the OSS agents, at first thought the sound might be another sortie of bombers pa.s.sing overhead on the way to bomb Ploesti. They saw the overflights regularly, and this sounded big enough to be a bomb run.

Then they saw them. They weren't German planes. They were American, but not bombers. And not just another C-47 willing to risk landing on their little airstrip. The airmen saw a beautiful sight in the morning's blue sky: a whole swarm of American P-51 Mustangs and P-38 Lightning fighter planes, well known to the airmen for their ferocity and the ability to strike fear in any German pilot. And right behind them, the C-47s. Not just one. It looked like half a dozen. The sky was full of planes.

They had returned-in daylight, with fighters! The men couldn't believe it. The doubters went from the deepest depression to uncontrollable joy in an instant. The men counted six C-47s and about thirty fighters-a buzzing cloud of American spirit headed for their airstrip. The P-51 Mustang, a single-engine fighter, and the P-38 Lightning, a two-engine twin boom fighter, routinely escorted bomber planes on their missions over Europe, so every one of the bomber crews on the ground in Pranjane knew them as one of the most welcome sights when they were in trouble. The fighters were a good match for the Luftwaffe Luftwaffe, and the downed airmen instantly felt protected. The C-47s would take them home, but by G.o.d, those Mustangs and Lightnings were the cavalry coming in to save the day.

The airmen cheered and jumped up and down, waving their caps and blankets at the planes as they drew nearer. As they pa.s.sed over the airstrip, the fighter planes wagged their wings in salute and made a few dramatic stunt maneuvers for the airmen before breaking off, diving down into the valleys to attack German camps and keep them busy while the cargo planes landed. The fighters attacked anything German within a fifty-mile radius of the airstrip as the C-47s circled and positioned themselves for landing. The airmen could hear the fighters strafing the German encampments and zooming back up to circle around for another run. They were giving the Germans h.e.l.l, and the airmen couldn't have been happier.

Lalich was on the radio serving as air-traffic controller for the C-47s coming in. The airstrip was just as short and b.u.mpy as it had been the night before, but in the light of day, the big planes were able to get down safely. It was nonetheless still the kind of landing that the pilots would talk about over beers for many years to come. To make sure they didn't run off the end of the runway and into the trees, some of the pilots even used a potentially disastrous technique called the "ground loop," a rapid horizontal spin on the ground. This quick U-turn solves the problem when running out of runway, but only if the pilot avoids the tendency for the inside wing to rise and the outside wing to sc.r.a.pe the ground, which happens more if the ground surface is soft like on an improvised airstrip. If the outside wing digs in, the aircraft will skid violently or even cart-wheel. The ground loops amounted to a dramatic flourish for the airmen on the ground, who knew the danger in pulling such a maneuver in a big plane like the C-47. The airmen let out another hearty cheer of appreciation when they saw the risky maneuver completed successfully. Musulin admired the bravery of the C-47 pilots and thought they must be the best around, but he also thought they might have more guts than brains.

Everyone involved with preparing the field was elated at the success of the landings. The Mihailovich soldier in charge of guarding the airfield strutted around with his chest puffed out, a big grin on his face.

"Tell me," he asked an airman standing nearby, "is LaGuardia airfield anything like this?"

The scene from the previous night was repeated, with cheers and celebration every time a C-47 touched down, but today there was more of a sense of urgency. Once the six planes were on the ground, Musulin and Felman quickly hustled the chosen men onto them, usually twelve at a time. Seeing that the planes could take off safely, if not easily, Musulin eased up a bit on the twelve-man limit and allowed a few more men on some planes. The first men on the planes were the twenty-four sick and wounded who hadn't made it onto the previous night's planes, followed by other injured men, including Felman. As he boarded the C-47, Felman was overcome by the way the airmen wanted to show their grat.i.tude to the Serb villagers who had helped them. Like those on the planes the previous night, many of the men on the rescue planes were shoeless and shivering in the cold, having given everything they could to the peasants who had kept them alive for so long.

In a repeat of the previous night's dramatic departures, the planes rumbled down the runway as fast as possible and slowly climbed to just barely clear the surrounding woods, more than one brushing the treetops with its wheels as it soared away. Musulin was astounded at the skills of the C-47 pilots and concluded they were some of the hottest fliers he had ever seen. A half hour after landing, the first six planes were off again, circling Pranjane to gain alt.i.tude and then forming a clumsy V formation for the return to Italy. When the rescue planes were a.s.sembled, the fighter escorts regrouped around them and the American planes dipped their wings in a farewell salute before heading toward the horizon.

