The Steering Group

by M. J. Laurence

  We had very little time to react to this sudden influx of Serbian forces and were powerless to actually achieve anything other than to observe and report. It was on one unexpected day in early July on a routine patrol around the town and surrounding villages that I saw Alex. This was just after Mladić made a speech to TV cameras in which he announced that he had given Srebrenica to the Serbian people and it was time for revenge to be taken against the Muslims in that region. I remember talking quietly to Cheesy as we lay undercover and casually pointed out Alex in the scopes and that we had found a way to finally complete Operation RIAR. The Dutch were soon rendered useless by the Serb forces who had rapidly taken over the enclave.

  We were not able to stop the unfolding events, and being just a lone unit with a different target package we were totally unprepared for this level of aggression so we regrouped up in the hills. We were living out of an old shipping container that had once been used as a logger’s hut but was now abandoned deep in the forests above the town. There were many refugee families living in the woods, as well as what we thought were small guerilla units, which made it difficult to stay completely unnoticed. I think that mostly those who came across us were displaced families and just thought we were in the same situation as they were. Usually, any encounters with the local populous in the hills resulted in them fleeing in the opposite direction. However scared they were of us we were equally keen not to engage to any extent with them. The Kamenica Hill area was becoming full of civilians whose growing numbers we had been monitoring and reporting to NATO commanders on the naval platforms to assist with any air surveillance. Most of them were just starving and desperate to find food and water; they weren’t up for a fight. We helped where we could. Thousands of refugees seeking an exit route were being hunted down by Serbian forces; you could hear calls from passing vehicles from the roads below for them to surrender, despite random shooting and shelling coming in from all directions.

  The team sat down on the ammo crates and other makeshift seating as they looked at me and asked, “Who the fuck is this Alex?” I explained to them how much it made my stomach churn to see him here. I didn’t know if he was here selling arms and the chemical weapons or ensuring a safe passage through to the Middle East. I needed the team to consider the wider picture. They knew I was involved in the intel side of it all and the full game board was never going to be revealed to me but they should understand we were close to closing down operations that were not only possibly fuelling this conflict but other planned conflicts in the future. It all had to be called in and the risk to make the transmission wasn’t even considered as a risk by this latest development. We sat smoking, with the brew on, discussing what we had witnessed.

  Hugh, as the main comms man, dialled it in as we all sat and waited for the brew to boil. We had to get that transmission out and let the world know what we had uncovered. It wasn’t long before the TX was received and the reply was nothing short of astounding.

  STGP

  SG RIR SG 117

  NS XXXXXX JUL 95

  FM RIAR 1

  TO SG / SHAPE /

  WBTS

  BT

  NS /

  Tx

  RIAR 1 Package 3 available for immediate delivery

  RIAR 1 Request delivery method

  RIAR 1 Delivery area now compromised.

  Rx

  SG Acknowledge transmission

  SG Follow White Card Delivery Policy

  SG Package 3 was expected at your locality

  SG Urgent delivery of target package required

  SG Delivery town to be abandoned

  SG Extraction <12 hrs local - Priority A

  BT

  NNNN

  END

  Translated, we had Alex in our sights, permission to engage was sought from the Steering Group, our request to engage was approved by way of an executive order and the white card meant we could do what we had to in order to secure the kill at any cost. The fact that they knew he was in our area was a surprise to me as I had expected him to be with Evgeny in Romania, not here in Serbia. Thinking it all through, both ends of the deal were being overseen by direct family members, making the Romania/Serbian transit less difficult. The value of the shipments must have been high for Alex himself to be here. We needed to deliver the package and secure our own extraction as the entire region had become untenable.

  We hadn’t time to process it. I passed a cup of coffee over to Hugh who was sitting out the front of the container. He was waving his arm around in the air with the aerial (he had his earphones on trying to reconnect) as if to swipe a bee or a wasp – but it wasn’t either, it was a fucking sniper shot. A delayed sound, fired from a distance, snipersonic (supersonic) round, crack – thump, no time to compute, and the whole team was on the floor in the container now. Large-calibre sniper fire is so loud it’s the loudest whiplash you’ll ever hear, like a massive crack of a whip in a circus right next to your lughole. No silencers now, contact from the west through the clearings directly at us, with the container being slowly converted into a metal box sieve. A firefight. Multiple cracking of semi and automatic fire was echoing in the valley and confusing me as to the source. There is nothing to compare to the sound of a round going through steel. It’s that horrific bang with a grating, ripping noise that follows; the very sound chills you to the bone. It was chaos now. We grabbed the gear and dispersed to regroup at RV 1. It was a scramble but that fucking adrenalin kicked in and Baz had a death grip on me to ensure I made it out of that shipping container. We had found ourselves in among a swarm of battle-drunk Serbian fighters.

