Jiří Bartoš

“I was curious and have therefore witnessed them taking some fifteen German soldiers, their hands held above their heads. They arrived to our customs house and stopped. One of them had a bandaged head and a Russian soldier asked him: ‘Što ty?’ He understood and replied: ‘Unteroffizier’ – a non-commissioned officer. The Russian soldier ran to where I was standing because the commander was there. The commander had a luger in his hand. The Germans were hiding all around the houses, even in the bathrooms. The soldier ran past me and asked the commander: ‘What to do with them?’ He replied: ‘Shoot them.’ I did not know what was coming. The Russian soldier returned. As they lead them further, more Russian soldiers were joining in. Those fifteen soldiers have been killed there. The Russians immediately took whatever they had in their pockets. But they left the non-commissioned officer with a bandaged head alive. He went on and I was watching what was happening. He went to the back of the house. There, he returned and saw he was the only one left. That soldier with the luger was coming from the side, talking to another officer. When they got to the level of this non-commissioned officer, he shot twice, the guy fell down and they walked on.”

“I always liked to go to the movies. One Sunday I told my parents I was going to the movies. I took the tram and when I was halfway there, the air-strike sirens started screaming. I got out of the tram, we watched, nothing happened. After a while, they announced an end of the air strike. I rode all the way to the main square. There again, the air-strike sirens went off. I was watching and saw several airplanes high in the sky, one of them getting hit. The Germans had powerful cannons. The pilot jumped out with a parachute. I thought this had been it and went to the movies. I sat down and in about then minutes, the sirens started screaming again. I told myself: ‘Well, I may just as well leave this damn cinema!’ I got up and took the tram number six. We went for about a kilometre and suddenly, someone looked out of the window, shouting: ‘Oh my god!’ We asked: ‘What’s going on?’ There were tens of allied airplane squadrons raiding Belgrade. The tram driver speeded up, driving as fast as he could. We rode up the hill when bombs started falling. I ran into some house, there was an arch so I squeezed myself below it. Splinters were pouring all around. The bombs were falling into residential areas, although in the evening, they said they would only aim on military targets.”

“I sat down at the gate. There was a way out there and further on, there were only trenches. I piled up bricks, creating a peephole in order to see through. From there I was looking for someone to shoot. One day I had this prepared when they started systematically shooting from a mortar from the direction of Bosut river. When I saw where the shells were falling, it was clear to me that I was about to be hit, too. I did not know what to do. I went to hide inside a house. I could hear explosions outside, passing by. I went outside. From the church where our machine-gun was dug in – it was some thirty metres far – I heard: ‘Bartoš had died!’ There was a hit at precisely the place where I previously sat. I heard that and replied: ‘Bullshit, I am here!’ And I went on with piling up those bricks.”