World War II, Slovakia in 1944

Hello and welcome !

The 16 pages below describe my brief participation in the Slovak National Uprising. This chronological account was put together from scattered short notes written during the past few years.

To read the whole narrative in the correct sequence please start by scrolling down to the beginning of page 1:

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p1: SNP & Partisans

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.16: Images

Attribution
These pictures are from various sources on the web. They were found and downloaded with the help of Google.

The page numbers in my captions (under the pictures) refer to the pages in the narrative.















Area Map.
The events described in pages 1 through 15
took place between Banska Bystrica (bottom right)
and Martin (top).





p.1 & p.10: WW II era 8mm rifle CZ vz.24





p.1 & p.14: "Potatomasher" handgrenades




p.1: PTRD = Protivotankovoye Ruzh'yo Degtyarova
WWII Russian 14.5mm Anti Tank Rifle




p.2 & p.9: Velká Fatra (1590m high Ostredok) in good weather





p.3 & p.10: CZ light machine gun





p.4: Pistolet-Pulimyot Shpagina-41
Soviet submachine gun nicknamed "Pepesha"





p.5: The village of Jaseno (near the town of Martin).
The church steeple and the slope behind it figured in my first firefight.




p.9: Packkasten für Handgranate ( WWII Grenade Case)




p.10: Maschinenpistole MP 40, nicknamed "Schmeisser"




p.1 & p.11: Dextro-Energen wafers in postwar packing




p.13: Donovaly




p. 14: Kalištie


p.14: Kalistie


















p.15: Ján Bakoss, protestant minister

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.15: Homeward Bound

November 7, 1944

It was a sunny morning in Kalištie as we started on our climb south toward Banská Bystrica. I do not remember my companion's name. We did not talk much but watched our surroundings and avoided the nearby villages. For me it was just another routine day without food and water. Early afternoon we passed our highest point west of the mountain called Panský Diel. From there it was all downhill, with Bystrica in view. We skirted the village of Sásova and reached the familiar brickworks (tehelňa) on the outskirts of the city. There we parted.

I crossed the railroad tracks on the ridge of a hill (Jasenský Vršok) where years earlier I used to ride my sled and to ski. At the bottom of the hill I hesitated. It was getting dark and I did not want get caught in a curfew. I climbed over a fence and dropped into a garden which led to the local Protestant church. A dark area under the staircase of the presbytery building was a good hiding place to spend the night. My plan for the next day was to get help from Mr. Ján Bakoss, the senior minister of the church, or his two sons.
It did not work out that way. I was just settling down for the night on the hard cement floor when in walked Mr. Holčik, the other pastor of the congregation. He found for me a better place in the laundry room. The next day the older Bakoss son, disregarding the risks, escorted me to the house where I lived before I joined the partisans in mid-September. That is how I wound up back at the address Mestsky Park 12. --- More about the events in that house during the winter of 1944-45 is in the narrative "Staring Down The Barrel".

Jan Bakoss, a known supporter of the SNP Uprising, was forced to go into hiding in the town of Martin. There he was found and shot by the Germans in February 1945.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.14: Kalištie

November 3, 1944 Friday

In the morning I stepped out of the barn at the south end of Donovaly. Overnight the season's first snowfall turned everything white. To avoid leaving footprints near the Kolár property I walked on bare patches near other buildings, then ran through a snow covered meadow, crossed a road and moved into a forested area. The place was filled with the debris of the Slovak SNP army. It must have been their last camp before the soldiers withdrew into the mountains or dispersed to their homes. There were tents, field kitchens, small artillery canons, ammunition boxes, rifles, helmets and garbage. As my search for food or a working radio produced nothing, I walked out of the small forest and headed south-west, in the direction of Banská Bystrica.

The sun was high, melting the snow, as I moved toward a narrow valley where I saw a small cluster of houses. Just before the valley, under a curving rock overhang, was a small group of civilians. I recall three women, three children and four men. They were just one of the many groups of Jews hiding in the area. They eyed me distrustfully. I was in uniform, had a bayonet and the handle of a German "potatomasher" handgrenade was sticking out of my knapsack. The tension eased after I told them something about myself. One of the men told me that I might get food and shelter in the last house at the other end of the tiny village. The place was called Kalištie (also spelled Kalište). Before the evening I went to the suggested house where I was treated to a huge meal, mostly leftovers from a recent pig slaughter.

During my stay in Kalištie I was unaware that German troops were in the village a few days earlier. More about that and other events involving Kalištie are among the images on page 16.

