THE HALYARD MISSION by Lt. Commander Richard M. Kelly, UNSR

THE HALYARD MISSION

By Lt. Com. Richard M. Kelly, USNR

Blue Book Magazine Vol. 83, No. 4

August 1946




The two OSS parachute instructors at a secret training camp in Virginia stared in amazement at the huge bulk of a man approaching the plane.

“That big guy isn’t going to jump, is he?” asked the first incredulously.

“Well, if he does, I won’t take any bets that he’ll ever do it again! He must weigh twice as much as those other guys.”

The “big guy” who caused this comment—and much more—was George Musulin, who was far heavier than the usual weight accepted for paratrooper duty. The heaviest paratroopers accepted prior to his arrival had been 185 pounds, the official limit for Army paratroopers. Yet the five-foot-eleven former University of Pittsburgh tackle, from 2820 West Liberty Avenue in the Smoky City, had been permitted to take the training entirely on his own responsibility.

Some months later, this same courage and willingness to assume unusual risks was to surprise his superiors and win him high honors when, in spite of all warnings, he jumped blindly into German-occupied Yugoslavia to organize and execute the greatest mass air evacuation of shot-down Allied airmen from behind enemy lines in the history of warfare.

They didn’t think he could do that, either; but doing the difficult and the supposedly impossible was a specialty of this former steelworker and physical education instructor of Major General William J. Donovan’s Office of Strategic Services which conducted America’s secret and highly successful clandestine operations all over the world in the past war.

Musulin, the son of immigrant Yugoslavian parents, had been inducted into the Army as a private in May, 1941. While on maneuvers in Virginia, he had been approached by an OSS representative and asked if he would volunteer for “dangerous work behind the lines in the European theater.” He accepted and soon found himself undergoing the rigorous training with which the OSS equipped its men for their highly dangerous work.

In addition to his unusual physical attainments, Musulin’s mastery of the Serbo-Croat language impressed his instructors with his particular aptness for a mission to Yugoslavia. This was exactly what Musulin had wanted. He had heard a great deal about the country where he had numerous relatives and for many months had been thrilled by the gallant fight against terrific odds being put up by the fabulous General Draza Mihailovich, who at that time was being hailed in the Allied press as the greatest underground fighter in all of occupied Europe.

Musulin completed his parachute training quickly—training that was punctuated by his instructors’ jovial bets, every time he was due to jump, as to how many panels in his chute would break! He outlasted both the chute and the bets, and was handed his commission, along with his orders for flight overseas to Cairo, Egypt.

He was four months in North Africa; and then, on October 18, 1943, he took off from Bengasi in Libya, bound for central Serbia. Into the heart of this small country he was dropped at midnight, the third American officer to parachute into Yugoslavia. His assignment—to assist a British team which functioned as Allied liaison with the Chetnik army.

He was received by elements of General Mihailovich’s forces; and his first sight of them as he lay waiting in the darkness brought him to his feet with a start. For standing there in the flickering light cast by the ground flares, they had a storybook look – long wild hair, bushy beards, ragged, nondescript clothing, their weapons an odd assortment that varied from modern pistols and rifles to mountaineers’ axes and knives.

As they stared at him silently, surprised by his great bulk, Musulin broke quickly into Serbian, introducing himself as an American officer of Serbian parentage, and held out a tentative hand. The Serbs’ reaction was immediate—here was one of their own; they were wild with excitement, and Musulin’s one difficulty now was to convince them that his presence would not necessarily bring about the liberation of their country and the end of the war.

Musulin’s duties involved liaison with the First Chetnik Corps, transmitting intelligence on German troop movements, spotting targets for our bombers, training the underground fighters and receiving occasional supply drops. It took only those first few days at the encampment for Musulin to realize that these supply drops, at this stage of the war, were but a pitiful trickle of arms. For the most part, the Chetnik forces’ fighting weapons were remnants from the equipment of the old Yugoslav army.

He learned that this First Corps had been busy before his arrival—they had a record of numerous acts of sabotage against the Nazi lines of communication. It was this record that brought a strong German punitive force into the area and caused the evacuation of Musulin and his corps just forty-eight hours after his arrival…

The next seven months was a time of wandering; for with the Germans continually after them, they could not make a permanent encampment. They traveled over the mountains, living on the land, sharing the people’s hardships; and Musulin saw copious evidence of German atrocities—hundreds of villages burnt, their population wiped out. The misery and suffering of the people was far greater than he could have ever imagined any people could take; yet he knew from what he saw that their will to resist was unbroken, and their support of the underground fight was strong and unwavering.

It was during this time that he met and learned to know General Mihailovich, at whose shifting headquarters he spent considerable time. He was on friendly terms, too, with numerous Chetnik leaders—a most important factor in his future work.

Following the Teheran Conference in December 1943, when Roosevelt and Churchill decided to back Tito in place of Mihailovich, support from Allied headquarters began to taper off. During the spring of 1944 the Yugoslavian civil war was going full blast, and Tito’s Partisans attacked the Chetniks but were thrown back. Several months later the Allied Mission received orders to evacuate, and on May 29, 1944, the entire party, with forty Allied airmen who had been picked up by the Chetniks, was flown out from a secret airfield built in the mountains by the Mihailovich forces.

Just before leaving, Musulin had received word from the Chetniks that another party of twelve Americans had been picked up, and he immediately requested permission to stay behind and get them. Headquarters denied his request, and he was flown back to his base in Italy. The decision had been made at the highest level that Mihailovich was to receive no more Allied support, and though the Chetnik leaders were in tears at Musulin’s departure, the orders must be obeyed.

Back at the OSS base in Bari, Italy, Musulin learned of the progress of the war and in particular of the Allied policy in relation to General Mihailovich. He was shocked to find that his beloved Chetniks were accused of collaborating with the Germans, against whom he knew they were waging a relentless war. Worse than that, distressed American airmen were being briefed to bail out only in Tito Partisan-dominated territory and not in Chetnik areas, because Mihailovich was said to be turning shot-down Allied airmen over to the Germans. This OSS officer, who had just left the Chetniks and had taken forty Allied airmen out with him, knew this to befalse; but he found himself a weak minority against the all-out support being given Tito and his charges against the Chetniks.

On the other hand, he discovered that both the United States and Great Britain had numerous missions attached to Tito’s forces. These missions were receiving all-out military support. Airmen who were forced to bail out in Tito areas were promptly aided by these missions and returned to their Italian bases; whereas with the departure of Musulin’s mission from Serbia, there existed no comparable machinery to aid American air-crew forced to bail out in Chetnik zones.

And this knowledge made Musulin fighting mad. American Air Corp boys, he argued, were entitled to rescue wherever they were, regardless of American or British political policy with regard to the Yugoslavian civil war. Furthermore, he knew that Mihailovich was not turning over airmen to the Germans and to prove it, he would parachute blindly into Serbia.

These potent arguments availed little against the tide of Tito feeling and the official policy line laid down by London and Washington, but events in other quarters soon gave unexpected support to Musulin’s daring proposals.


As the summer of 1944 opened up, the American bombing offensive against German oil facilities and communication lines was stepped up to an overwhelming tempo. Balkan targets, particularly the Ploesti oil fields and other rich objectives began receiving special attention from the 15th American Air Force, headquarters for which were at Bari, Italy. The mighty Allied air effort elicited a frantic and costly German reaction. The toll from German fighters, and particularly their massed radar-directed anti-aircraft guns around every target, was heavy. More and more of the returning bombing crews reported seeing plane-loads of their squadron matesbailing out of crippled ships in northern and central Yugoslavia, where the Chetnik underground operated. Major General Nathan Twining, Commanding General of the 15th Air Force, became vitally concerned. He wanted something done to rescue these crews.

Meantime the Yugoslav embassy in the United States picked up a message from General Mihailovich stating that he had a number of American airmen in various areas under his control and requesting that American personnel be sent in to organize their evacuation. He agreed to receive the mission and render every assistance.

While this situation was developing, Musulin’s OSS chief in Bari, Lt. Nelson Deranian, USNR, told him to go ahead and organize a team for the dangerous mission he was pressing to undertake. This was all that “Guv,” as the big University of Pittsburgh ex-tackle was known, needed. Knowing that the chances of a prearranged reception were slight, and that there was no accurate information on recent German moves in the area since the last reliable Allied radio link with the Chetniks had been severed, he decided to select for his team men who had already completed missions to Yugoslavia and had proved themselves in this rugged duty.

His choice fell on Master Sergeant Michael Rajacich of Washington, D.C. as his second in command; and youthful Arthur Jibilian, an expert Navy radioman, also from Washington, D.C. to handle his communications. Both of these men spoke the Yugoslavian language, knew the people and the problems of operating behind the German lines. Together with Musulin, they prepared the necessary supplies and worked out the details for their dangerous project.

The Halyard team finally was organized on July 5, 1944, and placed under the operating supervision of a specially established 15th Air Force section under Colonel George Kraigher, who was assigned by General Twining. Musulin was designated as Commanding Officer of Air Corps Rescue Unit, Team 1, which was known as ACRU…

Direct radio communication with Mihailovich did not exist, but there was an old roundabout, inadequate and probably insecure radio link which now brought additional confirmation of Musulin’s claims that there were large numbers of Americans in Chetnik hands. This communication was suspected on two grounds: First, it came from the Chetnik leader, who had been disavowed by the Allied high command; secondly, it was no longer considered secure from German interception. In spite of these serious complications and the doubts of his superiors, Musulin and his men decided to attempt the drop to a pinpoint designated by this radio. More than once during the ensuing attempts, they had reason to wonder if the doubters were right, or not.

The dangers they faced were extreme. The radio messages were so roundabout and so delayed that the rendezvous had to be set days ahead. Musulin knew very well that the military situation in occupied Yugoslavia was very fluid. An area that might be Chetnik-controlled when they set the rendezvous, might well be overrun by Germans the very next day; and inasmuch as the Germans always lit flares to attract Allied planes, he could never be sure but that torture-bent Nazis would receive him.

Furthermore, the flights were made in unarmed C-47s without escort, which made them sitting ducks for German night fighters based at an airfield only ten minutes’ flying time from the pinpoint—fifty miles south of Belgrade. To add to the suspense, several planes had recently been shot down at night in the same general area.

Weather canceled out their first effort on July 8th. Again the long process of setting a rendezvous and the try on July 19th. This time they reached the pinpoint, but no signals were visible. Could it be a trap? They flew about and turned homeward.

They tried again on July 25th. It was a 350 mile trip each way from the American airfield at Brindisi at the foot of Italy. As they crossed into Yugoslavia, they ran into a heavy anti-aircraft barrage and the Halyard team hooked up their chutes ready to bail out. Moments of waiting, the nearness of death, their utter helplessness—and then there was no sound but the peaceful hum of their own motors. They had flown through the barrage safely; now to find the signal. But there was no signal. Again, they circleddespairingly, then headed east for home and another discouraging report: “Mission unsuccessful.”

The tension was telling on everyone’s nerves, but the next night they would have one more chance, for this rendezvous had been arranged for successive nights, lest anything should go wrong on either end. This time they met no barrage…they neared the pinpoint—and there lighting up the countryside were the red glows of fires. The signals? Quickly they checked—these signals were wrong. Musulin stared downward in desperation. Maybe the code had been confused—should they take a chance? Suddenly a blinding glare illuminated theplane and the anxious faces of the men—German flares bursting about them! From the ground came the flash of heavy small arms. This was either a trap—in which case night fighters and possibly ack-ack could be expected within a few moments; or they were completely off their pinpoint and had almost dropped into a nest of Germans.

Their reaction was instantaneous. In a few seconds the plane was headed back, the anxious pilot straining for every ounce of speed, the men tensely keeping a look-out for the threatened night fighters. Twice they thought they spotted them; and twice they eluded them; and then some hours later they were back at base, a weary and disheartened group. As Musulin jumped from the plane and headed for the OSS dispatching station, he was fighting the bitter thought that the Halyard Mission was doomed from the start…

In a little Chetnik encampment far behind the enemy lines a group of discouraged men waited. Many of them were sick and wounded; some wore tattered clothes and were shoeless; all of them were sick at heart, for these men believed themselves abandoned. They were men of the United States Army Air Force, shot down over a Chetnik underground area, awaiting a rescue that they now began to feel would never come. Among them was Lt. Richard L. Felman of New York City. His B-24 “Never a Dull Moment,” had been shot down by ME-109’s on the way back from a strike at the Ploesti oil fields. He remembers those days sharply now:

"We had been briefed by Intelligence that if shot down in Yugoslavia, we were to look for Tito’s Partisans and avoid the Chetniks, who were rumored to be turning Allied airmen over to the Germans. I bailed out on the 9th of July and found myself in the hands of these Chetniks whom I had been told to avoid. They said they would take care of me. I was suspicious, but in a few days I was convinced that they were on our side. One incident in particular made me feel sure of them and of their sincerity.

