$Unique_ID{how04534}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{True Stories Of The Great War
IV - 'I Watched The Terrifying Spectacle'}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Gordon-Smith, Gordon}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{german

}
$Date{1917}
$Log{}
Title:       True Stories Of The Great War
Book:        With The Serbian Stoics In Exile - Under The German Yoke
Author:      Gordon-Smith, Gordon
Date:        1917

IV - "I Watched The Terrifying Spectacle"

     As darkness fell the scene became a sinister one.  To the left, behind
the railway station, one building after another burst into flame; the
employees were firing the storehouses and blowing up the wagons on the
siding.  A few minutes later the whole town was shaken by a series of
explosions.  The accumulated stocks in the Obelitchavo powder magazine were
being blown up.

     From the eminence on which I stood the spectacle was terrifying.
Krusevatz was blazing at half a dozen points, the whole sky was covered with
a crimson glare, while below us the river, like red blood in the flames,
could be followed to the horizon, where the flashes of Serb guns delaying the
German advance could be seen.

     On the line of retreat confusion was becoming worse.  The whole road was
filled with a triple line of bullock wagons, their panting teams straining
to tear them through the tenacious mud.

     Suddenly there came an explosion like an earthquake.  An immense column
of yellow flame shot heavenward.  The heavy girder bridge over the river had
been dynamited.  At the same instant three immense German shells came
screaming overhead and burst with tremendous explosions, one near the town
hall and two near the railway station.  These nerve-shaking explosions caused
a wild panic, the first I had seen in Siberia.  The terrified oxen broke into
a run and poured in a surging mass, with my carriage in their midst, down the
road.

     Suddenly they came on a narrow bridge spanning a small ravine.  Those
on the outside were forced against the parapet.  I saw the carriage balance
for an instant and then with the three horses roll into the ditch thirty feet
below.  There was a sound of smashing glass, and it was all over with our
vehicle.

     The only thing was to extricate the kicking horses and salve such
baggage as had escaped.  This was a long and difficult process in torrents
of rain, but after an hour and a half of hard work we finally got our
belongings ranged alongside the road.

     The next difficulty was a means of transport, but an obliging
non-commissioned officer to the Reserve Munition Column of the Timok Division
stopped a half-empty ox wagon and our belongings were hoisted in.  We in turn
found shelter under the tilt of another wagon and made ourselves as
comfortable as the munition boxes would allow.

     .  .  .  .  .  .  .

     The German infantry was of miserable quality, men who a year ago would
never have passed the doctor, they burst their way through by shell and
shrapnel fire.

     It was during these attacks that they took hundreds of prisoners, all
of them, as I have said, of miserable physique.  I saw a youth in the streets
of Krusevatz, who could not have been more than sixteen or seventeen years
old.  His "pickelhauben," much too large for him, came down over his ears.
Another I saw was minus a finger on his left hand, and a French surgeon told
me he had a German patient who was deaf and dumb.  All were pale-faced,
narrow-chested, and not the class of men one saw twelve months ago.

     Then came the blizzards of snow and inundations which blotted out the
road in districts hundreds of kilometers in extent.  Add to this fact, all
communication with the outside world was completely cut off, there were no
letters, telegrams or newspapers, and such vague reports as filtered in were
brought by circuitous routes over hundreds of kilometers of the worst roads
in Europe.

     With every trump card in the hands of her enemies, Serbia's fate was
sealed.  All she could do was to fight to the last, and this she did.