Half an hour later, at nine a.m., another group of six C-47s and twenty-five fighter planes arrived for the remainder of the airmen, including Musgrove. They repeated the same scene again with cheering airmen, jubilant villagers, and more fighter attacks on the surrounding German forces.

One of the last planes became mired in the mud and Musulin worried for a while that it might have to be left there. Leaving the plane was in itself not a huge concern because the crew and pa.s.sengers could be spread among the other departing planes. But leaving a big C-47 sitting out in the open would be a glaring sign to any German planes flying overhead later, and the villagers of Pranjane would pay the price after the Americans were safely back in Italy. They couldn't let that happen, so Musulin organized a hundred Serbs to push the plane out of the muck.

As the planes lined up for the takeoffs that would take out the rest of the airmen currently in Pranjane, Musulin checked his records and saw that one was missing. No one knew where he was and Musulin wasn't about to hold up the planes to look for him. Just as the last plane out of Pranjane was about to take off, the missing man came stumbling out of the woods, rushing to the plane in a stagger. He had overindulged in plum brandy during the night and almost missed his flight.

The Americans were so thankful to the local Serbs for their help in saving the airmen that they offered evacuation to two who needed urgent medical attention. One was a man going blind, and the other had a serious leg injury. Musulin, as the rescue team leader, found it hard to shun these men when the Serbs were doing so much for the Americans and he gave approval for these two men to be evacuated on one of the first C-47s to arrive that day. But by the end of the morning he found out that he had stepped on some toes back in Italy. The Serb fighters were still officially seen as n.a.z.i collaborators, no matter what they had done for American airmen, so army leaders in Bari were not pleased to see them step off the plane with the rescued airmen and considered their evacuation a grave indiscretion by Musulin. The error might have been overlooked except that several of t.i.to's Partisans were at the airfield in Bari when the plane landed and they recognized the two Serbs as Mihailovich guerrillas. Musulin soon had orders to get on one of the rescue planes and return to Italy. He argued with his superiors by radio, hoping to change their minds and stay to help rescue more airmen, but his immediate concern was whether Germans were soon going to attack Pranjane. to the local Serbs for their help in saving the airmen that they offered evacuation to two who needed urgent medical attention. One was a man going blind, and the other had a serious leg injury. Musulin, as the rescue team leader, found it hard to shun these men when the Serbs were doing so much for the Americans and he gave approval for these two men to be evacuated on one of the first C-47s to arrive that day. But by the end of the morning he found out that he had stepped on some toes back in Italy. The Serb fighters were still officially seen as n.a.z.i collaborators, no matter what they had done for American airmen, so army leaders in Bari were not pleased to see them step off the plane with the rescued airmen and considered their evacuation a grave indiscretion by Musulin. The error might have been overlooked except that several of t.i.to's Partisans were at the airfield in Bari when the plane landed and they recognized the two Serbs as Mihailovich guerrillas. Musulin soon had orders to get on one of the rescue planes and return to Italy. He argued with his superiors by radio, hoping to change their minds and stay to help rescue more airmen, but his immediate concern was whether Germans were soon going to attack Pranjane.

a.s.suming that there was no way the Germans didn't notice what happened in Pranjane, Musulin and his team retreated ten miles into the mountains to wait. While hiding out and keeping an eye on the village below, Jibilian received radio communications from Bari congratulating the team on a successful mission. As they hid in the mountains, villagers brought them five more Americans who had arrived in Pranjane only hours too late. The airmen were furious that they had come so close to rescue but missed their ride.

After several days in the mountains with no evidence that the Germans would attack Pranjane, Musulin decided to take the OSS team and the five airmen back down into the village. Though they found it hard to believe, the only conclusion that made sense was that the American fighter planes had so effectively attacked the German garrison that the troops dug in for protection and never saw the C-47s.

The team remained in Pranjane and greeted more American fliers, but the urgent messages from Bari kept ordering Musulin out. Reluctantly leaving Yugoslavia for a second time, Musulin returned to Bari on August 26. Initially there were calls to court-martial Musulin for refusing the order to offer no aid to Mihailovich during the mission, but the furor soon died down.

