November 6
We march on and on through barren lands. No sign of a road, only broken shacks here and there. We have to wade through creeks deep up to our knees as there are no bridges. We sleep outside every night in the rain, and we're happy to make a fire in the evening. We look like Gypsies—torn, barefoot, hungry, and full of lice. Last night we walked for ten hours and reached a village called Preshkoplye where there are field bakeries. It takes a whole day before they have bread baked for us. We get bread for 4 days. I bought two more loaves so I have a good supply.
November 8
We reached Debro after a day of climbing and descending hills. We stayed in old Turkish barracks, half crumbled. There is one transport of Bulgarians taken prisoner and several Germans. We are hungry, and the Serbs rob us of our last money. It is terrible to be at the mercy of several yokels who can rob you, strip you, and beat you to death whenever they wish. I stick to the fore; those who come late or cannot go are beaten and robbed. I don't know if I'll be strong enough—the sea is still very far, and the misery is growing harder! God help us!
November 10
Our platoon was divided yesterday. We were called the Radnitchka platoon and took off to build a road. Our commander is Professor Zhizhkovitch, a man with the eyes of a basilisk.
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