For the next four nights I slept on the floor in the warm kitchen of a small peasant house whose other occupant was an old widow. It was my first warm overnight shelter since the end of September. During the daylight hours of the next three days (November 4, 5 & 6) I stayed with the Jewish group. Several hours each day I and one of the men roamed the surroundings looking for food or anything else that could be useful during the coming winter but had no luck. On November 6th I resolved to continue my walk toward Bystrica and my companion decided to come with me. In Kalištie I obtained an old civilian jacket, trading for it my military tunic, cap, long coat, bayonet and handgrenade. --- We started out the next morning.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.13: Donovaly

October 31 - November 3, 1944

The Kolár family fed and sheltered me for three days. Most of the time I stayed in the upper part of their barn which served as a hayloft. There did not seem to be any animals, I did not hear or smell any in the barn. After dark I spent a few hours with the middle-aged couple in their kitchen eating and talking. The second evening Ján Kolár brought in a large washbasin, filled it with hot water and left the kitchen. By the light of the kerosene lamp I had a much needed hip bath (Sitzbad). My last shower was a month earlier, it was therefore not surprising that the water in the basin turned brown.
On the third day, November 2nd, a young woman walked into the barn. She told me she was the couple's daughter and a schoolteacher. In the evening, after the meal, the Kolar couple voiced their worry about the German soldiers in the village and what would happen if I am found in their house or barn. We agreed that I will leave the next morning.

Decades later I have read somewhere this quotation:
"You will meet the sweetest people where the pavement ends and the country road begins." --- That is how I remember the Kolár couple from Donovaly.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.12: Windfall

October 31, 1944

I started the day by eating two Dextro-Energen wafers which gave me a slight boost. I knew or sensed that I will not be able to hold out much longer without proper food and warm shelter. The soldiers, who fed me their macaroni and good, chicory-based black coffee the day before, mentioned that the mountain was above the village of Donovaly. I knew the place from pre-war weekend outings and decided to find my way there. I walked on the summit all morning. Some noises from below continued to reach me but I could not orient myself in the thick fog. A few familiar looking bushes warned me that I was walking in circles. Early afternoon a wind started to blow over the mountaintop and the fog cleared. Then it happened.
Suddenly there was in front of me an army rucksack. I lifted it and hurried into the shelter of almost leafless bushes and stunted trees. On the way I found a bayonet in its metal scabbard.

The rucksack was an unbelievable find, especially as its contents were dry:
- Two cylindrical boxes of tinned food.
- One small carton of dark-brown, crumbly cubes. These turned out to be a compressed mixture of chicory-coffee and sugar.
- Two pairs of long, warm underpants. New, unused.
- One small towel and four grey footcloths. All unused.
- A large scale topographic map of the region
- A ribbon with a bulbous sword ornament and cardboard strips with rank insignia. They identified the former owner of the rucksack as a non-commissioned officer ( poddôstojnik) in the Slovak army.

I was not in the habit of praying and did not know whether to laugh or cry. With the newly found bayonet I opened one of the tins. Inside was shredded meat which I scraped out with my spoon. I ate one of the ersatz coffee cubes. With my stomach stilled, I stripped, swung my unspeakable shorts into the bushes and pulled on both long underpants. My rotten socks were replaced by nice, dry footcloths. --- I sat on the rucksack and temporarily forgot my thirst as I studied the map. It showed Banska Bystrica at the aproximate centre . At the top of the sheet, about 25 kilometers distant, I found Donovaly and the nearby mountains. I could see that during the past days I have climbed up and down mountains whose height (elevation above sea level) ranged from 1000 to over 1500 meters. I stuffed the remaining meat tin, coffee cubes, footcloths and the map into my knapsack. My new bayonet in its scabbard dangled from the wide belt on the outside of my long coat. The rucksack and other useless items were left behind. Now that I had a better feel for my surroundings I hurried to get down to Donovaly before nightfall.

Again I heard shouting, engine noises and this time also the clanging of tank threads. Hours later, after descending through a wooded area, I reached a group of houses near a winding road. It was dark, quiet and nobody seemed to be outside. I walked to a small peasant cottage that stood separately at the end of the hamlet and knocked. The door opened and a man looked at me in the light of a kerosene lamp. There I stood, 17 years old, skinny, bedraggled in an ill-fitting army coat. After a few words I was motioned in. Thus started my first sheltered night in Donovaly.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.11: Wandering

October 28, 1944

We climbed and wandered aimlessly most of the day, guided by instinct toward the south. It was now the fourth day that we had anything warm in our stomachs. All three of us were still wet from wading through the narrow river during the previous night. Now our coats were getting wet from the almost steady, cold rain. We were hungry, thirsty and tired. As darkness came we settled down under some tall spruce trees. The older guy managed to start a small fire. I don't know how he did it with the wet leaves, grass and twigs. The wavering, smoky flames were sufficient for warming our hands.
All of a sudden two men, in uniforms similar to ours, stepped from the darkness into our midst. They gave us the frightening news about the end of the uprising and the Germans taking Banská Bystrica, about the retreat and dispersal of the regular army and partisan groups into the mountains north of the town. We were crushed by the news. The two men told us to put out the fire because of the likelihood of German units patrolling through the area. I started to worry about the fate of my father and brother. --- The two soldiers left at daybreak.


