Braco

by Lesleyanne Ryan

  “No, Amir,” Jac said. “You’re safe with us. You work for us.”

  “Yeah? What about the rest of them? There are hundreds of men in the crowd. My two little brothers are in the camp with our mother. Do you think you can save them all?”

  “They wouldn’t dare try,” Jac said. “They know we’re watching.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that will be enough,” Amir said. He looked back at the Serbs and then walked towards the camp entrance.

  Jac moved to follow him, but Maarten held him back.

  “Let him go. He’s just scared and I can’t say I blame him.”

  Jac and Maarten walked to the edge of the tape, passing a fire truck distributing water. From the back of another truck, two Serb civilians were throwing bread at the outstretched hands of hungry refugees. A Serb officer was giving an interview with the bread truck as a backdrop. Serb soldiers loitered among the refugees.

  “Jac.” Janssen laid a hand on his shoulder. “Get your five hours?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. Thanks.”

  “Good. I need at least one corporal out here who has a clear head.”

  “Did you know the Serbs are inside the line?”

  “Yes. Orders say we’re not to cooperate with them, but we can’t do anything to provoke them either.”

  “Don’t cooperate with them, but don’t provoke them. Seriously?”

  “Don’t shoot the piano player, Jac,” Janssen replied, absently playing with the gold band on his finger.

  “Do you think the refugees are safe?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is that I have a few dozen exhausted guys and more than twenty thousand refugees to care for. I’m trying to get guys out here to keep an eye on the Serbs in the crowd, but we’re spread too thin.” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. “Let’s just focus on getting as many of the refugees out of here as we can. Alive.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “Go into the crowd. Do what you can. There’s a medical tent out by the bus depot if anyone needs medical attention. Some of the guys have been passing out wet towels, but I think we’re pretty well out of them now. Other than that, they seem to be getting enough water from the houses and the rivers. I think they’ve pretty well looted every house in the area as well, but that’s the least of our problems. Don’t bother with looters. Maarten can stay with you. Karel and Erik are already out there. Arie is with the doctors.”

  “Erik’s out there?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “No reason, Sergeant. Just thought he might be better off in the camp on sentry duty.”

  “I know, Jac.” The sergeant stifled a yawn. “But I need every warm body I can get. Check back with me at supper time.”

  “No problem, Sergeant.”

  Janssen walked away, his head and shoulders lower than usual.

  “Did he get any sleep last night?” Maarten asked.

  “I don’t think he’s going to sleep until he gets home,” Jac replied.

  “Did he say anything about the blood on the carrier?”

  Jac hooked his thumbs inside the flak vest. “He wants to think it was from the cow. He just doesn’t know.”

  Maarten grunted and then turned to face the road. “Something’s coming.”

  Jac listened to an engine accelerate in the distance.

  Diesel, he thought. Another fire truck?

  Sun glinted off the windshield of a bus which pulled up and parked on the shoulder. Within minutes, a dozen buses lined the street like a row of boxcars. Refugees rushed the tape.

  “Hold them back,” Jac shouted.

  He touched Maarten’s arm and pointed; the other peacekeepers were forming a human chain. But before they could secure the refugees, one of the Serbs shouted at the crowd, motioning to the buses. Jac didn’t understand the words, but the refugees did. They broke through the chain of peacekeepers and stampeded towards the buses. Two men bulldozed over Jac, knocking him to the ground. Maarten grabbed the shoulder of his flak vest and pulled him away from the rampaging mob.

  The crowd stormed the buses. In minutes the vehicles were overflowing with people. The stampede slowed and the peacekeepers worked to herd the remaining refugees behind the tape. Then Jac spied two Serb soldiers pulling an old man up into the back of the empty bread truck.

  “Come on, Maarten.”

  The peacekeepers moved through the refugees until they stood next to the fire truck. Serb soldiers were hauling more men from the crowd and loading them into the bread truck. One soldier grabbed a boy, pulling him away from his mother. She shrieked and grabbed the boy’s dragging feet. Jac walked up to the Serb and seized his hands, removing them from the boy.

  “What are you doing? He’s just a kid.”

  “Fuck off, Blue Helmet.”

  A Serb sergeant walked up to Jac.

  “We are taking them to be questioned,” the sergeant said.

  “Questioned? For what?”

  “To see if they are war criminals.”

  Jac pointed to the boy lying on the ground with his mother.

  “He’s not a war criminal, for God’s sake. He can’t be more than twelve.”

  The sergeant gestured to the soldier with a finger. The soldier stepped back and the boy left with his mother. Maarten tapped Jac on the shoulder and pointed to a pile of documents on the ground. Jac picked up two of them. They were identification documents the Bosnians used. He approached the Serb sergeant with the papers in his hand.

  “How are you going to identify war criminals without their papers?”

  “We know who they are.” The Serb smiled. “We don’t need their papers.”

  “What do you mean you don’t need them?” Jac looked into the truck. Six elderly men pleaded with their eyes. “Where are you taking them?”

  “None of your business. If they’re war criminals, they’ll be tried. If they are not, they will go to Tuzla.”

