The Bosnian Experience

by J E Higgins

  It could have been a gypsy camp with a few covered wagons and beaten caravans, populated with a collection of about fifty men and ten women. Like the men in the patrol, they too were dressed in an assortment of military and civilian clothing.

  Sauwa’s group walked into the encampment and were immediately greeted by camp people who charged toward them as if they were long-lost loved ones who had been released from prison. Of course, given the utter brutality and human toll this war had taken, Sauwa could imagine that many of those going on patrol never returned.

  The small celebration continued all the way into the encirclement of the camp. In the melee, Metal Man tried to keep close to Sauwa, not wanting to lose her. This was made difficult by the actions of a young woman who had grabbed hold of him, lavished him with an assault of kisses, and insisted he pay attention to her. Metal Man reciprocated with a firm embrace and slipped his arm around the girl’s waist as they continued walking.

  Inside the camp, the patrol disintegrated, the men vanishing into the sea of people. All that remained was Metal Man, who broke away from his young love and, to the girl’s great dismay, motioned Sauwa over to a small caravan at the far end of the of the camp.

  Sauwa followed until he stopped and knocked, in a respectful manner, at the door of one of the vehicles.

  Whoever was inside was apparently quite important. A gruff voice answered. Metal Man reached for the knob and nodded his head toward the door. Cracking it open, he ushered her inside. Not sure what to do at that point, Sauwa entered.

  The inside of the caravan was a strange mixture of salvaged furniture interlaced with the assorted piles of maps, photographs and various documents collected haphazardly on makeshift tables. At the center of it all was a large, jowly-faced man with a couple days of facial growth and a gut that protruded well over his belt line. He was hunkered into an armchair that looked totally out of place in the caravan. Despite wearing a more complete uniform than the other men, it was obvious to Sauwa he wasn’t one for the field.

  From his seat, the jowly-faced man was hunched over a long folding table with a grid map of their location spread out across it. How far it covered, Sauwa couldn’t tell. But it was marked up heavily with a variety of different colors of ink and with little toys placed in specific locations. She assumed it was the tactical breakdown of where everybody was in the area or the best they could figure.

  Metal Man stood quietly waiting. Sauwa followed suit. Eventually, the jowly-faced man sat upright in his chair. He had dark circles around his eyes and a sunken look that indicated he had not slept much in the last few weeks. He stared off into the distance until his eyes transferred to his two guests and displayed the first sign of recognition since they had entered. He said something in Croatian to Metal Man, who jabbered a few sentences promptly in reply. The jowly-faced man lifted his hand and nodded his head. A few more words in Croatian and Metal Man turned to the door, patted Sauwa on the shoulder as if to say she would be all right. Then he left.

  “You are the one Rommel speaks of so highly.” The jowly-faced man spoke in better English than what she normally heard.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Sauwa replied. “I’m not exactly sure what he says about me to others.”

  The jowly-faced man chuckled. “He said you were modest amongst many other things.”

  “Are you sure you have the right person?” She cautioned. “In this war, with the communication system you have, he could have been talking about someone else. I’d hate to be here under false pretenses.”

  “You aren’t.” The jowly-faced man wrestled to get comfortable in his chair as he motioned her to a seat. “There are not too many female mercenaries in this war. And given your current state of dress, and the way you handled yourself in the field, Oleg was very impressed with you.”

  Tired, she dropped her camouflage field jacket to the floor, pulled off her hat and finally her Bergen. Relieved of her burdensome equipment, she sank into the adjacent chair. “Oleg? You mean the man that was just…” She pointed to the door through which Metal Man had exited.

  “Yes,” the jowly-faced man nodded with paternalistic pride. “I’ve known him for many years. He’s like a son to me and is certainly a better soldier in this war than most who are fighting for our side.”

  His look suggested he wanted a response from her. She said nothing, so he continued. “I imagine you know why you’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  “To train my men.”

  “I believe I’m here to carry out an assassination,” Sauwa corrected him. She wasn’t sure how much to divulge to a man she had only met minutes ago and seemed under a different impression.

  “Oh, you’re here for that, too. It’s an Iranian military advisor who is your target. My people are the ones who have been collecting intelligence on him for Rommel. That is why he had you link up with us. However, when he told me they would be sending a specialist to deal with this affair, I suspected it would be the mysterious assassin ─ the Black Widow ─ who has dispatched so many troublesome Serbs and Bosnians over the last year or so. I imagine that would have to be you.”

  “I do the job I’m hired to do.” Sauwa hated being talked to as if she were some sort of deified being. “I don’t know about all the rest of what you’re saying.”

  The jowly-faced man smiled. “Modest, I like that. However, let us be honest with one another. Oleg talked about how you caught his entire unit by surprise. According to his account, you were only a few feet from his men and no one noticed you until you revealed yourself. Looking at the attire you have just divested yourself of, I can imagine such a scenario.”

  “They weren’t looking.” Sauwa wasn’t sure if the jowly-faced man’s statement was intended to elicit an answer or not.