Rajacich and Jibilian stayed behind but didn't know how long they would be permitted to stay in Yugoslavia. Nick Lalich took over the OSS team and concluded just as quickly as Musulin had that the Serbs were completely loyal to the American cause. Lalich obtained permission for the team to stay in Yugoslavia, soon reporting that he had met with Mihailovich, who said he could funnel many more men to be rescued. We can take more We can take more, Lalich reported. There are a lot more men to be rescued. There are a lot more men to be rescued. Despite ongoing misgivings about whether Mihailovich could be trusted, the authorities in Italy gave permission for Lalich, Rajacich, and Jibilian to stay in Yugoslavia and coordinate more rescues. Despite ongoing misgivings about whether Mihailovich could be trusted, the authorities in Italy gave permission for Lalich, Rajacich, and Jibilian to stay in Yugoslavia and coordinate more rescues.

The airmen were surprised to hear from the crew members on the C-47s that some of the rescue planes had dropped supplies to t.i.to's forces, the enemy of the man who had harbored the airmen, on the way to Pranjane. In one of the later rescue flights, a crewman stepped out of the C-47 and happily announced that they had made a successful drop to the Partisans on the way over. The unsuspecting airman nearly had his throat slit by the Serb fighters before the Americans intervened and bundled him back into the plane.

Two hundred and forty-one U.S. airmen were rescued on the night of August 9 and the morning of August 10, along with six British, four French, nine Italians, and twelve Russians-a total of 272 men rescued, when Vujnovich and the other OSS leaders thought it would be a stretch to retrieve one hundred. Still, these airmen were only the first of hundreds to be rescued through Operation Halyard. All made it safely back to the U.S. air bases in Italy.

A mission that was supposed to last a couple of weeks went on for six months, during which the OSS team rescued 432 American airmen, and eighty personnel from British, Canadian, French, Italian, and Russian units. As Robert Wilson, Mike McKool, and all the other downed airmen made their way to Pranjane under the protection of Mihailovich and his fighters through December 27, 1944, they learned of the ongoing mission and prepared for repeats of the same landing and takeoff dramas that preceded them. The total number of men rescued was 512, with not a single life lost in the effort.

Operation Halyard, an audacious response to a desperate radio call for help and the query of a curious young woman in the States, turned out to be the most successful rescue ever of downed airmen behind enemy lines and one of the largest rescue missions of any type in World War II or since.

Chapter 17.

Gales of the World The long ride back to Bari was joyous but tense for Tony Orsini and Clare Musgrove, cold and loud as they sat on hard metal seats built around the rim of the plane's interior. The higher the plane climbed, the colder the air became and many of the men shivered in nothing but the thin shirts they were left with after leaving their overcoats behind for the Serb villagers. The crews of the C-47s handed out a few blankets and offered a spare jacket when they could, but the cold bit into the men's skin as the roar of the propellers stymied any attempts at conversation. The rescued airmen did their best to just settle in and ignore the cold, some closing their eyes and dozing off, others distracted by their fantasies of a hot shower and a hot meal. Orsini and Clare Musgrove, cold and loud as they sat on hard metal seats built around the rim of the plane's interior. The higher the plane climbed, the colder the air became and many of the men shivered in nothing but the thin shirts they were left with after leaving their overcoats behind for the Serb villagers. The crews of the C-47s handed out a few blankets and offered a spare jacket when they could, but the cold bit into the men's skin as the roar of the propellers stymied any attempts at conversation. The rescued airmen did their best to just settle in and ignore the cold, some closing their eyes and dozing off, others distracted by their fantasies of a hot shower and a hot meal.

Orsini, like others on his plane, had his fingers crossed that the plane could make it back to the base in Italy without being intercepted by the German fighters. He knew the C-47 was no match for the Luftwaffe Luftwaffe, and even with the American fighter planes as escorts, it would take only one lucky hit to send the rescued airmen right back down again.

When they landed in Bari, the airmen onboard let out a loud cheer as the wheels touched down. Finally they were back. Their weeks and months behind enemy lines were over. When the first plane landed, George Vujnovich was standing with a broad grin on his face, clapping his hands, overjoyed at the success of such an audacious mission. Standing next to him was General Nathan Twining, commanding general of the Fifteenth Air Force, who was equally overjoyed and eager to personally greet his returning airmen. Vujnovich and Twining, along with many of the other OSS leaders who had made the mission possible, stayed at the airfield for hours to welcome the men back, congratulating them on a job well done, but there was no fanfare or publicity about Operation Halyard. The press wasn't told, and there was no newsreel cameraman waiting at the airport.

Twining lauded the returning airmen for their service and perseverance while in enemy territory, and then he issued a stern order.

"Do not talk to anyone about this. Do not reveal even the most insignificant information about your experience and adventures to anyone except the officers of the intelligence service," Twining told the men. "The war is still going on and we don't want to jeopardize any future evacuations."

