by J E Higgins
The day was catching up with her. She crossed the open area making her way past the assorted cast of soldiers, refugees, and black-market business types, less alert than usual. In her diminished, lucid state, there was only one concern; the concern she had when she first arrived in Croatia so many months ago. It was the feeling of uncertainty toward her future. The war, for whatever else it was, had protected her from the intelligence agencies of an ever-growing list of countries. It had also been a distraction from having to think about her situation as a fugitive. When NATO forces came, that would end.
The old woman she had come to know as Nona ushered the young woman into her home and led her to the washroom. After Sauwa handed the woman a few coins for her trouble, the old woman disappeared going back to her washing.
Sauwa discarded her lizard patterned camouflage top and trousers, followed by the black T-shirt, knit watch cap and, finally, her cotton underwear. Before she started, she made a quick check of the room and the neighboring rooms to ensure Smokes or his friends weren’t trying for another show. She didn’t think they would. The last miscreant was thwarted by the sight of a gun barrel shoved tightly against his cheek. Satisfied she was alone, she stepped into the shower, scrubbed away her camo face paint with a rough washcloth and then lost herself in the one pleasure in this place.
The door to her barracks creaked when she pushed her way inside. The place was dark. Like Augin’s planning office, light from a few ancient bulbs hung from the ceiling. Faint beams of sunlight filtered in from small, dirty windows lining the walls creating an eerie environment. The barracks was largely deserted except for a few mercenaries resting. There were a couple of Irishmen, whose history she was unclear on.
There was never any form of assigned sleeping quarters since people came and went ─ some killed, some deserting ─ so everyone just took whatever bed was available.
At the far back, on the folding bed she typically used, a man groaned and rustled about, his hand inside his pants. She was not surprised it was Raker. Deciding it would be less awkward to relocate, she dropped her gear on a relatively clean looking bed across from the Irishmen and sank onto the springy mattress.
The mission, the ambush, and the meeting with Augin had all taken its toll. Her mind was fading. Slipping off her leather combat boots, she placed them next to the rest of her gear and weapons. Down to her T-shirt and trousers, she lay down on the bed and tucked her fatigue top under her head. It was only seconds before the darkness of the bland ceiling became a blur and she was gone.
4
The sun had not risen yet when the squad assembled in their vehicles in preparation to move out. All that existed was a thin reddish-orange crack at the very base of the darkened sky. It was the ideal time to move. They had the cover of darkness on their side and the natural lethargy that begins to consume any enemy who has been out all night or just waking up.
Sauwa woke early as usual to ensure more time for last-minute prep. She sank behind a building and took a lighter to the hardened patches in her camo paint packet. When they were soft enough, she applied the paint, smudging the darker colors over her nose, forehead, and high cheeks and the lighter colors to the side of her face and neck. Preferring to wear gloves she opted not to extend her artistry to her hands.
She was first to the jeep and had just finished checking the rest of her gear making sure it was packed tight ─ all things gleaming or jingling taped down with dark tape ─ when the rest of her team began to assemble. She bounced up and down to ensure nothing would fall or rattle at an inopportune time.
“You look the little soldier,” Gerald said smugly. “But this ain’t no playground. This is the real thing, so stop playing G.I. Joe.”
Sauwa said nothing. There was no point. She looked at the older man and could only mask her own judgment. They were going into the woods to conduct a recce, and he was wearing a light camouflage bandana over his head littered with juvenile sketches. The bandana failed to cover his grey hair. He had a solid light green field jacket, brown US army T-shirt, and green tiger-striped camouflage pants. The only facial paint the man had applied was some weird assortment of colored lines drawn sporadically and loosely across his face. It was something out of a cheap action movie clearly meant to make him look fearsome and not logical for a man about to go into the tree line.
Omery and Raker were not far behind and, like their new leader, neither seemed to appreciate the nature of the mission. Raker’s choice of a green cutoff shirt showed off his pale white arms and overdone tattoos of the white supremacist message. Omery, at least, made a good attempt with a camouflage field coat that matched the area and less distinctive black knit watch cap. His camo paint covering his face was better than the other two, but was all a mint light green and failed to capture anything else. Neither Raker nor Gerald had bothered to tape their combat webbing and packs.
This came as no surprise to Sauwa since none of their previous missions had involved getting off the road or away from the local towns and villages. The closest had been a quick patrol into the forests. MacMasters, Gilgood, Dumas, and she had handled any deep incursions into the woods leaving the rest with the jeeps.
The Croatian unit they were to ride out with bundled into their convoy which consisted of two small Toyota pickup trucks and a jeep. They did not look remotely like professional soldiers, each wearing a mixture of military fatigues and civilian clothing. Most of the fighters were young men, barely more than twenty. Her old friend Smokes shot her a naughty smile as he mounted the back of one of the Toyotas.
Raker had already assumed his post in the driver’s seat with Gerald taking the passenger side leaving Sauwa and Omery to nestle down in the back.
No sooner had she sat down then the jeep roared into action. The German pressed the gas pedal, and the vehicle flew onto the dirt road and sped out the front gate. He had barely missed hitting the two sentries, who had managed to jump out of the way in the nick of time.
