On December 31, 1941, municipal gendarmes distributed about eighty calls for forced labor throughout the village. The notices stated that a male member from each household should report to the municipality on the morning of January 1, bringing a shovel or a spade with him.
The villagers knew that January 1 was New Year’s Day, which was mainly celebrated by Catholics (for Orthodox Christians, it was celebrated on January 14 according to the Orthodox calendar). Therefore, the calls for forced labor were a complete surprise and caused confusion. Speculation ran wild. Some thought the fascists would execute the captured partisans from November of the previous year, and the calls were made to have people bury them.
Up until then, it was mostly the youth who had been sent on such forced labor, with older people only being called if no younger family members were available. Some organized youth suggested that they avoid going altogether, hide for a few days, assuming this work wouldn’t end well. However, this idea didn’t come to fruition because most people feared fascist retaliation. And, if the police couldn’t gather the youth for this odd task, they would force older household members to go.
"Before dawn on January 1," recounts one of the participants, "about seventy of us were gathered at the municipality, mostly young people. Around 6 a.m., the police lined us up and, without warning, led us to the eastern exit of the village, on the road toward Galad. The morning was very cold, so we hurried to warm up. Along the way, we speculated about where we were being taken: why were the police with us when that was never the case before? Although some thought of sneaking away from the column, they couldn’t, as the police were vigilant and positioned along the column to keep an eye on us. It felt as if they were escorting prisoners or detainees.
After a long walk of about two and a half hours, we reached the Kikinda-Bašaidski road near Kudeljara. We were ordered to take a short break while one of the policemen spoke with some of the locals. Soon after, we continued our march toward Kikinda. A few passersby watched our column with interest. After about fifteen minutes of walking, we turned left off the road, trudging through fields where, in some places, the snow had already melted.
Someone was the first to spot a large group of black-uniformed policemen about 500 meters ahead, in the direction we were headed. The column began to stir, and the police intervened with their usual "Hurry up, faster."
On a large field sown with wheat, belonging to Miloš Popov ("Štete"), there were about ten Kikinda policemen with the district police chief, Veber, armed with rifles and submachine guns, looking grim and clearly displeased. Veber stepped in front of the lined-up laborers and, with a threatening tone, declared that none of us would be allowed to return home until the bodies of three Germans killed by "communist bandits" were found and dug up.
At that moment, many of us felt relief, as we hoped that we wouldn’t find any bodies, and the whole task might end there. We were divided into four groups, and we started digging in four directions, covering nearly 300 square meters of the sown field. We began digging at around 9 a.m. and worked nonstop until 3 p.m. The ground was dug up to our knees, but we still hadn’t found the fascist bodies.
Throughout this time, the policemen addressed us in a threatening and sarcastic manner: some from the Popov family were asked about their relative Miloš Klima; others were taunted with, "What do Serbs think they can do against the Great Reich? We’ll kill all of you." To others, they spoke cynically, "Where are your partisans now? They’re hanging. This is German land; we’ll put you all in line," and so on. Every few minutes, the usual German cry "Faster, faster" echoed across the field.
As evening approached, the situation worsened. The sun was setting in the west, and the bodies were still not found. Veber, boiling with rage, shouted, "Hurry up, you Serbian cattle! If you don’t find the graves here, we’ll shoot every tenth person." Many of the diggers were so frightened that they hurried to dig faster, but exhaustion was already affecting most of us.
To increase the pressure, some of the forced laborers went to a nearby corn field, hoping to slip away, but the fascists opened fire on them, though fortunately, no one was hit. This only angered Veber and the other fascists, and they started beating us.
It was getting dark when one of the Germans shouted, "Halt!" We all looked up in the direction of the voice. There, police had already gathered. The bodies of the murdered fascists had been found.
Another laborer tried to flee, and once again the fascists opened fire, yelling and threatening, causing a general panic. One of the Kikinda policemen aimed his submachine gun at a large group of diggers standing off to the side and yelled, ordering them to stay still, or else he would shoot.