Felman understood the reason for the order. Operation Halyard was not finished, and any security leaks could jeopardize the efforts to bring more men out. Plus, word of the mission's success might prompt the Germans to retaliate against the Serb villagers. Felman reiterated the orders to his men, but he also suspected there was a secondary reason for keeping quiet about the rescue.

Orsini had a shock when he first returned to the base in Italy. Amid all the jubilation of returning from Yugoslavia, a friend at the base took him to see the posted list of KIA-airmen killed in action. Orsini's name was on the list. He and his friend laughed, the other man telling Orsini that they had never given up hope for his return.

"We knew you'd come back. We knew you must still be out there," the man said, slapping Orsini on the back.

"Then why'd you put my name on the list?" Orsini asked, his smile starting to slip away.

"Well . . . we were hoping, you know," the man muttered. "But you were gone a while, so . . ." The two looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment and then laughed again at the irony of Orsini standing there looking at his name on the KIA list. Orsini shrugged it off for a while, but then he worried that his mother had been told he was dead. She hadn't, but it would be some time before he could get a message home to her a.s.suring her that he was alive and relatively well.

Orsini and some of the other injured men were taken immediately to the sick bay, where X-rays revealed that his collarbone was very badly broken. He wasn't surprised, having lived for more than a month with the dull pain, which became truly bad only when he had to jump over a fence while fleeing the Germans or do something similarly physical. But still the X-ray of misaligned bones startled him. The doctor explained, however, that despite the severity of the break, there was little that could be done. Even with a fresh break, doctors could do little to help a collarbone heal except provide a brace that would keep it from moving around too much, and after five weeks without any care at all, the broken bone had already begun mending. The injury would heal, the doctor told him, but there may always be some pain and difficulty moving.

For the men without serious injuries, the first stop in Bari was for delousing. The airmen were taken to a specially equipped room, told to strip, and handed spray guns with delousing powder. The men in charge left and closed the door behind them, and then the airmen took turns spraying every nook and cranny on each other to kill the lice, fleas, and whatever other vermin they might have brought with them from Yugoslavia. While the chemical deluge was unpleasant, the men welcomed the opportunity to finally clean themselves of the grime and fleas that had plagued them the whole time they were in Yugoslavia. The delousing was followed by long hot showers and lengthy time in front of a mirror as they shed their scraggly beards.

Vujnovich, meanwhile, was doing his best to support Lalich, Jibilian, and Rajacich as they continued their evacuation of the airmen who made their way into Pranjane. As the winter of 1944 progressed and the snow grew deeper in the mountains of Yugoslavia, Lalich sent a message to Vujnovich pleading for more supplies. Medicine was especially needed, he said. The poor villagers had absolutely none, and no way to travel to a doctor in the heavy snows.

Even in the security of his office in Bari, Vujnovich had no trouble imagining the scene described by Lalich, and he wanted to write the requisition orders immediately. But he was stopped by the standing order that the Allies were not to provide any material support to Mihailovich or his supporters. The Operation Halyard mission was strictly for the purpose of bringing out the downed airmen, not to aid Mihailovich in any way. Vujnovich thought about the request for a day, seeing no way he could refuse but no way he could say yes without explicitly violating orders. It wasn't long before he came down solidly on the side of doing the right thing, orders be d.a.m.ned. Vujnovich instructed the supply depot to put together two large containers of medicine and lied on the paperwork ordering an airdrop over Pranjane, saying it was food for the OSS team.

In December, as the end date for the mission approached, Lalich contacted Vujnovich again and pleaded for shoes. He and his team could get by, Lalich told Vujnovich, but it was unbearable to watch the Serbian villagers walking about in rags, sometimes with their bare feet turning black against the white snow. The OSS agents had been tempted to give away their own boots and jackets when they saw the local people suffering, and Lalich begged Vujnovich for help. Again, it didn't take Vujnovich long to decide that he would do as Lalich asked. He drove the short distance from the OSS post in Bari to the air force base, where he walked into the supply officer's office and asked for six hundred pairs of shoes.

"Six hundred hundred pairs of shoes?" the man replied, looking up from his desk. pairs of shoes?" the man replied, looking up from his desk.

"Yes, six hundred. I'll take less if that's all you have," Vujnovich said. He knew that the air force was under standing orders to comply with any request from the OSS, so the supply officer wasn't going to resist no matter how odd the request sounded.

"Well, we don't have anything close to that. If you want that many, you'll probably have to try the British. They should have it," the man said. "I can write the order for you, and if you take it to them they'll give you the shoes."