Fagots! He yelled to the two angry men as he raced out of the base camp.
Clutching her AK-47 in a tactical grip, Sauwa aimed her rifle at the landscape across from her. Omery seemed lost in his own world. He leaned his rifle haphazardly in the opposite direction and proceeded to let his eyes wander, lost in his own thoughts. Glancing behind her she saw the Croat squad following. Inspired by the audacious behavior of the German, they raced wildly trying to keep up.
“You all just follow my lead when we get there,” Gerald shouted to a disinterested audience. “I did this stuff all the time back in Nam. I know what I’m doing so do as I say, and you youngsters will be all right. It’s time you learned from a real pro.”
Sauwa looked across at Omery, who rolled his eyes. She returned her focus to the other side of the road having no illusions about how badly this could all turn out. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the old Vietnam vet lazily kick his feet up on the dash and rest his rifle on his chest. God help us if we get hit, was the one thought going through her mind.
At the intended break, the Croatians waved their goodbyes from the back of their trucks and blew past the mercenaries onto another road.
Raker drove a short distance before turning the jeep into a soft patch of tall grass and some bushes. The forestry of Bosnia was more in line with a North American State park than the thick jungle vegetation of some tropical countries. This made bushcraft concealment ─ finding a good piece of vegetation that could hide a vehicle ─ a difficult process.
Pulling the jeep deep into the shrubbery, the team disembarked. Sauwa grabbed plants from the surrounding area to throw on top of the vehicle to provide additional concealment. Omery and Gerald, seeing the logic, chipped in to help. Raker stepped off to take a piss.
There might be enemy forces nearby, but looters were a bigger concern. It would be a long, dangerous walk back to base camp should their transportation disappear. It wasn’t much. The shrubbery barely broke up the outline. Normally Sauwa would have spent more time on it, but she
had no intention of returning, so the matter was pointless.
Retrieving her gear from the back, she untied a rolled up bundle tied to another bundle. Untying the smaller of the two, she unrolled a hat-like article with darkly painted strips of frayed burlap spread over it. The burlap matched the colors and scenery of the surrounding forest. She flipped the smaller article over her head and positioned it on her knit watch cap. She looked like a cross between an animal and a bush.
Gerald snickered, “I’d say you’re taking things to the extreme with that little getup.”
She didn’t bother with a reply. In a war that favored the use of snipers in a terrain that was largely open forests, it should have been self-explanatory why one would want to conceal themselves better. But, for these three, it did not seem to be the case. She adjusted the camouflage field coat ─ a size too big to break up her outline a little more ─ and threw her Bergen over her shoulders.
With gear collected, the team was ready to move.
Omery took the point of the formation. Raker and Gerald moved back eight meters on each side of the flanks, leaving Sauwa to fall back another ten meters watching the rear. It was a good diamond patrol formation. With Omery leading, the team ventured into the wood line. Gradually, the surrounding trees towered over them like big, leafy umbrellas consuming the sunlight and leaving the woods in a gloomy patch of shadows. The team took up their weapons in a tactical manner facing outward, eyes focused on the landscape. Sauwa found it somewhat reassuring that her three team members were capable of that much.
Everyone was tense. The location was known to be patrolled by of the 7 Muslim Brigade of the army of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina forces. They were one of the better trained and equipped units in the Bosnian forces.
On edge, they maneuvered cautiously through a landscape that changed frequently, mindful of every shadow, every noise. They moved at a steady pace through lush grass into piles of decaying leaves and across patches of bare dirt. The trees provided some protection, but the open patches made it easy to be seen from a distance. It was not ideal terrain in which to move about covertly.
Sauwa scanned for any signs they were not alone ─ broken twigs hanging from trees or ground that had recently been disturbed. This was made more difficult by her position in the back, having to differentiate between traces left by her team and those made by someone else.
So far, she had seen no indication of an enemy patrol but worried about the possibility of a sniper. A few months earlier, she had been out with Dumas on a recce when a gunshot echoed, followed by a rifle bullet screaming by inches from her head appearing as if by magic. And just as easily, the gunman vanished without a trace.
As expected, Gerald’s nerves were getting to him. He shook as he looked out into the expanse of the forest. Despite having been in Bosnia for a year and a half ─ not to mention his extensive experience in the jungles of Nam ─ the old man hadn’t adjusted well to the open forests of Eastern Europe. He claimed his expertise ran more toward cities and urban locations. Sauwa didn’t believe him for a second. Raker, by contrast, took in the foliage with an almost sinister delight. His eyes were wild, hungry for action. The times he had killed, he had behaved as if it were some sort of orgasmic experience. Now his face read like a hunter waiting for the chance to strike. For him, it was not if, but when. He clutched his weapon and smiled.
Omery insisted on keeping the compass despite the danger of it distracting him from acting as a lookout. The marine commando was sure he could do both. At about a kilometer out, he lifted his hand to call a halt. The team stopped and held their positions. Then, with another flick of the hand, the Englishman waved everyone to join him.
