The Bosnian Experience

by J E Higgins

  Oleg returned flanked by two more people. Sauwa went to work placing them as Oleg went back to grab two more. It wasn’t wise to have so many people visibly standing around. They gradually placed people into position two at a time while leaving the bulk of the force staged a good distance back in deeper cover.

  After placing the first ten, she left Oleg to finish making last-minute adjustments while she grabbed the remaining members. She turned back the way they had come until they found a spot for the eight people a few hundred meters down from where they could cross.

  The ravine proved arduous as she and the others inched through the shrubs and thickets, practically side-crawling with their hands and feet along the steep edges. Even though it was only a couple of hundred meters, it felt like they had been moving for endless miles when they finally got to their destination.

  Placed several meters beyond the bend in the road, the squad awkwardly tried to position themselves. Carefully she traversed the steep ground as she moved to ensure her people were well placed. They were far enough behind the bend of the hill that they didn’t need to worry about being seen by someone looking at the hill crest. Hopefully, their camouflage suits would be enough to mask their bodies from anyone who might see them from across the ravine.

  The L-shaped ambush formation she had set up wasn’t ideal.

  Despite their previous experience, the Croatians had not yet undertaken such a complex attack. She had purposely kept them to more limited operations where she could better manage everyone and limit the responsibilities for anyone else. Even the few successful operations the Croatians had managed to carry out without her had still been simplistic and amateurish in their undertaking.

  Sauwa worried about how easily it could all go wrong with so many moving parts. Since the incident with the sniper, Oleg had become far more attentive and disciplined as a soldier. Still, she remained concerned about him over-estimating his abilities. But it didn’t matter. She was set in and unable to go back and check on him.

  Nearly two hours had passed in which nothing happened. Sauwa remained cognizant of the man perched next to her designated to handle the Soviet model rocket-propelled grenade launcher. The rest of the team were staged several feet below to avoid the force of the back blast.

  She could see they were bored and showing signs of complacency. She wanted to throw something at them to wake them up, but she knew better. Besides, they would only be back to their complacent state within minutes.

  The sound of the engines was a distant hum when she first heard them. Gradually they developed into a chorus of growling roars as the trucks neared.

  Giving the man next to her a hard shake, she felt him jump to life from his light doze. He turned to her with a blank face beading with sweat as he realized the time was growing near.

  Kicking her foot into the ground, she allowed the loose dirt to fall on the guerrillas several feet below her.

  A middle-aged man in his mid-fifties irritatingly shook his head as dirt clumps fell on him. He looked toward Sauwa with a grimace, but the look quickly changed to one of concern when he too heard the roar of the engines. He nudged the man next to him who was already alert. The line of guerrillas came alive and agitated as they heard the vehicles drawing near.

  Concentrating her attention on the road, she raised her head just enough to peek over the edge. She could hear the trucks. They were a distance away but approaching rapidly. The man next to her with the grenade launcher in his hand began to tremble.

  The growth of over-brush lining the road afforded enough concealment for the grenade launcher to be sighted in and set up. A canvass cover lined with branches from bushes lower down on the hill finished masking it. It was not visible when the first truck came around the bend.

  The man with the grenade launcher continued to shiver. Sauwa gently squeezed his shoulder to help calm him; it had only a slight effect. She edged closer to him, tightening her hold as the moment was imminent.

  Her mouth was inches away from the man’s ear, her eyes looking down the road. She didn’t want to commence action too early while out of range of Oleg’s group, nor too late where the enemy was too close, and they would be in the blast radius when they fired. Making an educated guess, she pointed to a place in the road she judged would be the time to start the attack.

  She could hear the click of the gunner cocking the weapon as he readied for her order. The trucks neared, and Sauwa tried not to let her mind run through all the things that could go wrong in the next few minutes: would Oleg keep his people controlled, or would they jump the gun, or would her rocket gunner lose his nerve and freeze up at the wrong time. She tried to put such thoughts out of her head and remain fixed on the timing to launch the attack.

  It was almost time, the trucks coming closer were now sounding like a cacophony of beasts descending upon them.

  When the first truck rounded the bend and was starting to straighten out, Sauwa yelled into the gunner’s ear. The earth echoed with a loud, snapping bang as the grenade launcher fired. The air became clouded with a suffocating grayish smoke. The blast tore into the engine block and exploded with a terrible ear-shattering detonation. Another thick cloud of smoke and steam emanated from the engine as the truck ground to a halt.

  Sauwa didn’t have to look to know that the guerrillas were quickly scrambling up the hill. Throwing the muzzles of their weapons over the edge when they came to the road, they were soon laying down a base of fire at the Bosnians exiting their vehicles responding to the disabled truck.

  Another explosion echoed loudly. This time it was the truck in the back, the one housing the security detail. Seconds later a barrage of gunfire hailed down from the hill above.

  Oleg had managed to stick to the plan and everything seemed to be working. One by one, the Bosnian soldiers dropped to the ground in widening pools of blood.

