فصل 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

On a day like this you feel as if you will live forever

Standing next to the big guns on Mount Trebovic, the view over the valley almost took their breath away. The sky was a clear cloudless blue and the sun warmed their backs.

Down below them was the city of Sarajevo. From up here, Katy thought, it looked smaller than you might expect. She could see tall buildings to their right, and over to the left was the main stand of the football stadium. Football had never been one of Katy’s main interests, but her brother and his friends were fans. They knew the names of football teams from everywhere, so even she knew about FK Sarajevo, one of the great teams from this part of the world. Once upon a time the stadium below her would have been full of players and chanting fans. She could almost hear the songs, the shouts of excitement and the groans of pain.

No-one played in the stadium any more. No-one played anything any more. And from their position on top of the hill, Sarajevo looked hollow, depressed. There was almost no movement to be seen on its streets, no cars on the ring road, no trains on the railway tracks leading in and out of the city. On a still, windless day like this you might have expected to hear city noises, but there was only a strange silence.

‘It is a good position for us, don’t you think?’ Captain Popovic said, indicating Sarajevo with a wave of his hand. ‘We can see almost the whole area.’

‘Yes. It must be really easy to kill women and children from up here,’ Carla said, raising one eyebrow and looking him full in the face.

The captain didn’t seem offended, however. Putting his hands into his pockets he looked at them all - the two reporters, the cameraman and Haris, who was still holding his injured mouth. ‘Of course,’ the captain said, ‘we are truly sorry when innocent civilians get caught in this war. We would never make them targets on purpose. But sometimes, in our fight against the Bosnian enemy, against the Croats - against all our enemies - terrible tragedies do happen. War is, after all, a terrible thing.’

A number of questions were running through Katy’s brain: exactly who were their enemies? If they fired their big guns into the city from here it was almost impossible not to kill ordinary men, women and children - Bosniaks, Croats, Montenegrins, Slovenians, Serbs - anyone who just happened to be there. And when they’d destroyed Sarajevo, what then? But before she could think of the right question to ask, the captain was speaking again.

‘Isn’t this a beautiful country?’ he was saying with almost boyish enthusiasm. ‘On a day like this you feel as if you will live forever. Look over there. What a fantastic view! On a day like this it seems good just to be alive.’

‘It is good to be alive,’ a heavily accented voice behind them shouted. The captain and all the other soldiers stood to attention as a middle-aged man walked up to them. He had small calculating eyes below his cap, a large pistol at his waist and he carried a stick in his right hand. As he approached his face broke into a huge grin and, changing his stick over, he held out his right arm in welcome.

‘Welcome in the name of friendship,’ he said. ‘I am General Dragomir Milosevic. And first of all I must apologise for what happened down there.’ He pointed back into the valley. ‘The men who stopped you - they are not my regular soldiers. They are young hot-blooded Serb men who have joined the struggle for our motherland. But they are new and so far - I have to admit this - they are not well disciplined. But please do not worry. The boys who caused you trouble, they themselves will be in big trouble now. When I, General Dragomir Milosevic, do not like something, the people who are responsible have good reason to feel afraid. Now these men…’ he indicated all the soldiers who were standing around on the hilltop, ‘these men are the regular army. Before they were all in the Yugoslav National Army. Now they serve only Serbia, Greater Serbia, and me, their general.

‘Isn’t that so, men?’ he called, repeating his question, as far as Katy could tell, in Serbo-Croat. A cheer rose up from the men, some of whom had taken off their shirts to make the most of the hot sun. They were so young, so enthusiastic. The scene was very relaxed, almost happy.

‘But now,’ the general said, after he’d shaken hands with each of them in turn, ‘I have talked enough. It is time for you to experience Serb hospitality. Captain Popovic, will you please accompany our guests to the camp. It is time, I think, to eat.’

A few minutes later Katy, Carla, Alberto and Haris were seated at a long table in a tent in the army camp. It was behind the guns under some trees and would be almost impossible to see from the air.

‘I didn’t expect this,’ Carla said to Katy in a quiet voice, as food and drink were brought to them.

‘Oh, yes,’ the general said, seeing their expressions. ‘Everyone helps here, even our female soldiers. Later you can film them. It will show the world what good people we are. It will teach those who criticise us that we too are normal men and women who like to laugh and enjoy ourselves, but that we are prepared to fight for our dream.’

