From Jugoslavia to America

         Suddenly, twelve airplanes buzzed our train and while still in sight, turned around. Someone yelled "get down" and we all dropped on top of each other in some cases. It was almost like instinct, as soon as we heard yelling we instinctively follow the lead of the crowd, be that dropping to the ground, running, or ducking underneath structures. There was no time to ask questions; we just acted. The planes were getting closer and sounded as if they were almost on the ground, when suddenly machine gun fire erupted. We could hear bullets hitting the side and top of our train. As suddenly as they appeared they were gone from sight as well. When all was quiet for some time we slowly started to rise from our positions, beholding a gruesome sight. Just past the other train, in the field among dry corn stalks, people were crying, trying to help the injured and carrying their dead co-travelers back to the train. The commander of our train had chosen the better way to protect his charges by not allowing us off the train. Had bombs been dropped, we would have perished like sitting ducks, all confined to the train, whereas many of the people scattered in the field would have survived. As it was, machine-gun bullets could not penetrate the metal walls of the train to harm us but did hit many out in the open field. The soldiers and several adults from our group helped bandage wounds and carry those who could not walk back to their train until nobody remained in the field. How quickly things changed: one minute it looked like a field of slaughter; the next time I looked out the window nothing but corn stalks were to be seen.

            As if on cue, nighttime produced an engine to take us farther away from home to a destination only God and the Germans knew. When we awoke at daybreak somebody said that we were now in "Ostgau,” which is really Austria, but had been given this new name by the Germans. The train had stopped near Wiener Neustadt next to what appeared to be a military kitchen on a train. Soldiers were busy cooking in large cauldrons suspended on iron tripods over open fires. Several people from our train were eating a hot meal from a cup or plate, whatever they had. Soon we were also standing in line, each holding a mug which Wilmica had picked up at the wreck in Vinkovci, and waiting with anxious anticipation for a taste of a cooked meal. The sausage and potatoes were delicious. I wanted to get in line again but was not allowed. Each person could get only one portion. While we were busy getting and eating this food, someone had loaded stacks of burlap bags into our train's toilet rooms so that it was almost impossible to get to the toilet. They were piled up to the ceiling. When our train started to move again we were almost disappointed because we had hoped to be treated to our next meal by this military kitchen again. No such luck, though. We passed Vienna, saw and admired the Danube river on several occasions, and were much impressed with the normal peaceful living and working of the local population. This area was apparently not touched by war. People were tending their fields and going about their business at a normal pace, not running and hurrying as had been the case in Jugoslavia before we left home.

            Life seemed to be getting more tolerable. We had had a decent cooked meal recently, the landscape was beautiful, not destroyed or devastated by bombs or fire and the people we saw were living in a decent setting. Yet Mama and Baba were very upset and crying again. By evening I realized that the baby had not been crying for some time. For the last two days, the only time he did not cry was while he was being fed. Suddenly I understood why Mama was crying - the baby had died. Instinctively knowing that he would not live, Mama had asked the soldier who had kindly located and brought the bag containing her bed before she gave birth to her baby to be the baby's Godfather while someone baptized him Peter, the German soldier's name. Two men in black suits and a military officer came on board and, placing the baby's body in what appeared to be a large shoe box, carried him away. They gave Mama a slip of paper attesting to the fact that her son Peter had died of natural causes and that his body would be buried in a cemetery in Amstetten, Ostgau. They assured Mama that the grave would be marked with his name and date of birth so that it would be possible for her to visit the site after the war. Afraid that she would antagonize them, she did not protest. Later she and Baba commiserated together, and I overheard Mama say that they would probably just drop her child in a river or a hole with no family member present to ensure proper burial. She cried until there were no more tears, until she fell asleep, exhausted. Strange