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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comMeanwhile, I could hear that Jim was also getting an interview, thoughhis inquisitor spoke a few words of English, and I glanced across.`Manchester United,' the face uttered proudly, grinning into Jim'swindow. `Bryan Robson,' the face beamed even more broadly, giving athumbs up.Jim, a fan of Liverpool, swallowed his pride. `Yeah. Man United. Verygood, best team in the world.' He gave a thumbs-up sign and the facegrinned with appreciation.But the voice in my window, which I took to be the commander's, snappedout another order and I turned away from Jim as the soldiers millingaround the front of the vehicle sprung forward, the windscreenbristling menacingly with AK47s. My eyes were getting accustomed to thedark now that the headlights were out and I could make out the facespeering down the barrels at us. They looked tired and pissed off. Thecommander barked another order and the sound of 7.62mm rounds slottinginto the AK47's breaches sent my stomach churning. The young soldier infront of me slipped the safety catch down on to the first notch -automatic fire on the AK47. His face was no longer pissed off, buttense and frightened. I resigned myself to losing the vehicles andturned to Jim to give the signal to get out.But Jim had other ideas. Smiling like a teddy bear on a grand day out,he reached down the side of the transmission tunnel and pulled hisBrowning from its holster. Like John Wayne in the OK Corral preparingfor a final showdown, he pointed it skywards, paused for a second, thenwith his left hand pulled back the slider, driving a round into thebarrel. `What the fuck are you doing? Put that down!' I gasped.`Nah, they're just bluffing,' Jim replied. `Watch . . .' The ManchesterUnited supporter's weary face cracked into a smile, then a smirk, thenan infectious giggle, as Jim waved the pistol at him. `See, they'remore scared than we are.' One by one, the tension in the other facesranged against us lifted and the barrels drooped as the laughter spreadat Jim's grossly disproportionate response. The commander alongside meshouted something in Bosanski as he sensed the mirth on the other sideof the vehicle, but nobody paid any attention. A moment later herealised that he'd lost face amongst his undisciplined rabble and,turning away angrily from me, skulked off back up the road.I watched for a second through the rear-view mirror. `You are a crazybastard,' I said to Jim, as soon as I was sure that he was gone. `Whatthe fuck possessed you to do that?' I said, trying to hide myadmiration for his coolness.`That Man U supporter told me not to worry,' Jim replied. `Apparentlythat O/C's a right cunt and his bark's worse than his bite.' Jim tuckedthe pistol back into the holster as most of the soldiers drifted away,leaving just a couple hung around our vehicle, now relaxed andfriendly. The Manchester United supporter grinned at the window and Jimlowered it.`You go now,' the Bosnian smiled. `You lucky. You nearly cross frontline. Serbs . . .' He gesticulated to the next corner, his Englishfailing him. `That captain . . .' He gestured up the road, made an Owith thumb and forefinger, and pumped it up and down in anpage- 117 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.cominternationally recognised sign - `Fuck him, nobody like him.' Ireached over with a pack of Marlboros - we always carried them for suchoccasions though none of us smoked. He took one and lit it up and Ithrust the rest of the packet at him as soon as he had put away hislighter. `Follow me,' he urged. `Mines, that's why trees.' He set offthe way we had come, occasionally indicating us to keep well away fromone verge or the other. Only then did we realise that we had had morethan one lucky escape. After our guide had tapped the window to signifythe all-clear, we continued down the road in silence, reflecting on ourgood fortune.Thereafter, we ensured that we made no further navigational mistakes byavoiding driving on unfamiliar roads after dusk. Others who madesimilar mistakes in Bosnia were not as lucky. A few weeks later, aBritish captain took the same wrong turn as us but ran over one of theanti-tank mines and was killed instantly. In March, a group of ODAworkers were ambushed by a Mujahideen group just outside the town ofZenica in central Bosnia. They were driven to woodlands a few milesaway, forced from their vehicles and made to kneel at the side of theroad. Their captors shot one victim dead with a bullet to the back ofthe head. The others ran for their lives, diving into a freezing riverto avoid a hail of lead, and were lucky to escape with only minorwounds.We were able to establish contact with STEENBOX in Tuzla later on thatfirst trip and thereafter we made the three-day trip to see her everytwo weeks. The logistics of each trip were in the capable hands of Jon,who loaded up our two vehicles with the comms equipment, supplies, asmall armory of an SA-80 rifle and Browning 9mm pistol for each of us,flak-jackets, helmets and spare parts for the vehicles. We took campinggear in case we had to rough it, but slept whenever we could in themess halls of the various UNPROFOR bases that dotted Bosnia, or in thefew hotels that remained open, catering to aid workers and journalists.Jon plus two others accompanied me on every trip, the fourth membertaking it in turn to stay at Divulje barracks to operate the fixedKALEX. They always looked forward enthusiastically to the trips upcountry, the highlight being the traverse of the front line between theBosnian-Croat forces and the Bosnian-Muslim militia at Gornji Vakuf.Both sides liked to snipe at UNPROFOR vehicles passing through thebombed out town, then to milk the propoganda points by blaming theother. Soft-skinned vehicles such as ours were obliged to travelthrough the town in convoy under the protection of two Warrior APCs,which returned fire enthusiastically and spectacularly at any suspectedsniper position. In the dozen or so traverses of Gornji Vakuf that wemade, we were lucky that neither of our vehicles were hit, though weregularly came under fire.STEENBOX proved a problematic agent to debrief. The information shegave about the intentions of the local militia was not CX but merelythe official propaganda of the Bosnian VIth army in Tuzla. At onemeeting, just after dusk in a small caf‚ in Tuzla, a group of seniorBosnian militiamen walked in and ordered coffee at the bar. As they hadnot yet noticed us at a small table in the corner, I whispered toSTEENBOX `I'd better get out of here - it'll be dangerous if they seeus together. I'll meet you in 20 minutes in the caf‚ opposite the townhall.'page- 118 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
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