Sauwa had dropped to a knee and slipped up close to a large bush. When the others started to gather up front, she rose slowly and made her way toward them. Backing up to them, she kept looking at the surrounding area and again took a knee. Gerald and Omery sat comfortably against a tree, while Raker knelt near Sauwa.
“All right, we’re only a kilo away from the place,” Omery announced in a half-hearted attempt to whisper. “We follow this trail here.” He pointed with a chop of his hand.
“All right,” Gerald interrupted trying to assert his fictional image as the team leader. “We move up until just in sight. Then Omery and I will move to the right, Raker and the girl will pull to the left.” For some reason, he was never able to call Sauwa by her name. “We’ll hold positions on opposite sides for about ten minutes then meet back at the breakpoint.”
It was a plan, no one bothered to argue.
“Remember, we’re on a mission, so you two, stick to the job,” Gerald said pointing his finger at Raker and Sauwa. “I don’t need you two getting it on while we’re out there.”
Raker shot a cold look at the old man that made everyone uneasy and Gerald flinched. He knew he had overplayed his hand, said too much and to the wrong man. He gulped nervously and attempted to speak but decided against it.
Raker eyed Sauwa like the thought had just been put into his head. He would be alone with this pretty young thing. As if reading his mind, she glared back at him tapping her rifle, daring him to make a move.
Omery motioned everyone forward. The team rose to their feet and started moving. Again, Omery took the lead with Gerald and Raker following and Sauwa at the rear. A short way down, they saw the roof of the farmhouse.
Sauwa tried to stop the team in the hopes they would break right while far enough away. All three ignored her. They pressed closer. The second story of the house was now in sight. Sauwa was sure that anyone looking through the window of the top floor would notice four armed people coming through the trees.
The team, once again, assembled around Omery as they checked the place out. The house appeared deserted. Gerald and Omery took the right flank. Sauwa and Raker slipped off to the left with the German in the lead. He navigated around keeping within the tree line but not much more than that. To Sauwa’s frustration, he failed at every chance to take advantage of the numerous bushes and additional vegetation that would have better concealed them. She tried to mitigate the situation by digging further into the shrubs while still not straying too far from her partner. Nervously she kept viewing the house hoping that Augin’s intelligence was accurate, and it was a dead location. The team was just here to confirm it. If not, it was a miracle they had not been seen yet.
Rounding off to the flank, Raker and Sauwa found a location that gave them a good view of the front and side of the house and the shed. Hunkering down behind a large shrub between two umbrella-like trees, the two mercenaries watched in silence. Sauwa assumed Raker’s lack of conversation was more to do with his disdain for her than any tactical professionalism.
Fine by her.
She would be away from him and the team soon enough. When the recce was done, she would arrange to get lost on the way back to the rendezvous and start out on her mission.
The house showed no signs of life. Raker was getting bored. He dropped to his side. Resting on his arm and elbow, his rifle leveled over a nearby rock, he drew in the dirt with a twig. Sauwa placed herself in a kneeling position up close to the bush limiting her silhouette as much as possible. She figured they would hold for a few hours and leave. Until then, she would play the part.
Raker devoted his energies to the sketch and became oblivious until the monotony was interrupted by the sound of a woman muttering. A heavyset woman waddled out the side door of the house, a hijab wrapped loosely around her head, and a flowing grey garment draped over the rest of her body. It was easy to guess the woman was a Bosnian Muslim. She didn’t appear to be anyone dangerous, just a local working what she could of her farm. Sauwa held steady. There was nothing worth noting. The emphasis was on remaining undetected.
Raker, seeing the woman, rolled over onto his stomach and took up his rifle. He whispered something in German, his eyes taking on the same sinister gaze she had seen at the start of the mission. Sauwa didn’t have to speak the language
to know he had something bad on his mind, but as long as he kept cool, he was free to think what he wanted.
The old woman fussed about her yard, and it was making Raker agitated. The situation escalated when the sound of another voice resonated from the house. Its voice was female and belonged to someone much younger.
The two mercenaries held steady, neither one exactly sure what to make of the situation.
Soon the second female emerged from the house. They could tell she was younger by the sound of her voice, and she was more agile. She leaped from the doorway and charged across the distance to meet the older one. She wore a hijab in a similar fashion around her head. However, unlike the older woman, she wore a T-shirt, jacket, and jeans.
The two Bosnian women began jabbering away in their native tongue. Sauwa could only understand bits and pieces of what they were discussing, but by what she could understand, she concluded it had nothing to do with any military operations. It was a girl talking to her grandmother, apparently worried about the old woman’s health.
Sauwa took a breath of relief. It didn’t seem as if there was cause for concern.
Then she saw Raker. His sinister look became even more unnerving with the sight of the young girl. He was licking his lips, a four-star meal in front of him. “How old do you think the young one is?” He asked in his accented English. “Fourteen-fifteen maybe?”
“What does it matter?” Sauwa asked. “We’re here on a recce, nothing more. Whatever you’re thinking, forget it.”
The German smiled. “We’re here looking for enemy forces. There are none, just these two rag head fucks. Nobody will care if I get a little exercise with the young one. Especially if neither are around to talk about it afterward.” He spoke as if his strategy made everything about his intentions all right.