The Bosnian Experience

by J E Higgins

  The rifle he had used had fallen against the tree. It was an old-time German Stg 44. Initially a standard issue rifle in World War II, it was quickly adapted for use as a sniper rifle making it the first ever rifle to be used for such purposes. It wasn’t the best weapon for what she was looking to accomplish, but it was better than her current options.

  Taking the weapon, Sauwa began looking it over. Despite the chips on the wood stock and general wear from decades of use, the rifle was in relatively good condition. The previous owner, lying only a few feet away, had maintained the weapon with great care. The rifle also hosted a 3.5x power PU Scope, a common model used for this type of rifle. It was preferable to the less durable 4x power PE scope. It was a good find. Sauwa retrieved the ammunition pouches from the sniper. They were loaded with several five round magazines. Given the few rounds expended, the sniper had just gotten started on his mission.

  Turning back to the Croatians, she saw they had already ripped the baklava off the dead sniper and were grumbling angrily. She imagined they were bitter over the fact he had died before they could kill him slowly in revenge for their lost comrades. Rifles in hand, Sauwa joined the group surrounding the dead man. Oleg still had his Makarov automatic pressed to the dead man’s head. He spat out an angry litany of phrases Sauwa could not make out.

  The shooter looked to be in his early thirties and had a knife scar across his face. The scar looked to be the result of a bar fight rather than from combat. His uniform appeared to be Serbian; a fact that fueled the rage of the guerrillas. They hated the Serbs even more than the Bosnians.

  Firing an unnecessary round into the sniper’s head, Oleg exhibited a satisfied look as he holstered his pistol. While he didn’t voice it, his facial expression registered a look of gratitude and humility when he glanced at Sauwa. He realized he had allowed his new popularity to go to his head. When the group rejoined the rest of the patrol, Sauwa saw two bodies sprawled out on the ground. The older man was Sasha ─ the hunter and farmer, then briefly a soldier. The other victim was a girl barely sixteen years old. She had seen her entire family die from this war. It was a sobering moment for the remaining Croatians as they looked at their dead comrades. For a short time, they had felt a sense of power in this horrific war, and it had gone to their heads. They had paid a terrible price.

  The guerrillas loaded up their fallen ─ their demeanor changed. Oleg’s attitude had altered from the arrogant combat expert who knew everything back to the cautious professional she had first met. He walked up next to her as the squad collected themselves and prepared to move out. From his facial expression, the deaths of the girl and the old man were something he took as his fault. The patrol continued their journey; this time in complete silence and moving in a more tactical way.

  12

  A German Stg had come into her possession after a raid on a Serbian Chetnik campsite. It had been found by one of the Croatians while rummaging through a pile of dead bodies. But the Mosin-Nagant 91/30 sniper’s rifle would be even better. This was a stroke of luck for Sauwa. It was the best weapon she had been able to obtain. It had been the weapon Sauwa had been looking for to complete her plan.

  The Russian made Mosin-Nagant 91/30 was a mass-produced infantry weapon with a history of military service going back to 1891. During World War II, it had been adapted to serve as the premier weapon for Soviet snipers and proved to be so effective it continued to see action even now.

  While not appreciated by urban practitioners who regarded its wood stock and twenty-nine-inch barrel as cumbersome, rural snipers found its durability and long-distance accuracy of nearly 600 meters a serious benefit for engaging targets from a safe and distant vantage point. That it was cheap, mass-produced and used extensively all over the world meant that they were easily obtainable for militaries and guerrilla organizations that didn’t have a lot of money or connections.

  Burrowing into the dirt, she stared at a single tree standing alone in the center of a field. Peering down the scope, she focused her attention through the sighting hairs on a vertical, thick black arrow centered between a broken, horizontal line on a single piece of paper with a large black dot drawn in the middle of it. The paper had been nailed to the trunk of the tree and was just short of 500 meters away. It wasn’t the preferred way she wanted to familiarize herself with her new weapon; however, in the interest of limited training areas, resources, and time, she worked with what she had.

  Sighting in, she peered through the scope to see the white paper and the blur of the black mark fixed within the center of her crosshairs. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly until all the air was out of her lungs. She opened her eyes to see the cross-hairs had sunk just below her target. The scope was not the ideal one, especially at such a far range ─ it was still better than nothing. Adjusting her rifle slightly to get it back on sight, she squeezed the trigger gently until she felt the recoil of the round being fired. Like the sound of a cannon being fired, it was ear-shattering. Thankfully, she enjoyed the benefit of some hearing protection by using melted wax wedged into her ears.

  Pulling back the bolt, she ejected the spent cartridge. Across the field, Enya came rushing out from a place far off to the side. She examined the target for a moment then reached for a small walkie-talkie and called Sauwa. Her voice crackled over a like contraption as she reported, “You grazed the tree an inch to the left of the paper.”

  Not bad for a first shot, Sauwa thought to herself. She raised her eyes from the rifle muzzle to adjust the windage dial a few clicks. She was relieved that the trouble had not been with the elevation. The scoping system did not have a normal means to make such adjustments. The 3.5x PU system of Eastern Europe did allow a shooter to correct for elevation. The original Soviet scope models came from the factory already zeroed for elevation. Later replicas of the scope and weapon were not produced in the same manner leaving the shooter to have to estimate to compensate.

