The Tuzla Run

by Robert Davidson

  “Well, if you want to hit them before Tuzla,” Spider said looking at his watch and calculating the distance from Vares to Vlasenica, “you should have left an hour ago.”

  The Afghan ruefully agreed.

  “Fortunately, their re-supply appears to be delayed. If we leave within the next forty minutes, I can get to Zivinica just after dark. I can engage them before they reach Tuzla.”

  “Commander,” said Spider using the title since he was not sure of the man’s actual rank, “I need your permission to use your radio to contact my base in Zagreb. They will need to know where we are and the condition of our men and cargo.”

  The Afghan stared at Spider as though he had not understood, but just as Spider was about to reiterate his request, the soldier nodded once, then again more emphatically.

  “Come with me.” He started toward his vehicle with Spider and Rath close behind him. “You have your frequencies?” he asked over his shoulder as he opened the passenger door of his Range Rover.

  “Yes, no problem,” replied Spider as he edged past the mujahid and eased himself onto the passenger seat. He reached for the controls on the radio. “May I?”

  The Afghan nodded again and Spider changed the channels, then reached for the mike.

  “Hallo, Zulu Charlie. This is Sierra Whiskey. How do you read me? Over.”

  Only the crackling of the ether was audible, and Spider repeated his opener three more times before, very faintly, he could hear an unidentifiable voice.

  “Sierra Whiskey, this Zulu Charlie. I read you 2 by 5. Send.” The use of 2 by 5 indicated that the reception of the transmission in Zagreb was exceptionally poor.

  “Zulu Charlie. Is Romeo Charlie available? Over.”

  “Sierra Whiskey. Wait. Over.”

  Several minutes passed. Spider was beginning to think that the transmission had been lost when the radio came to life again.

  “Sierra Whiskey. Romeo Charlie is in down town Zagreb. He should have been back by now. What is happening? Where are you now? Over.”

  Spider kept his tone level and decided only to report the current situation. Cheatham could sweat over the rest.

  “Zulu Charlie. This is a Sitrep. The situation is as follows. We are minus—I spell numbers—t-h-r-e-e, three trucks. Michael and Calum are dead. Crowther has deserted with vehicle and load. Convoy intercepted by non-UN armed force. Over.”

  “Sierra Whiskey. Cheatham’s instructions remain current. Deliver to Tuzla. No deviation. Over.”

  “Zulu Charlie, understood.”

  “Sierra Whiskey. He’ll go ape about the losses. Over.”

  “Zulu Charlie. Tell Cheatham I will proceed to Tuzla. Over.”

  “Sierra Whiskey. Great. Excellent.” The relief in the base operator’s voice was evident. “I will inform Cheatham ASAP. Out.”

  Tadim looked askance at Spider who nodded and said, “I got through. Thanks. Now, can we move on to Tuzla with the supplies?”

  “I would prefer that your vehicles remain under our escort to Tuzla. Unfortunately, now, we can't go directly to the city. We will have to backtrack about nine miles for the alternative route.”

  The statement left no room for question or refusal.

  * * * * *

  With the jeep containing the escort troops in the lead, the column of heavy tractors pulling the low-loading trailers rolled down off Mount Igman and headed eastwards to join Route 19 and Zvornik in the north. Route 19 paralleled the road that made its way north to Tuzla. Less than two miles out of Zvornik, the column would swing westwards.

  The thirty-five Soviet-made tanks would unload and become operational at Tojsici, less than fifteen miles across country, southeast of Tuzla. The tank force comprised mainly T-72s, of more recent production than the several T-55s, which made up the balance. The crews travelled in the middle of the column in one of the three open-backed civilian lorries. The other two trucks, filled with helmeted troops and a heavily armed M-980 carrier, brought up the rear.

  * * * * *

  Spider hated wearing sunglasses, but the slanted rays of the sun made it unavoidable. He was driving the lead ten-tonner in the wake of the Bosnian land rovers, hurtling along the asphalt road. All the drivers had long given up any attempt to avoid the pits in the road caused by previous shelling.

  Rath, in the passenger seat, was trying, with a degree of success, despite the swaying and bumping of the vehicle, to read an opened map. The vehicles had travelled at a consistently high speed from Ocevjla and were now approaching the larger town of Kladanj.

  “It’s hard to say if we’ll have a problem going through here,” he said loudly, to counter the noise of the engine.

  “I don’t think it’s going to worry them too much,” replied Spider, nodding at the Afghans manning a heavy machine gun mounted in the back of each land rover.

  “Yeah, the good old GPMG is a great confidence booster. Why do you think they want to escort us in?”

  “He’s using us as cover.” Spider managed the bucking steering wheel. “With our supply trucks, his force will look like an authorized UN convoy. Until his action kicks off, it should be enough to confuse any observers.”

  Rath did not comment but returned his attention to the map.

  * * * * *

  Corporal Moeller, the duty radio operator at NORDBAT, the Norwegian and Swedish contingent of the United Nations’ force based at the airfield at Tuzla, pencilled the details of intercept of the Bosnian Army transmission and passed it to the runner.

  “For the commander.”