They told me that one of our crew had been killed when the plane had crashed, and that the Germans had stripped his body and buried it. After the Germans had left the immediate area, a band of Chetniks dug up the body and gave him a reverent funeral service. They took pictures of the ceremonies, and then gravely presented them to us with the request that we send them on to my crewmate’s family.

There had been ten of us who had bailed out—we were all located and brought together by the Chetniks. The Germans had seen us hit the silk, and immediately demanded that the local people surrender us. The peasants stood fast: they refused. The reprisal—their village was burned to the ground.

Within two weeks after I landed, our group of Americans had grown to about seventy-five, all of whom were constantly protected and aided by the Mihailovich forces. Every day the Chetniks would come and tell us how they had tried to arrange for American planes to come in, but when nothing happened, the boys really began to feel low. Some of the fellows had been down for five months, and about that time they felt as though they had had it. We kept on hoping, though we knew that only Tito was receiving Allied support.


Finally our senior officer, Lt. T.K. Oliver, a West Point man, and son of Major General E.L. Oliver, went up to Mihailovich’s headquarters and borrowed one of his radios. With it he began to broadcast in the clear on a rare frequency, in the hope that some Allied monitoring station would pick up the message. Day after day he tapped out the words: ‘We are 250 American airmen…many sick and wounded. Please notify the 15th Air Force to come and get us.’

We began to get answers—but they were all questions. Whoever was receiving was suspicious and rightly so, for they not unreasonably feared we were Germans, or Americans operating under German duress. They must be made to realize that this was a legitimate signal from distressed Americans.

Lt. Oliver devised an ingenious and unique system of encoding and decoding. Using the army serial numbers of various airmen, nicknames, intimate Air Corps slang which his West Point roommate back at the base knew that Oliver had used, items of wearing apparel effected by individual officers (a certain colored scarf for example), the painted insignia on various planes, details of officer clubs at his air base and other similar data which could be known only to a very few people, he managed to establish working communication. This improvised code, though sent in clear language, accomplished two things—it completely shrouded the meaning from the listening Germans, and it convinced the monitoring stationwho was picking us up that we were probably legitimate.

Finally a message came that made even the sick men look up and smile. ‘Prepare reception for July 31st and subsequent nights.’ That was all we needed—I’ll never forget that feeling of relief. We got busy preparing that reception and sat back and waited. The 31st finally came. General Mihailovich himself and about one thousand of his ragged troops came to visit us at our encampment near the tiny air-strip from which we expected to be evacuated. He held a review of his troops in our honor and thentalked to us through an interpreter. He told us now much he loved America and how sorry he was that he had not been able to do more for us, though his people had given us the best of everything they had. He also assured us that he had eight thousand troops deployed over a twenty-mile area around the air-strip with orders to hold off the Germans at all costs until we were evacuated.

That night at ten p.m. we were all down at the field. We waited for forty minutes silently. Exactly at 10:40 came the sound of motors, but we were afraid that coming so late at night it might be a German plane, so we decided not to light up the flares, since that might give away the whole show. Nothing appeared the rest of that long night—or on the next. Our spirits hit rock bottom.

Then on August 2nd we were all down at the field again. At 10:10 p.m. we heard plane engines in the distance. We couldn’t be certain that it was an American plane, but at that point we were willing to risk anything. So we lit up the flares and the wind tee. About thirty seconds afterwards we could hear the plane turning to head back over our strip. Were we going to get a scrafing from the Germans, or would this be a rescue from our own boys. We all crouched in the bushes watching.

The plane circled for about ten minutes, then came in very low over our strip. As it zoomed over our heads, we could see the big white star of the Air Force under the wings. With one voice the men let out a yell—the most terrific cheer I have ever heard went up in those Yugoslavian mountains! It was just like Ruth hitting a homer with the bases loaded in the World Series. The sight of that American plane was the first tangible evidence of rescue that we had seen since landing, and the boys nearly went crazy.

Next thing we knew, Chetniks came running up, hauling packages which had been parachuted from the plane. Then I heard a tremendous commotion in the darkness, a whole crowd of Chetniks—men, women, and children were shouting and cheering: ‘Captain George, Captain George!’ A few seconds later three men came up to us. The one who was in the lead was the center of a mob of Chetniks—they were kissing him and cheering him with tears in their eyes. He was in an American uniform, and he was one of the biggest chaps I’d ever seen. He walked over to us and put out his hand. ‘I’m Lt. George Musulin,’ he said.”

For Musulin, the sight of the gratitude on the faces of these pathetically eager American airmen was enough. He had been right in begging for this mission; all the discouragement of the five previous attempts was now wiped away in this moment of initial success. He thought of the new hope he’d felt when T.K. Oliver’s messages had begun to come through.

“Those messages,” he says, “gave me new faith in Halyard Mission, especially when the location of his signals was plotted as coming from the same area south of Belgrade to which I had been planning to jump. It seemed to confirm what I had been saying all along. It also confirmed our roundabout messages from Mihailovich.

I had been pretty disturbed when the first rendezvous we’d set up with Oliver on July 31 failed. As a matter of fact, I had been prepared that night to jump in without a reception and take my chances with the Germans. By that time the three of us on the team were nervous wrecks. I was very worried about getting our mission off and about the morale of the team. I kept thinking about the plight of those airmen, and I knew that their danger would increase with every flight we made to the area. The terrific tension of those long, dangerous flights, the strain of beingconstantly alerted at the airfield, the unnerving knowledge that each successive flight might mean being shot down, or a jump to death, had us all pretty groggy. We had nearly had it a dozen times, and we weren’t even inside yet. I haven’t enough praise for Mike [Rajacich] and Jibby [Arthur Jibilian], who kept taking it and were still game for another trip on August 2.

This time when we thought we had reached the pinpoint area, fires broke out below us. After so many disappointments it was hard to believe it when we seemed to be in the right pattern. But that was all we needed. We circled a few times, dropped our package, and then I found myself diving through the air. As usual I had a terrific shock when the chute opened and caught my weight. I remember thinking that no matter what lay ahead, thank God we were at least on our way.

Our drop was not too good, in that we landed two miles away from our pinpoint, due to an error in dispatching. Fortunately, all of us were uninjured. I landed in a cornfield, Mike in a tree and Jibby in a mud-bank. I picked myself up and ran over, to find Mike hanging by his shrouds a few feet off the ground. An old woman was kissing him and telling him that we were with General Mihailovich’s forces.

I cut him down quickly, and then some peasants brought up Jibby. We were very relieved to learn that we were with the Chetniks, because even though T.K. Oliver’s messages seemed very authentic, we had no certainty that he had not been under clever Nazi torture which had elicited all that information, and that we might be headed for the same treatment.


Pranjane, where we landed, was where I’d spent a great deal of time in my previous seven and a half months with the Chetniks, so I knew a great many people there, and received a very touching and sincere reception from them. They quickly led us to the small clearing where the airmen were waiting. We received a tremendous ovation from them, and their unrestrained joy in meeting us made all the trouble and risk we had had getting there well worthwhile.

The Americans were like kids when they saw us. I introduced myself to them and assured them we’d soon have them back at their bases. They were sure glad to get the cigarettes and chocolate we’d brought—their first in many long weeks. Some of them were in pretty bad shape, and before sending them back to their quarters for the night I told them that we had some medical supplies which would be distributed to the worst cases in the morning.

Shortly after dawn, I held a conference with the senior American officers—Captain L.C. Brooks, Lt. T.K. Oliver, Lt. R.J. Hefling, Lt. K.A. Pfister, FO J.W. Barrett, Lt. W.J. Kilpatrick and Lt. J.E. Buchler. I learned that there were approximately 250 airmen in the vicinity, divided in six groups with an officer in charge of each. They were quartered in small groups at the homes of various Chetniks in an area of about ten miles around the strip. There were about twenty-six wounded and injured in the lot. They were being treated by an Italian doctor who had escaped from a German prison camp in Belgrade and wasworking with the Chetniks.

With the medical supplies that we had brought in with us, we set up a small hospital and gave them the best treatment we could under the circumstances. A large number of the airmen were barefoot and inadequately clad in fragments of Air Corps uniforms and peasant attire of all sizes and description. Many had long hair and beards and except for a few incongruous items of G.I. clothing, looked very much like the weather beaten, tattered Chetniks who had been looking after them.

Jibilian managed to make radio contact with our base in Bari the first day, and I reported our safe reception and the presence of over two hundred airmen, many in need of food, clothing and medical supplies. In response, we received a promise of an immediate supply drop, and a commendation from Major General Twining for the ‘fine work’ so far.

As soon as I had the airmen straightened out as well as I could with our limited means, I held a conference with my old friend Captain Zvonko Vuchkovich then of the first First Chetnik Corps, who was in charge of the Mihailovich troops in the area. It was just two months since I had left the zone, and I was anxious to check on the German strength, for I realized how precarious our situation was. What I learned from the Chetnik leader was far from reassuring. Only twelve and a half miles away in the town of Chachak was a garrison of forty-five hundred Germans. Just five miles from our clearing was another garrisonof two-hundred and fifty. Our principal security lay in our mountain location, the guarding Chetnik troops, and the wonderful support of the Serbian population.

I knew very well, however, that we would stand little chance if the Germans ever got wind of our presence and the projected evacuation. Should they attack us in strength with their superior armament and planes, the Chetniks would be forced to retreat through the mountains, and I knew that very few of our airmen could survive such a retreat. We would have to get these men out, and get them out fast!”


On the night of August 5th our first supply drop came in. With it we received a large number of shoes, food, clothing and additional medical supplies. The arrival of these supplies improved our situation immensely. Many of the men had been barefoot for months, and their long walks through the mountains had their feet in terrible shape. Many of the Chetniks were in the same or worse condition, yet they wouldn’t take any of the clothing themselves. That’s the way they were about everything. Our hospital was able to help them, however, and it was pitiful to see theirappreciation for the smallest kindness when they were risking everything they had for us.

After conferring with Captain Vuchkovich on the German dispositions, I went over the security arrangements of his own troops, on whose protection the whole operation depended. He explained to me that on General Mihailovich’s orders he had set up an outer and inner ring of defenses in the mountains around our air-strip. In addition, his men had roadblocks set up on the side of every road the Germans would have to use to interfere with the evacuation. His plans were that when the actual operation took place, these roadblocks were to be quickly set up and manned by troops, who were under orders to hold at all costs until the job was completed. These plans seemed very good to me; and knowing the Chetniks, I felt sure that they would be carried out. But just to reassure myself as to the probable strength of these outer and inner perimeter defenses, I sent Sgt. Rajacich to check them.

The thing that impressed me most about the set-up was the truly amazing security of the Chetniks soldiers and peasants. The American airmen had been assembled from an area covering many thousands of square miles. Thousands of people knew of their presence in the area. They had been brought together at great risk and at a high cost by the Chetniks. Men had been tortured to death and villages destroyed, by the Germans in an effort to locate them. These poor suffering people, who had been deserted by the American and British governments, and who were under merciless attack from both the Germans and Tito’sPartisans, would have received more money than they could ever dream of earning in their entire lives by tipping off the Germans to the presence of the Americans. But in spite of all that, not one American was betrayed. Their sense of honor and secrecy for the welfare of their beloved Americans was so great that they never even discussed their presence among themselves. Without this heartshaking loyalty, our entire mission would have been fruitless, and not one airman would have had a chance to escape.

After assuring myself as to our defense situation, I next applied myself to the air-strip, which was by long odds our biggest problem. This strip—if you could call it that, was a small, narrow plateau well up in the mountains. It certainly didn’t look as if a plane could ever land and take off from it. The strip was only one hundred and fifty feet wide and approximately eighteen hundred long. There were woods on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. At one end of the strip were some large trees; at the opposite, a huge depression. Added to these nearly prohibitive limitations, was the fact that highmountain peaks were all around the strip at varying distances of a mile and a half to two miles.

I discussed the strip with the Air Corps officers and they were very skeptical of any planes being able to use it. By considerable work we could improve it and lengthen it by about seventy-five yards, which would give us the absolute minimum for C-47 operations. Immediately I asked the Chetniks for assistance, and three hundred laborers and sixty oxcarts were assigned to work on extending the strip. Stones and dirt were hauled from some nearby streams, and with every man pitching in, the strip was gradually improved.

I was still afraid that the 15th Air Force would not approve the strip, even with these improvements, so I dispatched Captain Brooks and Lt. Oliver to search for other possible fields. Another party made up of Lt. Kilpatrick and FO Barrett took off on a similar mission in another direction. Several days later both parties returned with reports of other fields, both better than our strip at Pranjane, but they were fourteen hours’ walking distance from our present location, and would also involve shifting our defenses very considerably. Because we did not think it practical to attempt to move our sick and wounded over such a distance, we decided to use the Pranjane strip.