October 29, 1944

Another rainy day. We could not see the sun but kept moving southward. In addition to hunger, thirst and exhaustion we were now burdened with the hopelessness of our situation. We licked raindrops hanging from the tips of the branches. The older guy pulled from his knapsack a small, round tin and we ate a small mouthful of cocoa-like powder called Ovomaltine. This was a mistake. The dry powder made our thirst much worse. As we walked and staggered on I was sucking rainwater from the cuffs of my coat. We stopped to debate our situation. There was serious discussion about suicide. It was late afternoon when my namesake Ivan- Vrútky said he will try to make his way back north, to the region from where we started just four days ago. His hometown was not far from Martin. We said goodbye. --- The older guy and I stayed together through the night.


October 30, 1944

MACARONI WITH REJECTION

A new morning, again the same empty stomachs. The two of us were making good progress on level ground along the summit of a mountain. Around mid-day we parted. The older guy was heading toward the region of Detva, while I was determined to reach Bystrica and find out what happened to my father and young brother. This walking, climbing and wandering without proper rest and without food was going on since five or six days. I felt weak, at my extreme physical limit. I ate two of the Dextro-Energen wafers that were given to me by a kindly pharmacist a month earlier while I was on a short leave in my hometown. The wafers held a concentration of glucose (Traubenzucker). It seemed to me that after about fifteen minutes I started to feel better. I carried on, barely able to see in the thick fog or low clouds. In the afternoon I again felt exhausted and lied down in a small depression near some bare bushes.

I was raised from sleep when someone was tapping me on my shoulder. Several men in Slovak army uniforms were surrounding me. After questioning they led me to a large tent. A kettle was bubbling nearby. The soldiers fed me with a mess tin full of freshly boiled macaroni. They gave me more details about the collapse of the SNP uprising and the fall of Bystrica three days earlier. They also said that the area at the base of the mountain was already occupied by the Germans. I asked the soldiers to allow me to stay with them. They refused, saying the unit was trying to make its way east, hoping to reach the Russian front line. One of them also commented that as a partisan I would endanger the whole group in case they were captured by the Germans. I understood their reasoning but felt bitter nonetheless. I left the soldiers and wandered off into the fog and early twilight. As I went I threw my rifle into a clump of bushes. As I moved on looking for a spot where I could settle for the night I could hear distant engine noises and shouting coming from somewhere below the mountain.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.10: Intense Living

October 27, 1944 Friday

The descent from the high mountains was over. During this overcast late afternoon we were spread out in open ranks and walking toward a road visible at the end of the gentle slope. Suddenly the whole platoon was ordered to lie down along a rise, with weapons ready. Four of us were detailed as point men to go down close to the road.

Beside me was Ivan-Vrutky with his light machine gun. With him came as a helper one of the young, unarmed shepherd boys. The fourth was an older guy with a rifle. He was about fifty, heavy set, with grey whiskers. Our foursome moved ahead through a clump of thick bushes and lied down at the edge of a clearing. We were close to and slightly above an unpaved road. To our left and right the road disappeared from our view behind a bend. Beyond the road and a meadow, a narrow river burbled toward the northeast. Near the far bank of the river rose a steep, forested mountain. Turning back I could see the rest of our platoon up on the slope, about fifty meters behind us.

No matter how plainly I am trying to describe the events that followed, they sound improbable, even melodramatic.

The four of us were lying on our stomachs, wordlessly watching the road. Our main group behind us was also quiet. Time passed. The sky looked grey, it was sometime after five o'clock. Suddenly a detachment of about twenty German soldiers came from around the bend to our right. They were marching in close-order formation. I did not see any of them wearing helmets. The soldiers started to sing a tune well known from broadcasts and newsreels. The four of us looked at each other and pressed closer to the ground, trying to disappear. I was stunned and scared. We were in our free hinterland, in SNP Uprising territory and did not expect to encounter enemy troops. All of a sudden our platoon started firing over our heads at the Germans. They immediately started to disperse and take cover. An Unteroffizier or sergeant remained standing in the middle of the road giving orders. His team began to shoot back in our direction and a few, hunched low, began to run toward the four of us.We started to shoot back and the firing from our main group, spread out at a safer distance, intensified. I did not notice any of the German soldiers falling down and some were getting closer. Outnumbered and with our position given away when our platoon fired the first shot, the four of us turned to run back toward the bushes in our rear.

The first to reach the thicket were the shepherd boy and the older fellow. My namesake Ivan-Vrutky was firing bursts from his light machine gun and I was shooting with my rifle as two or three Germans came almost level with us. We too started to run toward the bushes. Everything was happenning very fast, there was no time to think, every move was controlled by instinct. Bullets were snapping and whistling in the air. I saw a few faces staring down at us from the hill where the rest of our platoon was positioned. Ivan-Vrutky was running hunched down a few paces ahead and to the right of me. Suddenly I saw sparks on the side of the weapon he was carrying and after a step or two he fell. I threw myself on the ground and looked at Ivan-Vrutky who did not move. The shooting stopped and as I lay at the base of an old willow tree I noticed that it was getting darker. I waited a while and then started to wiggle myself free of the rucksack and the rolled up blanket on my back; they hampered my movement. As I was starting to get up there came the familiar "prrrrr" noise of a Schmeisser submachine gun and woodchips started to fly from the trunk of the willow. I jumped up and turning around fired off my rifle in the direction of a German who was about twety-five meters away. If there were other soldiers nearby I did not notice them. Then came a powerful punch in my belly and I passed out.