So Vujnovich took the requisition for six hundred pairs of shoes from the air force to the British base, where an officer filled the order with only a quick raise of the eyebrows and a "hmmmph, six hundred . . ." The shoes were trucked back to the air force base and on December 27, 1944, Vujnovich had them loaded onto a B-25 that was to be the last flight of Operation Halyard, the plane that would pick up Lalich, Rajacich, and Jibilian and bring them home.

The plane was to be flown by George Kraigher, the Serb who had flown for the Yugoslavian army in World War I, before heading Pan Am in Africa and helping Vujnovich as he fled the Germans. Kraigher, by this time, was flying for the air force and making special runs into the Balkans for the OSS. Vujnovich knew Kraigher would be the one going in to pick up the OSS team and the last few airmen, so he thought he would be able to convince him to take the shoes. Kraigher, however, was shocked when he went to the plane and found the entire floor covered with boxes of shoes, to a height of about three feet.

"George, what the h.e.l.l is this?" he asked. Vujnovich knew he should be at the plane, ready with an explanation.

"Shoes. Let's just call it a belated Christmas present," Vujnovich said. He gave Kraigher a friendly grin and hoped he would just go along. Kraigher paused and looked at the fully loaded plane, then back at Vujnovich.

"You know I can't do this. I'm not allowed to carry that kind of cargo into that area." Kraigher was right; it was completely against the rules. But Vujnovich could tell his friend felt the same way he did, and he urged him to just take the shoes. "No one will know," Vujnovich said. "And when you get there and see those poor people with no shoes, you'll be glad you did this."

Kraigher finally relented and climbed over the boxes to get into the c.o.c.kpit. Vujnovich watched the plane depart, comfortable that they were doing the right thing. When Kraigher reached Pranjane and the villagers lined up to receive a pair of shoes, he felt like Santa Claus and had no regrets. Lalich supervised the shoe giveaway and at first worried that the effort might be for naught because most of the shoes were a size 8, when the big Serbs, especially the men, needed something more like a size 12. It was pitiful to see the desperate men trying to shove their cold feet into the too-small shoes, but many made do by splitting the heel in back and forcing the shoe on like a very snug slipper.

Vujnovich was waiting at the airport when Kraigher brought Lalich, Rajacich, and Jibilian back from Pranjane. He couldn't have been more pleased with the success of Operation Halyard.

When Jibilian finally returned from Yugoslavia after helping rescue hundreds of airmen, he didn't ever want to see another bit of goat cheese. His first morning back, he wolfed down eight eggs, close to a pound of bacon, six slices of toast with b.u.t.ter and jam, and he drank more cups of coffee than he could count. He couldn't help indulging after months of barely surviving in the hills of Yugoslavia, though he felt bad when he thought of the villagers he had left behind, struggling to feed themselves. Yugoslavia after helping rescue hundreds of airmen, he didn't ever want to see another bit of goat cheese. His first morning back, he wolfed down eight eggs, close to a pound of bacon, six slices of toast with b.u.t.ter and jam, and he drank more cups of coffee than he could count. He couldn't help indulging after months of barely surviving in the hills of Yugoslavia, though he felt bad when he thought of the villagers he had left behind, struggling to feed themselves.

As Felman had suspected, the cover-up was well underway by the time the airmen returned to free territory. A conspiracy was already in place to keep the world from knowing that the Allies had just pulled off the biggest rescue ever of airmen in enemy territory, a complete success made all the more amazing by the audaciousness of the mission. While the initial gag order had made sense while the rescue missions were still underway, after its completion the airmen began to wonder why the military still refused to acknowledge their incredible story. The reason, the airmen soon learned, was that the rescue could not be publicized without giving credit to the Serb guerilla leader who had harbored the men and made the whole operation possible. Mihailovich was officially ostracized for his supposed weakness and collaboration with the Germans, and even faint praise for his a.s.sistance with the downed airmen would have ruffled feathers in the State Department and the British government. While Operation Halyard was still going on and men's lives were at risk, no one wanted to jeopardize the rescues by trying to give Mihailovich credit. And after the rescues were completed, it just didn't seem worth the risk to career and interoffice harmony to challenge the State Department and the Brits in order to let the world know what had happened. Vujnovich, Musulin, and others were willing, even eager, to put their careers on the line to ensure those men were rescued, but afterward there was little motivation to tell the story if it meant bucking the whole military and diplomatic hierarchy.