  Confused, taking heavy fire and their entire security detail roasting in a blazing conflagration, several Bosnians abandoned their trucks and ran toward Jablancia. Others ran the other way attempting to escape around the bend, only to be cut down by gunfire from Sauwa and her group.

  Watching them run, Sauwa waited until they were some ways down the road before blowing the whistle hanging around her neck. She continued blasting high-pitched sounds from the whistle until the gunfire died down and eventually come to a stop.

  With the attack over, Sauwa stepped cautiously out from her hiding position. “Move out! Move out!” She shouted. Oleg shouted in Croatian, repeating her order.

  Rustling in the bushes followed and several guerrillas emerged from the tree line of the hill out onto the road with Oleg leading them. In similar fashion, Sauwa beckoned some of her own team out from their positions to move up and cover the road. Normally she would have left a security element in the ambush spot; however, the awkwardness of both locations made that impractical. She posted teams of three at each end of the road to engage and offer harassing fire if the enemy should arrive earlier than anticipated.

  Oleg ordered the rest of the guerrillas to move on the trucks and grab the equipment based on Sauwa’s previous instructions. They usually took the valuable equipment and resources for their own supplies. This time, they hurled it all over the side into the ravine.

  Sauwa was surprised the order to toss the equipment didn’t elicit protests. However, the equipment the Bosnians had was sub-par compared to what they found from captured Serbian stores. The Croatians decided it was better not having to lug all the junk home.

  15

  A hard-hitting ambush had not yet befallen the Bosnians so close to Jablancia. It would still have the intended effect, looking like a normal ambush to obtain supplies. Hopefully the attack would create enough havoc to demand the Iranian’s presence.

  Oleg and his people quickly unloaded the trucks. “We have this under control,” he told Sauwa. “We’ll be out of here soon. You should go and prepare.”

  Not wanting to leave the guerrillas at such a time, yet understan
ding that her time was limited, Sauwa nodded to Oleg.

  She walked past the destroyed truck and the security team posted at the turn of the road and moved to the edge and down into the ravine. She worked her way off the steep ledge ensuring she left no trail marking her destination.

  The trees and bushes soon became an opening to a field of grass allowing her to increase her speed. Sticking close to the bushes, she veered off some more to further distort her line of movement. She skipped across a small creek at the base of the ravine, shivering as the cold water splashed against her boots and lower legs, then climbed up the other side.

  Back inside the thickets, she headed in the direction of the ambush. She was exhausted by the time she got to her destination. She was now at the ravine about 200 meters across from the site of the ambush.

  Feeling her way on the ground around the bushes, she found the canvass roll she had hidden prior to setting up the ambush. Pulling it out from its hiding place, she untied the two strings holding the bundle together, rolled it open and examined the Mosin-Nagant 91/30. She had taken great pains not to risk damage to the battle sighting of the scope.

  Next, she retrieved her Bergen from underneath the same shrubbery.

  Crawling toward the edge of the ravine, she took some time to look around. Coming down the ravine, Sauwa had been careful to circle around the long way taking the most vegetated path to ensure she didn’t leave any trail that would lead to her position. She knew the Iranian would immediately check for any signs that enemy forces, predominantly snipers, would still be in the area.

  Satisfied she had left no such evidence, she grabbed her rifle and Bergen and set about looking for a shooting position.

  She slid further back, masking herself within the darkness created by the trees, and found a location behind an old tree and berm that provided a dugout she could nestle into. Various shrubs and bushes helped conceal her and still offered her an adequate view of the area on the other side.

  Placing the Bergen so it was easily accessible, she rested her rifle across the berm stabilizing it against the tree. She didn’t want to consider taking such a risky shot from a prone position. She wanted as much stabilization as possible. The rifle scope rested forward of the bolt making it awkward to sight through. It was just another problem with which she’d have to cope.

  Across the ravine, she could see the Croatians had just finished up. The trucks, with their green canvass covers, were engulfed in flames. Even from her vantage point, she could see that the tires were flat from guerrillas slashing them.

  Oleg was busy gathering his force. She watched as they moved slowly down the road one or two at a time, disappearing into the trees like ghosts as if they’d never been.

  Sauwa leaned against the berm and waited. She had learned long ago that the key to sniping was patience and not allowing fatigue to set in. She occupied herself with a small meal and taking sips of water from the steel jar that passed for her canteen.

  She heard the sound of trucks roaring down the road an hour later.

  Slowly and methodically she picked up her rifle, gripping it firmly as she tucked the butt tightly into her shoulder. She sighted in through the scope at the truck that had been destroyed by the RPG round. She made the tactical assumption that this would be the location the Iranian would most likely stand stationary the longest.

  Her head was so far from the scope it allowed her to see the total sight picture of her scope and avoid sight parallax. Still, she felt her neck stretching to ensure her eye was properly meeting the scope.

  The point of the thick, black arrow appeared vertically in the scope and stopped halfway in the center. It was fixed on the driver’s side door of the destroyed truck.

