Freedom Takes a Bastion
On the night of March 26, 1941, most of the Western World went to bed in fear. The hungry, conquered people of Europe slept sluggishly, despairing of deliverance. In the countries which conquest had not yet reached they slept fitfully, aware even in sleep that a blow might fall before morning. The conquerors, too, knew fear, for fear had conquered them first and turned them into conquerors. Across the ocean in the Americas, people who were still free had begun to feel a strange new force coming nearer—a force that seemed irresistible, that turned courage into fear.
Little had happened, up to the night of March 26, to dissipate this fear. It had grown with each day's events. That very day Japanese Foreign Minister Yosuke Matsuoka had arrived in Berlin, to be greeted by the envoys of all the little countries which had succumbed to the Fascist Alliance—the latest of them Yugoslavia. Though Great Britain had dared to send a big expeditionary force to the Balkans, that night the Balkans seemed lost with the capitulation of Yugoslavia.
Though the U. S. had passed the Lend-Lease Act only 15 days before, the promise of all the aid the U. S. could muster had not been enough to hold Yugoslavia as a bastion for freedom. Or had it? In Belgrade a clock struck midnight.
The Soldiers. At 1 o'clock in the morning of March 27, 1941, a little-known correspondent for the New York Times, Ray Brock, was sitting in a cafe in a suburb of Belgrade. Correspondent Brock had filed a story about the night's demonstrations against Premier Dragisha Cvetkovitch's Government, which the police had broken up, and was having a drink before going home to bed. A Montenegrin he knew came up and whispered in his ear. Correspondent Brock dived for the door.
He found a taxicab and ordered the driver to go to the Hotel Majestic. Five times on the way the driver had to detour around tanks, anti-aircraft and anti-tank units. The driver kept muttering: "Against the people! Against the people!" He thought the tanks and the guns and the soldiers were there to suppress demonstrations against the Axis. Correspondent Brock thought so too.
At the Majestic, Brock found an Air Corps captain in charge. The captain let Brock use the telephone and Brock was trying to get the British Legation when the telephone went dead. That was at 2:51 a.m.
Cars kept coming up and driving away. Correspondent Brock kept asking questions. At first the Air Corps captain only shook his head and smiled. But after a while he strolled over to a dark corner and accepted a cigaret. "Merci," he said. Then: "You know? The little one. . . ."
Brock caught on. "Peter? The young King?"
The officer smiled.
"And all the uniforms? It's Simovitch?"
This time the officer nodded and laughed. Then he walked away, humming Oj Srbjo.
The Putsch. At 1 o'clock that morning grey-green tanks had begun lumbering through the streets of Belgrade, going slowly so as to make as little noise as possible. Behind them were the anti-tank and anti-aircraft units and machine-gun crews. Along the roads leading from the city and at every strategic spot in Belgrade the tanks and guns took their positions. It was all done quickly and quietly, and Belgrade slept on.