Fighting for the French Foreign Legion

by Alex Lochrie

  The groove must have been caused by a bullet but fortunately only my pride was hurt. It gave me one hell of a fright and I wouldn’t be doing that again in a hurry. The camera was all right with just a few scratches on the body. When I eventually got the film developed and blew up the images, I was able to identify the exact spot where the machine gun was located. We protested to our Serbian liaison officer and to his credit that particular firing position was removed. He had been told in no uncertain terms that if he hadn’t done it, we would. I think they were starting to recognize that they would have to work with us and that we would not be intimidated.

  Like everyone else I had to take my turn on night guard duty. We were so short of personnel on the ground that even the Caporal Chefs had to do guard and take their turn as checkpoint controller at the UN roadblock on the only road into the city from the airport. This particular checkpoint consisted of a large container filled with sandbags which blocked half the road. A VAB was positioned sideways across the remaining gap and only pulled back behind the container to open the gap to let UN vehicles and escorted aid convoys in or out of the city. It was only manned during daylight hours and after the checkpoint was withdrawn for the night, all hell broke loose along that stretch of road. The trenches were so close that they could lob grenades at each other.

  Despite all this, my workload was no heavier than anyone else’s. We were all working seven days a week and stress levels were high. It was just as well we had built adequate recreational and sports areas at both the terminal and the freight complex. They were well used by everyone and the two-level running circuit inside the main terminal was particularly popular.

  The buildings round the airport had been shelled extensively. Everywhere you looked was destroyed and yet there were people living in these bombed-out ruins. One of the strangest sights was the lines of carpets strung out between the buildings. I didn’t understand why at first until it was explained to me that the hanging carpets blocked out the view between the buildings and afforded a limited protection to anyone walking in the streets behind this screen. The carpets also had a dampening effect on any bullets fired through them, reducing the severity of any injury – simple but very effective.

  Because of the ruined state of the buildings, it was very difficult to locate the snipers who could be hiding under a dislodged slate or in the depths of a darkened room. There was not a single piece of glass left in any building on the perimeter of any enclave. I decided to devise a simplified way for our men on guard or observation duties to identify the location of the snipers. When you looked at any of the buildings, there was so much optical clutter that describing where the shot had come from was impossible. I could see only one solution so I set about photographing the view from every observation post in a series of close-up linked images. Eventually I had a complete 360-degree coverage of everything facing the airport. I sent the films back to Calvi for development and had A4 size prints made of each shot. When the photographs came back, I joined them up to give me the overall view from each OP. This was still a confusing mess so I covered them with acetate and hand drew the outline of each building. I then included in the drawing any feature of interest or points specified by the observers. This enabled me to provide a simplified image and gave each point of interest a reference number. I supplied a copy of the view to the relevant OP and kept one for the operations room.

  When a sniper fired, all the observer had to do was call in the reference. For example: ‘Post 3, B6’. We then knew instantly the location of the sniper and it was easier for the observer to add a reference if a new location was spotted. The system was an instant success and we were able to establish a series of favorite locations used by the snipers thereby enabling our commanding officer to formulate a response to the problem. It was a lot of work but the end result was well worth the effort. The system has now been adopted by the French Army as a whole, as standard procedure when in a combat zone anywhere in the world. Using computers and digital technology has made the task a lot easier, but the principle is the same. I am proud that I have been able to contribute in a small way to a system that can save lives.

  UN headquarters in Sarajevo were in what had been the Post Office and Telecommunications (PTT) building. It was located on the dual carriageway that led into Sarajevo about halfway between the airport and the city centre. This building, which comprised ten floors and an additional two below ground level, was of fairly modern construction. Up until then it had not been a target for direct shelling, although some shells and mortar bombs had landed very close to the compound. All UN activity in the city was coordinated from the building and it was not in the interest of either side to put it under direct attack. All countries taking part in the UN operation had a senior military presence there and as a result it was difficult to maintain operational security. There were some countries that were openly biased towards the Serbs.

  There will always be those who will seek to profit from any situation. The UN Security Council agreement states that all principal equipment used in a conflict zone must be the property of the UN. The only exception to this rule are armaments defined as personal weapons, such as assault rifles. The agreement also states that only equipment which can be described as defensive may be brought into a combat zone. Armoured personnel carriers are defensive but a tank is offensive. All countries brought in their own vehicles but to comply with the regulations they were then bought by the UN.

  This made it easier to rotate units with heavier equipment already in place. Every vehicle to be used was brought into a large parking area and valued by a UN purchasing officer, who authorized payment in full to the country owning the vehicle. Up to this point, not a problem. As can be imagined, this involved hundreds of vehicles being lined up, inspectors walking down the line counting the number, and that was about it – it was a numbers game without each vehicle being individually inspected. One eastern bloc country in particular would tow in old BTR personnel carriers which wouldn’t even have an engine and pass them off as operational. Perhaps there was a backhander, but certainly no one batted an eye and they had to know it was going on. The vehicles would then be towed away never to be seen again – or at least not with the same identification numbers. For all I know the same hulks made several visits to the assessors. We were told that it was none of our business and not to rock the boat. I was to witness other financial scams later in the tour.