On the night of August 5th our first supply drop came in. With it we received a large number of shoes, food, clothing and additional medical supplies. The arrival of these supplies improved our situation immensely. Many of the men had been barefoot for months, and their long walks through the mountains had their feet in terrible shape. Many of the Chetniks were in the same or worse condition, yet they wouldn’t take any of the clothing themselves. That’s the way they were about everything. Our hospital was able to help them, however, and it was pitiful to see their appreciation for thesmallest kindness when they were risking everything they had for us.

I was pushing the work on the airfield as fast as I could, because I realized that every hour’s delay made the danger of discovery by the Germans more likely. Finally, by the eighth of the month it looked as if the job would be finished the next day, so I had Jibby radio that we could start the evacuation the next night. Confirmation of my plans came through from base, and it looked as if the next night would be the big test.

Fortunately the weather on the ninth was perfect. It looked as if our luck was running good. I had requested six planes, and given orders for seventy-two airmen to be ready at the air-strip at ten p.m. We had issued numbers to everyone. The sick and wounded received the lowest numbers, and after that the priority was established on the length of time each man had been behind the lines. Some had been in Yugoslavia for over five months. We made no distinction between officers and enlisted men.

The number per plane was kept down to twelve because of the danger of taking off from such a short runway. Before I left, it had been settled that the incoming planes would be stripped down of all excess material and would carry half a gasload, little more than enough to complete the round trip. Even with these precautions and as anxious as they were to get back to Italy, many of the pilots doubted that it could be done.

Everything seemed in readiness late in the afternoon. Mike and Jibby were out at the airstrip completing the laying out of the flare pots which would mark the air-strip and the wind direction. At about six p.m. I was riding a horse out to the strip to make a final check on all arrangements when I heard plane engines.

The second I heard them, I knew they were German. I dived off my horse and took cover in a ditch by the side of the road, expecting to be strafed. But they paid no attention to me—they headed instead for our strip. There were three of them, flying in a loose formation—one a Stuka, one a JU-52 and the third marked with a red Red Cross. My heart was in my mouth; I watched them approach the strip; then to my horror, they buzzed it, circled around and headed back off in the direction of their own airfield.

Bitterly I got back on my horse and galloped out to the field. There were Mike and Jibby, and when I saw the look on their faces I knew that they shared my worst fears. The job must have been blown. Somehow the Germans had found out, and all our precarious preparations had come to naught at the very last minute.

Worst of all, in Italy the planes were probably already taking off, because they were due in about four hours. Even had we been able to contact our base by radio immediately, it would have been impossible to stop them because the message would never get to the airfield in time. There was nothing we could do but sit and wait for everything to blow up in our faces.

I looked over the field. Sheep and cattle were peacefully grazing over the air-strip—I had figured that would be a good cover for our activity. It was a lush pastoral scene that in a few hours might be the center of war. Some sign of our planes must have been visible to those planes. Had anyone tipped off the Germans? There was absolutely no way we could tell.

Jibby was afraid that the Germans had detected his radio, which had been in frequent communication with base arranging all the details of the evacuation. If they had made a fix on his set, maybe these planes had flown over to investigate the area. It seemed too coincidental that they had just happened to fly across our strip. Would the German night fighters be waiting for our unarmed and helpless C-47s when they came within a few hours? Were the nearby German troops getting set for an attack which would frustrate all our plans and lead to the capture or death of so many of these airmen who had been through so much, and were now so confident that I could get them outsafely?

I was nearly sick with frustration. To think that this had to happen at almost the last minute! More than my own personal feelings of disappointment, my tremendous responsibility for the lives of the two hundred fifty airmen and the crews of the incoming planes weighed heavily upon me. If our worse fears were realized, I would be to blame. From the beginning I had been largely responsible for the organization of Halyard Mission. It was the toughest spot I ever hope to be in, and I don’t mind telling you we started to pray—and boy, I mean we prayed!”


There didn’t seem to be another thing we could do. Fortunately, none of the airmen had been anywhere near the air-strip when the German planes buzzed it. At least they didn’t know about our fears, and the three of us decided not to tell them. There didn’t seem to be any point in getting them all in a sweat at the last minute, when there was nothing we could do about it; and if by some miracle things went off as planned, so much the better.

One check that I was able to make was on the nearest German garrison. Maybe if our plans were known to the enemy, there would be some sort of unusual activity in Gorni Milanovac. I knew that the Chetniks had a secret telephone line into that town to warn them if the Germans were sending patrols out after them. Immediately I asked for the latest report from this source. Word came back after some delay that the German situation in the town was normal. It was now getting on toward nine o’clock, and this slight assurance gave the three of us some encouragement, but wedidn’t stop our praying.

By ten o’clock the designated first seventy-two airmen assembled at the strip. I had a Chetnik soldier stationed at each flare, ready to light them up at my signal. The airmen were all in top spirits, but unfortunately we of the Halyard Mission were not able to share the exuberance. We waited there in the darkness for another hour and then in the distance we heard airplane engines. Everyone strained their ears and then the airmen began to cheer—
they sounded like American planes.

Jibby was standing by me with an Aldis lamp to blink the proper identification signal. As they circled over for the first time he blinked ‘Nan’ and to our great joy received the correct reply, ‘Xray.’ So far, so good—at least they had found us, and there had been no German interference. Now to get them down and off again. I gave the order to light up the ground fires, then shot up a green flare, our signal that the landings were to commence.

The first plane started down with his landing lights on and headed toward our strip. The airmen were cheering and shouting, but as the plane came in the noise died down. Everyone was holding his breath and more than a few were praying. Down and down he came, and then just before he put down his wheels, he gave it a gun and roared off, having overshot the field. The next plane, however, made a perfect landing and pulled in at the end of the strip. The rest of them were supposed to stay aloft until I had the strip cleared, but they disregarded our signals and kept comingright in. I was afraid that there would be a pile-up at the end of the strip and had some Chetniks and airmen wheel the first plane down into the sloping depression off to one side at the end. This was done just in time, because the wings of the next plane just passed over the top of this first one as it wheeled about to taxi to one side. It missed by inches, and I could see that these night landings were too dangerous. The slightest mix-up, and the whole show might be ruined.

Two of the planes brought additional medical supplies and equipment. In one of these was Captain Mitrani, a Fifteenth Air Force medical officer, and two medical technicians. In another plane was Lt. Nick A. Lalich of the OSS, who had come in to lend me a hand with the evacuation work. When Nick landed, he told me that there were only four planes instead of the six we had expected—two of the planes had developed engine trouble and had been forced to turn back. This was a great disappointment to twenty-four of the men, but I promised them that I would get them out the next morning.

Quickly we loaded up the planes, and it did my heart good to see the happiness of those men as they went aboard. Most of them stripped off their shoes and clothing and tossed them to the Chetniks. The pilots of the C-47’s, who were the best in the 60th Troop Carrier Command, were pretty worried about the take-off, but there was nothing for them to do but try it, as they couldn’t stay where they were. Naturally, I didn’t tell them my fears about German night fighters, but I did give them complete lists of all the airmen who were to be evacuated, and told them that I wanted the rest of the of the planes to come in the very first thing the nextmorning. My fear of German intervention and the many evident dangers of attempting further night evacuations led me to this decision, which I also put in writing for Colonel Kraigher.

All this took but a few minutes, and I soon had the planes loaded and set to take off. One pilot wanted to fill up his plane with a lot more, but I finally persuaded him that he would have his troubles getting off with the twelve men he had on board.

About twenty minutes after they landed, the first plane started down the strip to take off with its precious cargo. We were all pretty tense, but she took off nicely without a hitch. The rest followed, one of them brushing a tree in the process, but all got away safely. It was just about forty minutes after we heard the motors that we heard them die away in the distance as they headed back to Italy. The first part of our job had come off successfully. There had been no accident—no German interference. We all thanked God andprayed that the rest would go off as well.

Immediately I sent couriers to all the rest of the airmen ordering them to be at the air-strip no later than eight-o’clock the next morning. All the rest of the night Jibby kept busy at his radio trying to contact base to get confirmation for the arrival of the planes with fighter cover in the morning. His efforts were unsuccessful, but we went ahead with all the plans anyway, and just before 0800 on the morning of the tenth we heard a tremendous roar of engines in the distance. Our first thought was that it was another huge bombing mission to the routine Balkan targets, but as the planes came closer, a shout went up from some of the assembledairmen. They had recognized the unmistakable lines of six lovely C-47’s in the center of a swarm of fighters. Could this mighty show of air strength be the answer to our hurried plea of a few hours before?

The planes headed directly toward us, and the advance waves of the P-51s began stunting overhead. Now there could be no doubt about it—the whole show was just for us. To team Halyard, to the airmen, to the Chetnik soldiers and the Yugoslav peasants, it was the most inspiring sight we had ever experienced. The cheers were tremendous, and the show that those boys put on was deserving of the acclaim with which it was received.

Most of the twenty-five P-51’s broke off from the protective umbrella formation with which they had been covering the six transports and started a strafing sweep of all roads and German installations which we had pinpointed in the area. Another section gave the German airfield at Kraljevo, about twenty-five miles away, a thorough going-over, to give the impression that it was a normal air strike.

The C-47’s began to come in at five minute intervals. As each plane put down, we of the Halyard team sweated out every landing. The minute each plane taxied to a stop, it was surrounded by screaming women and girls, who showered the planes, their crews and the embarking Americans with garlands of flowers. The airmen going aboard were shouting boisterously and as each group of twenty entered their designated plane, they would peel off their shoes and most of their clothing, and toss it to the cheering Chetniks.

The pilots and crews of the evacuating planes were caught up with the excitement of the occasion. All of them wanted souvenirs—daggers, guns, Chetnik caps and opankas, the Serbian sandals made out of goatskin. None of them was in any hurry to leave, and I had trouble getting them to take off to clear the strip for other planes. Those pilots of the 60th Troop Carrier Command who took those planes in and out were the hottest flyers I have ever seen. Some of them even ground-looped in landing to slow up and stop before they reached the end of the strip. It seemed to me that most of them had more guts than brains, and I certainly hand it to them for the job they did.

While all this was happening on the ground, the P-51’s were putting on a breath-taking exhibition overhead. None of us on the Halyard team had much time to watch this demonstration, as we were directing the landings, loadings and take-offs—every one of which had us holding our breath; but in a few minutes we had the six planes off again and circling slowly to gain altitude. Slowly they formed into a clumsy V formation, and then, with their roaring fighter escort sweeping all around them, they dipped their wings in a final salute to their Chetnik friends and headed back to base and safety.

Just before nine-o’clock a second wave of twenty-five P-51s came over with another six transports. The whole happy performance was repeated—with one exception. One of the last planes disobeyed the instructions of Lt. Nick Lalich, who was acting as ground control officer, and got his left wheel stuck in some mud at one end of the strip. This could have been critical, for I knew that the fighters would have to leave in a very few minutes because of the limited gas supply. If the plane were left behind, it would surely be spotted by the Germans. While the rest of theplanes circled overhead, I hastily selected a ground crew of one hundred Serbs, and in twenty-minutes of hard work we had him dug out and on his way. Except for that slight mishap, the entire operation went off without a slip.

In two hours 241 Americans were taken off the ‘Missing in Action’ list. With the Americans went six British, four French, nine Italians, seven Yugoslavs and twelve Russians. Our total achievement for the night and the morning was 289 highly skilled Allied personnel. When the last plane had disappeared behind the mountains to the east, we of the Halyard team shook hands with each other. After all our danger and trouble, we relaxed for the first time in five weeks with that wonderful feeling of an important job well finished.

Later that same day we retreated ten miles into the mountains, because it didn’t seem possible that the whole operation could have escaped the attention of the Germans on the other side of the mountain only five miles away. Our OSS base wired us congratulations, as did the 15th Air Force; and we were particularly pleased to receive a unit citation from Lt. General Ira Eaker, ranking American airman in the Mediterranean theater. Our greatest satisfaction, however, came from the realization that we had accomplished the job we had set out to do.

That night five more Americans were brought into our mountain camp, and they were plenty mad when they realized that they had just missed a ride to safety. We spent several days away from the strip and then when the Germans made no move against it, we decided that the fighters had done such a good job of strafing that the enemy must have all dug in and our evacuation had escaped their observation.

For the next few weeks we kept collecting additional airmen whom the Chetniks would bring to us. We received several supply drops, and one night laid on a reception for another OSS team under the command of Lt. Col. Robert H. McDowell, whom I introduced to General Mihailovich with whom he was to operate.

By the end of August we had accumulated another large group of airmen, and on the nights of the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh we evacuated 58 more Americans—and two British officers who had been ‘captured’ by the Chetniks in an engagement with some Partisans. On this second flight, I was evacuated under orders from OSS headquarters to work with the Air Force in preparing new escape maps and proper briefing for American airmen who might be forced down in Chetnik territory. Jibilian, Rajacich and Lt. Lalich stayed behind to carry on the evacuation work of the Halyard Mission.