  Mortars, indiscriminate shelling in all directions, then it began to rain, the light faded and I lost my sense of humour, although I have to say there was a crazy giggle inside me when it all hit the fan. It’s not funny, it’s just nerves gone crazy. Cheesy was returning fire now, strategic positioning within a coordinated dispersed retreat. Small arms getting closer and fucking bark was flying off the trees ahead of us and the dirt was leaping up from the ground into our faces as automatic fire strafed the forest floor amongst us. Veer right, and RV 1 was compromised by mortar fire splintering the tree trunks and leaving giant matchsticks everywhere. We had to make RV 2 now on the edge of town, and we were leaping over impact craters to make for cover. The guys are in auto now, but yeah, I’m shitting my pants as the devil of uncertainty crawls inside my head for a dig around as I randomly return fire, changing mags twice, ears ringing and eyes all messed up from splashed dirt.

  I was my own for a short while as I caught a glimpse of Baz as he let off some grenades from his M16 A2 with its grenade launcher and disappeared in support of the group to outflank the incoming troops. I could hear them but I was detached. I made it to the farmhouse about 15 minutes later and laid low. I could hear contacts moving around me to the east. Baz, Hugh, Cheesy and Smudge cut across the front of the farmhouse out from the cover of a community hall and piled in on top of me. I remember Pierre just casually strolling into RV 2 like nothing had happened and laughing at me hiding under the five guys piled on top. He just stood there looking down at us, laughing. We did an equipment check and body check. All good to go. Then we set ourselves up in the farmhouse to make preparation for a run to the extraction point. Hugh was on the blower as the rest of us set up to cover the farmhouse. A drag on a cigarette after that kind of encounter is nothing short of heaven. One all round, and Cheesy was looking to make a brew, fucking calm as fuck. That’s the thing, that’s the moment, that’s the second it all becomes okay, it becomes normal to be shot at. No comments about the attack, just a fag and a cup of Rosie Lee as the guys very calmly got their shit all in one sock ready for a second sitting. It’s not meant to be like that, no training teaches you how you’re really gonna react, and training never talks about having a brew or a smoke in the middle of it all. The guys just set up for a breather and gathered it all together. It’s focused, you must understand, not messy; it’s personalised discipline being displayed in very
unusual individualistic ways whilst under immense pressure to be ready for the next fight.

  Heads up. Activity was now growing across from the farm as the hall and surrounding buildings were brought under siege. Now it turned out that the forces at play were not in direct contact with us because they didn’t actually know we were there, but this was a series of clearance operations their forces were undertaking to round up civilians they knew were transiting or hiding in the hills. We had simply been caught up in the crossfire. The events that followed in those hills were insanely barbaric and many innocent civilians lost their lives.

  The extraction point had been set for about eight hours’ time and our last order was the white card approval for Alex. Team huddle was convened after agreeing to defend the Muslim civilians, or create enough diversion to allow maximum preservation of life long enough for them to escape out of the hills and for Hugh and I to find and eliminate Alex. It was a huge risk but package 3 had to be delivered – after all, it was our last order – but with the unfolding atrocities now being undertaken in plain sight of us it would be a hard choice to do nothing for the civilians around us. The soldiers were now dragging women and boys out of buildings, stripping then raping them in front of their comrades, whilst others were being beaten and tortured. Babies killed in front of their mothers, who were wandering aimlessly in search of help, screaming – sights no person should ever see.

  The screams were the piercing sounds of hell in surround sound, a man-made recreation of the urban legend of the Siberian ‘well to hell’ sounds from 1989. Hell unfolded through the hands of men. Houses were emptied, looted and set on fire, men dragged out to be shot. Boys’ heads cut off and throats slit as soldiers laughed and encouraged each other in their chaos. People were committing suicide to avoid the torment and the wrath of the Serbians who were seeking them out. We fell into a place covered by dark clouds.

  A cloud forms in your mind from such sights as these.

  A cloud of tiny droplets, each reflecting the sights you’ve seen.

  A cloud, a personal i-cloud, collecting, storing, preparing for the storm to come.

  A cloud in which to POST all your images, and all you’ve done.

  A cloud that knows you, lies about you, twists everything you have seen.

  A cloud that fills the dark voids with every place you have been.

  A cloud swelling with the sounds and screams from those you’ve seen.

  A cloud full of those who have seen such sights as these.

  A cloud filled with all those TRAUMATIC sights you’ve seen.

  A cloud that will wait, is not proud or gentle, but silent and cunning in its deed.

  A cloud that wants to become a storm in your life indeed.

  A cloud full of time and pain from all the sights such as these.

  A cloud under STRESS to deliver the torment of where it’s been.

  A cloud that just wants to linger, waiting, seeking to hide your very needs.

  A cloud that always returns to you. You, the one in need.

  A cloud full of those who have seen sights such as these.

  A cloud in DISORDER where nothing is clearly seen.

  A cloud which will release its rain with added thunder in the night.

  A cloud that gives you strength and anger from all its might.

  A cloud that drives you out of sight.

  I remember getting my shit together to go off with Hugh, shaking with fear, excitement and anger, swearing under my breath as Cheesy took my arm and gripped me hard as his ice-cold eyes locked into mine, revealing a real hatred behind his calm exterior as he gently whispered:

  “Kill Alex.”

