The Bosnian Experience

by J E Higgins

  Halfway to the barracks, she was intercepted by Commander Augin waving his hand trying to catch her attention. “Sauwa, may we speak, privately?” His accent was polished, and his English nearly flawless.

  “Of course, sir,” Sauwa replied following the commander.

  Commander Maurice Augin cut a fine image of the consummate professional ready to walk out the gate onto a mission at any time. He was dressed neatly in his uniform of black combat fatigues, every pocket buttoned, the laces of his black boots tucked away. His combat webbing was adjusted, situated, and based on a tactical logic. His hair was neatly trimmed, his face showing only a day’s growth. His body was trim and athletic because he worked to stay in shape in his limited free time.

  He was indeed a man Sauwa respected. A graduate of the prestigious French military academy in Saint-Cyr, Augin had spent ten years as a commissioned officer with the French Foreign Legion’s 2eme REI mechanized infantry regiment. He had cut his teeth in various conflicts throughout North Africa. The story of why he left halfway through his career had never been explained. However, he had proven a most valuable asset as a competent field commander, eventually becoming the trusted advisor to Colonel Milvuj Trajic. Though more cop than soldier, he possessed a keen eye for talent and bullshit. With the help of Augin, the operations launched by the Croat forces improved immensely.

  Following closely in silence, Sauwa could only assume this was to be another one of the commander’s special missions she occasionally performed. Such missions involved eliminating certain key personnel of the enemy. This was a job she carried out on her own, to the greater ignorance of her squad mates and everyone else.

  Arriving at a side door behind the church with two armed men standing guard, she followed Augin into a small office. The office was dark, with all the windows painted or boarded over to prevent anyone from looking inside. Augin pulled on a small dangling chain, and the room became illuminated by a single light bulb hanging from an overhead lamp. The light revealed a large wood desk with maps and paper strewn across it. The walls and tables were lined with books, newspapers and other periodicals. Unbeknownst to anyone beyond Rommel, Augin and a select few of the mercenaries, this was the planning room for special operations. This was the room where the more intricate and secretive plans were made.

  Taking a seat in a chair at the edge of the desk, Augin looked Sauwa over. He seemed to be debating whether to tell her something. “We have a mission we need you to carry out.”

  “I assumed that, given we’re meeting here,” Sauwa replied, taking up a seat at the opposite end of the desk.

  Augin paused. His eyes darted about, searching for an answer he did not yet possess. “This will be the last job you will do for us. After it is completed, you will no longer be in our service.”

  Sauwa was puzzled but said nothing.

  Augin continued. “In the months you’ve been here, you have proven your worth time and again. MacMasters, Gilgood, Dumas, and Gazzetti spoke often about your abilities in the field, and how you were a much-needed addition to the squad. That’s in addition to the discrete missions you have performed on your own in our service. You’ve been quite successful in the elimination of certain Serbian military commanders since our truce with them was broken a few months ago. Just as your elimination of certain key Bosnians officials has helped make our re-alliance with them more amenable. For that, we owe you profound gratitude.”

  “It wasn’t something I necessarily enjoyed doing,” Sauwa said quietly.

  “And it should never be,” Augin spoke with the tone of a father. Sometimes it felt like that was the relationship they had with each other. “But now it has to come to an end. When you’ve completed this job, you’ll have to be moving on.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  Leaning back in his chair, the Frenchman sighed. “As you know, the United Nations has been trying to bring order to this muddle. NATO is now going to get involved. They are setting up to execute Operation Deliberate Force. This won’t be the impotent blue-helmeted peacekeepers of the United Nations. It will be a full military force intent on bringing order to the region by force. When this happens, it will be only a matter of months before the warring factions conclude a peace settlement.

  “The UN intends to push immediately for war crime investigations and, through NATO forces, start rounding up suspected war criminals.

  “I understand you have committed no such crimes while working for us. You have acted properly keeping your business to enemy combatants. However, you are an internationally wanted criminal currently sought by several countries. When this war comes to an end, most likely abruptly, you will be on that list of individuals wanted by the UN. If you stay too long, you will find yourself in a country entirely without friends.

  “The Croatians will hand you over in a second to show they’re being cooperative. And, let’s not forget, your private actions for us have earned you a fearsome reputation. Killing high ranking commanders and officials and carrying out other various acts of terrorism makes enemies. You’ve sent chills and fear through the ranks of the enemy. And, they don’t even know who you are. The Black Widow has garnered a mythical image of demonic proportions. It also means that when your identity is revealed, both Bosnians and Serbs will demand your head.”

  It was irritating to think how her actions had been so grossly blown out of proportion. The targets she hit were not nearly as protected as they were believed to be. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Augin was right. Once the British learned she was in the country, they would use their influence to ensure she was a high priority. If they didn’t, allies of the prominent figures she had killed in Bosnia would give her nowhere to go.

  For a moment, Sauwa felt defeated. “So then, what’s the plan?”

  Augin could sympathize with her, but there was still his problem. Reaching into a leather satchel he produced a thin, dark-brown folder and dropped it onto the desk. “This is the target.” He opened the folder and turned it in her direction.