  She could feel her breathing getting stronger and sought to control her nerves. The nagging, intrusive thought of this turning ugly ran through her mind. She tried to take her mind off the problem. She would have only one shot, and it would be from a considerable distance using a rather primitive rifle.

  She scanned the area to see what the Bosnians were doing. A large green military truck had arrived. Behind it were two smaller tactical vehicles encased in makeshift metal covers that served for additional protection. The larger truck stopped at the end of the convoy of deserted vehicles, while the two smaller ones moved past it to the head of the convoy. They drove past the destroyed truck Sauwa was sighted in on, then pulled into a V-shaped security position with their engines coming together diagonally.

  For the next several minutes, everything seemed to stop. The vehicles remained still and no one inside them moved.

  Sauwa’s hand tightened on the wooden stock of her rifle. She was alert to the unpleasant possibility she could have been spotted. Gradually she allowed such thoughts to die down as she continued taking deep, calming breaths. Her more rational mind, now back in control, reminded her that it was a simple precaution Bosnians were taking. Inside they were scanning the immediate area for signs of another impending ambush. Confident in her assessment, she felt her nerves calm.

  She readied herself.

  Five minutes later the back doors of the two smaller vehicles swung open and several uniformed men emerged. They were all in identical green, leafy patterned camouflage fatigues. A few men looked over the remains of the ambushed convoy while the rest moved to the front of the security vehicles to take up guard positions.

  Apparently leading the convoy, a man with a salt and pepper beard shouted to the men in the larger truck. Sauwa couldn’t make out what he was saying. Seconds later, the canvas cover on the larger truck opened and more men clad in the same camouflage fatigues jumped out.

  The men ran over to the man with the beard and formed a loose ring around him as he waved his hands and issued instructions. Since everyone was dressed alike, Sauwa found it difficult to identify Abhajiri, which was probably the group’s intention. Then the group quickly dispersed to assume security positions along the road.

  Sauwa noticed one man lingering around the bearded figure yet keeping a good distance from him. She initially thought he was a bodyguard of some sort based on the way the man moved around. As she watched, he began to move casually trying to remain inconspicuous.

  He looked over the exploded frame of the destroyed first truck, then turned around and proceeded to the edge of the ravine where Sauwa had staged her team. He knelt down, and looked over the site.

  This man peaked her interest because of the way he moved freely compared to the rest of the micro-managed soldiers. Like the rest, he wore a scarf around his head that covered the lower half of his face. She checked to see if there were any other potential candidates for her target. None seemed to fit the bill better than this man.

  Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the commander approach him. The commander, who until then had been barking out orders and had everyone else racing to his beck and call, approached the mysterious figure allowing him to acknowledge his presence before saying anything. The two behaved toward each other more like equals than commander to a subordinate.

  Positive she had the right man she sighted in on him and waited for the right moment.

  Abhajiri eyed the entire spot where he was sure the ambush had been initiated. The indents where the man with the grenade launcher and his leader had waited until the right time were deep and unmistakable. He also found the torn-up grass and shrubs where the rest of the squad hastily climbed up to add to the operation.

  “What do you think?” The deep voice of Colonel Mjovich interrupted his thoughts.

  The Iranian took a few more glances at the scene before answering. “This was not an amateur job.” His attention remained fixed on the ravine below. “I would say they recced this area well and planned quite thoroughly for this ambush.”

  He rose and twisted so he was facing the ambushed convoy. Looking at the last truck in the convoy carrying the convoy’s security escort, he saw it had been destroyed by a rocket-propelled grenade and not simply burned like the rest. “They hit the
lead truck to stop the convoy and initiate the ambush. With a second force, they hit the last truck knowing it carried the guards. It is apparent they had been watching us for a while and learning about our operation. The question is why?”

  “Because they are targeting us!” Mjovich growled angrily at what he thought was an obvious answer.

  Ignoring the colonel, Abhajiri continued studying the site. He racked his brains trying to piece together what had happened and who could have done this. The Serbians couldn’t have done this. They didn’t have a very strong presence in this general area, nor was this the type of ambush they would generally use.

  “It had to be the Croatians. I’d wager it was those guerrillas we’ve been hearing about. But they’ve been targeting the Serbs. So why start attacking us all of a sudden?”

  “Because you can’t trust those slimy bastards! They want to destroy us, that’s why,” shouted Mjovich bitterly.

  As the colonel had nothing intelligent to add, Abhajiri addressed his energies to studying the ambush. Turning toward the hill above, he scanned it as if expecting some mystical answer to appear explaining everything. That Mjovich was eyeing him with irritation did not go unnoticed.

  “The ambush was started by the team staged in the ravine,” Abhajiri explained. “Then another team in the hill above followed up by attacking the rear and catching the convoy in a crossfire. Whoever was leading them knew what he was doing.”

  Frustrated Mjovich began to speak. He had barely uttered a word when he heard a distant rifle report. He stopped when a wash of warm liquid sprayed his body and face. He wiped his eyes to regain his vision just in time to see the Iranian drop to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. There was a sizable hole visible in his upper back.