  * * * * *

  Colonel Ekland gnawed his lip in thought as he read the message. A relief convoy had reached their area of operations, only to be hijacked. Under his current mandate, he could take no specific action, based solely on this scrap of information. However, he was in no doubt that something more would happen. When it did, his unit would be ready.

  “Put the crews on standby for imminent action,” he informed the duty officer.

  * * * * *

  Any reservations they had about Kladanj evaporated as the column swept through unimpeded and without reducing speed. They pushed on towards Zivinica. The effort to maintain the speed set by the Afghans taxed the supply truck engines, but the drivers brought their skill and expertise to bear, resolutely keeping the convoy intact.

  “Looks as though we won’t be stopping in Zivinica,” Spider said, causing Rath to look up from the map.

  As they approached the town, Tadim indicated by hand signals that they would continue without halt. They travelled for almost two kilometres through the built-up area and into the farmland on the other side before turning right for the last village before Tojsici and the confrontation with the tank force.

  The sun had almost disappeared, and it was dark when the convoy left the main road and turned left for the outskirts of Tojsici. The scouts sent out by Tadim returned with news that left little room for optimism. The leader of the mujahedeen was unable to hide his disappointment when the reconnaissance team reported the downloading of the tanks and that they had moved out in formation in the direction of Tuzla.

  From where they were, they had easy, direct access onto the main road leading to the city. Equally frustrating was the news that their logistic support vehicles had successfully re-supplied them. The scouts reported that all the armoured vehicles now carried external fuel tanks, which were disposable and could be jettisoned when empty. Unloaded and re-supplied the tanks were no longer vulnerable. The rush to catch this coven of vampires, while helpless and ineffective, each chained to its trailer, had been to no avail.

  The moon was up.

  On the ground with a full complement of forty main armament rounds, ammunition for the machine guns and fully fuelled, a single tank would create terrible problems for the defenders of Tuzla. A force of thirty-five would spell doom and disaster.

  Tadim considered his limited options and finally gave the order to follow the tank force at a distance. He would need the intervening interval
to devise a plan of attack.

  * * * * *

  The tank pack appeared to be slowing and after a brief halt, the lead mastodon slewed right, crawled through the entrance to a derelict coke-making plant sited on the outskirts of the city. It crunched its way across the open space to stop in front of the main building. The balance of vehicles followed and lumbered across the gravel to form up in herringbone formation.

  * * * * *

  Tadim sent three scouts forward to reconnoitre the Serb position as night fell. The only good news from the reconnaissance party was that, although readied to launch an attack, there was no evidence that a move was imminent. This was puzzling, because the Bosnians had learnt, on more than one occasion to their cost, that the T-72s were equipped with night-vision equipment. They were capable of carrying out operations during the hours of darkness.

  The tanks were not currently manned. The tank crews and the supporting infantry were using the administrative buildings and had set up a field kitchen.

  The mujahedeen leader gathered his fighters together in a sitting group at the side of his vehicle. His plan, he told them, was relatively simple. The assault would concentrate on the destruction of the tanks, accomplished by two units, each armed with the available Stingers and M72 LAWs. These groups would attack by approaching the tank lager from the rear, using the buildings of the coal plant as cover.

  He positioned a third smaller group, with some anti-tank weapons, in cover at the other side of the road. If the Serb force tried to break free and head for Tuzla, they were to thwart any such attempts. The briefing lasted all of four minutes.

  As the men were getting to their feet, Tadim spoke to Spider and Rath.

  “I have told my men that the destruction of the tanks is my priority.”

  He turned to answer a question put to him by one of his fighters, who had approached. Spider moved closer.

  “Might I make a suggestion, Commander?”

  Tadim raised his palm for his fighter to wait, frowned at the two members of the convoy, and then nodded with ill grace.

  “You will be stretched to destroy thirty-five tanks with the few missiles you’ve got. The destruction of that armour, with all due respect, is not your priority: the elimination of the tank crews is. Without the crews, the tanks are going nowhere. And besides, thirty or more serviceable tanks would be a welcome addition to the Bosnian inventory, or so I would have thought.”

  The Afghan’s sour expression did not change, but he snapped out several words in Pashto and the dispersal of the group halted. He waved his hand, and the Mujahedeen returned to their cross-legged sitting positions on the ground.

  “So, we should attack the buildings and not the tanks?”

  “It makes sense to me,” replied Spider. “If that is where the Serbs are, task your third group to cut off any attempts to crew the tanks. We need to initially deal with the sentries. If we can do that quietly then the rest can be taken by surprise.”

  Tadim gave a brief nod and turned to address his men, then explained to the two foreigners that he had taken their advice. There had been no mention of prisoners, and Spider gave the big Afghan the benefit of the doubt for not being over confident. He knew that, despite any element of surprise that they might have, the imminent conflict would be severe.

  He silently wished the Afghans well.

  * * * * *

  Spider and Rath had returned to their vehicle and were sitting in the cab. Rath felt no urge to break the silence. Spider appeared lost in thought. After several minutes, he nodded, as though to himself, then looked at Rath who had been quietly watching him.

  “Change of plan, at least for me,” said Spider.