  One problem we were facing was the extremely cold weather. This was to be expected in a region that had hosted the Winter Olympics, but living in the Mediterranean, and having spent so much time in the heat of Africa, meant that we were more used to adapting to the tropics than the cold.

  A deep snow covering in an urban war zone is not good news. Every night anti-tank and anti-personnel mines were scattered by both sides on the approach roads and surrounding areas. This meant that all access roads to the airport had to be cleared every day before we could start normal operations. That on its own was bad enough, but when the surface was covered in 2 feet of snow it was very bad news indeed.

  There were two principal entry points to the airport and two emergency ones. The main entrance faced the city and was in no-man’s land, as was the main road, in fact the only road, into Sarajevo. At least during daylight hours it was controlled by ourselves and on the whole relatively safe if you obeyed the rules. The northern entrance was a different kettle of fish. It ran between two of the most contested areas and the battle lines were within spitting distance of each other. We had to use this road to gain access to the Serbian area of Lukavica where their military barracks were. We knew exactly where the principal combat posts were on either side of the road; we also knew where the Serbian tanks were inside of the ruined buildings. It was always a relief each time you crossed the area without incident. All hell could break loose at any time and it was just too bad if you were caught in the middle. This area had seen so much fighting that there wasn’t a house left intact or a tree that had not been sculptu
red by the thousands of rounds fired by both sides. These were not the images you saw on TV or in your morning paper. This was the reality of war on the front line, not a piece done to camera in a safe zone with images and sounds dubbed into the background. Each time I drove along this road I got a shiver down my spine and sometimes I had to make the journey two or three times day. Even today, when I look at photographs I took of this area, I get a strange feeling.

  Once a week we brought the two sides together for peace negotiations at our compound within the customs area at the airport. Neither side trusted the other and we had to bring them to the meetings simultaneously in our VABs. Both sides insisted on having a dozen armed soldiers with them, but once they were inside our compound they had to hand over their weapons. Each was taken into the building separately, searched and disarmed before being taken into the conference room. If it hadn’t been such a serious affair it would have been comical.

  Each soldier was given a cloakroom ticket with a number in exchange for his weapons. Everything had to be written down in a book and signed in against the number on the ticket, for example: ‘Ticket No. 8. AK47 assault rifle with 200 rounds, 6 hand grenades, a 9mm automatic pistol and two ammunition clips (full) for said weapon, a combat knife and bayonet’. There were no exceptions and the generals had to submit to the same body search as their bodyguards. At first they objected but they soon got used to it. At the end of the meeting they handed in their cloakroom ticket and got their weapons back, signed out and were driven back to the safety of their own areas at exactly the same time. Timing was vitally important for the security of all concerned. Had one group reached safety before the other, there was always the danger that there would be an attempt to take out the other. These were high-ranking people and their deaths might have been worth the resulting scandal.

  There was no doubt that they hated each other and their problems were not going to be solved over a cup of tea.

  During these exchanges we were able to gather valuable intelligence while escorting the delegates. As I explained the Legion is a multi-lingual body like no other, and we made sure that the legionnaires acting as escorts spoke or at least understood the local language. They were on strict instructions not to speak a word but to listen and report everything that was said. Some of the revelations were startling. They discussed everything from what they wanted from the negotiations, to what they were seeing and noting – our defences and equipment, and how they would go about attacking us if it came to the crunch. As a direct result we always made sure that nothing vital to our security could be seen during their visits and from then on the small side windows of the VABs had their flaps closed, blocking their view.

  These meetings were the first time any sort of dialogue had been started between the warring parties. It was early days but at least it was a start. The first couple of meetings were short-lived affairs with the participants exchanging verbal insults at the tops of their voices and could easily have turned into a brawl.

  As usual I set about photographing the faces of everyone to add to our files – you never knew what might be of use at a later date. For example, when we compared the earlier photographs with those taken at later meetings we noticed that some of the more senior figures had been present in the background in the guise of bodyguards.

  Yugoslavia is a major crossroads between the racial and religious cultures of Western and Eastern Europe, and the Middle East. For centuries one party or another has tried to dominate the region, but since the death of Tito things have gone from bad to worse. He may have ruled with the iron fist of a dictator, but at least the region found a certain stability. Now that he was gone the country had fallen apart. There might have a fragile peace at the time but it was only a question of time before the violence came to the surface again. We were always being reminded that we were there to make peace not war, and that we should be transparent in everything we did. The only military actions we undertook had to be for our own protection and not deemed to be aggressive, or show any bias to any one side in the conflict. That is a lot easier said than done. To the outside world it appeared a clear-cut case of victim and aggressor, but in this case the victims were far from innocent.