I do not know how long I was out cold. I regained consciousness lying on my side, the rifle beside me. It was quiet and almost dark. I raised myself and looked down at my stomach where there sat a dull ache. I was staring at the signs of good shooting on the part of the enemy soldier and at the sign of a miracle or amazing good luck. The top left corner of my military belt buckle was dented in. The cartridge pouch beside the buckle was torn open. The five cartridges in the pouch, while still held by their clip, were distorted out of shape; all five have exploded and their bullets were expelled. The small handgrenade, still hanging from the torn pouch, had a dent in its top; a bullet from the Schmeisser must have grazed it. Apart from some soreness and being thoroughly shaken by what happened or could have happened to me, I did not get a scratch.


After the war, on 29 August 1945, there was in Banska Bystrica a celebration of the first anniversary of the SNP (Slovak National Uprising). Wearing a uniform borrowed for the occasion I met Janko Burian and other guys from our original platoon. I also received a big hug from one of the girls. They all had the same story to tell: They saw me go down and gave me up for dead.

As I was looking around, listening and trying to get my 17-year old brain to function again. I heard my name being called by someone in the bushes. There was no sign of the Germans. In the bushes I found the young shepherd and the "old" guy, both unharmed. Ivan-Vrutky was lying on his back, his neck and bared chest covered in blood. He was moaning and wheezing, crying from pain; he seemed about to expire.
It was quiet and we could hear the river. We sensed that the rest of our platoon retreated into the mountains and we were on our own. We did not know the wherebouts of the soldiers and worried that Ivan-Vrutky's moaning will give away our hiding place. Bullets have struck his light machine gun and from there fragments hit his chest, causing the bleeding. The three of us sat there in the light drizzle with our wounded comrade and tried to keep him quiet. Finally the older fellow and I decided to have another look at those wounds, though we could barely see anything in the gloom. There were four or five surface wounds in the chest with small pieces of metal sticking out. We managed to pick them out with our bare and dirty fingers, scared because of Ivan-Vrutky's louder moaning and his babbling that he is going to die. He did not. The "old" guy pulled from his knapsack a small box from which he sprayed powder on my wounded friend's chest. He then produced a roll of dark, gauze-like material with which we bandaged the already quieter patient.

We started to discuss in whispers our next move. At this point the young shepherd boy said that he was returning to his village and left us. Ivan-Vrutky seemed to have fully recovered by now and started to move about. The three of us agreed that we will cross the road and the river, go into the hills on the other side and will try to make our way toward Bystrica. We had no idea how long it will take, we did not know where we were. We were without a map or compass. We have forgotten that that we had no food.

The night of October 27-28, 1944
________________________________

The machine gun and our rucksacks were left where they have earlier fallen. We kept our heavy coats and knapsacks. Between the three of us we had two rifles and a few handgrenades. There was a partial moon in the sky which made the road appear bright, anyone crossing it would have been clearly visible. We waited until midnight then started to crawl on our stomachs through the wet grass and mud. Occasionally we lifted ourselves to move faster on our hands and feet. We stopped frequently to look and listen, the events of the earlier hours made as very cautious. It took us over two hours to reach the ditch on the near side of the road. To avoid showing up as silhouettes and recognizable targets against the surface of the road, we rolled and slithered across the road to the meadow on the other side. We then rushed to the river and waded in. It was cold on this late October night. We slowly crossed holding on to each other with the two outstretched rifles. Our luck held,the water at its deepest point only reached to our thighs. On the other shore we quickly moved into the bushes at the base of the mountain. There we rested and tried to squeeze the water from our clothes and long coats.

Without waiting for daybreak, the three of us started on a slow and long climb that took us most of the day. No water, no food. We passed through thickly forested stretches. The occasional clearings were covered in mist and fog. We did not know where we were. I did not know that worse days waited ahead.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.9: Descent