  The jowly-faced man added a chuckle and wagged his finger as if he had just caught some deception or inside joke. “You are right, and you noticed that didn’t you. Though I must confess that a more experienced, better-trained force should have caught sight of you. You have seen what I’m working with. Look, you were out there all by yourself in enemy territory. You didn’t get caught or discovered. I am inclined to believe the rumors about you.”

  “Putting stock in rumors can be detrimental in combat.”

  Maneuvering again for a more comfortable position in his chair, the jowly-faced man grunted. “I would normally agree. I do not place my beliefs off of anything but my own observations. However, with little else to go on and little time for a more detailed assessment, I have to get what I can from what I have to work with. Oleg spoke well of you and your abilities. You appear to be a very skilled veteran who is no stranger to the battlefield compared to the ragged appearance of those you see here. Or, for that matter, one who likes to play soldier by walking around in a fancy uniform that’s more for show than practical fieldwork.”

  Sauwa wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Nor was she exactly sure where this discussion was going. “Well, every conflict has its phonies and pros. It’s a byproduct of war, I guess. But I’m here to eliminate someone. And…”

  “I know what your mission is,” the jowly-faced man interrupted. “I also know that you are not returning to Rommel’s service after it. He asked me to aid you in getting you to Montenegro. This, of course, I can do. However, Rommel has heard of my concerns in past meetings about the poor state of my forces. We have no professional training and have survived more from luck than skill. With our problems, we needed help. We’re fighting the Serbs again, which means a trained and well-equipped army and better trained Muslim fighters for the Bosnian forces. When he asked me to assist you with your mission, he also explained you would be available to help train us.”

  She didn’t like the words coming out of the man’s mouth. Rommel and Augin had neglected to explain this additional detail. At a time when she needed to be planning a serious assassination and making a speedy escape, training a guerrilla unit was completely out of the question. “I appreciate you and Rommel thinking so
highly of me even though I don’t know that I deserve the reverence. I wouldn’t want to give you any false hopes with some misguided idea of my soldierly abilities.”

  The jowly-faced man fought his way out of his chair and managed to stand straight. He was an imposing figure towering over her. “Please come with me.” He walked past her to the door. “They’ll be fine here,” he said as she knelt down to collect her things.

  Sauwa ignored him. She packed her field kit into her Bergen. “We don’t have that good of a relationship.”

  He waited as she threw it over her shoulder. With her rifle in hand, she followed her enormous guide out the door. The camp still looked more like a family outing than a military facility. Everyone was lazily walking about or sitting in collected groups enjoying food and pleasant conversation. Men carried their weapons haphazardly or laid them on their laps or against chairs. Scores of children ran about playing and presenting a distraction while older and younger women trotted about doing basic household chores. A few of the younger women, ones in their teens or twenties, were armed with rifles and wore some variance of combat attire similar to the men.

  Aside from the poorly constructed observation post Sauwa had encountered on the way in, the camp seemed to possess very little in the way of security. What made for defensive positions would not have stood against attacks from explosive firepower, and they would have been easily seen by any half decent recce team. As her guide had said, it was only by luck that they had not been wiped out.

  “You seem to notice some of the problems we have,” the jowly-faced man said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Your camp definitely has a few problems,” she replied continuing to look around. Along the way, people took notice of the new face. Sauwa had removed her black watch cap to cool her sweat soaked head and allowed her long black hair to fall wildly about her shoulders. The men did not miss a new young woman in the camp. Nor did the women, who eyed her with curiosity or suspicion. Sauwa and her guide moved around the circumference of the camp, which returned the to the jowly-faced man’s headquarters. Without a word, he ushered her back inside.

  “I understand your situation and concern.” These were the first words the jowly-faced man said as he shut the door leaving them alone once again in his office. “You don’t know us, and you want to get out of here. However, as you can see, we are not soldiers. Our village was attacked. Those you see are who I was able to gather together. Since then we have been trying to fight and survive out here as guerrillas as best we can, largely because the HVO units can’t afford to house us. I became the leader because I had some previous military training in my youth. I do the best I can, but I fear it is only by God’s grace that my people haven’t been slaughtered. It is only a matter of time before we get caught and are murdered.”

  Sauwa took a deep breath and released a burst of air through her lips. “Sir, I don’t like the rumor mill blowing my abilities out of proportion. You’re betting a lot on someone you’ve just met and have made several profound assessments of already.”

  “Please call me Marko,” the jowly-faced man said pleasantly.

  “Marko,” Sauwa said. “How do you see me doing anything any better? And, what about my initial mission?”

  Marko moved past her to where he had a large marked up map on the folding table. “It will take some time for you to plan your operation. In the meantime, you will be living here with us. Give me two weeks for starters, a few hours a day to teach some basics and offer some advice on how we can make things better. When the mission is complete, you can continue more in-depth training while we plan our way to getting you to Montenegro. In return, if you find you need assistance, those who demonstrate good soldiering can help.”

  As much as she didn’t like it, Marko had laid out something of a reasonable solution. He was also right. His people, while eager to fight, were not soldiers, and without some development would eventually be caught by the enemy.