Our total for the whole month of August amounted to 383 Americans, and the work of the subsequent months carried out under Lt. Nick Lalich’s direction brought the grand total to 432 Americans and eighty Allied personnel. This work was considerably hampered by Tito’s forces, which finally drove the Chetniks from the Pranjane air-strip while they were awaiting another evacuation.”


*****

Note: Lt. Musulin received the Legion of Merit for his leadership on Halyard Mission. Just before this issue of Blue Book went to press, statements of several hundred American Air Force officers and men who were rescued from the Germans by General Mihailovich’s Chetniks, and most of whom were evacuated by Musulin, have been submitted to the United States State Department as testimony on behalf of the Chetnik leader, who was then on trial for his life in Belgrade for having collaborated with the Germans.



THE END.






“The Halyard Mission”
By Lt. Com. Richard M. Kelly, USNR
Blue Book Magazine, August, 1946 Vol. 83, No. 4

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Podnijet zahtjev za rehabilitaciju Draže Mihailovića

Source: PCNEN (Prve Crnogorske electronske novine)

http://www.pcnen.com/detail.php?module=2&news_id=35937

Vijesti

Posljednji update: 26. Feb 2009, 13:53

Podnijet zahtjev za rehabilitaciju Draže Mihailovića

Okružnom sudu u Beogradu danas je podnijet zahtjev za rehabilitaciju komadanta Kraljevske vojske u otadžbini Dragoljuba Draže Mihailovića.

Zahtevom je zatraženo poništenje presude kojom je poslije Drugog svjetskog rata Mihailović osuđen na smrt, i prethodno oduzeta sva građanska prava.

Kako je javila agencija Tanjug, podnosioci zahtjeva su Srpska liberalna stranka, Udruženje pripadnika Jugoslovenske vojske u otadžbini, Udruženje političkih zatvorenika i žrtava komunističkog režima i profesor međunarodnog prava dr Smilja Avramov.

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BOOK REPORT CONTEST ! "The Forgotten 500" by Gregory A. Freeman

February 26, 2009

Dear friends,


Mike Papich of California has discovered that the discount bookseller Edward R. Hamilton has listed The Forgotten 500: The Untold Story of the Men Who Risked All for the Greatest Rescue Mission of World War II by Gregory A. Freeman as one of the newest arrivals. The book has been discounted to only $5.95.

Papich thinks it’s up to all of us Serbs to make the story go further. “I propose that we inform Serbs about this book sale. We should buy all of these books and place them in Public Libraries to help keep the momentum we gained from Freeman’s book going.” So far, he has received positive responses from library personnel and is very encouraged by this.

He thinks Serbian young people and their friends could be positively influenced by reading this book and keeping the great Halyard Mission story alive, and he has begun a campaign to do just that.

“The book at $5.95 has a postage and handling fee of $3.50 whether you order just one or a dozen!” he says. He believes that Freeman has done the Serbs a great service in recognizing and recording the incredible deeds of the Serbs during WWII as part of the Halyard Mission. And he thinks we Serbs should “rescue” the book.

“I’d like to see a commando squad of Serbs and their friends rescue that book and propel it into the limelight.” Papich says a “Task Force” of capable Serbs can brain storm and implement a rescue plan. He has already ordered ten books to give to libraries and other institutions.

His proposal includes an effort to inform and alert various veteran organizations, especially Army Air Force groups and present Air Corps personnel about the presence of the book and its content and to donate the book to libraries and to wounded military veterans. He particularly proposes the donation of one of the books to the Colorado Air Force Academy where there is a picture of one of our fellow Serbs, Medal of Honor winner Lance Sijan.

Overall, he wants to get more mileage for The Forgotten 500. “Why hasn’t Hollywood picked up on this book?” he asks.

Papich has suggested a book report contest for young readers 18 years and younger. “I will donate $100 to the best book report written on The Forgotten 500.” offers Papich, hoping that others will be encouraged to contribute as well. Since first announcing this book report contest, additional offers of donations to the winners have come in! Among those who have offered to contribute to the contest reward is Branko Terzic, U.S. Delegate of HRH Crown Prince Alexander, who is donating $200 to be dispersed among the first, second and third prize winners. Another contributor is Milana (“Mim”) Bizic of Pennsylvania , who is contributing $100, also to be dispersed between the top three winners of The Forgotten 500 Book Report contest. Any and all additional donations, regardless of the amount, will be very much appreciated. A final list of the names of the donators and the total amount of the prize winnings will be announced in the letter that will go out announcing the winners of this contest along with their book reports for all to see! Therefore, if you are a young person who is interested in entering this contest, the final prize will actually be a great surprise! A heartfelt ‘Thank You’ to those who have already expressed support for this effort and to those who will join in to make this a success.

Please contact me at ravnagora@hotmail.com if you are interested in donating to this effort and we will let you know where the donations need to be sent. Also, please do your best to encourage the young people in your families, your communities, and your parishes to read this book and write up a report and send it in.

Mike Papich is a native of Windsor , Ontario . He lives in California and is a retired aerospace electrical engineer. He was one of the early presidents of the St. Petka Church in San Marcos , California . In 1976, he hosted His Royal Highness Crown Prince Alexander during the 200th anniversary there. Also honored at the banquet was Major Richard Felman, one of the over 500 rescued American airmen about whom the book was written. “It’s unfortunate that he is no longer alive as he would have promoted The Forgotten 500 with fervor,” says Papich.

I have published a review of Mr. Freeman’s book that can be found on the Web and am supporting Mr. Papich’s efforts. All book reports to be considered for the contest should be sent to me at ravnagora@hotmail.com.

Apart from the financial rewards, the winner’s reports and the “runner up” reports that finish in the “Top Five” will be posted on my three websites on the internet dedicated to recognizing and celebrating Serbian heroes, among them General Draza Mihailovich, who was ultimately responsible for the success of the Halyard Mission Rescue Operation and the saving of the American airmen whose story shines in The Forgotten 500. The top five book reports will also be forwarded to Mr. Gregory Freeman, author of The Forgotten 500, and he has kindly offered to provide a personalized, signed first edition of the book to the contest winner.


The guidelines for the book report contest are the following:

Writer must be 18 years old or younger.

There is no limitation on length.

Book Report needs to be written in the English language.

Report needs to explain why The Forgotten 500 by Gregory Freeman is an important book that should not be ‘forgotten’.

The deadline for the book report entries is Friday May 15, 2009.

Please send them in as soon as possible.

The Announcement of the Winners will be made on Vidovdan, Sunday, June 28, 2009.


Here is a link where you can order the book for the discounted price:


http://www.edwardrhamilton.com/titles/7/3/2/7322585.html

Discounted copies of The Forgotten 500 are also available on Amazon.com for an excellent price as well. If one source runs out of the available discounted books, please search for another, as there are various sources that offer books at a discounted price. It would be fantastic if we could inspire the publisher to consider a second printing of The Forgotten 500 !


We look forward to hearing from you and sincerely hope that you will do what you can to buy up the remaining copies of The Forgotten 500 and distribute them as a gift to an institution or individual that you feel will appreciate its value.

Thank you.


Aleksandra Rebic

ravnagora@hotmail.com

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Šabić: Država da kaže gde je grob vođe ravnogoraca (Draze Mihailovica)

FROM "BLIC ONLINE"

http://www.blic.rs/hronika.php?id=80252

February 22, 2009

Hronika

BIA odbila da pruži podatak o egzekuciji nad Mihajlovićem

Šabić: Država da kaže gde je grob vođe ravnogoraca

Autor: T.N.Đ 22.02.2009. - 00:02

Od egzekucije Draže Mihajlovića, komandanta Jugoslovenske kraljevske vojske, prošlo je više od 50 godina i država više nema pokriće da ovaj dokument i informaciju čuva kao državnu tajnu. Ovo je samo jedan od mnogih podataka o decenijskih tajni koja nema logično ni pravno pokriće, kaže za "Blic" Rodoljub Šabić, poverenik od informacija za javni interes. On najavljuje da će od državnih organa zatražiti da stave na uvid ovaj dokument Srpskoj liberalnoj stranci (SLS) koja to traži.





Milan Nedić, član SLS, kaže da nema osnova da država skriva informaciju staru više od 70 godina. - Arhivi u Londonu, Moskvi, Vašingtonu se otvaraju, a mi možemo samo da nagađamo zašto naša država od njenih građana krije taj podatak - kaže Nedić.

Bezbednosno-informativna agencija odbila je da pruži podatak o mestu egzekucije i sahranjivanja generala Draže Mihajlovića Srpskoj liberalnoj stranci, uz obrazloženje da ne poseduje taj dokument. U BIA im je rečeno da se obrate Vojnom arhivu, Arhivu Beograda i Arhivu Srbije. Tamo su im, pak, odgovorili da taj dokument ne poseduju. Pošto niko navodno nema taj dokument, Srpska liberalna stranka zatražila je od Rodoljuba Šabića, poverenika za informacije od javnog interesa, da naloži državnim organima da im omogući uvid u taj dokument.


Ljubo Lazarevski (83), bivši podoficir KNOJ, tvrdi da je bio zatvorski čuvar Draže Mihajlovića, ali i svedok njegovog pogubljenja, kao i da je bila zavedena presuda i uz nju izvršenje presude sa fotografijama.


- Presuda, zapisnik i fotografije sa egzekucije su postojale i bile zavedene i one mora da postoje i danas. Država nema razloga da te dokumente krije jer je prošlo više od 50 godina obaveze čuvanja tajne - kaže za "Blic" Lazarevski.


U Srpskoj liberalnoj stranci kažu da im je Vojni arhiv dostavio kopiju stenograma sa suđenja Mihajlovića, ali ne i mesto gde je pokopan. Predstavnici SLS stavili su svoj potpis da neće odavati podatke koji se nalaze u tim dokumentima. Kako "Blic" saznaje, personalni dosije Draže Mihajlovića nalazi se u Vojnom arhivu. On sadrži dokumentaciju iz ratnog perioda, ali i sa suđenja, "stenogrami i slično". Postoji i obimna dokumentacija u Arhivu Srbije koju je BIA predala o Mihajloviću, ali, kako tamo tvrde, niti jedan od tih dosijea ne sadrži i papir, odnosno zapisnik o izvršenju smrtne kazne niti bilo koji i detalj o tome.


- U našim arhivama nema baš ništa o tome. A nema ni razloga da se to čuva kao tajna - rečeno nam je nezvanično u Vojsci.


Ostali arhivi tvrde takođe da taj dokument o izvršenju smrtne kazne ne poseduju.


Bilo je više navodnih svedoka egzekucije, koji su navodili da je četnički đeneral pogubljen i sahranjen u Marinkovoj bari kod Beograda, ali Lazarevski tvrdi da je prisustvovao pogubljenju Maihajlovića i da je četnički đeneral sa još devet osuđenika streljan u 1.30 sati posle ponoći 18. jula 1946. godine, u bagremovoj šumi, na 150 do 200 metara od Belog dvora, u blizini današnje Ortopedske bolnice "Banjica".


- Sahranjeni su na istom mestu u tri rake - rekao je Lazarevski.


On insistira da dokument o tome postoji, i da je uz presudu pridodat i zapisnik o izvršenju presude. Presuda Vrhovnog vojnog suda izrečena je 15. jula u 13 sati. Sutradan su žalbe na smrtnu presudu odbijene. Lazarevskom, po njegovom svedočenju, i ostalim čuvarima naređeno je da Dražu i ostale prevezu u Đušinu ulicu, današnju zgradu Rudarskog fakulteta, gde je trebalo da se obave pripreme za egzekuciju. Osuđeni su ošišani do glave, obrijani, presvučeni u čisto. Oko jedan sat posle ponoći stiglo je naređenje za pokret. Niko im nije rekao gde idu. Vozili su se dvadeset minuta u tri vozila. Prošli su Ulicom kneza Miloša, zatim pored Hajd parka, a potom su prošli kroz kapiju Belog dvora. Vozila su prošla nekih 100 metara kada su stigli do prokrčene površine od jednog ara, osvetljene reflektorima. Na sredini su bile tri sveže iskopane rake. Na tom proširenju zatekli su 10 do 15 oficira Ozne, javnog tužioca Miloša Minića, lekara i fotografa.


Predali smo 10 osuđenika oficirima, koji su ih postavili pored raka. Naređeno nam je da se vratimo - svedoči Lazarevski, koji je kroz prozorčić vozila video lekara koji pregleda osuđene, a zatim je začuo škljocanje oružja, potom i komandu: "Puni, nišani, pali!" Usledila je rafalna paljba iz automatskih pušaka, a potom pojedinačna pištoljska.


Mi smo imali obavezu po vojničkoj zakletvi čuvanja tajne, a po zakonu, za grobove, kako je sud utvrdio "izdajnika", nije se smelo saznati - kaže Lazarevski.


