by J E Higgins
Enya smiled. “I imagine they would. Sex is something that is sought in many situations. And, young men are always in competition to prove themselves. The foreign, pretty girl is the exotic being that they all strive to obtain.”
“I know,” Sauwa said. “I see them stare and whisper. Funny they can bravely handle a gunfight but fear the ever mysterious and elusive woman.”
“No,” Enya interrupted. “Just you. The female mercenary who trains guerrillas how to fight like professional soldiers. It’s something they find intimidating and at the same time alluring.”
Sauwa chuckled. With all that had happened in her short life, she grew up fast and often forgot she was still very young. She looked at Enya who was laying in her blankets continuing to chuckle. Sauwa began to feel the exhaustion overtake her as she sank into her own bedding. She had barely felt her head touch her rolled-up coat before her eyes closed.
13
The deep baritone of Colonel Mjovich’s voice made his shouting sound more like an opera singer’s than a command. Selim Abhajiri stood quietly in the corner and listened to the Bosnian commander deliver his speech. The Iranian kept a stoic pose that guarded against revealing his thoughts. Though the Colonel’s voice was clear and loud, his oration was little more than an unintelligible rambling covering everything randomly from strategy to his own political and philosophical views of the world and the conflict. The reason he could arouse his men’s passion despite his inaudible rambling is that he spoke with such fervor.
Abhajiri looked at the men surrounding the wood podium where the Colonel stood. He studied them carefully. Despite their camouflage fatigues and tactical webbing, it was easy to see that none of these men were soldiers by trade. They were a group of peasants and factory workers thrown together to create something of an army. Most had never even handled a firearm until they were suddenly standing against an enemy in brutal combat. At a time when the Serbians were on the rampage intent on expanding their own territory in the old Yugoslavian country, such makeshift armies were the only thing standing against them.
The Iranian felt a deep respect for the fighters he viewed. They had endured serious hardships in horrific battles, betrayed by the Croatians, who wanted to expand their own territory, plus arms embargoes that had left them nearly helpless against their enemies. Despite the time constraints, lack of equipment and the brief time he had been able to work with them, he had seen some great improvements. However, they were still sub-par from what he would have liked to accomplish.
The best combatants for the conflict had been several hundred foreign fighters who had come to the country to fight in support of their Islamic brethren against the Orthodox Christian Serbians and the Catholic Croatians. Many were seasoned veterans from previous conflicts in Afghanistan or more recently Chechnya, where they had encountered the powerful Soviet/Russian army. Many had enjoyed the opportunity to further their training in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. Since the end of Soviet occupation, it had become a haven and training ground for Islamic revolutionaries.
Abhajiri enjoyed the support of these seasoned fighters who augmented his less capable Bosnians. Still, they seemed to be religious zealots, and he remained suspicious of them. Colonel Mjovich continued his monologue. It became ever more theatrical. He moved about and skewed his speech into something of an evangelizing sermon. The performance seemed to captivate his audience. The Iranian tried to hide his ever-growing boredom. The whole event appeared like grand-standing.
The speech ended with the soldiers chorusing in unison some slogan professing their country and their faith. The colonel left the podium like a rock star leaving the stage his soldiers cheering loudly. He walked past Abhajiri who casually followed him. They slipped down a walkway between houses and turned into a door guarded by a large man who looked like something out of a cheap horror movie. The planning room was lined with maps across every wall. Three radios were manned at all times by attentive clerks writing every message onto paper and uniformed men surrounded several tables reviewing the contents on top.
“I think it went very well,” Mjovich said smiling victoriously as he removed his long black trench coat and passed it to the horror movie guard.
Abhajiri said nothing. He continued to follow the colonel to one of the tables. Ignoring the Iranian’s obvious silence, Mjovich continued. “The men seemed properly motivated. Hopefully, they will express such energy on the battlefield.”
The Iranian nodded halfheartedly but remained silent. Mjovich sensed his guest had a lot on his mind and pushed the issue a little further. “From your silence, I assume you do not agree.”
Realizing he was not going to escape the impending argument, Abhajiri ran his tongue across his teeth trying to collect his thoughts. “It was a little strident.” He held back telling Mjovich it was mostly incoherent ramblings. The parts that were concise and articulate emphasized the colonel’s favorite topic ─ Bosnian nationalism and the dangers of the Serbs and Croatians. Abhajiri found the topic distressing.
“Strident?” The Colonel snorted. “How can you say such a thing? In combat, a commander must often motivate his men.”
“Yes, normally I would agree.” Abhajiri began but was not sure he wanted to continue down this road. “However, much of your rhetoric had a staunchly nationalistic blend. The kind that in my experience leads to calamitous results.”
“I was merely voicing the sentiment held by the majority of my countrymen.” Mjovich was now looking the Iranian squarely in the eye. “How can that be wrong?”
Abhajiri stood fast and held his own commanding presence. “When you speak of the Croatians as traitorous enemies out to steal land, you seem to forget they’re your allies. I have advised you several times that it is not prudent for you to antagonize an already fragile relationship. Just because you have continuing hostilities with certain Croatian factions, it does not infer you can extend those hostilities as part of a personal crusade.”