October 27, 1944

Friday afternoon in the middle of the pleasant glade, almost surrounded by trees.
I stood there with a few others, hot food in our mess tins the first time in four days. Suddenly one of our sentries came screaming out of the forest. Within seconds the captain and the commissar were running around, giving orders: "Put out the fire. Nobody eats. Throw it on the ground. Get ready to move out." Those of us who already had soup in their tins spilled it on the ground. All of us scrambled to get our belongings. Then the whole platoon, over forty people, disappeared into the forest to begin another walk or march, this time steeply downhill.
It was then that I discovered our hidden provisions, some food held in reserve. It was my turn to carry a suitcase-size metal container with partly corrugated sides and a large handle. The box was spraypainted in the familiar Afrika-Korps light tan colour and was originally designed for carrying the long-handled "potatomasher" hand grenades. The box's handle was slipped over the barrel of my rifle, this way the load rested on my rucksack which was strapped to my back. I managed to stagger downhill for about fifteen minutes when two guys lifted the box and opened it on the ground. That metal Packkasten did not contain any hand grenades. What made it so unusually heavy was that it was filled solid with pork cracklings (Slov.: škvarky, Hung.: töpörtyü) and lard. We all received a large spoonfull of this nourishing, fat food before we continued our descent southeastward, toward a road and a narrow river which we could see in the distance.

We were finally leaving the Velká Fatra mountains.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.8: Retreat

We had no radios, there was no field telephone. We did not know what was happening to the south, in the core of the uprising territory around my hometown. Perhaps our two leaders ( the pretend-captain and the commissar) received instructions by messenger or they acted as local conditions dictated.

October 25, 1944 Wednesday

A cool and rainy day. Earlier the Germans moved into Jaseno, the village nearest to our line of deployment. They were motorized and had mortars, we had rifles and a few light machine guns whose small, straight magazines were only good for a few short bursts. In the afternoon we were called down into the valley to join the main body of our platoon and to prepare for a retreat south into the mountains. --- Several families from the village, hoping for protection, showed up in open carts drawn by horses or oxen. It was a bad situation, they did not know that our whole group was about to leave. There they were, men, women and children sitting in the drizzle on their possessions, here and there a goat or a lamb tethered to a wagon. We were a subdued lot as we started the climb into the mountains during the falling darkness, abandoning the villagers.
We climbed through a good part of the night and it was heavy going. Our shoes and boots were slipping on the wet ground and pine needles. Like the others, I was frequently sliding backwards and then scrambling to make up for the lost distance. Ivan-Vrutky also struggled uphill with his light machine gun. To lighten his load we occasionally switched weapons through this long, rainy night.


October 26, 1944 Thursday

Our group of over forty people continued climbing and walking through the whole day.
We frequently halted to rest but there was nothing to drink or eat. The rain stopped and the temperature started to drop in the afternoon. After organizing the sentry schedule for the night, we spread out in small units on the windless side of a bare summit, pulled down the sides of our caps over the ears, bundled into our coats and blankets, hugged close our rifles and went to sleep. After three weeks in the field we were used to sleeping on the cold, bare ground. I remember that I slept very well, probably compensating for the exhausting last two days. Someone else also had a good night's rest.


October 27, 1944 Friday

I woke up feeling stiff, hungry and was shivering from the cold. Not far from me stood the former army desiatnik (corporal), putting on a show turning, stretching his arms and yawning in all directions. After making sure that he had a big enough audience, the corporal told us in detail about his wet dream.

No water, no food and we walked again for several hours. I don't think any of us knew where we were being led, why we were heading south in the direction of central Slovakia. --- We had no inkling that the SNP Uprising was being crushed that same day as the German army and SS troops reached its centre, my hometown Banská Bystrica.
Shortly after noon, while resting on a bare summit, we heard the sound of approaching airplanes. We were turning around to hear and see better, expecting to spot machines with friendly markings. Two single-seat fighters flew past at the same height as our position; we could see into their cockpits. We could also see the Luftwaffe's black cross on their fuselage. The two planes continued toward the north and did not return. We reassembled and moved on, finally starting downhill.

Still on this Friday, in mid-afternoon we came to a large clearing that must have been a hayfield a few weeks earlier. Around the clearing were small huts, built like log cabins with steeply pitched roofs. They had no doors or windows except for a large opening, well above ground level, on the side facing the clearing. The huts were filled with dry hay, cut by men from nearby villages or by local shepherds and stored for the winter as fodder for livestock. Most of us were allowed to disperse and rest in these comfortable shelters. I did not smoke at that time and traded three cigarettes for a small, dry crust of bread. While chewing on this piece I could see through the opening that a few of our people started a fire in the middle of the clearing. About an hour later we were in a queu with our mess tins, moving toward the fire above which hung a large kettle. I was in the group of the first twenty to receive a soup with small pieces of potatoes and meat. I do not know from where all this came from, during our two-day climb I did not see anyone burdened with the kettle or with sacks of provisions. They may have been found in one of the huts. As I started to walk away with the hot food, things started to happen as in a bad film.

(Continued on page 9)

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.7: Relaxing

October 20, 1944

It was a sunny and unusually mild day. A number of guys came up from the camp in the valley to relieve us for a few hours. Our squad left the hilltop positions and settled down in a small clearing. We were lounging, relishing the sunshine and enjoying the stew and drinking water brought by the relief party.