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Draza Mihailovich: Hero or Scoundrel? - The Controversy That Refuses To Die.

General Draza Mihailovich in the hills of Serbia WW II







Photo of Major Richard Felman, U.S.A.F. (Ret.) by Mari Shaefer. Richard L. Felman stands before a Douglas C-47 Sky Train, a plane similar to the C-47 transports used to evacuate 500 U.S. fliers from Yugoslavia during World War II. The photo was taken at Pima Air Museum in Tucson, Arizona.





By Keith C. Epstein

The Plain Dealer Magazine
May 27, 1990



To the group of stranded American airmen he rescued during World War II, the Serbian guerrilla leader who once graced the cover of Time Magazine deserves a monument on federal land in Washington, D.C.

To others, including Croatian-Americans, he’s a villain who collaborated with the Nazis, slaughtered untold numbers of Croatians and Muslims, and thus deserves nothing short of infamy.

But to those whose decisions really count – officials at the U.S. State Department – Mihailovich’s war record is irrelevant. The fact is, he’s bad for diplomatic business. Always has been.

Today, with a fractious Yugoslavia sparring in a way that reminds experts of the ethnic unrest and communal unraveling during World War II, the chances of a Mihailovich memorial are slim.

“We can’t play national politics with Yugoslavia. The chances of Balkanization are too real,” says Jim Swihart, the State Department’s director of East European affairs. “It’s clear that to many in Yugoslavia, [building a memorial] would be a highly unfriendly act.”

“That’s what’s really sickening – our own countrymen are fighting us,” complains Richard L. Felman, who was among an estimated 500 U.S. fliers rescued by Mihailovich. “I fought two wars and now I’ve got to surrender to communist influence in my own country.”

Felman, a retired Air Force major, is waging a lonely battle for the memorial. He does so under the aegis of the National Committee of American Airmen Rescued by General Mihailovich Inc. There’s even a letterhead, with the names of dozens of members and supporters, from Ronald Reagan to John Wayne. But mostly the National Committee of American Airmen rescued by General Mihailovich, Inc. is just Richard Felman, who has time on his hands and a P.O. Box in Tuscon, Arizona.

The story of the isolated historical figure, Mihailovich, is more than a footnote to a war that gripped the globe, more than a story of a retired American airman’s lonely attempt to come to terms with the price of his survival. The dispute illustrates how old ethnic sensitivities can erupt into bitter modern-day controversies that tie the political system in knots. Moreover, it shows how Washington’s foreign-policy concerns sometime outweigh the search for historical truth.

State Department officials say their actions are motivated by a desire to hold Yugoslavia together at a time when the nation’s unity appears more threatened than ever. According to Joseph Rothchild, an Oxford professor and author of a book on the political history of Eastern Europe, Yugoslavia’s “always fragile interethnic balance is more precarious today than at any time since the end of World War II.”

In Yugoslavia, the signs of this disintegration are dramatic: Since the death, in 1980, of Mihailovich’s old civil war nemesis, dictator Josip Broz Tito, feuding has escalated. Leadership of a loose confederation works like a major-league pitching rotation, with leaders of six states taking turns at the helm. Prime Minister Ante Markovic, though strongly supported by the United States, is fighting an uphill battle because of these political problems and intercommunal violence. Most of the sparring is between liberal reformers, in Slovenia and Croatia, and conservatives in Serbia. Last March Slovenia declared economic independence from the central Yugoslavian government – demonstrating that four decades of domination by Tito, who was Croatian, and centralized communism have failed to quench the fires of ancient ethnic grudges and grievances.

“The last thing we want to do,” explains a State Department official, “is feed those fires.”

***

July 9, 1944. After a dawn bombing run on the Ploesti oil fields in Romania, the American B-24 Liberators head back for the base in Lecce, Italy. Some of the fliers in 1st Lt. Richard Felman’s bomber are thinking about lunch. Some are talking about Italian women. It is 11:00 a.m. They are 20,000 feet above a brutal Balkan civil war.

Suddenly, a group of Nazi Messerschmitts looms on the horizon. Battle ensues. This is why Felman’s group calls itself the “Never-a-Dull-Moment Crew.” With a deadly rat-a-tat-tat, Felman’s plane is pocked full of holes. A gunner dies. The plane leaks gas. Amid flames, Felman and 10 others bail out, scattered by the wind. Felman lands alone in a cornfield, sees people running toward him, then spots the blood on his leg. Some shrapnel stays with him for life.

At first, he understands nothing of what these people say, or who they are. They take him to a small house, dab his wounds with slivovitz – plum brandy. Then these men – and Felman – drink, and drink, and drink.

“There I was, in the middle of a war zone, with who know who, getting drunk.” Next day, a man took Felman to a small chapel. There they prayed, side by side, without saying a word.

***

“The State Department’s doing what’s expedient, not what’s right,” argues Milton R. Copulos, a former researcher at the conservative Heritage Foundation in Washington. In his spare time, Copulos chips away at a scenario for a movie about Mihailovich. He sees drama in the story, but believes there’s also a troubling moral when well-meaning citizens, in their quest to say thanks, are later over-ruled by the niceties of international diplomacy.

“We set bad precedents when we oppose legitimate actions of U.S. citizens on the basis that it might upset some foreign government,” says Copulos. “Besides, the worst that would happen [with government sanction of a Mihailovich statue] is that it would be a minor embarrassment to the United States.

Dusan Zupan, a Washington correspondent for Yugoslavia’s Tanjug News Agency, says. “There’d be a very negative reaction, even in Serbia. It would not be a friendly gesture.” But even Zupan has better things to do than follow a controversy in Congress about building a statue. “I don’t write about it. It’s just not that important.”

Instability is hardly a new development in Yugoslavia, but the area once called the “powder keg of Europe” can still make the rest of the world edgy. After all, it was a local event – an assassination in Sarajevo in the name of Serbian nationalism – that triggered World War I.

Maps are deceptive; on it, Yugoslavia is the size of Wyoming and the biggest nation in southeastern Europe. In reality, it is home to two alphabets, three major religions, three main languages and, as the country’s politicians like to say, 23 million contentious people.”

Since Tito’s death [May 4, 1980], more people are discussing Mihailovich in the press and in speeches. But the discussion usually centers on Mihailovich’s ideas for Yugoslavia rather than his wartime deeds. And the new Yugoslav government’s attitude seems to have changed little. Warns Branislav Bajovic, first secretary at the Yugoslavian Embassy: If there is any significant move involving federal ground [in Washington, D.C.] the Yugoslavian government would be pretty upset.”

Diplomatic considerations aside, just what is the truth about this Ollie North of Serbo-Croatian relations?

The record – including reports from spies and special observers sent by the Allies, some of whom may have been trying to engineer Mihailovich’s downfall – is murky. However, many historians believe Mihailovich failed to consistently to the Allies’ bidding, thus engineering his own demise. During the war an English officer reported to higher-ups that Mihailovich was “reluctant to risk reprisals” from the Nazis. Initially, the British considered him helpful, but Churchill turned elsewhere – to Tito – after concluding Mihailovich had made pacts with the Nazis.

“He did save some people – American fliers,” explains John Russell, a spokesman for the Justice Department’s Nazi-hunting Office of Special Investigations. “But he didn’t do many things to thwart the Nazis or the fascists in Italy. He turned his back on the Nazi movement and was more concerned with his own Serbo-Croatian battles.”

But a clear picture of Mihailovich’s role in the civil war within the world war is hard to obtain, and possibly clouded by the tricks of spies. Felman and some historians argue that such conclusions are based om a distorted historical record that covers up skeletons in Tito’s own closet, including the firing on Mihailovich’s troops from behind while Mihailovich was sparring with the Nazis.

Then again, many assert it was more the other way around – Mihailovich firing on Tito’s people. “We shall never forget the atrocities…which outweigh the good…in saving the lives of a group of American airmen,” says John P. Plesh, national secretary of the Croatian Fraternal Union of America. In congressional testimony, his group submitted long lists of villages, and next to each village name were notations such as “24 people taken to the forest and killed” and “32 thrown live into a precipice,” or simply “one thousand people.”

Tito’s attitude toward Mihailovich was cleazr. In 1946, following a controversial trial from which American airmen were barred as witnesses, he had his rival executed by a firing squad.

There was a separate, well-publicized but mostly symbolic hearing on this side of the Atlantic that exonerated Mihailovich. The late Frank J. Lausche, then Ohio’s governor, served on the committee that organized the hearing. In 1976, in a foreword to a book about the guerrilla leader, Lausche, who was of Slovenian descent, confided: “I bow my head in shame whenever I think of the terribly mistaken policy that led the Allied leaders to abandon General Draza Mihailovich.” In 1980, Mark Wheeler, a history professor at the University of Lancaster in England, concluded: “Mihailovich was not guilty of all, or even many, of the charges brought against him.”

More clear was this simple fact: Over the years, the United States had a strategic interest in keeping Tito happy. By force of personality, political mastery and defiance to the Kremlin, he managed to keep Yugoslavia in one piece. Even when Harry Truman awarded Mihailovich a high honor – giving him the Legion of Merit posthumously in 1948 for “undaunted efforts” in rescuing the American airmen and for being “instrumental” in the Allied victory – he did so secretly.

Twenty years passed before the award was declassified and made public.


To Felman, the issue of a monument in the city of monuments – to Jefferson, the Vietnam War, now to women in the military – is all-consuming. He has had a victory or two. In 1984 he persuaded the Encyclopedia Britannica to clean up its entry on Mihailovich by removing a reference to his “occasional collaboration” with the Germans. But still the monument eludes him.

“Sometimes I waver,” he acknowledges. “I say, ‘Felman, go on with your life. You can’t fight City Hall, in this case the State Department.’ But I saw Americans killed. I fought two wars. The reason we spend trillions for defense is so a fallen nation won’t interfere with our internal affairs. Yugoslavia’s making a damn sucker out of us.”

People have the impression that Congress can grapple with some of the weightiest issues of the day, but the Mihailovich controversy has proven too much. It dogs some politicians year after year – and leaves many straddling the fence. Even George V. Voinovich, the former Cleveland mayor now running for governor, delicately dodged the issue. It may be the result of an inner struggle; some of his ancestors were Serbs and some were Slovenians. At any rate, in 1985, Voinovich told Felman that “any issue which creates discord or divisiveness is out of the frame of my goals to promote harmonious unity among my fellow citizens.” Thus, said Voinovich, he was not going to “get involved.” A few years ago, Rep. Frank Annunzio, D-IL, put it more bluntly: “I don’t want to get caught in the middle of an ethnic fight.”

In 45 years of lobbying by the airmen, and counter-lobbying by Croatian-Americans, the issue has never come up for vote by the full Congress. The Senate passed bills in 1976 and 1977; both died before reaching the House floor. “It’s bigger than Congress,” says Rep. Mary Rose Oakar, D-20, of Cleveland. “The State Department has tremendous clout.”

Last June, Rep. Philip R. Crane, R-IL, whose constituents include many Serbians and in whose office “Mihailovich” is almost a household word, urged Secretary of State James A. Baker III to agree to the monument. Given events in Eastern Europe and “the present climate of openness” in which even the Soviet Union has admitted mistakes, Crane and 10 other congressmen argued it was time “finally to acknowledge an Allied hero.”

It wasn’t time.

Usually, the response from Congress is more like that of Rep. Dante Fascell, D-FL, who wrote Felman last February that too much was at stake – “not only the sensitivity of the Yugoslavian government, but…ethnic groups in Yugoslavia and the U.S.” Felman says of that letter: “I’m still throwing up.”

Back to the summer of 1944. The Nazis ferret out the downed American fliers, whose numbers are growing every day. But the mountainous area, about 60 miles southwest of Belgrade, without many roads, with too many hideouts, and with a messy civil war going on, is not the kind of place you send messages first, then troops. So the Nazis send a message. The message goes something like this: Turn over the American fliers or we’ll burn down a nearby village, Pranjane, and kill all 200 men, women and children there.

By now Felman has met Mihailovich, who strikes him as a kind, cautious man. At 51, the guerrilla leader has reached his prime. He is tough, was active in political bodies, was sent abroad on secret missions as a military attaché; but he also knows how to play the mandolin. Still, war is his trade; he entered the Serbian Military Academy at 15.

The Americans suggest they turn themselves in to spare the lives of the villagers. Mihailovich pauses, shakes his hand, as Felman remembers it.

“We have a saying,” intones the Serbian guerrilla leader. “Bolje grob nego rob.” He is speaking through a translator, a woman schoolteacher who knows Serbo-Croatian, French and English. “He says, ‘We have a saying: Better a grave than a slave,’” she explains. “If we return you and you do one more mission and drop one more bomb, that’ll do more for the cause of freedom than our 200 men, women and children can do. Freedom has a high price.”