“I was motivating my soldiers and reminding them of a people that we should not trust easily.” The colonel tried to meet the Iranian with his own commanding presence. “And, as I have already stated, I was motivating soldiers. Something I’m sure you have done in your own conflicts.”
Abhajiri sighed slightly trying hard to mask his growing exasperation. “Patriotic motivation is at times healthy. But in the field, I need soldiers operating responsibly, not a mob of vigilantes on a crusade to exact revenge. In the long term, it will only create bitter hatreds that will make amicable reconciliation impossible. The Croatians are going to be here long after this war is over. If you want some viable lasting peace, your crusade of revenge can’t go on.”
A long-time warrior fighting in numerous Muslim causes, Abhajiri might share the hardened views of the Bosnian Muslims and their desire for a state free of Christian interference. Mjovich remained silent though he focused an intense gaze on the Iranian. His body swayed strangely from side to side. By the pinched look on his face, the Bosnian commander was angry, but he didn’t know how to respond. Abhajiri held fast to his own unyielding posture as he waited for the conversation to proceed or end abruptly.
Abhajiri may have sympathized with the Muslim cause, but he was a soldier first as well as a pragmatist who understood the delicate situation of the region better than most. He was not one to succumb to longtime hatreds and vendettas that seemed to encompass the thinking amongst the indigenous elements. He wanted to win a war and go home. He did not want to win a victory against one dangerous foe to have another emerge and continue as a destabilizing element long after the Serbs left.
Deciding he didn’t want to pursue the issue, Mjovich turned on his heels and walked over to the largest map on the wall. “In the last few weeks, the Serbians have suffered a series of attacks on their convoys. We suspect that it is Croatian guerrillas doing this.”
“I’m aware of the reports,” Abhajiri replied. “My understanding is that the attacks were successful.”
“Too successfu
l,” the colonel snapped as he retook control of the conversation. “Only a few months ago, the Croatian units operating in this area were thought to be groups of untrained peasants with a few rifles. Now, it seems that is no longer the case.”
“I agree,” the Iranian responded. “They have clearly been receiving professional military training making them much more formidable.”
“Who do you think is helping them, HVO?” The colonel asked.
“Our intelligence suggests they are in touch with units of the HVO,” Abhajiri replied. “They might be receiving training from them. I have scanned a few sporadic reports we received recently indicating a mercenary is working with one of the groups. The reports mention little other than a foreigner, a female foreigner, seems to have been directing many of these operations.”
Mjovich’s eyes widened. “A woman mercenary. I don’t believe such things.”
“Do you believe the sudden success rate of these guerrilla attacks?” The Iranian looked directly at the colonel.
“Then what do we do next, advisor?” Mjovich asked.
“Their operations have been largely focused on the Serbs.” Abhajiri scanned the colorful map of the area of operation. “I know of only one attack against Bosnian forces that may have been their doing.”
“Yes, a patrol of our men was the first experience where we realized the guerrillas’ capabilities.” Mjovich was abrupt in the way he explained it.
“I am aware,” Abhajiri replied in a calm quiet tone. “I’m also aware they have largely concentrated their efforts on our mutual enemies and that has served us. We should be careful how we approach this.”
The colonel was eyeing the map, looking at the Iranian out of the corner of his eye. “So, your advice, advisor, is to do what? You would have us simply let these guerrillas run free because they’re not inconveniencing us the way they are the Serbs.”
The Iranian shook his head slightly. “In time, you will have to deal with these groups. However, choose that time wisely and ensure a viable strategy so you don’t kill one faction only to create ten more.”
“You seem gravely concerned with appeasing the Croatians on the auspice that the insurgent conflict will only proliferate.” Mjovich turned to face the Iranian and looked him squarely in the eye. “You seem so sure that this rabble could present something more.”
Abhajiri kept his focus on the colonel. “The Israelis learned a valuable lesson when they invaded Lebanon. They pushed out the Palestinians to the adulation of the Lebanese people, Shia, Druze, and Christians alike. Then due to their own repressive policies and excessive military responses, it wasn’t long before they had created a hated backlash. These policies laid the foundation for a nasty guerrilla movement. When I was there, I found no shortage of recruits willing to fight against the hated Israeli occupiers. Israel is still in Lebanon today. The enemies they fight there are not Palestinian, but Lebanese who are entrenched and continue to threaten them.”
“An interesting current events lesson,” Mjovich replied with a sneer intending for the Iranian to notice it. “Still, you compare your well supported Hezbollah allies to the ragged Croatians. Not an association I would draw. These people could be dealt with more simplistically and, I believe, we should do so.”
Abhajiri turned and began to approach the map the colonel had been eyeing earlier. “If you haven’t noticed sir, your landscape is filled with high rolling hills and several places with good forests and vegetation. The Croatians you love to think of as foreigners have been here as long as your people. They are an entrenched people and as familiar with the land as you are not to mention the number of villages they populate. I would not consider this land an ideal area in which to wage a guerrilla campaign. Operating in it is not easy. Under the circumstances, although you might feel they are poorly armed peasants in ragtag armies, I would remind you that your own forces are not in any better shape.”
