The Bosnian Experience

by J E Higgins

  The trio spent most of the day in their observation post watching the bridge activity and the general bustle of the town. They sat through two more shift changes of the guards, executed every four hours, give or take twenty minutes. The officer in charge appeared to be the newest most inexperienced person among the guards…and the only recognized authority.

  She then turned her focus to the buildings beyond the gate. From her position, she could look down on the whole plateau. The town occupied one side. Grass fields covered the rest. The buildings along the edge looked empty or were housing lower ranked civilians. She watched the movements of the soldiers and sketched the buildings they frequented, trying to figure out what places were being used for military purposes and for what reasons.

  Considerable activity was concentrated near a cluster of small houses on the land next to a draw between two large hills. It seemed this was where most of the hierarchy congregated. Directly after making his checks, the officer in charge of the bridge guard reported to one of the houses. He would pay his respects to the men gathering around the house and enter hastily. A few minutes later he would emerge and continue with whatever business he had. It was the same procedure and location ever time, the one stable act in an otherwise unstable routine.

  By early afternoon, Sauwa directed Sasha and Oleg to pick up and move locations. Sasha breathed more steadily now. Oleg still took each step with hesitation anticipating another close run-in with the Bosnians. He had not been happy when Sauwa made him place his weapon on safe. She figured it would make him useless in a gunfight should they come across the enemy suddenly, but the idea of a gunfight breaking out because of his irrationality was an even greater possibility.

  Sasha steered them around the hill slope. Sauwa no longer had to remind him about stopping to listen for alien sounds. He was doing it all on his own. He was also more cautious about negotiating bushes, reducing noise, and being careful not to leave broken branches and plants that would draw someone’s attention and give them a trail to follow.

  Normally, she didn’t like moving around in such lightly concealed terrain during the day. However, there were relatively few Bosnian security patrols except for the patrol they had encountered in the early morning. Not enough to indicate the Bosnians felt a genuine threat in the immediate area.

  Nearly an hour and a half later, they rounded the hillside and came to another well-concealed observation perch with a better view of the Bosnian leadership’s housing area. Using her binoculars, Sauwa concentrated on the main house, certain it was the headquarters. The houses sat along a road guarded at either end. The guards were more attentive and were restricting access, admitting only officers. The men roaming about the houses wore uniforms hosting leadership insignias.

  A greater number of soldiers patrolled the land routes around the lower half of the hills. She saw another defensive position built of sandbag fortifications and protected by more belt-fed machine guns—the same type as those guarding the bridges — pointing down the draw between them. They were Belgian Fabrique National 240 Golfs, used generally by the militaries of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. She could only assume they were part of the illegal weapons shipments supplied by the Pakistanis. Defensive positions lined all the main entry points of the land connection, the only direct means in or out through the hills. They were skillfully established, maintaining interlocking fields of fire that could sweep the entire landscape, offering no visible means for an enemy to mount a frontal assault.

  Oleg shifted his position, restless. Sauwa ignored him.

  She had noticed a couple of senior commanders walking around one of the defensive positions in the company of a man dressed in civilian attire. The civilian was waving his hands as he spoke describing something to the Bosnians. The civilian motioned to the defensive position and the area in front of them. The Bosnian commanders nodded their heads and moved down to one of the machine guns instructing the gunner in positioning it better.

  Finally.

  Sauwa narrowed her focus. She recognized the civilian from photographs she had seen. Selim Abhajiri may have dressed the part of a diplomat or businessman, but his mannerisms and behavior were those of a soldier ─ an officer, a high ranking one, judging by the way he commanded the men around him. From his hand gestures, Abhajiri appeared to be advising the Bosnian commanders on their base security plan. Sauwa would bet the defensive line along the land connection was his work. The fighting line looked to be new, the sandbags only recently put in.

  The contrast between the lax security at the bridges and the far better operation at the land connection led Sauwa to believe she was looking at the Iranian’s first project. Logic dictated that, in time, he would heighten security around the entire base. Doing so would eventually make infiltration that much harder.

  Abhajiri never stopped moving as he walked the line. He made sudden and unpredictable shifts in direction, veering off to different sides creating a lazy zigzag pattern. It took her time to realize he was doing this deliberately. His movements were those of a man anticipating an assassination shot from a distance with a long rifle. Unceasing, unpredictable movement while out in the open made sniper considerations impossible.

  Oleg and Sasha grew more impatient. The long night and day and hours kneeling in shrubs had taken a toll on the two men. The boredom of having nothing to do wasn’t helping either. They were becoming complacent and struggling to stay awake. Their attentions were focused more on finding a place to get comfortable and less on their surroundings. On a few occasions, Sauwa found herself having to kick and nudge the men to get them to stay alert. She was also struggling to keep awake and focused on her recce as the day wore on.