  Having made her adjustments, Sauwa radioed her companion that she was getting ready to fire. She watched as the young Croatian bolted across the field disappearing into the safety of the tree line. With Enya out of danger, Sauwa reached down and picked up another cartridge. Forcing it into the chamber, she closed the bolt until she heard the click telling her it was locked in.

  Once again she raised the rifle until she had a solid position and her eye was peering down the scope at the ground ahead. It took her a moment of searching before the target was again in her sights. Shutting her eyes, she again exhaled all the air out of her lungs, opened her eyes and adjusted the sighting lines of her scope and gently squeezed the trigger a second time. The trigger was tight and tended to stick which was another reason it wasn’t the ideal weapon for her task. The report of the shot being fired shattered the harmony of the quiet surroundings. The hardwood of the weapon’s shoulder stock punched violently into the pocket of Sauwa’s shoulder radiating more agonizing pain.

  Enya was on the radio asking if it was all clear. Still reeling from the recoil, Sauwa ejected the spent cartridge from the rifle. She reached for her radio and notified Enya it was all right to come out. Enya ran into the field and checked the target. Seconds later she confirmed the shot had hit the corner of the black dot.

  The exercise continued for another few shots until the rounds centered in the black. Despite the Mosin-Nagant not being the ideal sniper rifle, Sauwa was able to maintain a relatively decent consistency. When she checked her handiwork, Enya excitedly showed her the tight grouping within the black dot.

  This information was a mixed blessing for Sauwa. She had seemingly mastered the rifle well enough to carry out her mission at the required distance. On the other hand, she did not relish the need to use the weapon again.

  Tearing the paper down, the ladies made their way back to the base camp. Enya was looking down at the target and dancing about with girlish playfulness. “I have never seen such shooting,” the Croatian exclaimed. Sauwa was oblivious and didn’t reply. She was foc
used on her plan. She had her method, her weapon, and now she needed a location.

  Sauwa returned to the camp exhausted. It seemed as though the last several days had been nothing but field work and rifle practice. The wood shoulder stock was uncomfortable. She had tried to find some type of padding that would mitigate the problem, but her luck with resources had run out. Her arm was hurting terribly from the shooting practice. Ideally, she would only require a single shot.

  Moving past the two sentries dressed in camo netting, blacked out face paint, with their serious and expressions, they looked like young men trying to project an image of hardened fighters. The ladies walking by elicited a growling statement from one of the young sentries. Sauwa didn’t understand him, though she could assume from his look and the way he said it, that it was an order of some sort.

  Enya looked back. Her girlish look and mannerism were replaced by a scowl, and she replied with equal harshness. The young man fell back slightly unprepared for the response he had just received, but he quickly recouped and maintained the same intense gaze as the two women passed by.

  “What did he want?” Sauwa was curious.

  Enya’s face returned to the pleasant expression she normally displayed. “He told me how dangerous it was for us to be out there and ordered us to get back to camp. I basically told him to fuck off.”

  Oleg greeted them as they entered the camp. With arms extended and a big grin spread across his face, he trotted over to Sauwa. Since the run-in with the sniper, he had developed a greater sense of humility. He had become less self-absorbed with his soldierly abilities and adopted a more humble role. He had thanked her for saving the lives of his friends who he had foolishly led into danger. Now, he treated her like a patron saint. He certainly became a better student soaking up her training with a renewed enthusiasm ─ a man determined to right the mistakes of his past. “My saint, my saint,” he said as he wrapped Sauwa up in his arms with a warm hug. “I have good news. We have hit another Bosnian patrol. This time we made a good escape, no mistakes.”

  “Good, congratulations,” Sauwa replied happily. It was the first operation the Croatians had undertaken without her. She was pleased with how well they were coming along as a force. Oleg turned and waved his hand toward a large pile of weapons ─ his trophies.

  For Sauwa, it was a personal achievement. Her interest was in Marko ─ how happy he was with the progress his people were making. If he thought they would be able to carry out missions without her, she would soon be able to leave for Montenegro.

  The guerrillas were celebrating their recent victory. Men and women danced and drank their few reserves of alcohol. Across the way, overseeing the pile of captured equipment, Marko walked about with the composure of a general surveying his army. Breaking from the engaging Oleg, Sauwa casually approached him. A look of satisfaction was on the guerrilla leader’s face.

  “You have done well,” Marko spoke first not waiting for Sauwa to broach the subject he knew she wanted to discuss. “Your training has exceeded my expectations. I thank you.”

  “Not at all,” she replied quietly. “I’m glad to hear you are satisfied with my services. I assume that when I complete my other mission, you’ll assist me in getting to Montenegro.”

  “Of course,” Marko turned his head to face her. “My people are getting to where they can operate without your assistance. When you have finished your other responsibilities, I will arrange for you to go with a consignment of my men who are going south to obtain supplies from the markets along the border.” He looked down to see a look of confusion on her face. Understanding her suspicion, he continued. “I promised you I would get you as safely as I can to the border. It just so happens that since our closest neighbors are as war-ravaged as we are, necessary supplies are not easy to obtain. This situation makes it necessary to obtain needed material through the criminal markets in the South making getting you there a necessity.”