  THE REALITIES OF ETHNIC HATRED

  The bottom line was that the Serbs and Croats were both engaged in the process of ethnic cleansing. They both believed that their homelands had been stolen from them by systematic colonization over the centuries. In particular the Serbs also reckoned that they had been pushed out of their homes in towns and villages by an invasion of Muslim communities from the Middle East.

  There is no doubt that there was some truth in this, but it did not justify the blatant torture and killings which we were now seeing before our own eyes. Everything that was happening there had a lot in common with what was going on between the Israelis and Palestinians today. At the end of the day both sides have to share the blame and come to some kind of agreement. There can be no outright winner in either conflict, but sadly it will never happen.

  The final straw for the Serbs of the old Yugoslavia was no doubt the declaration of the independent state of Bosnia and Herzegovina on 29 February 1992. The siege of Sarajevo followed immediately, resulting in the war I was now in the middle of. The Serbs cleared entire villages of their Muslim populations and if they did not want to occupy the vacated homes, they burnt them down or destroyed them with artillery or tank fire. Young men were executed in front of their parents, wives and children, then the women were raped before being driven into the hills along with the aged and infirm.

  As winter continued, it was easy to see why Sarajevo had been chosen to host the 1984 Winter Olympics – the snow-covered mountains touched the very edge of the city. The different venues were within a 15-mile radius of the city centre which made it a perfect location.

  The Olympic village was of typical 1970/1980s eastern bloc construction, comprising four-storey concrete blocks of flats close to the airport, in the district of Dobrinja. The new flats were called ‘Airport Settlement’ and still had the Olympic rings painted on the front of them, overlooking the airport. The rings were now used by the Serbs for a different kind of sport – target practice for their tanks, with a case of beer or a bottle of the local booze the prize for a direct hit.

  A big problem for the occupants of the city was the lack of electricity and heating. When the newer parts of the city had been built, an underground heating system had been installed in the state-owned tower blocks. The heating and electricity came from a coal-fired power station and was one of the first things to be destroyed by the Serbs at the beginning of the conflict. All alternative fuel supplies to the city were cut off by the Serbian blockade. The result of this was that anything that could be burned was either cut down or broken up to be used in the improvised cooking stoves which were also the only source of heat in the freezing conditions. There was not a tree, hedge or wooden fence post left and expeditions into the heavily mined wooded areas around the city often resulted in grievous wounds or loss of life.

  Only the minimum basic food supply convoys were making it into the city. Although these supplies were supposedly for distribution to everyone, in reality it was far from the case. The Serbs delayed every aid convoy for days on end, except those that were clearly marked as coming from Christian charities destined for distribution by the Christian community within the city. This meant that some supplies were getting through while others were held up or simply stolen.

  We were not meant to be involved in the humanitarian aid distribution process, but it was obvious that things were not as they should be. Parts of the city were under the protection of the Ukrainian UN force who were openly biased towards Serbian nationals isolated in the city. Something would have to be done.

  Our first ploy was to make the international press aware of the problem but again they were only interested in news that was visual, with lots of explosions close to the reporter who was supposedly risking his life to bring you the latest earth-shattering
news as it was happening. I have come to the conclusion that politicians only want the public to hear things that make them sound wonderful, and journalists only want the public to hear how good they are at telling you all about it. What the news actually is doesn’t matter. We even had instances of Ukrainian armoured cars coming into the airport for fuel, filling up, driving out of the airport, going round the block and offloading the fuel into Serbian tanks before coming back in for a second top-up. Again, no one wanted to know because it would cause a diplomatic row.

  There was not a bit of ground within the city limits that was not planted with vegetables – even the grass borders at the sides of the roads were used to grow potatoes. You could tell where the snipers had a clear line of fire into the city - these were the only places where the grass grew as no one would take the risk of venturing there during daylight hours. There were parts of the city which could not be shielded from sniper fire and we watched the different reactions of people when they moved into the more exposed areas. Some would run straight across without any hesitation, others would stand for a while before they built up enough courage to go, while others just froze on the spot for hours, unable to cross. The latter often waited until an armoured car came along. It would then slow to a walking pace allowing dozens of pedestrians to cross the gap using the vehicle for protection. The snipers always opened fire, trying to shoot under the bodywork in the hope of hitting someone, reminding me of our experience when we first arrived. There were even those who seemed to have given up, in a way. If they got shot, so be it. They might have lost a loved one and felt that they had nothing to live for. They would just walk across the gap at normal walking pace while the bullets flew round them. I was convinced that the snipers were playing games with these poor souls, for surely they couldn’t miss. They would let some of them get across safely, whilst others would be brought down seconds before they stepped into cover. If we were passing we would brake and try to protect them, but they never even looked at us - they just didn’t care. I had never seen that before and found it very sad.