  Rath made no comment but raised an eyebrow in question.

  “After the debacle at Queen’s, I wasn’t sure of anything. What I did know was that I was through with killing. I was sure of that. Chopping down someone else because it was part of my job no longer made any sense.

  “I left the army so I could avoid any involvement in that. I took this job to get food and relief to homeless and displaced persons, and I thought working for a peacekeeping outfit, would allow precisely that. This run, and the crap we’ve had to take, has shown that the bad bastards don’t go away just because we pretend they’re not there.

  “We’ve been trying to get through to Tuzla with these supplies, because thousands of men, women and children are desperate for them. We’re almost there, and then out of the woodwork comes this tank force, set on destroying the very people we’re here to help.

  “I can’t let that happen. I just can’t sit by and watch it happen, especially not when others are trying to stop it.”

  Rath remained mute.

  “So, I’m going to tell Tadim that I want to be involved, to take part in the next step.”

  “Tell your man to make room for two,” said the Irishman before he swung his door open and leapt down from the truck.

  “So, we’re going with them?”

  Rath nodded. It was not only a question of accompanying the fighters. He, too, intended to take part.

  * * * * *

  Tadim showed no expression when Spider and Rath told him.

  “I want you two to remain with me during the action,” the Afghan commander said before turning away.

  Spider looked at Rath, who, after a brief pause, shrugged and grinned mockingly.

  “Tell him it’s out of the question—Boss.”

  The commander of the mujahedeen had calculated the remaining distance to Tuzla. It was logical to assume the Serbs were now intent on a dawn attack, confident that the timing would be detrimental to the defenders’ morale. If that premise were correct, and with the knowledge that the tanks could easily travel at a consistent speed of thirty miles per hour on the tarmac road, he estimated that the column would move out around three o’clock in the morning.

  To pre-empt them, the mujahedeen would launch their attack at one o’clock. There would be no signal to attack. The leaders of the three groups synchronized their watches to ensure a simultaneous offensive.

  After shaking hands with Tadim, Spider and Rath joined their assigned group with their weapons. The group, their equipment already proofed against rattles and clanks with clothing and masking tape, moved out silently and headed away from the plant.

  The plant covered a huge area, including its own railhead, which had fallen into disuse since early in the conflict. At the rear of the plant, the tracks followed the river for some distance before branching off towards the south. The intention was to make for the river that flowed past the rear of the installation, then to follow its banks to the perimeter fence.

  Low blanket mist was rising from the darkened waters and seemed to follow them at knee level as they made their way downstream. They reached the fence without incident and crawled up to the wire.

  The barrier was in good order. There were no obvious breaks. The group waited in the gloom for signs of patrolling sentries, but the night remained silent and unbroken by coughs, shuffles or other disturbances that one could expect from guards.

  After a longish delay, the two leading Mujahedeen inched forward and cut through the wire netting surprisingly efficiently, since they were using only knives. The mujahid leading the group pantomimed with his hand that they should move through the fence, and the body of men moved silently through the gap in the wire.

  They were now in the plant area. The leader lifted his upper body from the prone position, indicated his watch and then gave the universal sign to wait. As one, the group sank down to the grass and settled in the dark solid shadow of the buildings to wait for zero hour.

  Spider rested his chin on his arms and was scrutinizing the darkness for movement when he felt a gentle but persistent tap on his boot. He pulled himself back alongside Rath.

  The Irishman pointed to the installation buildings and whispered, “Looks like the Thunderdome from Mad Max.”

  Spider frowned but nodded. The stress and tension of the past few d
ays, and now this apprehension, was making him irritable.

  He tried to relax.

  * * * * *

  Several minutes before one o’clock, the two men sensed the collective air of anticipation and were immediately alert. Without haste, they carried out a final weapons check. Spider looked at the luminous face of his watch— three minutes to zero hour. The group, as one, started to crawl forward towards the three-storied administrative building where the click of a lighter, followed by the small red glow of a cigarette, identified the precise location of their first target.

  * * * * *

  The gaunt, skeletal mass of corroded meccano that was the conveyance systems rusted its way into the sky, high above the huge, bottle-shaped kilns squatting over the firing units. Propelled by a rising east wind, which was damp, cold and heavy with moisture, dense impenetrable clouds scudded low across the night sky.

  Shivering from the cold, the sentry stiffened as he heard the eerie, weird whistling made by the wind in the mares’ nest of pipes and metal tubes above his head. As it continued, he leaned back against the building to relax and tried to guess whether it would snow or rain during the night. Probably more snow, he thought.

  He closed his eyes and thought of the sun on the land back in Montenegro. So vivid were the pictures in his head that he forgot the cold and could almost feel the sun’s warmth on his body and smell the fresh lake air. He took a deep breath to suck in a lungful of it when a palm of immense strength grasped his nostrils and mouth, a blade slashed and the sun exploded in a warm, wet, red pool over his eyes, face and neck.

  With the first sentry down, the second proved to be even less alert, if that were possible. He made an obscene, gurgling grunt as the mujahid drew the knife across his throat.

  Spider reached the corner of the building and edged around to the front.