  Hugh was at the door and the Serbs were now approaching the farmhouse from the front. We bolted out the back as the guys unleashed all they had to cover our escape. The Serbs were firing through the civilians now to get to the team. We had been surrounded, so a rapid escape right through their lines was the only option open to us, and there was no looking back and no time to process the carnage that had just been revealed. No time to dwell on the cloud we had seen.

  Rogue Serbian soldiers came into our path. Hugh laid down automatic fire and cleared the path ahead, whilst I reacted with my weapon to the right flank on a number of occasions. I see their faces briefly but not long enough to feel anything for them; they were the painters of genocide in Europe and I don’t believe my mind should be occupied with their images. But here they stay with me to be remembered forever.

  We had made it out of the killing zone and into a clear space before descending SW towards the town, picking out a vantage point over the main square and with line of sight through to the Town Hall in which we hoped Alex would be. I had my sniper rifle and took up position, loaded and expectant. Hugh was beside me with the spotter sight, searching for the solution to our limited time. We were at a good range, 1,000m, and still in good cover of the trees, but we needed something to empty the building to get a shot if he was indeed still in there. It would have to be a good shot to hit the target cleanly but I kept reminding myself what my instructor had told me in Poole: a Billy Dixon in June 1874 killed a buffalo at 1,406m (1,538yd) with a Sharps .50-90 rifle, so this should be easy. Hugh was getting impatient. We could still hear gunfire from the farmhouse and it wasn’t easing up. Time was against us. Hugh looked at me and simply said:

  “Don’t miss. I’m off to empty that fucking building. You kill him when he emerges and meet me at the extraction point.”

  Then I was suddenly on my own amongst all the confusion in a forest with my support team split between a firefight against a battalion of Serbian fighters attacking the civilians and Hugh, who was clearly fucking nuts and about to go and poke the hornets’ nest with a big stick. Time passes quickly as all the thoughts and actions you’ve just experienced jet through your mind in a brief moment of silence. But it’s all about preservation, attack and attack, never defeat.

  I’m well camouflaged now, got myself almost buried in branches and I’m looking through that perfectly clear sight waiting to see Alex, waiting to see the old wolf come out into the open. Then I see it, Hugh at the fucking front door, and in he goes bold as brass, lets off a few stun grenades and a smoke, and they all come pouring out. Could have left the smoke out, Hugh, I was thinking. Artillery fire now inbound, it was all falling apart. Chaos was master here today but it made for an easy shot. No need to silence the shot, it would all just blend into the chaos. Alex wasn’t in the building but had come out into the street to help some people from another building hidden from Hugh’s view. He turned and came directly towards me in a NE direction. Safety off, ID confirmed. Clean shot and he was on the ground. Reload and make the confirmation shot, watching the body jump off the ground.

  I was up and moving, and damn near knocked myself over running straight into Baz, who was with Cheesy, both in full-scale retreat, about turn down toward the town, pick up Hugh and then skirt our way north and then east to pick up the transport home. The entire enclave was pretty well secured by the Serbs and I can remember being fucking knackered running out of that place, but was soon reunited with the entire team all yomping our way to the RV. Running towards a forest road, getting dark now, the road littered with an endless trail of personal belongings, rows of bodies, hands tied behind their backs, faces down in the verges, bullet casings, small fires, the occasional blue UN helmet lying abandoned.

  With the checkpoint ahead, we casually tore down the unprepared occupants where they stood and were then quickly mobile in a Serbian LUV (light utility vehicle). Damn near drove that fucking thing to destruction to meet the black helicopter at the RV point. We passed the unthinkable, mass graves with piles of bodies stacked up next to burnt-out buses pulled off the road and in plain sight. The carnage went on for miles and nothing was said; we kept going, ditched the vehicle and made the helo for our extraction to USS America.

  There are no words to describe the previous 48 hours we had experienced together. We were debriefed and then s
ignals were sent confirming the delivery of package 3. The NATO commanders were totally focused in on the developments in Srebrenica and had no doubt bigger issues to be working on. Baz handed over his camera, no doubt full of the worst images imaginable. Srebrenica had just seen the worst mass killing since WW2. Fuck. Just fuck. I mean, how the hell are you supposed to process that shit?!

  The team and I were allocated an entire command briefing compartment on board where we slowly got our shit together, had food brought in and then sat on camp beds assessing the situation we had just escaped from and then each other’s condition, supporting each other in the best ways we could and the work we were doing by focusing on the bigger mission, but also taking in that we had actually made a difference in the war today and the wars being planned in the Middle East. The guys had at least put up as much resistance for as long as possible in the field whilst our prime objective was still achieved. Our thoughts turned to the civilians, then to the firefight, our mistakes, and finally to the trip into Romania. I wasn’t comfortable returning to Bosnia from Romania, and now Alex was gone how the fuck was any information reliable and how was the route from Romania being protected/overseen? Was anyone aware in Srebrenica of Alex’s death? How was the team going to cover the insertion into Romania and the transport destruction? The customers that Alex had been doing business with needed to be identified and the source of arms halted.