  “Necessity, how?” Sauwa asked. Originally, if the guerrillas kept their word, she was going to be moved along a chain of guerrilla camps until she reached the border. This plan was an unexpected twist, especially the part about getting her there being a necessity.

  Marko responded, “It will be a dangerous journey. The contraband my men obtained from the enemy convoys has given us the opportunity to barter for needed resources. Getting the contraband to the needed destination will be dangerous and require great skill. Though my people are better than they were, they are still naïve and would benefit from your experience guiding them on this journey.”

  In the last few weeks, the Croatians had carried out numerous ambushes against Serbian military supply convoys. The Serbs were the best-equipped military, enjoying unfettered access to the vast arsenals of the now defunct Yugoslav People’s Army from the heyday of the cold war. The fruits of such raids yielded better equipment than the Croatians could obtain. The equipment taken from the Serbs stocked the guerrilla’s own armaments and left them with an excess they could now offer in trade.

  “I can’t promise miracles.” Sauwa felt nervous about being handed another unwanted responsibility that was so important to the Croatians. She looked at Marko. His eyes were warm as he looked at his people dancing. Their happiness was gradually developing into a celebration.

  “I’m not asking for them,” he responded. “I’m asking for the best people I have to undertake this mission. The world of shadows and intrigue are still new to my people. Whereas it is the world you live in quite comfortably.”

  Sauwa took the heavy man’s insinuation as an insult even though she knew Marko had meant his statement as a compliment. He was remarking on the natural way she excelled as a mercenary. It wasn’t the world she wanted, and she resented the very idea that he thought her so comfortable in that world. Still, she could understand Marko’s concern. Sending his people on this mission was dangerous for them.

  “Even if I did get them to the border,” Sauwa sighed, “they’ll be on their own coming back.”

  Marko nodded. His eyes were still fixed on the now full-blown party. “What they learn from you making their way south will have to do for their training when returning. At least you will get them through the first part of it, and that’s all I ask for.”

  She found a strange respect for the older man. He genuinely wanted to protect his people in a conflict that was brutal and nasty. Like the others, Marko also benefitted from Sauwa’s training. She had spent many nights in his office planning out missions and developing strategies. Through her, he had in his own right become a far better field commander to his guerrillas. And, unlike Oleg, the developing capability of the group had not gone to his head as he remained steadfast in his professionalism.

  The Croatians danced about merrily as they celebrated their victory. A young man, who could not have been more than twenty, bounded up to where Sauwa was standing. He stopped before her and gave her a gentlemanly bow. Then turning to Marko, he spoke something in Croatian. Marko responded with a shrug as he waved his hand in her direction. “He wants to know if you will dance with him.”

  Sauwa was a little surprised. Since her arrival, the young men stared at her from a distance but largely avoided her. When her abilities became known, they became even more apprehensive about being around her. She had noticed the young man earlier. He had stood with a group of his friends eyeing her. The friends had goaded and pushed the young man just before he approached her. She guessed he had been bragging about being able to charm the mysterious foreigner and landed in trouble. Now, he had to make good on his professed abilities.

  Slowly he raised his hands to waist level and gave her a casual, friendly look as he cocked his head to one side. Marko added, “You should know the young men of the camp have a bet going as to whether Dovac here will succeed.”

  “Just a dance?” Sauwa asked suspiciously.

  Marko chuckled, “Just a dance.”

  With nothing more to say to Marko, Sauwa looked at the young man and shrugged as she lowered
her Bergen to the ground. She took his hand and headed out to join the others. In the distance, she watched the widening eyes and astonished looks of the young men and teenage boys as their comrade walked out to dance holding the hand of the woman mercenary. The triumphant strut displayed as he looked back at them was not lost on her either.

  He turned back to her and slowly they began to jump about as Sauwa struggled to learn the dance routine being performed. Dovac helped her, and she gradually began to get the hang of it. The two danced and a few times Dovac reached over and took her by the waist as he led her around. The boys looked envious as Sauwa and Dovac danced. Marko watched with the eye of a protective father guarding his child. Sauwa wasn’t quite sure who Marko was protecting. She also kept a close eye on her Bergen that remained by Marko’s side. She was more comfortable with her new companions then she had been with her old unit. However, she remained vigilant. The men she worked with were all utterly untrustworthy.

  An hour later the festivities started to wind down. Exhausted, Sauwa made her way to her tent. Dovac had given her a nod of appreciation before returning to his friends to receive a hero’s welcome. She slipped through the thick canvass covers that guarded the entry. Enya was lying on her collection of blankets. “So, was marriage proposed?” She smiled at Sauwa with laughter in her eyes.

  “Not yet,” Sauwa replied as she dropped down on a collection of blankets next to Enya. “I wouldn’t rule it out though.” She struggled to get comfortable between the blankets and the makeshift cot that was kept a few inches off the ground. “I think some of these guys would like to know me more permanently.”