  She looked down to see a low-grade, black and white photograph depicting a man with a light crop of facial hair and receding hairline. The man looked mild and ordinary, sporting a short-sleeved collared shirt.

  Other pictures showed the same man dressed in a similar fashion walking about with men she knew to be officers in the Armija Republike Bosne I Hercegovine (Army of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina or ARBiH). It was the prime military force of the Bosnian Moslems. It was also the only recognized army in Bosnia by most of the outside world. In the various pictures, the ordinary looking man was making gestures and speaking to the Bosnian officers as if advising them.

  The pictures were of better quality than she usually received; especially given that the modern conveniences taken for granted by most militaries were not available to Croatian intelligence, who made do with equipment new in the late fifties.

  Following the collection of photographs was a series of handwritten notes on a few loose sheets of paper. The notes were an attempt at a dossier. It was a God-send they had someone who could translate the notes, none were written in English. Fuzzy and disorganized as they were, the scribblings explained the target was a Selim Abhajiri, an Iranian national.

  “Iranian?” Sauwa asked calmly.

  It was an open secret the Bosnians were receiving support from other Islamic countries. Pakistan had been smuggling in caches of weapons from small arms to rocket launchers, and Iran had been sending in military and intelligence advisors in the hundreds, traveling under false diplomatic credentials, to help develop the Moslem forces in the war. Even though the Croatians and the Bosnians had rekindled their previous alliance, factions on both sides continued their hostilities toward each other.

  “From what we’ve ascertained,” Augin said in his sophisticated and quiet voice, “Selim Abhajiri is traveling under the diplomatic cover of an agricultural advisor gathering facts about Bosnian food production. Our intelligence sources say he is Iranian military,
part of the Al-Quds Special Forces.”

  “That’s nothing new,” Sauwa interrupted. “We’ve known about these advisors for quite some time.”

  The Frenchman reached over and tapped the photograph at the top of the folder. “You’re right, this is nothing out of the ordinary. However, in this case, the situation is different. As you know, in the last few months the Bosnian operations carried out in this region have been profoundly more effective resulting in some seriously disastrous results for our forces. Our intelligence sources argue that this man is the reason. They believe he has been instrumental in planning and directing many of the more debilitating attacks.”

  Sauwa chuckled. “And, they’re basing this off of what? Forgive me sir, but intelligence, even from the best organizations, can be murky. What makes for the Croatian intelligence network around here is a loose-knit band of locals collecting gossip and viewing things from a distance. The quality of their reporting is questionable bordering on back-fence prattle.”

  “Your concerns are well founded,” Augin said. “Yet, you must also have noticed the Bosnian operational execution has improved significantly over the last few months, and it correlates with the arrival of this man. He is, after all, a soldier traveling in disguise.”

  Sauwa’s eyes trailed off toward the blackened windows. “Or that’s what a bunch of amateurs think and opportunists want you to believe. Killing a diplomatic figure is bad enough, even when it’s an accident. When it's intentional, the repercussions could be fatal if it turns out we were wrong.”

  Augin sighed. He knew she was not wrong about any of it. What made for Croatian intelligence was often a dysfunctional mess, being operated by people who had little idea what they were doing. And deliberately assassinating a diplomatic figure, especially from a country like Iran that had some significant global pull, was playing a dangerous game.

  The Frenchman maintained his silence.

  Sauwa continued. “I understand war and understand mistakes happen. I also understand you’re taking a big risk based on nothing more than grainy pictures and a few randomly collected notes. Are you sure these are the orders you want to give?”

  “Not without carefully looking at those photos and putting the pieces together,” Augin finally answered. “Intelligence means working with only the pieces of the puzzle you’ve got.” He tapped the photos again.

  She flipped through the packet of photos once more and saw the same theme over and over. A supposed agricultural advisor in the company of uniformed military officials. His movements always posed in a directing manner, with the Bosnians looking on, soaking up every word. “He definitely looks more involved than he should be.” She raised her head to look back at her commander. “What’s the plan?”

  He plopped another folder in front of her. It was thicker than the dossier. From it, he pulled out a folded-up map and spread it across the desk. It was a map of the region, not unlike the one directly underneath it, except this one had pen markings scribbled on it. “The mission is in Jablancia.” He pointed to a dot with a red circle drawn around it. “As usual, you will leave base camp as part of a visiting patrol. This will provide you cover against anyone observing our camp movements.”

  “You will arrange to slip from the patrol, make to the wood lines, and follow the river to a predetermined location.” He pointed to an area marked with a small black X several miles north of the base camp. The area looked to be well away from any roadways and was only a short distance from the river. “One caveat: this time you’ll be going out with your squad.”

  “Absolutely not!” To help maintain secrecy, Sauwa had never deployed with organic forces from their own camp. The visiting units knew nothing more than she was traveling with them. Somewhere in transit, she would slip discretely from her vehicle into the tree line. Her transporters would assume she was doing something they weren’t meant to know.