So the fantastic story wasn't told. There was no report back home in the newspapers of a huge operation that had saved so many lives, only the occasional item in a hometown paper noting that a local boy had been found and was no longer missing in action. With the initial orders to keep quiet forgotten once the rescues were complete, the men involved in Operation Halyard talked about it in the chow line, in the barracks, on the bus, in the cafes-anywhere they met up with other servicemen-because they were so thrilled to be back in Italy and so thankful to the Serbs who had harbored them. They wanted the other airmen to know what had happened to them, that the Serb people were astonishingly kind and helpful to American airmen, even though the briefings for bomber crews still included warnings that the Serbs would cut off their ears and turn them over to the Germans. Orsini, after returning from several weeks convalescence for his injury, returned to duty and had to sit through briefings in which an officer told him and his fellow crewmates that if they bailed out over northern Yugoslavia they should seek out t.i.to's forces and run from Mihailovich's fighters and the local villagers. It took all of Orsini's self-control to sit there and listen without earning himself a court-martial by telling the senior officer how wrong he was, and his voice was shaking when the briefing ended and he gathered the rest of the crew around. He would make sure the senior officer was out of earshot and then set the record straight.

"Don't believe a word of that c.r.a.p about Mihailovich and t.i.to," he told the other men, including some young replacements who didn't know any better. "I've been there. I've been on the ground on the ground with these people, and the fact is that the Serbs will give you the shirt off their backs and every bit of food they have. If we bail out, just come with me and I'll walk right up and introduce myself again." with these people, and the fact is that the Serbs will give you the shirt off their backs and every bit of food they have. If we bail out, just come with me and I'll walk right up and introduce myself again."

The continued warnings about Mihailovich, and offhand comments by other airmen who had heard only the official story, incensed Orsini and Musgrove and every other man who had experienced the truth firsthand. A few drinks were thrown and tables overturned in Bari as the returning airmen set the record straight on what happened in Pranjane.

After the initial warning, the army did not make much effort to keep the hundreds of returning airmen from talking, but the OSS agents who conducted Operation Halyard were on a shorter leash. Jibilian, like the airmen, wasn't looking for attention for his partic.i.p.ation, but he also wasn't shy about telling people that Mihailovich and the Serbs deserved thanks. That stopped one day when an OSS officer pulled him aside and said, "Don't tell anyone. This will just create a big fuss with t.i.to and Mihailovich, so keep this under wraps." And after that he did, following his orders and telling almost no one about the rescue mission.

Many of the rescued airmen returned to the United States sooner than they would have if they had not spent so long in enemy territory. Richard Felman and his crew returned to the United States soon after being rescued, and they were told that the early return was partly due to fears that they would be executed as spies if they were caught behind enemy lines again. Two sojourns on the ground could make you a spy in the enemy's eyes, not just an unlucky flier, the theory went. returned to the United States sooner than they would have if they had not spent so long in enemy territory. Richard Felman and his crew returned to the United States soon after being rescued, and they were told that the early return was partly due to fears that they would be executed as spies if they were caught behind enemy lines again. Two sojourns on the ground could make you a spy in the enemy's eyes, not just an unlucky flier, the theory went.

When Felman returned to New York, the Red Cross came aboard his ship and handed out coffee and doughnuts to the returning servicemen before they disembarked. They also distributed local New York newspapers, and Felman was pleased to find an article about the destruction of a major ammunitions warehouse and railway station in Gornji Milanovac by guerilla forces resisting the German occupation in Yugoslavia. The only problem was that the paper attributed the guerrilla action to t.i.to's Partisans. Felman knew better because he had actually partic.i.p.ated in that raid with Mihailovich's men, with not a single red star of the Partisans around for miles. Felman was livid to see t.i.to get credit for the work of Mihailovich's men, but it fit the pattern he had already started piecing together.

Orsini flew another thirty-three missions after recuperating from his shoulder injury, and then he was wounded again. While lying in the hospital, a doctor stopped by and asked him how many missions he had flown. Orsini replied that he had flown thirty-four, meaning he still had another sixteen to go before hitting the magic number of fifty, which usually was the point where the military said you'd done your duty and could go home. The doctor thought Orsini had made enough missions through h.e.l.l for one man, so he authorized his return to the States. He was scheduled to return home on a hospital ship in April 1945, but one evening he found a note on his bunk that said, You are returning to the States by plane in the morning You are returning to the States by plane in the morning. With no time to notify his family that he would be home within days instead of months, Orsini flew back to the United States and made his way to the family's three-story apartment building on Beacon Street in Jersey City, New Jersey. Once he had reached the States, he decided not to call home first so he could surprise his mother.