Finally, when the situation calmed down, Veber ordered us to form two lines. Then, one of the policemen began counting every tenth person and separating them into a special group. Whispers ran through the ranks: "They’ll shoot every tenth person." There was jostling as everyone tried to avoid being the tenth. The selected group was then tasked with digging up and cleaning the bodies, while the rest of us were allowed to go home, with the shout, "Go home, you communist mothers." In an instant, about sixty of us rushed toward the village, stumbling across the frozen fields, and when the fascists fired shots in the air, our speed doubled.
The bodies of the fascists that were dug up served as undeniable proof that they had been killed by the partisans from Dragutinovac. This served as a convenient excuse for the fascist propaganda machine to continue its campaign: "Partisans are killing innocent civilians; they are paid communist terrorists and murderers of the innocent." However, for the occupiers, this was a much more significant excuse to destroy hundreds of lives of Banat patriots, under the pretext of retaliation and "preventing communist terror against the population."
The previously "declared" death sentence against the partisans from Dragutinovac was now ready to be carried out. This time, the fascists sought "material evidence" because they needed to carry out the mass extermination of the freedom-loving population with prepared material and formal evidence of "their crimes." Later, this process became much easier. It was enough to label someone as a communist or a partisan, and after a few days, without much investigation, they would be executed. Such was the fascist plan for the mass extermination of non-Aryans, and they were in a hurry, as time was running out.
On January 3, 1942, the Germans had planned a grand ceremony. This day was designated for the execution of nine "Karlovci" partisans. Careful preparations had been made over several days, while the Kulturbund agitated its members from surrounding towns and in Kikinda to attend the "Krisbaum" for the upcoming Serbian Christmas holidays. The propaganda particularly emphasized that on that day, all Serbs, communists involved in the "cowardly murder" of three "brave" members of the great German Reich, would be executed. This day was meant to be a "manifestation of loyalty to the great Führer and the great Germany."
Before January 3, the prisoners were transferred from the Petrovgrad to the Kikinda prison. Their last night on earth was spent in the notorious Kurija, sleepless. Although no sentence had yet been pronounced, they were certain they would soon be executed. They concluded this from the behavior of the guards and the sudden transfer to the Kikinda prison. Still, that night passed quietly, with little conversation, as if each of them wished to spend their last moments far from the prison walls, with their loved ones, at home, in their families, with friends and comrades.
The last night was long but quickly passed. A cold, overcast January morning dawned. By 8 a.m., they were told to prepare. Around 9 a.m., the guards came for them. They were led out one by one, without looking at each other or exchanging greetings. They were taken out into the frozen courtyard of the infamous Kurija. They were met by a crowd of Germans and German women perched at the prison windows, whose chatter quieted when the "living partisans" appeared.
In the courtyard, there was a group of fascist officials: Beber Antal, head of the Serbian police; Nikols Štefan, head of the criminal police; Štrajgervald Eduard, the city physicist; and other criminals from the Banat people. A dozen policemen, commanded by Alt Alojza, stood in formation, ready to carry out their task of "justification," as the fascists shamelessly called the execution of the death penalty – a crime.
At a signal from the chief, Veber, Alt Alojza approached the prisoners and ordered them to turn toward the toilet, binding their hands together. The command of the fascist policemen was taken over by Nikols Štefan, more experienced in this task. A moment of dead silence followed, and then the command rang out between the high walls of Kurija...
The partisans exchanged glances in a sign of farewell, and the line noticeably swayed, as if to end with one long sound that echoed into the distance, reaching the edge of time. They didn't beg for mercy.
On January 3, 1942, nine partisans, who had given their lives to the struggle for the freedom of the Banat and the whole Yugoslavia, died. Thus, another innocent person had fallen victim to the systematic terror of the fascists, using the execution of civilians as a method to justify their policy of terror against the innocent people of Banat. The terror of 1941–1942 would soon leave behind an even darker memory.
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