The next day, while Felman and his colleagues are safely tucked away in farmhouses in the hills, the Germans torch the village.

For the next five weeks, Felman can’t get the idea of the those flames out of his mind. They stay with him even now. “I still get tearful about it,” he says in Arizona in 1990. “Why am I doing this, fighting for this memorial? Maybe it’s not Mihailovich exactly. Maybe it’s for the 200 women and children. Who knows?”

August 1944. With daily bombing raids, mostly into Romania, of 500 or more planes, the American airmen sequestered in the hills now number close to 250. Mihailovich has a radio transmitter, but the fliers know no secret codes. So their frantic pleas for help are little more than hopeless messages sent into the air. The Allies would be doubtful of any messages without a code, they knew. How would the Americans or British know it wasn’t a Nazi trap? Still, the fliers tapped away at the radio. It goes on for five weeks.

In the end, perhaps they owe their lives not to Mihailovich, but to a bartender whose name Felman can no longer recall. The message goes something like this: “Italy: United States Air Force. We are about to devise a code. For the letter ‘A’ we will use the first initial in the name of the bartender at the officer’s club in Lecce.” It works. They are told to light flare pots to identify their location. Four nights later, at about 10, there’s the buzz of an airplane overhead. Within the hour, an intelligence officer, a team of radiomen armed with transmitter code and a plan, land on a chicken coop. Amid the squealing of chickens, there’s much rejoicing of fliers.

Mihailovich’s guerrillas, known as Chetniks, make a runway out of a cow pasture. They tear down trees to make room, then line the runway with flare pots to light the way. On August 9, the C-47 transports start rumbling in – and, as quickly as possible, out again. Plane after plane, 20 airmen to a plane. The fliers strip, leaving their clothes with the ragtag Chetniks and needy peasants. And, in their underwear, they fly to freedom.

The Mihailovich memorial is one of those topics, like making the District of Columbia the 51st state, that never goes away. Obligingly, members of Congress have shaken the requisite number of hands and inserted letters from the airmen and the Croatians into the Congressional Record, which generally impresses constituents but isn’t necessarily a record of what really happens in Congress. They have introduced legislation knowing it would go nowhere. Every now and then, they even hold hearings.

The last one was in 1985. Oakar conducted it. Then chairwoman of a subcommittee on libraries and memorials, she found herself having to bang the gavel repeatedly to restore order as witnesses bickered among themselves. This doesn’t happen too often in the subcommittee on libraries and memorials.

Monuments have been proposed for naturalists, anti-war demonstrators – even housewives and dogs. But in a capital already overflowing with 113 memorials and plaques, most interest groups have little hope of securing a choice location.

Felman had no illusions. “It was nothing but a token hearing,” he complains. “It’s disgraceful. Half her constituents are Serbian and half are Croatian. I suppose that’s what a politician does.”

“If he’s bitter,” responds Oakar, “I can understand that. But I think he was bitter before I met him.”

She now offers a compromise. The federal government has excess land, some of it off the beaten track and some of it rather unkempt. But it is federal land in Washington. And so, Oakar advocates this solution: She wants the government to sell some of this excess land “at cost” to Felman’s group. Members get their memorial, which if not next to Jefferson, would at least be in Washington; the Croatian-Americans will be mollified; and the State Department could say the statue isn’t on federal land.

“A compromise should be worked out,” she says. “I see this as an issue that does not relate necessarily to the politics of Yugoslavia. It’s an issue of soldiers, American veterans, whose lives were saved. They’re not interested in the politics of whose side you’re on in Yugoslavia.”




Keith C. Epstein
The Plain Dealer Magazine
May 27, 1990


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To get in touch with the Blog Owner, Aleksandra Rebic, please feel free to e-mail me at ravnagora@hotmail.com


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"Halyard Mission" 50th Anniversary Celebrated in Chicago as world commemorates D-Day 1944-1994

By Aleksandra Rebic


Americans and Serbs from all over the United States and Canada gathered together on May 31, 1994 in Chicago to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the 'Halyard Mission' rescue operation and pay homage to the American veterans of World War II and the Serbs under the command of General Draza Mihailovich who had saved their lives. The 'Halyard Mission' was the name given to the greatest rescue of American and Allied lives from behind enemy lines in the history of warfare. It was a day of celebration, rememberance, gratitude and tears. For those that attended, it was a moving and unforgettable event. For the guests of honor, it was an opportunity to tell a story of epic proportions.Fifty years before, in 1944, Serbian General Dragoljub Draza Mihailovich, his Chetnik forces, and the Serbian people loyal to them, saved the lives of hundreds of Allied fliers who had been stranded in Yugoslavia after having been shot out of the skies by the Germans while flying their bombing missions over the Ploesti oil fields of Romania. The Allied Ploesti mission was to destroy Hitler’s main supply of oil at the time and bring the Nazis to their knees. Many of those who survived the severe German retaliation would end up wounded and stranded in Yugoslavia, but would be saved, taken care of, and returned back to safety through the Halyard Mission rescue operation of 1944. In 1994, 50 years later, this rescue operation, which had more or less remained hidden from history for the past half century, was brought into the light of day on a grand scale for the first time.

This great feat, the Halyard Mission rescue operation, was officially noted in all of the releases and information disseminated by the World War II Commemoration Committee in recognition of the 50th Anniversary of D-Day. That committee, chaired by Colonel Kenneth A. Plummer and overseen by the United States Department of Defense, organized a weeklong celebration in Chicago, Illinois in conjunction with special events taking place throughout the world to commemorate the milestone anniverary. This five-day D-Day 50th Anniversary commemoration celebration in Chicago opened with the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the successful 'Halyard Mission' rescue operation. This mission was a combined project of the American Strategic Services (O.S.S. - precursor of the C.I.A.) under the command of General William J. Donovan, Lieutenant George (Guv) S. Musulin, of the O.S.S., an American of Serbian descent, and General Draza Mihailovich and his Serbian chetnik freedom fighters in the former Yugoslavia. For different reasons, and always less than noble ones, the Halyard Mission rescue operation that took place over the course of the Summer, Autumn and Winter of 1944 in the German occupied Serbian areas of former Yugoslavia, was kept hidden from official public recognition and covered up, to the point of being left out of the historical texts relating to the World War II era altogether. The Halyard Mission became a casualty of political supression but through the tireless efforts of those who knew the history and the significance of this great event, many of them personally who had lived it and are now deceased, this epic heroic story is now increasingly seeing the light of day.

On May 31, 1994 in Chicago, Illinois, as the world began it's commemoration of the 50th anniversary of D-Day, a fifty year debt of gratitude was repayed to Serbian general, Dragoljub-Draza Mihailovich, who was, and remained, the greatest hero of all to those who knew the measure of the man. As the festivities and commemorations continued throughout the week, the Serbs would be the only ethnic group so recognized for their contribution to the Allied war effort.


The Event:

The 50th Anniversary celebration of the Halyard Mission began at the Swiss Hotel the night of Monday, May 30, 1994 with a reunion of the Allied airmen who had taken part in the Ploesti bombing missions and subsequent Halyard rescue operation A private party was held for the war veterans and U.S. liaison officers and personnel, such as Captain Nick Lalich and Major George Vujnovich, and J.B. Allin, who had come to Chicago to attend the celebration, and the party provided an opportunity for the old buddies to reunite and reminisce. Present also was the honorable Edward J. Derwinski, former Secretary of Veterans Affairs. With all the talking and laughing, it was easy to forget for a moment the historical significance of this reunion and the event that had inspired it. Memories were shared, and the younger people present had the opportunity to witness the bond these men still shared after so many years and miles apart.

The next morning, Tuesday, May 31st, as the final preparations for the official Halyard commemoration were being completed, representatives of “The Voice of America” arrived to interview some of the key people present at event. Among those interviewed were Captain Nick Lalich, Major George Vujnovich, author William Dorich, and Chairman of the Halyard Mission Celebration, Mr. Rade Rebic. The interviews were broadcast not only in America but in the republics of the former Yugoslavia as well. Mr. Rebic, explained the need to celebrate the Halyard anniversary in a big way:

“This heroic undertaking during WWII has been, more or less, kept hidden from history for 50 years, not only by the communists of Yugoslavia, but by some of the western democracies as well, for dark political reasons…Much has been been entered into the historical texts that doesn’t reflect the truth of what really happened in Yugoslavia…”

The official Halyard anniversary celebration began at Noon in Daley Plaza in Chicago. The sky was overcast and the Chicago wind greeted the thousands of Serbs and Americans who had gathered in the plaza to pay their respects. The Black Sheep Squadron and a full drum and bugle corps was present to open the ceremony with the presentation of colors. Colonel Kenneth A. Plummer was master of ceremonies and on the stage stood the American and Canadian airmen who had come to Chicago, along with O.S.S. officers Vujnovich and Lalich and the Honorable Edward Derwinski who was responsible for uncovering decades long classified Legion of Merit Award that had been posthumously awarded to General Draza Mihailovich by President Harry Truman. They were escorted by several officers in training of the Junior ROTC program in the Chicago school system, led by Colonel Julius Taylor.

Colonel Plummer welcomed the dignitaries and the public who had gathered. Along with the war veterans, the official dignitaries, and the public, also present for the celebration were a number of young members of ROTC from the various schools throughout Chicago, and members of different foreign consulates in the city.

14 year old Chervonne Johnson sang a beautiful and rousing rendition of the American National Anthem. Colonel Plummer then asked the Serbian Orthodox priests sitting among the American airmen to give the invocation. After the moving blessing, he brought Major Richard L. Felman and Captain Nick Lalich to the podium. Both men, veterans of World War II, acknowledged the great feat and sacrifice embodied in the Halyard Mission rescue operation, with Major Felman issuing a heartfelt “Thank You” to the Serbian chetniks who had saved the lives of the American airmen who had survived the war to be present at the festivities that day, 50 years later.

Colonel Plummer then acknowledged the Rebic family and the City of Chicago for hosting the event.

With the emotional opening ceremony finished, all present were asked to step outside to the Eternal Flame for the laying of the wreath to memorialize those American fliers who had lost their lives in the bombing missions over the Ploesti oil fields in 1944. Major Felman laid the wreath at the eternal flame. Major Felman was wearing the full uniform of the U.S. Army Air Corps that he had worn in combat 50 years before. Among those standing by the flame was O.S.S. officer Major George Vujnovich, who held his hand over his heart As the wreath was quietly laid many of those who had gathered there shed silent tears for all the patriots who had been sacrified for the noble Allied cause.




Photo of the wreath laying at Daley Plaza by A. Rebic from the Rebic collection.


From the Daley Center, the celebration moved to the Swiss Hotel, a beautiful hotel on the shores of Lake Michigan off of Lake Shore Drive, Chicago’s most scenic roadway.

Commemorative displays lined the tables in the reception area, and they included many photographs of the protagonists of the Halyard Mission, with rare photos of the Allied airmen, the Serbian chetniks and, the U.S. liaison officers, and General Draza Mihailovich. Volumes of testimonies about the efforts and successes of General Mihailovich and his Serb patriots in saving the Americans who had been stranded in Yugoslavia during WWII were also on display. 400 handsome brochures titled “The Halyard Mission” from the 1946 issue of the “Blue Book”, written by U.S. Lt. Commander Richard W. Kelly, were available as a souvenir of the event.

The airmen were kept out of the great ballroom until everyone was seated. To open the ceremony, the airmen were escorted into the room accompanied by a film of the mighty B-24 aircraft and the March of the U.S. Air Corps playing on the big screen. Admiral Mack C. Gaston, representative of the United States Department of Defense, present in uniform, greeted each of the airmen as they lined up on the stage. He shook their hands and thanked them for the great service they had done for their country.

After the airmen took their places at their tables, Colonel Kenneth Plummer called on the Serbian Orthodox priests present to give the invocation.

Lunch was then served and during the meal American aircraft were shown on the big screen, accompanied by the patriotic songs popular with the American soldiers during the war.

The commemorative program and tribute began after the luncheon, hosted by Masters of Ceremonies Colonel Kenneth Plummer and Aleksandra Rebic.

Colonel Plummer first read a telegram from General Merrill A. McPeak, the Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force. The Statement, dated May 23, 1994, read:

“On behalf of the men and women of the United States Air Force, I extend our congratulations and admiration to the survivors of ‘Operation Halyard’ and their rescuers.The courage of the Fifteenth Air Force aircrews who fought their way through fierce Axis opposition to destroy the Ploesti oil fields is a signifcant part of our Air Force heritage. We also join you in extending appreciation to your brave rescuers, who risked their lives to provide refuge and medical care to you, and eventually, to return you to Allied lines.”

Following the reading of the telegram, the State of Illinois and State of Ohio proclamations designating May 31st, 1994 as “Operation Halyard Day” were acknowledged.