When he reached home, he rang the bell for his mother's apartment, but there was no answer. He rang the bell for his aunt, who lived on the second floor and enjoyed a jubilant reunion with her for a moment before being able to get the excited woman to hear his question. "Where is my mother?" he asked. Orsini's aunt explained that his mother was at church, which didn't surprise Orsini much because he knew she went almost every morning. With another kiss for his aunt, Orsini dashed out of the building and onto the street, first walking quickly and then barely able to stop himself from breaking into a run as he headed toward the church. He hadn't gone far when he spotted his mother far down the street, about four blocks away, walking toward him with another woman. The two were returning from church and they didn't see Orsini yet. He kept walking toward them, his eyes fixed on the mother he had thought he would never see again, waiting for the moment when she recognized her son.

They kept walking toward each other, Orsini's heart beating faster and faster as they closed the distance, but his mother saw only another young serviceman walking toward her. He kept his eyes on her, wanting so much to scream out to her, but he waited, wanting to see the look on her face when she realized it was him. When they came to within a block of each other, Orsini saw his mother pause briefly, stopping on the sidewalk as she looked more closely at the man in uniform coming toward her. Then she put her hands to her face and cried out as her companion looked at her quizzically.

"Anthony? e quello voi? e quello voi?" his mother cried, at first questioning, and then as Orsini started running toward her, she knew. "Il mio Anthony! Il mio Anthony! e il mio Anthony!"

His mother ran toward him, her arms reaching, trying to get her son back in her arms faster than her feet could carry her. Orsini could run faster and came to her quickly, scooping his mother up in his arms and hugging her tightly as she sobbed, saying his name over and over and kissing him on the cheek.

"Sono indietro, Mama," he told her. "e giusto, io sono indietro." I'm back, Mama. It's okay, I'm back. "e giusto, io sono indietro." I'm back, Mama. It's okay, I'm back.

The first hint in the press of the remarkable success of the rescue mission came on February 20, 1945, more than six months after the first C-47s landed in Pranjane. A five-paragraph story on page 2 of the press of the remarkable success of the rescue mission came on February 20, 1945, more than six months after the first C-47s landed in Pranjane. A five-paragraph story on page 2 of the Washington Post Washington Post carried the headline RADIO SIGNAL AIDS RESCUE OF 250 FLIERS. The story reported that, "A mystery radio message, picked up and recorded by RAF radio operators in Italy, led to the rescue recently of two hundred fifty Allied airmen, mostly American, who had bailed out over the Balkans." The article went on to explain that the airmen sent a specially coded message that eventually led to the rescue operation. "Translation of the messages indicated that a large number of Americans, some of whom were sick, were stranded in Yugoslavia. They were awaiting rescue anxiously, for enemy troops were not far distant." There was no mention of Mihailovich. carried the headline RADIO SIGNAL AIDS RESCUE OF 250 FLIERS. The story reported that, "A mystery radio message, picked up and recorded by RAF radio operators in Italy, led to the rescue recently of two hundred fifty Allied airmen, mostly American, who had bailed out over the Balkans." The article went on to explain that the airmen sent a specially coded message that eventually led to the rescue operation. "Translation of the messages indicated that a large number of Americans, some of whom were sick, were stranded in Yugoslavia. They were awaiting rescue anxiously, for enemy troops were not far distant." There was no mention of Mihailovich.

The rescue itself was described succinctly: "Full arrangements were soon completed and the airmen congregated at a secret airfield. There they were all picked up and brought back to their bases."

Two days later the newspaper ran a lengthy letter to the editor from Konstantin Foti, former Yugoslavian amba.s.sador to the United States, in which he said that, because of the report of February 20, apparently there was no more need to keep the rescue secret. Fotic provided a more complete account of the operation, the scope of the rescue, and the key role played by Mihailovich. He closed by noting that: Even this action did not prevent a continuation of slanderous accusations against General Mihailovich and I am not aware what recognition was given him for this contribution to the Allied cause. Probably the general did not expect any recognition, because he felt that he was merely carrying out his duties as an ally. Nevertheless, today, when the story of this rescue is disclosed, credit should be given to those who deserve it, and should not be presented as an anonymous action which occurred somewhere in the Balkans.

t.i.to, meanwhile, was completing his takeover of Yugoslavia and doing exactly what many feared he would do: He all but gift wrapped Yugoslavia for Stalin and ensured that Communism would threaten Eastern Europe for decades. Churchill and Roosevelt already were acknowledging, mostly privately, that they had made a grave error in siding with t.i.to over Mihailovich, but the full truth about how Communist moles and spies had misled them would not come out until long after Roosevelt's death on April 12, 1945. takeover of Yugoslavia and doing exactly what many feared he would do: He all but gift wrapped Yugoslavia for Stalin and ensured that Communism would threaten Eastern Europe for decades. Churchill and Roosevelt already were acknowledging, mostly privately, that they had made a grave error in siding with t.i.to over Mihailovich, but the full truth about how Communist moles and spies had misled them would not come out until long after Roosevelt's death on April 12, 1945.

