A piece of corn broj[1] costs 8 cereks! Here only cereks and liras pay. Nobody cares about us. Our sole hope is the other bank.
December 18
This night I will never forget. I lay down in a thorny ditch. At night a storm came, and I did not wake up until I was lying in water. It kept raining the whole night and then the whole day. Our situation is hopeless. The river is flooding, and ferrying is impossible.
Today 60 died from exhaustion. We are a terrible sight. Rags hanging from everyone, barefoot with frostbitten legs, unshaven, unwashed, all the suffering of the way mirroring in our faces. You have no certitude—at night someone steals your brotsack[2] from under your head, your blanket, your coat—anything you may have. Those who cannot rise up have their coats and boots stolen from them for resale. 400 people from the Radnicka platoon today carried kazans and tools back to Fiera, where Zizkovic sold them.
December 19
It rains all the time. No ferrying—the river is flooding. Italians brought rations: One biscuit is food for 3 days. The second day we each got 2 spoons of rice. We boil it—water is unavailable, dirty. No firewood. God free us!
December 20
More that 200 dead were collected today. Misery reaches its peak. Albanians came and
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