The colonel’s facial expression became distorted with a look of irritation. Evidently, he did not appreciate the foreign advisor reminding him of his own weaknesses. Abhajiri didn’t care. He had balanced the colonel’s fantasies of power with the reality of the situation long enough. “If you start waging your campaign against them, you’ll turn a force you can’t control against you at a time when you already have limited resources.”
Mjovich said nothing. It was hard for the Iranian to tell what the man was thinking. Hopefully, he was digesting the advisor’s words, but his anger was actually building momentum. Abhajiri decided not to press the issue. He had said his piece.
Finally, Mjovich spoke. “You may have a point. For now, our attention and resources should be focused on the Serbians. Still, my Arab friend, I feel you are an optimistic fool who is entirely too trusting of the Croatians.”
Abhajiri nodded respectfully to the colonel. He had temporarily won a battle. Not against Mjovich, who he knew still harbored the misguided belief that his forces were far better than they were. And his hatred for the Croats was still overriding his better judgment. The Iranian had won his battle. The real prize ─ the men and the other officers standing about pretending not to listen to the conversation. Mjovich, for all his stubbornness, could read the political climate in the room. For the moment, it was not with him. Deciding the time was not right for his cause, he decided to back down.
14
After weeks of planning and watching, Sauwa was able to rule out several options for carrying out her assassination. The Iranian advisor had proven to be a far more elusive and difficult target than those she had previously dealt with in Bosnia. She decided her only viable means to make her shot would be from a long distance. The question then became how to get her target to stand stationary long enough to do so.
Having performed several recces in the last month, she had become quite familiar with the landscape. She had also become equally familiar with the way the local Bosnian forces operated in the area, not to mention the Iranian himself. The Iranian was a hard target who infrequently ventured out of the boundaries of the town making it difficult to establish a pattern that one could plan from. When he did venture out of town, his mode of travel remained irregular adding to the confusion. This made targeting a specific convoy or vehicle utterly pointless. It was an exasperating exercise. She had been unable to find a weakness she could exploit.
After prolonged and close observation, she found a niche she could possibly work with.
When Abhajiri arrived at a location outside of town, it was usually to observe and advise on a problem or to help direct a more complex operation going into effect. It was here she found the Iranian vulnerable. Whether to observe or direct, the Iranian was in a place where he was forced to leave the protection of his vehicle and stand stationary out in the open for a short time.
It wasn’t the ideal plan, but it was the best option she had. The difficulty was to create a situation that would guarantee Abhajiri’s presence.
A paved roadway connected the town to the rest of the world. It was well kept and frequently used for Bosnian supply convoys. It also ran tightly alongside the base of a chain of high peaked hills and a crest well above the bottomland on the other side. It left little room for the vehicles to maneuver.
In her previous patrols, Sauwa had scoped out a site where the road wound around a circular hill. Above was a carpet of trees and bushes that wrapped the hill’s mid-section. On the other side was a steep dip leading into a deep ravine. It would be the ideal site for an ambush.
Along with Oleg, she led a force of the Croatians to the base of the rounded hill and placed them just a little further past the bend. Not wanting to leave any trace of their existence and alert the enemy, the group headed down the road and crossed into a denser area. After hours of maneuvering through trees and brush, the group arrived at their destination.
Sauwa remembered her uncle’s teachings. When it came to ambushes, one identified the approach, the setup and the means of retreat. She had looked the area over thoroughly to determi
ne the best method of setting up. The thick carpet of trees protected them on the hill overlooking the road. Topping the hill, Sauwa led her guerrillas fifty meters short of the bend and stopped.
She left the force positioned around an easily recognizable tree as she, along with Oleg and another person who went by the name Targa, moved ahead.
The incline of the hill was difficult to navigate. It was still a little muddy, and Sauwa and her comrades had come close a couple of times to losing their footing and sliding straight into the road. More disconcerting was that the ground was too steep and unstable for anyone to operate from. As with most ambush situations, the ideal terrain was generally more of a fantasy than a reality and this location was no different.
Scouting around the bend of the hill, the two Croatians expressed frustration at her continued disapproval of possible set up locations. They were either open and noticeable or they were entrenched and would prove too awkward to operate from. For Sauwa, it was the experienced understanding of how vulnerable ambush units were and how easily the tides could turn in the heat of battle. It was essential that she stay patient.
Having gained his own experience from previous missions, Oleg was determined to find good locations and moved about diligently eyeing the ground. Targa was a young man not yet twenty years old. He was energetic and motivated but lacked patience causing him to get bored and just go through the motions.
Eventually, Sauwa found a location she thought was workable. It wasn’t perfect, but it offered enough of everything to make it viable.
Rounding up her comrades, she dispatched Oleg to retrieve the others while she set Targa into position. The young man had only been on a few previous missions and was acting with the giddy excitement of a young man going on his first date. He didn’t like the idea of being made to lie down on the moist ground among the wet leaves and prickly branches. He wanted to stand and be ready to charge into combat like he’d seen in action movies. It took a bit of persuading for Sauwa to get him to comply, which, in the end, he did with irritated reluctance.