By then, Churchill knew that t.i.to could not be trusted and that Stalin controlled Yugoslavia from Moscow. On February 9, 1945, Churchill and Roosevelt met with Stalin in an effort to encourage at least limited democracy in the portions of postwar Europe controlled by Russia, and though he did not promise much, Stalin did a.s.sure the world leaders that he would persuade t.i.to to recognize all prewar political parties-including Mihailovich's and his followers-and to have a freely elected Const.i.tuent a.s.sembly. Churchill did not trust Stalin, and on February 21, 1945, it was clear to his closest staff that he was "rather depressed, thinking of the possibilities of Russia one day turning against us, saying that [former British Prime Minister Neville] Chamberlain had trusted Hitler as he was now trusting Stalin." Churchill was disillusioned with the Russian leader and regretting his decision to abandon Mihailovich.

Churchill's fears were well grounded. On April 5, 1945, scarcely a month after Stalin's a.s.surances and a week before Roosevelt's death, t.i.to signed an agreement with Russia to allow "temporary entry of Soviet troops into Yugoslav territory." Though t.i.to would come to have serious disagreements with Stalin, Yugoslavia was for all intents and purposes an arm of Communist Russia.

Once t.i.to won the leadership of Yugoslavia, backed by the force of the Red Army, he committed all of the Partisan military to capturing Mihailovich, his hated enemy. Mihailovich committed himself to a path of voluntary martyrdom. He could have saved himself by accepting offers to leave Yugoslavia and exile himself in another country, his absence probably satisfying t.i.to and ending the manhunt. By the time the last American officers left Yugoslavia in December 1944, they were reporting that Mihailovich had an aura of saintliness about him, which seemed to grow stronger as the Partisan manhunt closed in on him. Indeed, his people already treated him nearly as a saint. Wherever Mihailovich went, the peasants came from miles around to see him. Old women knelt and kissed his hands, while children brought him eggs and apples.

Mihailovich was able to evade capture for seventeen months. When Mihailovich contracted typhus and was near death, Chetnik soldiers carried him on a stretcher from village to village and through the mountains, always running from the Partisans. Friends in Switzerland contacted him in 1946, urging that he leave the country at least long enough to recover, but Mihailovich refused.

Jibilian was discharged from the military in 1945 and found a job as a purchase-order writer at the Veterans Administration headquarters in Washington, DC. A year had pa.s.sed since t.i.to had established Communism in Yugoslavia, and like the rest of America, Jibilian was busy getting on with his postwar life. Reading the military in 1945 and found a job as a purchase-order writer at the Veterans Administration headquarters in Washington, DC. A year had pa.s.sed since t.i.to had established Communism in Yugoslavia, and like the rest of America, Jibilian was busy getting on with his postwar life. Reading the Washington Post Washington Post on the morning of March 25, 1946, he found a small article with the headline MIHAILOVICH UNDER ARREST, BELGRADE SAYS. He was stunned, especially since the article only described Mihailovich as "accused by the regime of Marshal t.i.to of traitorous collaboration with the Germans during the war, is listed by Yugoslavia as a war criminal." There was no mention that Mihailovich had been a staunch ally of the United States, much less his role in saving downed fliers. The article predicted a swift trial for Mihailovich, followed by an immediate execution by firing squad. on the morning of March 25, 1946, he found a small article with the headline MIHAILOVICH UNDER ARREST, BELGRADE SAYS. He was stunned, especially since the article only described Mihailovich as "accused by the regime of Marshal t.i.to of traitorous collaboration with the Germans during the war, is listed by Yugoslavia as a war criminal." There was no mention that Mihailovich had been a staunch ally of the United States, much less his role in saving downed fliers. The article predicted a swift trial for Mihailovich, followed by an immediate execution by firing squad.

Jibilian soon decided he had to do something to let the world know what Mihailovich had done for American airmen. He marched down to the newspaper to tell his story, sitting down with a reporter to explain his involvement in Operation Halyard and what he personally knew of Mihailovich.