The first dignitary to speak was the Honorable Edward J. Derwinski, who had come from Washington, D.C. to be present at the event. He set the tone for the commeration by a giving a compassionate, moving description of the significance of the Halyard Mission event and the cover-up that surrounded the story having been kept hidden for so many years. He reminded the world how General Mihailovich was not only betrayed by the Yugoslav communists but by other political forces that had a vested interest in keeping the Halyard Rescue Mission operation one of the best kept secrets of the 20th century.

Mr. Derwinski was the person chiefly responsible for getting the esteemed “Legion of Merit” medal that had been posthumously awarded to General Mihailovich in 1948 declassified after 20 years of it being kept a national secret. He spoke quietly and emotionally, and at the end became visibly moved, bring tears to the eyes of many of those present. He received a standing ovation and was greeted back at his table by the airmen who remembered well his great service not only as a congressman, but as the former Secretary of Veterans Affairs in Washington. This was a friend, not only to them, but to the Serbs as well, for his outstanding service on behalf of truth and justice with regard to the Serbian contribution to the Allied cause.

Congressman Luis Gutierrez, a representative from Chicago in Washington, D.C. spoke next, stressing how much there was to learn from such commemorations and how important it was to explain to his children about events such as Halyard that were being honored and remembered on this anniversary. “We know very little about some of these things,” said Gutierrez.

Featured speaker Hershel Gober, then Deputy Secretary of Veterans Affairs in Washington, D.C. came to the podium and expressed that this was an emotional meeting of the saved and their rescuers. He thanked both the Americans and the Serbs for their extraordinary service to mankind, and stressed the significance of this celebration for its influence on the younger generation of Americans, many of whom were in the audience that day.

Colonel Plummer then announced that Mr. Voja Mihailovich, the grandson of General Draza Mihailovich, who had traveled to Chicago from Serbia, was in the audience. Voja was greeted with spontaneous applause as the audience rose to give him an ovation. For most in the room, this was the only opportunity to see in person one of General Mihailovich’s living legacies.

The program continued with what for many was the highlight of the celebration. Retired Major Richard L. Felman of the United States Air Force came to the podium in full uniform. Major Felman, being a prominent rescued airman who had remained active in seeking justice for General Mihailovich from the time he was rescued in Serbia to this moment a half century later, spoke for all the airmen. He gave a rousing, passionate, and moving tribute to the Halyard Mission protagonists and pulled no punches. He was determined, he declared, to say on this day everything he had wanted to say for 50 years. He did exactly as he promised, mesmerizing the audience with his story, providing both excellent insight into and a great education about the great historical event he had directly participated in. His tribute served as an inspiration to continue the quest for truth and justice. It could not end there, that day, but must continue, he told the audience, passionately declaring that it had to continue until General Mihailovich and the Serbian people were justly recognized and given their due for their great contribution to the Allied cause. Major Felman became visibly moved a number of times during his presentation. He had never forgotten his debt of gratitude, and never would. Felman would continue his quest to secure public recognition of the Halyard Mission Operation as one of the greatest moments in history until the day he died.

Following his speech, Major Felman presented the George S. Musulin Award, established in 1994 for the first time, to symbolically honor those airmen who had left on their mission to secure the end of WWII and never returned. Colonel George S. Musulin, an officer with the O.S.S. in 1944, was the man primarily responsible for initiating and bringing to fruition the Halyard Mission Rescue operation. The award was presented to Colonel Musulin’s daughters who were present to receive it. The event reunited a number of members of the Musulin family who had not seen each other for quite some time. For the George S. Musulin Award presentation two portraits done by Aleksandra Rebic that had been covered by the American flag were uncovered. One was a portrait of O.S.S. Colonel George Musulin and the other was a portrait of a young woman and her two children, a boy and a girl, looking wistfully to the skies as planes flew overhead, waiting for her husband, and their father to return from his mission, hoping in their hearts that they would seem him come back to them alive.

As Major Felman descended the stage, he was welcomed with a rousing standing ovation. The Serbian priests began singing the beautiful “Na Mnogaja Ljeta Ziveo” which means “May you live many years”, and the Serbs in the audience remained standing, singing in harmony with the priests. Major Felman wiped tears from his eyes as someone in the room explained the meaning of the song to him. He would say later that he would never forget that wonderful tribute and how much it meant to him.

A montage film presentation of Allied Air Force operations during WWII followed on the big screen, with the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” playing in the darkness of the room. For the airmen this was an exceptionally emotional moment as they were taken back 50 years to the heroics of their youth and what they had meant to their country.

Last to speak was former O.S.S. liaison officer Captain Nick Lalich, who coordinated the very last evacuation in December of 1944 of Allied airmen from behind enemy lines that had been rescued by General Mihailovich and his Serbian forces. He read directly out of the diary that he had kept during the Halyard Mission operation and concluded with his good-byes to General Mihailovich. Captain Lalich would turn out to be the last American to see General Mihailovich alive. He was yet another man who had been part of history and was there in Chicago on May 31st, 1994 to relive those memories and pass them on in tribute and rememberance. For this American born Serb, it was a “coming home” of the people with whom he had shared the moments that were being so vividly recounted on this special day. The audience sang “Na Mnogaja Ljeta Ziveo” for him as well, as he ended his poignant tribute with his good-bye to General Mihailovich, and he, too, was brought to tears.

The Halyard Mission celebration closed with everyone in the room standing to a beautiful renditon of “God Bless America” as the American flag waved on the big screen in the candlelit darkness of the room.

With that celebration in Chicago in 1994, the story of the Halyard Mission and the magnificent rescues of Allied airmen from behind enemy lines, was no longer to be kept the magnificent “Secret” that it had been for all those years before. So many who were there that day are no longer with us. But, I am sure, they are pleased that what they began continues, and will continue, forevermore.






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ravnagora@hotmail.com

George Vujnovich: 93-year-old WWII Vet's Heroic Feats No Longer Hidden

PITTSBURGH POST-GAZETTE

http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/08328/930101-455.stm


93-year-old's WWII feats are hidden no longer

Sunday, November 23, 2008

By Torsten Ove, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
















George Vujnovich collection
American fliers enjoy a snack on a C-47, on the way from
Pranjane, Yugoslavia, to Bari, Italy.


South Side native George Vujnovich, 93, appeared at a ceremony in New York yesterday to accept an award as a hero in World War II's Operation Halyard.

Never heard of it?

Few have, despite the release last year of "The Forgotten 500," the first book about the daring mission to rescue 500 downed airmen in occupied Yugoslavia.

Mr. Vujnovich, a Pittsburgh boy who became head of the Office of Strategic Services in Bari, Italy, organized what has been called the greatest air rescue of the war.

In the summer of 1944, U.S. bombers targeted the Romanian oil fields in Ploesti that supplied the German war machine. They flew from Italy and across Yugoslavia to get there.

But Luftwaffe fighters and flak from anti-aircraft guns took a fearsome toll, and many shot-up planes never made it back.

Some 1,500 crewmen had to bail out over Serbia, trapped behind enemy lines and dependent on villagers to hide them from the Germans.

Mr. Vujnovich's team of agents, including a former Pittsburgh Steeler from Johnstown and a crack radioman from Toledo, Ohio, worked with Yugoslav guerilla leader Gen. Draza Mihailovich to airlift 512 men from a makeshift runway carved on a mountaintop.

"We didn't lose a single man," Mr. Vujnovich said last week from his home in Jackson Heights, N.Y. "It's an interesting history. Even in Serbia they don't know much about it."








George Vujnovich


The reason for such obscurity is rooted in the politics of Yugoslavia, which became a communist state modeled after the Soviet Union and run by Josip Broz Tito.

Gen. Mihailovich and his Chetniks, who supported the abdicated Serbian monarchy, were the archrivals of Marshal Tito and his Partisans.

But the Allies needed the support of Joseph Stalin, whose forces were bearing the brunt of Adolf Hitler's aggression.

Influenced by communists who said that Gen. Mihailovich was a Nazi collaborator, the British and Americans sided with Marshal Tito and withdrew support for Gen. Mihailovich, according to Gregory A. Freeman, author of "The Forgotten 500."

In 1946, despite protests from American airmen who said the Chetniks had protected them, Marshal Tito's government executed Gen. Mihailovich.

The story of the mission was suppressed under the Tito regime.

"The communists were in control of Serbia from 1945 to 1995. That's 50 years, and any mention of Mihailovich was a no-no, and so were any feats of bravery and escape and saving of airmen," said Mr. Vujnovich, who graduated from Ambridge High School in 1933. "What aggravated me more than anything else is that we couldn't get the truth out."

That's changing, however.

In 2004, Mr. Vujnovich traveled to Belgrade with Art Jubilian, 85, the Toledo radioman, and two other veterans for the 60th anniversary of Operation Halyard. They visited the village of Pranjani, where a plaque was unveiled on the site of the old airfield.

This summer in Ohio, Mr. Jubilian was honored for his role in parachuting into Yugoslavia to help organize the rescue. Joining him was a local airman, Carl Walpusk, 84, a former state trooper from Moon.

And yesterday in Astoria, N.Y., the Virginia-based OSS Society paid tribute to Mr. Vujnovich and other veterans of the OSS -- the forerunner of the CIA -- as part of a ceremony honoring U.S. agents who helped the Greek resistance.

Mim Bizic, 67, the unofficial historian of the Serb National Federation in Pittsburgh, said Mr. Vujnovich deserves every award he gets.

"He was the point man," she said. "This is such an interesting part of history that nobody knows about. I love it."

Fleeing Hitler

Mr. Vujnovich was born to Serbian parents in 1915 in a section of the South Side dominated by Serbs. He grew up speaking Serbian and English.

When he was 14, he moved to Aliquippa and two years later to Ambridge. After graduating from high school, he worked at a Heinz vinegar plant for $1 a day.

In 1934, he left for college in Belgrade on a scholarship from the Serb National Federation. He studied medicine and met his future wife, Mirjana, a teacher.















After a second meeting in 1939, they became a couple. They spent two years as carefree university students, but it all changed in 1941.

Mr. Vujnovich witnessed the April 6 bombing of Belgrade by the German Luftwaffe. Running for his life, he saw a streetcar obliterated by a bomb.

"The streetcar and the dozens of people inside exploded in a bloody mess of body parts and metal, limbs flying through the air and landing all around," writes Mr. Freeman in "The Forgotten 500."

The book recounts numerous escapes as the couple tried to flee Yugoslavia in the ensuing weeks. Finally they managed to board a Lufthansa flight to Bulgaria.

Mirjana did not have a passport. But her seat mate on the flight was Magda Goebbels, the wife of Joseph Goebbels, Hitler's minister of propaganda.

Mirjana had been airsick and Mrs. Goebbels had showed her sympathy, patting her hand gently. When the plane landed and an officer asked for passports, Mrs. Goebbels dressed the man down, saying, "She's sick. Help me with this woman or you will hear from me!"

They made it to Bulgaria.

After an odyssey that took them to Turkey and Jerusalem, they ended up in Cairo, only to find the city in a panic because of the advance of German Field Marshal Erwin Rommel.

At a church in Cairo, Mr. Vujnovich met George Kraigher, a Serb who was head of Pan American World Airways. He offered Mr. Vujnovich a job as assistant airport manager in Ghana. Mirjana took a job at the Yugoslav embassy in Washington, D.C.

When Pan Am was militarized for the war effort, Mr. Vujnovich accepted a commission as a second lieutenant and took charge of an airbase in Nigeria. One day, two OSS men visited and asked him to sign up.

After passing a final exam in which he infiltrated Baltimore shipyards to ferret out secret ship-building information, he became the operations officer stationed in Bari, Italy.

'I want my men out of there'

By then, Gen. Mihailovich had been sending telegrams to alert American authorities to the presence of downed U.S. airmen in his territory.

One arrived at the Yugoslav embassy. Mirjana wrote to her husband about the plight of the air crews.

He enlisted the help of Gen. Nathan Twining, commander of the 15th Air Force, to send in C-47 transport planes under the noses of the German occupiers.

"I saw Twining and he thought it would be a good idea," Mr. Vujnovich recalled.

"He said, 'Yeah, I want my men out of there.' "

The lead OSS field agent, the late George Musulin, was a former tackle on the University of Pittsburgh football team who played for the Steelers in 1938. He had parachuted into Yugoslavia in 1943 and made contact with Gen. Mihailovich.

After the Allies cut ties with the guerilla leader, Mr. Musulin had been pulled out of Yugoslavia at the insistence of Winston Churchill, a Tito supporter at the time.

But in Bari, he told Mr. Vujnovich that Gen. Mihailovich and the Chetniks were hiding the airmen from the Germans and that about 100 of them were near the general's headquarters in Pranjani.

The rescue plan called for building an airstrip, without tools and under the threat of German discovery. The Chetniks would continue to herd in downed airmen.

Mr. Vujnovich assembled a team of agents to parachute in and lead the effort. He wanted to go himself, but he received a telegram, signed by President Roosevelt, that said, "Former naval person objects to George Vujnovich going into Mihailovich's headquarters. Therefore he will not be sent."