The last time we showered was three weeks earlier when we were trucked from our training base in central Slovakia to the steel works at Podbrezová. There we got wet in the communal showers used by the local workers. Since then we were unable to change clothing or wash thoroughly. Few of us had a change of underwear. Surprisingly, none of us complained about lice or other bugs. On this peaceful and pleasant afternoon we took off our shoes or boots and spread our socks and footcloths on the grass to dry and air. A good time was had by all. We were not bothered by the sound of machine guns or rifles popping off in the distance.

Adding to this idyllic scene one of the guys went to a tree at the edge of the clearing. He took off his trousers, slid down his shorts and squatted to relieve himself. Just then I heard the "whoosh" sound of a slow rifle bullet at the end of its trajectory and saw a small squirt of earth under the fellow's white rump. He let out a yelp and jumped up, startled but unharmed. The rest of us had a good laugh.
A while later all of us became unnerved when we realized that the (stray ?) bullet must have come from what we supposed to be safe territory, free of enemy troops.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.6: Episodes

October 17, 1944

THE ATTACK.

It was the day after the firefight in the village of Jaseno. We were all on the alert and tense as we expected the Germans to follow up with an attack. Time passed slowly. I was sitting or squatting in our hillside position, looking toward the village. My slice of bread was gone. The boys to the left and right of me were also anxiously scanning the slopes and fields below our line. The skies cleared in the late afternoon and we were partly blinded as we were facing the setting sun.

It was sudden. At the beginning we did not hear any sound but felt a vibration in the rocky ground. Through my squinting eyes I spotted a cloud of dust moving up the slope toward our line. When we also heard a low rumbling noise we froze from fear. Inexperienced boys as we were, it was clear to everyone that our rifles were useless against armoured cars.(There was no metal clanking as made by tanks.) The dust cloud came closer and opened up.

There were no Germans, there were no armored cars. Two young shepherd boys came over to join us. In so doing they hijacked the village's herd of cows and a few sheep.
Still before nightfall the whole procession was guided to our base camp down in the valley where a few skilled guys started to milk the cows. The next day came some men from the village to get back their herd. The two shepherd boys stayed with us and so did a few sheep. For a few days we stuffed ourselves with simple lamb stew, plain meat in a soupy brew; no bread and no potatoes. Some days longer everybody and everything stank after cold mutton fat.

----------------------------------------------

October ?? 1944

EXPLOSIVES

Two volunteers were required for training in the handling of explosives. My namesake Ivan-Vrutky and I were chosen to go to another partisan camp to be instructed by a Russian parachutist through a partisan translator. We left our rucksacks and blankets in our main camp and took off on an easy climb and still easier descent into another valley that was farther away from the front line. It was a mild sunny afternoon and we were in a happy frame of mind as we discussed the better food we expected to get at our destination. That camp was definitely better than ours. It consisted of a large tourist hut and some small outbuildings.---There was no food. The partisans there, older than in our platoon, were a hungered out lot mostly lying on their bunks to conserve strength. At least they had a solid roof over their heads.

Our instruction started the next morning, on empty stomachs. For safety's sake it was held on a hillside footpath, well away from the camp. All the details and theory are by now forgotten but I still remember this:
- We were taught how to determine from the size and material of an object, for example a bridge support, the quantity of explosives necessary for its demolition.
- We were shown how to handle detonators and estimate the length of igniter cords.
- The explosives we were allowed to handle looked like large pieces of laundry soap. They had a hole in the centre to accomodate the blasting cap.
- There was a crude-looking wooden box with a battery and a trembler switch (steel ball resting on three wire contacts) which set of the explosive on vibration or tilt.

Later in the afternoon we walked back to our own camp where we had our fill of mutton stew.--- I never had a chance to put my new knowledge to any use.

---------------------------------------------

October ?? 1944

MONEY

A grey afternoon sometime in the fourth week of October. I was up on the line, in our hillside position. (There or in the base camp, we were always out in the open, exposed to the elements.) Suddenly there appeared a Soviet officer with a visor hat, in dark blue riding breeches and wearing a long coat with shoulder boards. He moved from man to man and handed each of us a 100-koruna (crown) Slovakian banknote.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.5: Firefight

Shortly after our arrival there was an incident. Another squad out on patrol got into a firefight. They had no casualties and returned to the base camp with a badly wounded German soldier. Those of us on the hill were told about it a day later, also that the soldier had to be shot to end his suffering, there was no way to help him. Anyone of us with more than light injuries would most likely have met the same fate. It was impossible to get a wounded man to some distant hospital across those high mountains to the south of us.
After the above event our days settled into a quiet routine. By now we paid no attention to the frequent machine gun rattle and rifle fire coming from the distance. My overriding concern was the creeping nightly cold and the almost constant hunger. I watched with envy as other guys went down to the nearest village to get food. Somehow their groups managed to avoid the days when the village was visited by German troops from the town of Martin.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Now jumping ahead to October 16, 1944 Monday


Grey skies but no rain in the morning. With about eight other guys I was allowed to go to Jaseno. Rucksacks, blankets and other unnecessary gear were left in our shallow dugouts on the hill. Each of us carried a rifle and a knapsack with cartridges and at least two hand grenades. In the village we dispersed, trying to find a dwelling where we could beg or pay for food. I was cautious, one did not know whether one entered a friendly or hostile household. In the house I entered there was only a young peasant woman. We stared at each other, finally I asked her for water. I watched her in the kitchen as she dipped an enamelled mug into a water bucket. Afterwards she sold me for five Slovak crowns (koruna) a large slice of homemade bread. I ate a small piece and stuffed the rest in my coat pocket. Just then I heard noise and shouting from the outside.