  Marko pointed to the map. “Both the Serbs and Bosnians have kept their activities away from here. That is changing. My people have begun spotting enemy patrols as close as ten kilometers. They’ve been sporadic and rare, but they are becoming more frequent. My people have exchanged gunfire with them from time to time. Soon we will be much more deeply involved in this war. If we can at least be better prepared, that will help.”

  Sauwa considered the communal dwellings and the gathering of raggedly dressed villagers. She was also aware of the patriarchal system of the camp with the women attending to the laundry and cooking pots. “You know your men aren’t going to take kindly to being taught soldiering by a woman.”

  Marko understood her concerns. His people had enough suspicion about foreigners who were coming to their country. “It will take some time to adjust to listening to a woman, but most of my men want to learn. They want to fight even if only to defend themselves.” He scratched the stubble on his chin.

  “Time is what we don’t have,” Sauwa snapped. “I have a mission, and your enemy will soon be at your door. I watched what Oleg had to put up with leading his patrol to come and get me. Most of your troops don’t realize what they’re up against. For a person to be a good soldier, they have to want to be a good soldier. I don’t see that desire in your people.”

  Marko looked at her and planned his next words carefully. “They do want to fight. We’ve just never had any professional instruction. They may not look it, but these people have been willing to face danger to fight the enemy. Please don’t give up on us.”

  Sauwa pursed her lips. She didn’t like shouldering such a responsibility, especially since she felt she was being judged more on embellished myths and gossip than on firsthand accounts of her actual missions. Marko was desperate, and Rommel had sent her to offer some aid to him and his force. In this country, that was as close to a legitimate resume and referral as one could hope to get. “If we organize it right, and I have people willing to train, then I will give you what I can.”

  Marko nodded. “That will suffice.”

  7

  Early morning the next day, Sauwa stood several meters outside the camp. The sun was little more than a pinkish red line breaking over the mountain peak. Alone, Sauwa felt the morning chill. She pulled her watch cap further down over her ears and zipped her field jacket up just below her neck as she waited.

  Marko had promised he would collect his best people for her to train. He had asked for a day to arrange things. Not wanting to make things difficult, she simply gave Marko a location and time to meet the trainees.

  As promised, they came right on time. Ten silhouettes walking in a line that snaked around the bushes and plants leading up to where she was standing. Oleg was leading the group. She and Marko decided, given the suspicions held by most of his people toward outsiders, the best way to train a squad would be to train a nucleus of men that would then train the rest of Marko’s forces.

  They were a ragtag looking bunch ─ just risen from their beds and hastily throwing on their clothes. But when they reached her, they immediately gathered around and went silent waiting for her to address them. Before saying anything, she looked the would-be trainees over, taking a moment to get a feel for who she would be dealing with. As she walked slowly past the group, she studied each one. Though the men were serious in their demeanor, she could see a few suspicious looks. It was easy to assume they were concerned about being trained by a foreigner. Foreign mercenaries had dubious reputations for signing on as skilled professionals and ultimately yielding poor results. She thought of Gerald and how many like him they might have seen.

  Being a female didn’t help in this regard. Among the suspicious were looks of disgust, as if this was some mistake, and they weren’t about to be trained by a former army clerk. It was clearly going to be an uphill battle.

  She began her course with lessons in basic patrol formations explaining the different types and setting everyone into them. She discussed noise and field discipline that should be adhered to on a missi
on. As her Croatian was not particularly good, Oleg served as her interpreter when she couldn’t find the right words or say them clearly. This also helped mitigate any complications some of the trainees might have taking orders from a woman. They could tell themselves it was Oleg they were listening to, not her. He relayed her instructions as best he could and where he couldn’t communicate well enough, a personal demonstration filled the void.

  For the most part, the men followed her instructions and were mostly receptive to her. But as she started out with basic firing drills, one of the men ─ bullish, of medium height and brawny build ─ became belligerent.

  Oleg went over to him to discuss the matter. The man blustering in rapid-fire Croatian edged closer until his face was within a few inches of Oleg’s. Sauwa waited for the shouting to end before she walked over to investigate.

  Oleg didn’t wait for her to ask. “He says he already knows how to handle a weapon, and this is all a waste of his time.”

  The belligerent man smirked at her. Sauwa eyed him for a second, realizing this was the test she had been anticipating. Without warning, the man drew a pistol and aimed it at her head. By now, this episode had drawn the attention of the other trainees, and she could feel all eyes on her waiting to see her reaction.

  The man puffed out his chest. He smiled triumphantly, gun inches from her face. His arm was fully extended, weakening his control. She couldn’t help but think him stupid for holding the weapon so close to his adversary.

  In the blink of an eye, her hand came up from underneath and grabbed the barrel of the gun, while her other hand firmly seized the man’s wrist. With a quick twist, she pulled the weapon toward the opening of his fingers and plucked it from his hand. In a rapid almost mechanical action, she brought the weapon parallel to her chest, pressing it firmly against her body as she angled the barrel toward the bewildered man. Leaping back a few quick steps out of his reach, she gripped the weapon with both hands as she looked coldly at her adversary.