The "former naval person" was a code name for Churchill.

The first OSS team, including Mr. Musulin and Mr. Jibilian, jumped on Aug. 2, 1944, met with Gen. Mihailovich and got to work directing the airmen to finish the airstrip.

Because of the terrain, it would be only 700 feet long, barely enough for a C-47 to use.

The airlift and the aftermath

On Aug. 9, a herd of cows fortuitously sauntered onto the completed strip just as German planes flew over. The pilots left, apparently thinking the runway was a farmer's field.

That night, four C-47s made a harrowing landing, picked up loads of men and took off, barely clearing the treetops.

More planes came the next morning, escorted by American fighters. A total of 272 airmen had been rescued in two days. Over the next six months, another 240 made it out.

Mr. Vujnovich is especially proud that no one died in the mission. But he still gets agitated at the aftermath.

After the war the Tito regime indicted Gen. Mihailovich, once named Time magazine's "Man of the Year" for resisting Hitler, on charges of treason. Veterans of Operation Halyard protested, to no avail.

Among them were Mr. Walpusk and another state trooper and former airman, the late Paul F. Mato of South Connellsville. In a Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph story, both said the Chetnik leader "is getting a raw deal from the Allied nations."

Former airmen chartered a DC-3, stenciled "Mission to Save Mihailovich" on the fuselage, picked up colleagues in Detroit, Cleveland and Pittsburgh and flew to Washington to make their voices heard.

None of it helped.

Gen. Mihailovich was executed by firing squad July 17, 1946, and buried in an unmarked grave.

Two years later, after lobbying by Dwight D. Eisenhower, President Truman posthumously awarded him the Legion of Merit. But according to "The Forgotten 500," it sat in a State Department drawer for nearly 20 years until a Chicago congressman, Edward Derwinski, found out about it in 1967 and insisted the text of the citation be made public.

The medal itself was not delivered until 2005, when Mr. Vujnovich, Mr. Jibilian and other veterans personally presented it to Gordana Mihailovich, the general's daughter.

"The next day in the papers, a so-called historian of the communist Partisans said it was all a lie. He said the Partisans saved 2,800 airmen. There weren't even that many airmen in Yugoslavia. They could provide no names. We have the names, dates, ages, everything," Mr. Vujovich said.

"I don't get angry anymore. I think it's silly and stupid. Everything was covered up from beginning to end."

_________________

George Orwell on the Case of General Draza Mihailovich

By Carl Savich
October 2008


“Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.”


“Political language. . . is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”


“But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.”

George Orwell, "1984" (1949)


When George Orwell published his political satire "Animal Farm" in 1945, he wrote a preface to the book that was deleted and censored from the rest of the text. In the preface, Orwell criticized the censorship and suppression that were endemic in Western countries.

The censored, deleted, and suppressed preface to Animal farm was first published in The Times Literary Supplement on September 15, 1972 as an essay entitled “The Freedom of the Press”. In the preface, Orwell analyzed and deconstructed government and media censorship in Britain during World War II. In particular, Orwell discussed and criticized the British government’s censorship of his book Animal Farm. Orwell analyzed self-imposed media self-censorship and how events and facts were censored and distorted in British society where the government and media suppressed uncomfortable or unpopular truths. In the dystopian satire 1984 (1949), Orwell would term this “duckspeak”, which in Newspeak meant literally to quack like a duck or to speak without thinking.

In 1984, duckspeak is defined:

“’There is a word in Newspeak,’ said Syme, ‘I don't know whether you know it: duckspeak, to talk like a duck. It is one of those interesting words that have two contradictory meanings. Applied to an opponent, it is abuse, applied to someone you agree with, it is praise.’

Unquestionably Syme will be vaporized, Winston thought again. ...

Provided that the opinions which were quacked out were orthodox ones, it implied nothing but praise, and when The Times referred to one of the orators of the Party as a doubleplusgood duckspeaker it was paying a warm and valued compliment.”

George Orwell, whose birth name was Eric Arthur Blair, was a socialist himself throughout his life and career. This is a fact usually censored and detailed in any biographical profile of Orwell. Orwell criticized Soviet Communistic socialism because he was a socialist himself. It took one to know one. The fact that Orwell was a socialist was de-emphasized because the British government and the U.S. government sought o use his writings against the Soviet Union and against communism and socialism during the Cold War.

Orwell became a primary source in the ideological conflict between the Western countries such as Britain and the U.S. and the Eastern countries represented by the Soviet Union and China. So his writings were invariably exploited and prostituted as propaganda in the ideological conflict of the Cold War. Propaganda and ideology are black and white. There is no room for any shades of gray. This is why his criticisms and examination of Western media censorship and suppression were themselves suppressed and omitted. The preface to Animal farm itself was suppressed and censored and deleted from the book. Orwell warned that media suppression in the West represented a “slide towards Fascist ways of thought”.

In the deleted proposed preface to Animal Farm, re-titled “The Freedom of the Press”, George Orwell analyzed the role of censorship in Britain. Animal Farm was written in the form of an allegory or as “a fairy story”. But there was no doubt at all that is was based on and directed against the Soviet Union and Joseph Stalin. In the deleted preface, Orwell analyzed British self-censorship. In particular, Orwell examined the case of Draza Mihailovich:

“In the internal struggles in the various occupied countries, the British press has in almost all cases sided with the faction favoured by the Russians and libelled the opposing faction, sometimes suppressing material evidence in order to do so. A particularly glaring case was that of Colonel Mihailovich, the Jugoslav Chetnik leader. The Russians, who had their own Jugoslav protege in Marshal Tito, accused Mihailovich of collaborating with the Germans. This accusation was promptly taken up by the British press: Mihailovich’s supporters were given no chance of answering it, and facts contradicting it were simply kept out of print. In July of 1943 the Germans offered a reward of 100,000 gold crowns for the capture of Tito, and a similar reward for the capture of Mihailovich. The British press ‘splashed’ the reward for Tito, but only one paper mentioned (in small print) the reward for Mihailovich: and the charges of collaborating with the Germans continued.”

Orwell also noted instances of censorship during the civil war in Spain from 1936 to 1939:

“Very similar things happened during the Spanish civil war. Then, too, the factions on the Republican side which the Russians were determined to crush were recklessly libeled in the English leftwing press, and any statement in their defense even in letter form, was refused publication. At present, not only is serious criticism of the USSR considered reprehensible, but even the fact of the existence of such criticism is kept secret in some cases. For example, shortly before his death Trotsky had written a biography of Stalin. One may assume that it was not an altogether unbiased book, but obviously it was saleable. An American publisher had arranged to issue it and the book was in print — 1 believe the review copies had been sent out — when the USSR entered the war. The book was immediately withdrawn. Not a word about this has ever appeared in the British press, though clearly the existence of such a book, and its suppression, was a news item worth a few paragraphs.”

Orwell analyzed how censorship in the Western countries differed from that in the totalitarian states. In the totalitarian states, censorship was outright and open. In the Western countries, however, censorship was more subtle and covert in nature. Censorship existed in both states, but in the Western state censorship was perceived as benign and innocuous and self-imposed. In Western countries, censorship thus becomes self-censorship.

Orwell analyzed British self-censorship:

“We have not been subjected to the kind of totalitarian 'co-ordination' that it might have been reasonable to expect. The press has some justified grievances, but on the whole the Government has behaved well and has been surprisingly tolerant of minority opinions. The sinister fact about literary censorship in England is that it is largely voluntary. Unpopular ideas can be silenced, and inconvenient facts kept dark, without the need for any official ban. Anyone who has lived long in a foreign country will know of instances of sensational items of news - things which on their own merits would get the big headlines - being kept right out of the British press, not because the Government intervened but because of a general tacit agreement that 'it wouldn't do' to mention that particular fact. So far as the daily newspapers go, this is easy to understand. The British press is extremely centralized, and most of it is owned by wealthy men who have every motive to be dishonest on certain important topics. But the same kind of veiled censorship also operates in books and periodicals, as well as in plays, films and radio. At any given moment there is an orthodoxy, a body of ideas which it is assumed that all right-thinking people will accept without question. It is not exactly forbidden to say this, that or the other, but it is 'not done' to say it, just as in mid-Victorian times it was 'not done' to mention trousers in the presence of a lady. Anyone who challenges the prevailing orthodoxy finds himself silenced with surprising effectiveness. A genuinely unfashionable opinion is almost never given a fair hearing, either in the popular press or in the highbrow periodicals.

At this moment what is demanded by the prevailing orthodoxy is an uncritical admiration of Soviet Russia.

Obviously it is not desirable that a government department should have any power of censorship (except security censorship, which no one objects to in war time) over books which are not officially sponsored. But the chief danger to freedom of thought and speech at this moment is not the direct interference of the MOI or any official body. If publishers and editors exert themselves to keep certain topics out of print, it is not because they are frightened of prosecution but because they are frightened of public opinion.

It is important to distinguish between the kind of censorship that the English literary intelligentsia voluntarily impose upon themselves, and the censorship that can sometimes be enforced by pressure groups. Notoriously, certain topics cannot be discussed because of 'vested interests'.

The issue involved here is quite a simple one: Is every opinion, however unpopular - however foolish, even - entitled to a hearing?

Voltaire: 'I detest what you say; I will defend to the death your right to say it'.

If the intellectual liberty which without a doubt has been one of the distinguishing marks of western civilization means anything at all, it means that everyone shall have the right to say and to print what he believes to be the truth, provided only that it does not harm the rest of the community in some quite unmistakable way.

If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

In the January 12, 1945 "As I Please" series in the Tribune, George Orwell discussed censorship and media manipulation and deception in the case of Draza Mihailovich:

“I invite attention to an article entitled ‘The Truth about Mihailovich?’ (the author of it also writes for Tribune, by the way) in the current World Review. It deals with the campaign in the British press and the B.B.C. to brand Mihailovich as a German agent. Jugoslav politics are very complicated and I make no pretence of being an expert on them. For all I know it was entirely right on the part of Britain as well as the U.S.S.R. to drop Mihailovich and support Tito. But what interests me is the readiness, once this decision had been taken, of reputable British newspapers to connive at what amounted to forgery in order to discredit the man whom they had been backing a few months earlier. There is no doubt that this happened. The author of the article gives details of one out of a number of instances in which material facts were suppressed in the most impudent way. Presented with very strong evidence to show that Mihailovich was not a German agent, the majority of our newspapers simply refused to print it, while repeating the charges of treachery just as before.”


Self-censorship and media suppression and manipulation are endemic threats in a democratic society. The censorship and suppression of the facts in the Draza Mihailovich case allowed a Communist dictatorship to be established in the former Yugoslavia. George Orwell showed that for democracy to be viable and legitimate, self-censorship and media suppression must be understood and examined.
_____________________

A Young Draza Mihailovich on the Salonika Front 1918

Дража, јуче, данас, сутра - заувек


Понекад је историја најистинитије приказана у речима при одавању почасти. Годинама, многи знани људи света су указали почаст Дражи Михаиловићу својим посмртним беседама. Премда жале његову смрт они славе његов живот и његово заслужно место у историји. Њихове речи нас потсећају на вредност истинске величине и часног воћства.

Дама Ребека Вест, познати писац светске литерартуре и историчар, добро је разумела те идеале. Иако је о њима говорила на скупу у почаст Драже Михаиловића јула 1966. године те њене речи одјекују и данас, у 2008., истом снагом као и тада, много година раније:


''Дража Михаиловић, 20 година после своје смрти блиста у слави поносног браниоца не само слободе против терора фашиста, већ такође, и слободе против терора комуниста.

Он није поседовао ни моменат слабости нити трунак горчине. Ја не знам ни за један случај где је прекорио оне који су га издали.

Двадесет година раније знала сам да је невин за све оно чиме су га окривили, a од тада имам многе накнадне доказе његове невиности. Злочин је био кад су га напустили, и слично свим злочинима, ни овај није донео истински профит злочинцима.

Волела сам вашу земљу Србију пре рата. Моја љубав и поштовање према српском народу су само порасли пролазом година, јер сам схватила да херој кога сте даровали историји нема себи сличнога у нашем времену.''



Те речи Ребеке Вест , знаног писца светске литературе, потсећају Србију да је за срамоту да још увек незнамо где је гроб Чика Драже – како га Срби најрађе помињу – не знамо за место које чека да буде обележено.

Ових дана навршава се 90 година од пробоја Солунског фронта, којим је српска војска сломила кичму Централних сила и тиме не само скратила Први светски рат за најмање годину дана већ евентуално спасила милионе живота, углавном Европљана, што ће бити показано у мојој књизи Хероји Србије која ће ускоро бити спремна за штампу. У том пробоју учествовао је тада млади поручник Драгољуб Дража Михаиловић.




Александра Ребић
October 2008


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