  Abhajiri retreated back into the row of houses used by the commanders. The guards at the entrance parted to create an entrance as he brushed past them. Sauwa no longer harbored any doubts of who the Iranian was. Walking down the road, he disappeared into the second to the last house. An hour later he emerged wearing a new shirt and sipping from a bottle. He leaned up against the house taking his time to relax. It was the only time since Sauwa had caught sight of him that he had been stationary, but he was protected from any long distance shot by buildings on both sides. Thus, confirming her initial suspicions that he was a highly trained professional operative fully aware of the possible sniper locations around him. He would not be an easy target.

  It was nearly sun up when the trio reached their camp. They were greeted by a crowd of excited countrymen happy to see their loved ones. As the crowd mobbed her two companions, Sauwa quietly slipped off toward Marko’s trailer. She was tired and hungry, but she wanted to have a quick discussion with the guerrilla leader.

  Marko was standing just outside his office enjoying a cigarette when he saw the mercenary covered in her strange camouflage garb. She could have been playing the role of a forest creature in a low budget movie.

  “You should eat and get some rest, my dear,” he said with a note of paternal sympathy. “You look like you’re going to fall over any minute.”

  She must have looked as bad as she felt.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  Marko moved aside and held the door open for her. She stepped inside quietly. Throwing off her camouflage field jacket and hat, she dropped her Bergen to the floor with a thump. She didn’t wait to be offered a seat before she plopped into the nearest chair. The guerrilla leader made no protest as he passed her to take his usual seat. “What is so important?”

  Massaging her forehead to keep her mind lucid, she fought the fatigue overtaking her. “The Iranian. How did you obtain the information on him?”

  Marko shot the mercenary a look of confusion. “A few of our people have good standing and move about the area relatively freely. They shot the photos and made notes for our file.”

  “And the Bosnians have no difficulty with them being Croatian?” Sauwa found it all irregular given the deep ethnic tensions between the factions involved.

  Marko nodded. �
��Some merchants have the means to obtain things that are not easily obtainable in this war. That has a tendency to create forgiveness even in some of the staunchest enemies.”

  Sauwa still distrusted Marko’s plan. “The Iranian is advising the Bosnians all right. They’re developing their base defenses as we speak. Those information sources you’ve been relying on are going to dry up in the not too distant future. It won’t be long before you’re flying blind. I would advise that you move your base to a more defendable location. Watching this guy from a distance, he seemed to know what he was doing, and he was definitely turning the Bosnians around as a fighting force. It won’t be long before they start running more aggressive patrols out here. When they do, they will find you. This place is open to attack, especially with the Iranian advising them on how to run an assault.”

  At first, Marko looked like he was humoring a petulant child. He studied her ─ the hardened sincerity pressed on her face ─ and his own expression turned serious. He reminded himself that this was the professional advisor he had asked for. And, she was giving him her professional opinion. “Very well, where do you suggest we go?”

  “I need a better understanding of the terrain,” Sauwa explained. “Let me take some scouting parties out to see what I can find. It will be good practice for the troops. They’ll be confronting the enemy sooner than you think.”

  Marko ruminated as he sat in his chair, uncomfortable with the news he was receiving. He didn’t look forward to fighting professional soldiers with people who were barely learning how to handle a gun. “How well are the trainees coming?” He needed to hear some reassuring news.

  Rising to her feet, a persistent ache permeating her body, she stretched out her back. “They’re coming along well for what I’ve been able to teach them. They’re eager and attentive. They absorb the training and are taking it seriously, but it’s only been a few days of basic tactics with no idea how much time I have to train them until they have to be put into action.”

  “Whatever you can give me will have to suffice,” Marko replied in a defeated tone.

  “I’ve made some sketches and taken notes from the recce.” She pulled out a disorganized pile of documents from her coat pocket and proceeded to stuff them into her Bergen. “I was hoping I could use your office to plan my mission.”

  The Croatian nodded absently. His thoughts were stuck on the mercenary’s report. Sauwa gathered her gear and rolled up her camouflage field jacket. She tied the bundle onto her Bergen and lifted it onto her shoulder. “Could you leave the notes and sketches with me for my review?” Marko asked, his hands out as if begging for a handout.

  “When I’m here using your office, you can review them. But I need this information for planning my own mission, and I can’t afford to have it lost,” Sauwa yawned. Though tired, her voice resonated with cold finality.

  Wearily, she exited the office and made her way down a slight hill to a collection of tents where a few campers were gathered together in a semi-circle. Sitting in the middle of them were a group of women. They laughed and gossiped and passed around cups of tea and bowls of soup ladled from large kettles simmering over an open fire.

  Sauwa walked into the circle and plopped down next to a couple of young girls barely out of their teens. Half dead and feeling little ability to move, she eyed the kettles with a look of despair. She was both hungry and thirsty, but her body was refusing to let her stand up again. Such a simple act was now a major life decision.

  One of the young girls, who went by the name of Enya, went over and fetched one of the bowls from a pile and dipped it into the soup kettle. She followed the same routine with a smaller metal cup and the tea kettle. She returned to where Sauwa was laying and handed them to her. “You must keep up your strength.” The girl’s English was quite good. She had spent time attending school in England when she was younger.

