Island of horror

ISLAND OF HORROR

In early August 1941, I, Jakov, a resident of the city of Zagreb, was rounded up by the Ustashe on the streets in front of my building and crammed into a truck already filled with men, Jews.

The Croats were hunting us relentlessly. From the establishment of their rule, we were declared a lower race, a people to be exterminated. A few of us from the Zagreb train station were transported to some of the German camps. Most were sent to the town of Gospić and beyond, as the Ustashe saw fit. We all had to wear the Star of David, and we weren't allowed to walk the streets, enter many shops, or talk to our Croatian neighbors. Many of them no longer considered us neighbors. Many had spied for the Ustashe, reported us, insulted us, or walked by us as if we were a plague, not humans.

The first Jews were taken from the "Danica" camp, 165 young men. No one knows where they ended up. We only heard rumors that they were transported to Gospić and then to Čačić Dolac for forced labor.

The cattle car was packed. Breathing was difficult. The elderly prayed, the young remained silent, and the boys cried. Around noon, the wagons, full of my people and Serbs, set off. A long and agonizing journey... We arrived in the evening at the assembly point at the Gospić train station. That's what the Ustashe called it as they drove us by truck to the courthouse prison. There, we were supposed to spend the night.

The courtyard of the prison was full of people, the screams of beaten individuals, the cries of those tortured, and it was crowded. No one could sleep. Morning came quickly. Relief for me as we were leaving this terrible place...

Again in trucks, in cattle cars, to Karlobag. That's what one Ustasha, to whom Isaac, an old man, gave his gold watch, the only valuable thing he still had, told us about our destination. Around noon, we reached Karlobag. They immediately took us to the sea by truck. There, they loaded us onto sand transport ships. We saw women and children, Serbs, being crammed into ships.

"Drive that cattle to the island!" echoed the voice of one Ustasha.

Blue sea, and the sky bathed in sunlight. Over a hundred of us surrounded by Ustashe. They stared at us, laughing in silence. If only I could have known why...

Shortly after their laughter, they grabbed Isaac and threw him into the sea.

"Swim, old man, just swim, and you'll catch up with us!"

Laughter again, a cackle resembling hyenas. To the island of Pag, as our destination was called, half of us ended up in the sea. I am still alive, but as if I weren't. Faith in people, in humanity, died within me.

Upon arrival on the island, on foot, under the escort of new Ustashe, we reached the camp they called "Slana." Surrounded by barbed wire, with three barracks, under the scorching sun and rocks, it resembled a graveyard where we would all perish in agony.

We were accommodated in the third barrack. There, a young man told me that it was built by the first of our people brought to this island. I slept on the floor; there were no beds.

In the morning, as we did every morning, they forced us to carry water from a cove where fresh water mixed with salty, sea water. That's what we drank, except for a little lime tea every morning. We ate a bit of potato soup with a few peas for lunch. Rarely did anyone receive food packages, and even less frequently did any letters arrive. The Ustashe told us we were lucky because the Serbian part of the camp had neither letters nor this much space, let alone food packages.

Every day new prisoners arrived. Yes, that's what we were, prisoners. And every day, a larger group left, never to return. We suspected, but our fate was unknown. We worked all day on completing the camp, on a road that would connect the "Slana" camp with "Metajnom."

On the fifteenth day of the month, terrible news reached us, spreading like lightning through the camp.

A group of prisoners assigned to fetch water heard their guards boasting. A young man lying next to me, David, told me something horrifying.

"The Ustashe, while our people were fetching water, talked about how last night they led about four hundred prisoners from the camp for Serbs and nearly three hundred from the camp for children and women. They took them at night until they found land suitable for digging. Then they forced them to dig trenches without knowing they were digging their own graves. When they finished digging, the Ustashe slaughtered them. One of them boasted that he earned a hundred kuna per hour for killing. After that, they went to a neighboring place and celebrated their holiday. God, what monsters! Jakov, what awaits us? Could it be that all these people who leave and never return are not meeting the same gruesome end?"

And Jakov remained silent. What could I tell him? Nothing that would comfort him. Even if I doubted a little, now I know that death awaits us all.

Two days after this terrible story and the truth, on the morning of the third day, August 18, they stormed our barrack and threw all of us outside.

"We're taking you back to Karlobag. Listen to our soldiers, and nothing bad will happen to you."

The commander of our camp personally addressed us. Anger and panic were evident on his face.

In columns of twos, tied hands, we started moving. From the beginning, I saw that we weren't returning; we were going in the opposite direction of how we came to this place of horror.

"Lead them to Fornage! Load them onto ships."

The sun was scorching, and thirst tormented us. I don't even know how long we walked like that... Maybe half an hour, maybe an hour... And time is dead here.

We reached the ships. They crammed us into two ships. After some time, we saw the outlines of Fornage. It was a plateau, even harsher than Pag.

"Tie their legs and hands!" echoed the voice of an older Ustasha.

They tied our legs and hands. Each had a larger stone tied to them.

Igor Tintor