  They can do whatever they want with us on the road.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care.” The Serb jerked his thumb at a house. Jac’s eyes followed the thumb. On the second-floor balcony of the house, a fifty-calibre machine gun had been set up and was pointed at the Dutch compound. The weapon could cut down hundreds of people in a matter of seconds.

  “Jac,” Maarten whispered, tugging on Jac’s arm. “Janssen said not to provoke them.”

  Jac pulled away.

  “Provoke them? For God’s sake, Maarten, they’re taking these men away. They’re probably going to kill them.”

  “No kidding,” Maarten replied in a quiet voice. “But just how do you suggest we stop them? Look, maybe we should report this and let the major take care of it.”

  A gunshot cracked.

  Jac and Maarten twisted around, looking for the source. They waited for a second shot, but none came.

  “Where was that?” Jac asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Jac surveyed the refugees. There was a disturbance in the crowd near one of the factories. Some of the refugees were standing and pointing, some were moving away. Others cowered under blankets and sheets. He turned around, looking for the Serbs he had been speaking to.

  They had vanished.

  The bread truck pulled away.

  “Damn it!”

  “What do we do now?”

  Jac looked at the crowd, rubbing his face with his towel.

  “Whatever we can, I guess.”

  They passed through the human chain and stepped into the crowd. Jac covered his nose and mouth with his towel. The heat amplified the stench of urine, feces, and vomit mixed with smoke drifting in from burning homes and haystacks. Women cried and children screamed. One
young man spit at Maarten. A little girl relieved herself in the grass where she sat. Women grabbed at Jac’s hands and his uniform, asking questions in Bosnian and English.

  “They’ve taken my husband,” one woman said, pointing to a house across from the compound. “Please. Can you help him?”

  “We haven’t eaten in two days,” another said, holding up her young daughter.

  “What is going to happen to us? Are they going to kill us?”

  To his left, Jac saw a man with half a dozen loaves of Serb bread. He dropped the towel from his face, leaned down, tore three loaves away, and passed them to the hungry women.

  He and Maarten kept moving. There were more Serbs walking among the refugees. Some hurled insults at the women. Others greeted old friends and neighbours with hugs, kisses, and an exchange of cigarettes. One soldier gave a long and passionate kiss to a young woman.

  “Good guys or bad guys today?” Maarten asked from behind.

  Jac shook his head. They walked to the far side of the crowd where the carriers sat blocking the road to the southwest. When they reached the other side of the blockade, they stood and stared at the Jaglici road.

  “The Serbs are transporting troops from Srebrenica now,” the officer on duty told them, motioning at an approaching truck. “They drop them here and go back for more.”

  “Are they going north after the men?”

  “Not that I’ve seen,” the officer said, shaking his head. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think they know where the men are gone. The soldiers are all going into the crowd.”

  Jac nodded, staring at the road.

  “There are still refugees coming south.” The officer leaned close to Jac. “I haven’t seen any with crush injuries.”

  Jac nodded again. “Thanks.”

  The Serb truck stopped, dropped off eight soldiers and then turned around.

  “Anything you need, Sir?” Jac asked.

  “No. Just keep an eye on those guys as best you can.”

  Jac and Maarten followed the soldiers into the crowd but lost track of them when Maarten stopped to help a woman. She was lying alone on the pavement, her skin flushed, her breathing rapid. He felt her head.

  “Heatstroke,” he said. “We have to get her to the doctor.”

  He and Jac carried the woman to the medical tent, leaving her outside in the shade with a bottle of water.

  A single gunshot rang out near the zinc factory. A peacekeeper close to the building drew their attention to a Serb in a dark uniform. Jac and Maarten shadowed the Serb, watching from a distance as the soldier harassed the refugees. Then the Serb stopped.

  They slowed as the soldier spoke to someone next to a wrecked bus. Two women stood up, arguing with him.

  “Oh my God,” he said, waving Maarten over. “I know that woman.”

  Jac made his way towards the bus, watching where his feet landed. When he got there, the soldier had pushed the women aside and was leaning under the bus. A boy yelled. Jac approached the Serb from behind.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The Serb dropped the boy’s foot, straightened up, and turned around. He glared at Jac.

  “None of your business, Blue Helmet.”

  Jac bent down to look. Atif remained under the bus, his arm wrapped around the rusted driveshaft and his face drained of blood.

  “I know this boy,” Jac said. “He’s fourteen. He’s not a war criminal or a soldier. He helped me translate sometimes. Nothing more.”

  The Serb stepped closer to Jac. His breath stank of cigarettes.

  “Listen, Blue Helmet. This isn’t your problem anymore. Never was. You come here then you go home. We live here. This is our problem.”

  “That boy isn’t a problem.”

  “Perhaps not now,” the Serb replied, “but in a year or two. We have to keep their numbers down. They breed like rabbits you know. They’re here now. In a few years, they’ll be in your country. Then you will see. We learned at Kosovo and now we have a solution to this problem.”

  “The boy isn’t a problem.”

