Read Online The Secret Rescue by Cate Lineberry - Free Book Online
Authors: Cate Lineberry
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plane and narrowly missed him. Shumway lay on the floor against the bulkhead, disoriented and unable to move. His knee seemed to have taken the brunt of the collision. The impact of his foot left Watson with a split lower lip, a cut under her right eye, loose upper teeth, and the beginnings of a black eye.
The other dazed passengers tried to get their bearings as the shock of the crash landing sank in. Fearing the possibility of a fire and following their training, some rushed to unbuckle their seatbelts and exit the plane. After they pushed the door open, they quickly stepped into the muddy ground, sinking with each step. Rain fell from a dark-gray sky as they moved away from the plane. Behind them lay the fuselage that was level with the ground and standing in several inches of water with no signs of smoke. The plane’s propellers were bent, its nose was smashed, and one hole from gunfire was visible in the vertical stabilizer. As more of the medics and nurses piled out, they could see the damage to the plane, and they silently marveled at the fact that they had survived the attack and the crash landing. Beyond the lake bed where the plane had come to rest were dense, forested hills, and beyond those was what looked like an endless expanse of mountains. The men and women had been in the air for so long and become so disoriented that none of them knew where they were.
CHAPTER 4
In Enemy Territory
A few in the group, including Hayes, who were still inside the cabin, picked up Shumway as gently as they could and moved him so the pilots could get out of the cockpit and radio compartment and exit the plane. The nurses feared that Shumway had internal injuries and likely gave him a shot of morphine from their medical kits to help manage the pain. There was little else they could do. When the pilots emerged, one of them carried a Thompson submachine gun. The “tommy gun” was the only weapon among the group.
Concerned that the Germans might have spotted the plane when it flew over the second airfield and would send a patrol to investigate, the pilots and several of the medics decided to do a reconnaissance of the surrounding area. If it looked safe, they would head out and see what they could find.
Hayes and the rest of the scouting party had walked several hundred feet away from the plane when they saw a band of rugged-looking men come out of the woods. The strangers carried rifles on their backs and daggers at their sides and wore fezzes, or flat-crowned hats, emblazoned with red stars on the front. Their dark clothing consisted mostly of coarse woolen shirts and drawstring pants that ballooned at the hips and buttoned at the knees. Some wore thick socks with sandals made of old tire carcasses and jackets that looked like short capes with sleeves.
A stocky man with a handlebar mustache stepped forward and began speaking in an unfamiliar language. His face was so weathered it was difficult for the Americans to tell his age, though they would later learn he was only twenty-two years old. He asked in stilted, broken English if they were British. When Baggs, the copilot, replied they were Americans, he smiled and introduced himself as Hasan Gina, the leader of a group of partisans. He then answered the question they’d all been waiting for: they had landed in Albania.
Though the young Americans knew little about Albania, they would soon learn it was a small but wild land that had changed very little over the last several hundred years. The predominantly Muslim country, about the size of Maryland, was made up of countless poverty-stricken villages, a handful of towns, very few roads, and no railways. Deadly blood feuds and thievery proliferated, few homes had running water or electricity, clothes and shoes were mostly handmade, and pack mules and horses remained the main modes of transportation. Winters were especially brutal, and, for many people, starvation was a constant threat. Even so, the Albanians were proud of
The other dazed passengers tried to get their bearings as the shock of the crash landing sank in. Fearing the possibility of a fire and following their training, some rushed to unbuckle their seatbelts and exit the plane. After they pushed the door open, they quickly stepped into the muddy ground, sinking with each step. Rain fell from a dark-gray sky as they moved away from the plane. Behind them lay the fuselage that was level with the ground and standing in several inches of water with no signs of smoke. The plane’s propellers were bent, its nose was smashed, and one hole from gunfire was visible in the vertical stabilizer. As more of the medics and nurses piled out, they could see the damage to the plane, and they silently marveled at the fact that they had survived the attack and the crash landing. Beyond the lake bed where the plane had come to rest were dense, forested hills, and beyond those was what looked like an endless expanse of mountains. The men and women had been in the air for so long and become so disoriented that none of them knew where they were.
CHAPTER 4
In Enemy Territory
A few in the group, including Hayes, who were still inside the cabin, picked up Shumway as gently as they could and moved him so the pilots could get out of the cockpit and radio compartment and exit the plane. The nurses feared that Shumway had internal injuries and likely gave him a shot of morphine from their medical kits to help manage the pain. There was little else they could do. When the pilots emerged, one of them carried a Thompson submachine gun. The “tommy gun” was the only weapon among the group.
Concerned that the Germans might have spotted the plane when it flew over the second airfield and would send a patrol to investigate, the pilots and several of the medics decided to do a reconnaissance of the surrounding area. If it looked safe, they would head out and see what they could find.
Hayes and the rest of the scouting party had walked several hundred feet away from the plane when they saw a band of rugged-looking men come out of the woods. The strangers carried rifles on their backs and daggers at their sides and wore fezzes, or flat-crowned hats, emblazoned with red stars on the front. Their dark clothing consisted mostly of coarse woolen shirts and drawstring pants that ballooned at the hips and buttoned at the knees. Some wore thick socks with sandals made of old tire carcasses and jackets that looked like short capes with sleeves.
A stocky man with a handlebar mustache stepped forward and began speaking in an unfamiliar language. His face was so weathered it was difficult for the Americans to tell his age, though they would later learn he was only twenty-two years old. He asked in stilted, broken English if they were British. When Baggs, the copilot, replied they were Americans, he smiled and introduced himself as Hasan Gina, the leader of a group of partisans. He then answered the question they’d all been waiting for: they had landed in Albania.
Though the young Americans knew little about Albania, they would soon learn it was a small but wild land that had changed very little over the last several hundred years. The predominantly Muslim country, about the size of Maryland, was made up of countless poverty-stricken villages, a handful of towns, very few roads, and no railways. Deadly blood feuds and thievery proliferated, few homes had running water or electricity, clothes and shoes were mostly handmade, and pack mules and horses remained the main modes of transportation. Winters were especially brutal, and, for many people, starvation was a constant threat. Even so, the Albanians were proud of
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