I ran out of the house to see our guys gathering and pointing farther down the road. There soldiers in German uniforms were jumping out of two blue-grey trucks and started to shoot and move toward us. We turned tail and ran toward the edge of the village with the soldiers behind us. We retreated into the village cemetery near the church and taking cover behind gravestones started to return the fire. Around me was a lot of shouting and noise; my brain did not seem to work, there was only automatic, unthinking action. Our group ran out of the cemetery and dispersed on the steep slope that led to our hilltop position. We ran, skidded and climbed on all fours on the open terrain while the earth around us was peppered from a machine gun which the Germans fired from a window of the church tower. None of us was hit.

Thus ended my first firefight.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.4: Our Platoon

About our platoon (čata):
We were a small part of the Jegorov Brigade (named after Soviet army captain and partisan leader Alexei Jegorov). Most of us wore a mix of new and old items of Slovak army uniforms given to us at our original training base in September. In the field we had two leaders or commanders. Neither did any outright leading or commanding though there was a measure of order and discipline when they divided us into squads. One was a former non-commissioned officer in the Tiso-era Slovak army. He now wore an officer's uniform with a diagonal Sam-Browne belt and captain's insignia on his shoulders. He was a pretend-officer, like many in those days. The other was a Ukrainian political commissar in civilian clothes. He was the only one in our group who had a "Pepesha" Soviet submachine gun.
There were three girls in their late teens or early twenties, also in civilian clothes (blouses, skirts, cardigans). They did some cooking and once I saw them at an open fire, over a steaming kettle, washing a pile of laundry.
Our medic happened to be a real medical doctor, a Jewish refugee from Austria. There was in our unit a boy about my age named Janko Burian. About two years earlier we two served on the garbage detail in the Sered concentration-labour camp. Ivan-Vrútky and two other guys were armed with light machine guns, similar to the Bren guns. The rest of us were equipped with CZ Brno (Mauser-type) rifles.

About our location:
Our new camp was at the end of a valley, at the base of a high hill. I was part of a squad that was detailed to spend much of the next three weeks up on the ridge. At the start we hacked and scratched shallow depressions in the rock-hard earth. While up there we were out in the open, exposed to the October weather night and day. For protection against the elements we had only our army coats,blankets and side caps (lodička). Drinking water and meager food (soup, bread) was brought up to us from the base camp. We washed or pretended to wash in a creek that passed near the sawmill, the base camp in the valley.
Looking north-west from our hill-top position one could see the village of Jaseno and the town of Martin. Its official or full name at that time was Turčiansky Sväty Martin. This town was in German hands. Occasionally German patrols came on trucks into Jaseno, on other days our people ambled down into the village, mostly in search of food. My turn came on October 16th.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.3: Downhill

October 5, 1944 Thursday

Lack of proper sleep, overcrowding, hunger, boredom and tension. Some of the guys, even the youngest boys, were puffing on cigarettes to quiet their gnawing empty stomachs. I did not smoke at that time. There was no food except our dwindling supply of bread. We had drinking water but I don't remember from where, perhaps it came from a cistern. The latrine was in an unspeakable condition. --- Another long day and night in stench.


October 6, 1944 Friday

The clouds and fog started to lift by mid-morning. We left the hut and began a slow walk over flat terrain, what appeared to be the ridge of a high mountain. After a while we moved, slipped and skidded down steep slopes, down on the northwestern side of the mountain range. We were stretched out in a long, mostly single-file line. A few of the guys struggled with extra loads and had to be relieved. I had on a heavy army coat and carried a knapsack, rucksack, rifle cartridges, a few handgranades and my rifle. That was my standard load. For a while I also carried a CZ Brno light machine gun. It belonged to another Ivan, a student from the town Vrutky whom I have befriended a few days earlier. We lived together through dangerous moments later in the month. I will refer to him as Ivan-Vrutky in the further pages of this narrative.
We descended into a narrow valley in full sunshine and after some more marching the Velka Fatra mountains were left behind us. The valley broadened, opened up and in the early afternoon we came to an orchard. There was chaos. We threw all our gear on the ground and climbed on the apple and pear trees like a swarm of locusts.
Our final stop was reached before evening. It was an abandoned small sawmill, the long main building open on two sides was to be our new base camp. --- Ivan-Vrutky and I volunteered for sentry duty from midnight to daybreak. That is how started our real partisan life.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.2: Uphill