  Taking the cup and bowl, Sauwa nodded. “Thank you.” The soup was potato mixed with a variety of indigenous herbs and vegetables and ladened with an abundance of salt. In the weary state she was in, it tasted delicious. She washed it down with the tea that flowed down her parched throat with a heavenly delight. Only in such conditions could one appreciate such simplistic meals as if they were high-end delicacies.

  “We need you functioning,” Enya said with a mischievous, girlish smile. “Oleg has been bragging to the men about your adventure. He spoke of your mission sneaking about the highly guarded enemy facility. He speaks as if he were like that American cinema character, Rambo. He is now acting like a seasoned commando telling everyone what it’s like in combat behind enemy lines.” The young girl might have suspected some exaggeration or fallacy to Oleg’s account.

  Sauwa chuckled, shook her head and sipped her tea. This was how the legends start, Sauwa thought to herself, devouring the last of her soup and washing it down with the last drops of her tea.

  After the meal, Sauwa, at Enya’s and a few of the other girls’ insistence, walked down to a small pond the ladies used for washing.

  The girls took turns standing guard while the others stripped naked and bathed. The water was naturally cold, but it was worse in the early morning. Sauwa shivered as she slid into the water along with a few of the other girls. Rubbing the bar of soap over her body, Sauwa scraped at the camo paint cemented on her face. The mud beneath her feet was slushy and unnerving as she walked about in the slimy substance wondering what things she was coming in contact with.

  The bath ended with Sauwa dunking her head in the cold pool. It was a relief when she leaped from the water onto the grass. Her shirt from the night’s mission served as her towel. Hastily, she dressed in her fatigues. Though tired, she returned the courtesy by taking up guard while Enya and the others took their turn in the bath.

  When they were done, Sauwa slipped back to the quarters assigned to her ─ a big, green canvass tent that housed most of the young women. Picking a free spot, she rolled out her bedding. Tucking her weapon and gear where it was easily accessible, she fell back onto the ground and within seconds had fallen asleep.

  9

  The next few weeks went off in a relatively normal routine.

  Sauwa spent her time taking the trainees through assorted battle drills dealing with “react to contact”,“react to ambush,” and how to move in larger sized patrols with advanced teams or with flanking teams covering the sides. The trainees continued to learn quickly. They understood too well what they were preparing for. The lessons were also facilitated by Oleg and later Enya bridging the language gap. What phrases and words Sauwa did understand were hardly enough to be conversant and were not enough to deliver the detailed instruction she needed to give.

  Such attentiveness and determination allowed Sauwa to progress to more complex concepts such as deceptive moves aimed at leading them or their enemy into traps with decoy actions. From there, they covered ambushes, starting out with the basic linear forms and graduating to the more advanced forms, such as L-shaped and V-shaped. As her squad of trainees became more proficient with their new skills, they began to train the rest of the fighters in the camp. They were behaving like professional mercenaries themselves, speaking as though the knowledge they passed on had come through hard lessons learned on the battlefield.

  They also, at her request, moved their campsite to a new location. After a few patrols with the trainees, Sauwa found the ideal location deep in woods along the river. A canopy of trees shielded them from anyone looking from surrounding hills. A wall of thick bushes grew all around the area like a labyrinth that would deter most foot patrols.

  Based on Sauwa’s advice, Marko set up observation posts a mile down on each end along the river to serve as an advance warning of an enemy patrol by boat. Sauwa had walked along the river a mile in both directions. Amidst the virtually impenetrable wall of trees and shrubs that guarded the waterline, she found a few weak points where an enemy could penetrate after they passed the observation posts.

  Using an old trick taught to her b
y her uncle from his Rhodesian bush war days, she set about with some of the Croatians making rows of sharp pointed wooden stakes. She had them placed into a dugout part of the ground, set in lines three rows deep encompassing the distance of the entryway, covered by a painted sheet of burlap, and finally covered with some leaves and shrubs. The trick was having the enemy come in, step on the burlap and fall or step into the bed of sharply pointed stakes. It would slow up an infiltration and lessen the need for guerrillas to guard the area. As a precaution, they repeated the procedure and set up another identical trap a few meters away ─ a second surprise for an enemy continuing their advance.

  The Croatians were made to leave their trailers behind after sanitizing them for anything an enemy force might use for intelligence purposes. This did not go over well. Marko, in particular, nearly cried when Sauwa informed him that he had to leave his cherished office and settle for a tent.

  It was an argument she fought hard to win. They were a guerrilla band with limited weapons and women and children to protect. If the enemy mounted an attack, they would have no real means to defend themselves. It was vital that the camp remain as hidden as possible. That meant dispensing with larger, more cumbersome things that would leave trails or be more easily spotted from a distance. Sauwa had won the fight, but she still suffered vengeful stares from many who hated giving up their few luxuries.