  She folded her hands across the top of the photos. “After today, all the real soldiers are dead. Raker is a sadistic racist who sees this war as a means to make his fortune by pillaging at every opportunity, jeopardizing the mission in the process. He’s entirely indifferent and hateful to the Bosnians and Serbs. The only reason he hasn’t committed murder or violence against innocents was that Gilgood and MacMasters kept him in line. Now that they’re gone, Raker’s a war crime waiting to happen. Omery may be a decent driver, but he and Gerald are fakes who greatly overestimate their abilities. Gerald, in particular, hates me and will probably try to kill me given the chance. I’m not working with the remaining men anymore.”

  She felt Augin’s hand rest on hers. He looked tired and sad. “The mortar that killed Gilgood and McMasters killed the squad. Truthfully, Rommel thinks without them, Gerald, Raker, and Omery will be dead within the week. Another reason it’s time for you to move on.”

  “If that’s the case, I prefer to go out with one of the local squads.”

  Augin removed his hand and leaned back in his chair stone-faced and serious. “You won’t be with them alone for very long.” She could see his mind was made up.

  She rubbed her hand over her face. “Who will be the new squad leader?”

  “Gerald will be told he’s in charge just to quell him and his ego,” Augin replied in his professional soft tone that suggested the decision was not up for discussion. “The Serbs have intensified their campaign limiting our abilities to work with units from other camps or give our local friends the liberty of movement they had enjoyed. So we have to work with what we have.”

  Sauwa looked coldly at the French officer. “He’s no soldier.”

  Augin cracked a smile. “Rommel didn’t need me to peg him for a phony regarding his bullshit about Vietnam and his black operations experience. But Gerald and the others did what we needed them to do to augment the rest of you. As I’ve said, you won’t be with them much longer.”

  Reluctantly, Sauwa nodded.

  Augin went on. “We have planned for your squad to go out with a larger force of Croatians. They’ll accompany you to the current Serb controlled areas to where we think the Bosnians are operating more heavily. At a certain point, your squad will break from them. They’ll go on to their mission, and you and your squad will move out to perform a mission we’ve set up to give you some cover. It will be to recce a small farmhouse potentially being used by Bosnian guerrillas. It’s not likely, but someone should check it out, and it will keep the squad busy. During the recce, you will lose yourself in the bushes and move out on your mission.”

  He pointed again to the black x on the map. “You’ll move to a predetermined location where we have arranged for you to meet with Croatian partisans familiar with the area. From there, they will guide you to your destination and give you support to complete your mission. Because of the limited degree of information we have been able to obtain, you will have to gather your own information and make your own plan. Devise whatever method you can to ensure success. Following the completion of your mission, they have instructions to guide you to another group, who will help you get past the border into Montenegro and, hopefully, put you in contact with someone who will help get you out of the Balkans entirely.”

  “Hopefully?” The word was not lost on her.

  “It’s the best we can offer,” the Frenchman said apologetically. “Frankly, I was amazed Rommel had the connections to arrange transport for you as far as he did.”

  “Montenegro?” She questioned. “Why not north to Croatia? Wouldn’t you have better connections there?”

  “We do,” Augin explained. “Rommel and I discussed it as a possibility. The UN security forces have a very strong presence guarding the border. Your chances of getting across are not good. Rommel’s connections there are still caught in a war and could possibly be consumed in the upcoming NATO mission. Montenegro is largely outside of it all and offers the best possibility of keeping you out of the roundup.”

  Sauwa massaged her brow. “The Croats and the Bosnians had a mutual enemy in the Serbs who wer
e out to annihilate both groups through genocide. When the Croats saw a chance to gain more land of their own, they abandoned the Bosnians and threw in with the Serbs. It’s all politics, and it’s disgusting.”

  The Frenchman’s eyes went soft. “I appreciate you holding your tongue on the matter in public. This war is not easy. Remember though, you’re a mercenary who is paid to fight and kill for an employer. Their enemies are your enemies because the paycheck says so. This is the world in which you and I both belong.” Despite trying to say his piece in the most tempered way, it still hit deeply. She was a person with a skill-set that offered limited markets for viable employment.

  Augin continued with his brief, offering the code words and names she would use. In her usual manner, she took notes in her special coded writing only she could interpret. When he finished with the final points of the plan, he assisted in going through the disjointed notes that passed for a dossier. What little information could be gleaned would still be of immense help in preparing.

  The meeting ended with the Frenchman collecting all the documents pertaining to the mission. Because of poor security, it was necessary to burn all sensitive information. When she left the room, the only evidence a plan ever existed would lie in Augin, Rommel, and the minimal notes she was allowed using a code she had developed. After doing a sweep to ensure there was nothing that could compromise the mission, he gave her a nod. Sauwa cracked open the door. Seeing no one but the two guards outside, she edged her way out.

  Catching their eye, she pretended to adjust her bra and wipe her mouth. The two guards smiled at one another as they looked on. They might have been part of Rommel’s most trusted guards, but they were still soldiers who lived on the base and conversed with others. It was an added degree of security if they believed the activities that went on in the planning room between her and Augin were of a conjugal nature. Better her reputation should suffer than her secrecy. A lowly mercenary soldier having secret meetings with the unit’s top leadership in the confidential briefing room would assuredly get around. It would also make people very interested in her and where she went when she wasn’t with her squad.