  The Serb glanced at Maarten and then smiled at Jac, exposing rotten teeth.

  “Fine. He’s your problem. One boy will not make a difference. We will still get our revenge for Kosovo.” The Serb pulled an armour piercing rifle round from his pouch and held it up. He tapped Jac’s flak jacket with it. “That will not protect you, Blue Helmet.”

  Jac stared at the Serb, his lips tight. The soldier slid the round into one of Jac’s chest pockets.

  “Keep it. As a souvenir.”

  He walked away, laughing. Jac resumed breathing.

  “Christ, Jac,” Maarten said. “What part of don’t provoke them didn’t you understand?” He scratched his head. “Or was it the part about not cooperating that confused you?”

  Jac turned away, knelt down, and extended his arm under the bus. Atif grabbed his hand and he helped the boy climb out.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Korporaal Jac.”

  Atif’s mother crouched next to Jac and hugged him.

  He pointed at the bandage on Atif’s temple. “What happened?”

  “He was too close to a shell.”

  Jac glanced around, looking for Atif’s little sister. Tihana was sitting between the twins.

  “They’re all okay?”

  “Yeah, they are, but some of his friends were killed.”

  “What?” Jac felt queasy. “The boys?”

  “Yes. Little Dani too.”

  Jac bit his lip hard. He turned to Atif. The boy’s eyes were lowered.

  “Sorry to hear that, little brother.”

  Atif shrugged. Jac pulled a half-melted chocolate bar from his pocket and gave it to him.

  “I think this is the last scrap of chocolate on the whole base,” he said. Atif gave Jac a brief smile. “Go ahead. Share it with them before it melts. I want to talk to your mother for a minute.”

  “About what, Korporaal Jac?”

  “Nothing important. Just stay down so the soldiers can’t see you.”

  Atif pushed himself back against the bus. Maarten crouched down to speak with Atif and the girls. Jac stood and led Atif’s mother a few steps away.

  “Marija,” Jac began, not sure how to broach the subject. “I was just wondering.” He took a quick breath. “Why is Atif still here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The men are walking through the woods. Why didn’t he go with them?”

  “I couldn’t let him,” she said. Her eyes darted between the pockets on his shirt. “He would be alone. Besides, he’s only fourteen. I have documents to prove that.”

  Jac placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “I don’t pretend to understand half of what is going on around me right now. In fact, I’m having a hard time trying to swallow a lot of what I’m seeing with my own eyes, but do you honestly think they’re going to stop to look at his papers?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” she said; her eyes still hadn’t met his.

  “Okay,” Jac said, pausing to haul in a deeper breath. “Let me put it to you from my point of view. The Serbs are taking men away. I’ve seen them put old men on a truck and throw all their identification away. Some of these men were far too old to be soldiers. One of my translators told me the Serbs have been ordered to keep any male that is taller than a man’s belt from boarding the buses.”

  Marija’s eyes glistened.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Jac said, “but I’m willing to bet those gunshots behind the factory are executions. I can’t get close enough right now to see and, frankly, I’m not sure what I can do about it even if they are shooting the men. I can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is tell you what I’ve seen.”

&nbs
p; “But it’s too late,” she said, her voice shaking. “The men have left.”

  “No, no, no. It’s not too late. When I left Jaglici late yesterday, the men were just starting to gather. Marija, there were thousands of them. Soldiers. Civilians. Boys. Even some women. They probably didn’t leave until late last night and they would be moving very slow. Atif is strong. He can catch up to them easily, but not if he waits much longer.”

  A tear ran down her cheek.

  “But if you help, we could get him on a bus.”

  Jac looked from left to right before he answered.

  “That’s possible. But we won’t have much control once the buses leave here. Even if we can get one soldier on every bus that leaves, the Serbs could still stop and search them on the way. I doubt a single peacekeeper is going to have much say about what the Serbs do or don’t do.”

  “You think I should send him after the men?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that his options are limited. You’ve seen what can happen if he stays. It may take two or three days for the buses to get you all out of here. Do you think you can keep the soldiers from taking him for that long?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Can you get him inside the compound? He would be safe in there with you.”

  Maarten appeared next to Marija.

  “To tell you the truth,” he said. “I don’t think anyone on the base is any better off. Even the civilian employees are afraid and they all have UN identification.”

  Marija finally raised her eyes; they had a plea in them.

  “I think Jac is right,” Maarten said. “Given what I’ve seen.”

  “Atif is a smart boy,” Jac said. “He’ll be okay. He told me he used to hunt in those hills with his father.”

  Marija nodded.

  “He knows the area. The men will have crossed the minefields and marked them. In fact, I’m guessing the minefields have slowed them down a lot. Some of them are probably still trying to cross just north of Susnjari. It’s still early in the afternoon. I think Atif could be there in less than two hours.”

  “The road to Susnjari is clear right now,” Maarten said. “The lieutenant on duty down there said the Serbs were coming up from Srebrenica, but none of them were turning onto the road going north. From what they’ve told us, I don’t think the Serbs know where the men have gone. At least not yet.”