October 3, 1944 Tuesday

We started out on another overcast morning and again with empty stomachs. We climbed for hours without knowing where we were being led. There were about forty of us in the unit, mostly young fellows in their teens, a few older guys including our two commanders, and the three girls in their early twenties. I was 17 years old and considered myself more mature than some of the unruly country boys, many of them aged only 15.
We were stretched out in a long line as we climbed up the steep slopes in the increasing fog, slipping on the wet grass. We had frequent stops. At one stop there was a loud bang as one of the 15-year-olds threw a handgranade into a mountain brook, explaining he wanted to get some fish. ---By mid-afternoon the terrain started to level off. We were no longer in a fog, we were enveloped in clouds when we suddenly found ourselves in front of a two-storey tourist hut or mountain chalet. The group dispersed inside the building , everyone looking for a convenient spot to spend the night. It was another day without food.


October 4, 1944 Wednesday

It was cold, damp and there was this impenetrable whiteness outside. We were told that the unit will stay put until the clouds dissipate. This was bad news because all of us were hoping to descend to some village on the northside foothills where we could get something to eat. Most of us had the last warm food three days ago, only a mug of imitation coffee. In the afternoon all of us started to slice, tear or bite small chunks from our bread loaves. Another night on the hard floor, my rucksack serving as a pillow.

Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.1: SNP & Partisans

Again that urge to write, to rush before my memories start fading. To set down the details, without regard for grammar or style, wartime memories that are important to me but perhaps of no interest to anyone else.
This is my recollection about World War II, about certain experiences during the Slovak National Uprising (SNP) in late 1944.

Note: Clicking on the titles of pages 1, 14 and 15 will connect to external links.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
INTRODUCTION:

The SNP uprising started in my hometown Banska Bystrica on August 29, 1944. The same week one afternoon I went to the garrison in the southern suburb of Radvan to join the SNP army. These were not the heroics of a 17-year old. I was scared and felt I would be safer in a group of armed men and with a weapon of my own. The place was full of men changing into uniforms . In the garrison office I was told they did not sign up boys, they needed grown men. They gave me a small, black hand grenade and sent me on my way.

The next month, still in Banska Bystrica, I was accepted in a partisan recruiting office and on September 16 I arrived at a training camp or base in the tiny village of Jasenie. (Not to be confused with the village of Jaseno mentioned later in this narrative.) I slept on the floor in the corner of the village schoolhouse. During my two weeks in the camp I learned how to shoot from and take care of my rifle and to throw handgrenades. There was also familiarization with the CZ light machine gun and the Degtaryev antitank rifle whose recoil punched one in the shoulder.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------


October 1, 1944 Sunday

I was allowed to leave Jasenie, walked the short distance to the railway stop in Predajná and took the train to my hometown. I felt a bit lightheaded after several hours of sentry duty the night before. In Banská Bystrica I wanted to show myself in my ill-fitting uniform to my father and young brother but mostly to my friends, boys and girls, and to former schoolmates. Some of them I saw that afternoon for the last time, they were killed during the months that followed. At the old pharmacy near the main square I was given two small packets, each with four rectangular tablets of Dextro-Energen, a glucose-dextrose rapid energy booster. I was told to save them for emergencies like extreme exhaustion. By the end of the of the month the tablets helped me to carry on and I owe it to the pharmacist, a family friend and survivor, to record his name : Hugo Burger.
I was back at the base when around 6 PM there was a roll call to line up with our arms, rucksacs and all personal belongings. There was no evening meal. Not everybody had arms. About forty of us, boys and men, with rifles and light machine guns and three unarmed girls, were loaded up on two open trucks and off we were to Bystrica. There on the main square both trucks stopped to refuel while most of us were singing partisan songs in the light drizzle. The benzín pumpa (gasoline pump) was painted yellow and had a Shell logo. Near it stood a small aircompressor in the shape of the rotund Michelin Man. There also stood my close, childhood friend Egon Fischer to whom I shouted to let my father know that we were being trucked to the front.
In the darkness we travelled northward and got off the trucks in the small town of Harmanec. I don't remember where or how we spent the night or whether I slept at all. I do remember the next unpleasant day.

Egon (Burschi) Fischer, his parents and many others were shot dead outside the town during the mass executions in December 1944 and January 1945.


October 2, 1944 Monday
Low clouds and rain all day long. Most of us were standing or sitting on our rucksacks through the day under the roof overhang of a long, single-storey building, getting splattered by the rain.
There was nothing to eat or drink. In late afternoon each of us received a loaf of dark and heavy army bread with the admonition that it will have to last us for a long time. Still later there appeared a Soviet soldier or partisan in summer uniform wearing a rainproof poncho. He was to be our guide through the mountains during the coming days.
In the evening our whole group was again trucked toward the north. We spent the night in a barn somewhere in the foothills of the Velká Fatra mountains.