‘What exactly is your dream, General?’ Katy asked. Before he could answer she went on, ‘What I mean is, before all this started, everyone in Yugoslavia lived together in peace. Now suddenly you’re killing each other and you say you want to make a new country. Down there…’ she pointed back over her shoulder ‘… people are trying to live their lives and yet you don’t want to let them. It doesn’t seem like much of a dream to me.’

For a moment the man’s smile slipped, and then he raised his glass and took a huge swallow of beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Katy with a mixture of curiosity and hatred. Then his face brightened again and his smile came back.

‘Sometimes I wish the world would listen to our story and not believe all the lies which our enemies tell about us. You are young,’ he continued, still looking at Katy, ‘so perhaps you do not know the history of this part of the world very well. Therefore I will give you a lesson - but before I do, you must understand, you must all of you understand, we Serbs are a peace-loving people. We did not seek this conflict. The Croats started the whole thing. They were killing us. And now those people down there’ - he pointed at the city beneath them - ‘they want their own independence, and if we let them have that, what will happen to us? Remember our history! Remember our defeat at Kosovo Polje!’

‘But that was in the fourteenth century!’ Katy said. She’d read about the Ottoman Empire’s victory over the Serbs at the Battle of Kosovo in 1389. ‘Isn’t it time to forget what happened all those years ago?’

‘You are wrong. We will never forget what they did to us. If we let them, they will do it again. That is why we are fighting this war. Before, when I was a young man, everything was certain. But now? We are all of us in danger and we have to fight for our people so that we do not get destroyed. That is why Greater Serbia is not just a dream. It is necessary.’

More food and drink was brought for them. The atmosphere became more cheerful as the general and the captain did their best to charm their guests with humorous conversation and repeated explanations of the reasons for this war and how it wasn’t their fault. As the hours went by Katy almost began to sympathise with the general’s point of view.

In her mind she was already writing her next piece for The Daily Witness. She would tell her readers about the history of Yugoslavia, about the Serbs’ fears, about the army in the hills. Surely, she thought, Colin would understand. He might not agree, but it was her job to report what the general said. It was her responsibility to inform, to let the world know the story from all its different sides.

At that moment there were three terrific explosions from the direction of the guns. Carla jumped to her feet. ‘What was that?’ she shouted, as she rushed out of the tent with Katy and Alberto running after her.

‘It is nothing for you to worry about,’ Captain Popovic called after her, as he struggled to his feet. But Carla and Katy weren’t listening. With Alberto close behind them, his camera already on his shoulder filming the scene, they made their way towards the guns.

There was a smell of explosives in the evening air. The soldiers were laughing, and pointing down into the valley. Katy and the others followed the direction of their arms. In the city three columns of smoke were rising above the buildings where the shells had landed. Then, to their right, they heard someone shout an order and with a horrible noise two other guns went off, making them jump in surprise. This time they saw the shells land in the city streets. They saw flame and black smoke near the old concert hall. It may have been her imagination, but Katy thought she heard screams in the still air.

The general had come up to them. The soldiers were cheering. He took off his cap and waved it to them. Carla stood there looking down into Sarajevo, her anger burning in her face. She turned round to General Milosevic. ‘Why did you do that? What was that for?’ There was intense anger in her voice.

‘It is six o’clock,’ the general replied.

‘I know it’s six o’clock. I have a watch too,’ Carla exploded.

‘Careful, Carla,’ Katy whispered, watching the expression on the general’s face. But her friend didn’t seem to hear her.

‘Six o’clock is the time for the guns,’ explained the general. ‘You can check it on your watch. I can check it on mine. So we can agree.’

‘But why? Who were the guns aiming at?’ Carla asked.

‘Anybody. Nobody,’ the general replied calmly. Alberto’s camera swung from Carla to the general.

‘But that’s inhuman! It’s against the rules of war,’ Carla shouted.

‘Rules of war! We make the rules of war!’ said the general. ‘We are fighting for our lives. That means the Bosniaks have to leave. Men, women and children. We do not want them in our new motherland. They have to leave all the towns and villages in this area. Go somewhere else. But some of them say they do not want to go. Well, OK. Then we will fight them. It is their decision, not ours. Remember,’ he said. ‘It is either them or us.’

‘But that’s… that’s wrong…’ Katy began. The listening soldiers had all gone quiet.

‘Perhaps we could go back to the tent and discuss this,’ Captain Popovic said. ‘Some of the things the general has just said, well, they’re not exactly what we would like the world to hear. Not like that, anyway.’ He sounded very polite, very reasonable.

‘I think we’ve heard quite enough for one day, don’t you?’ Carla said to Katy, Alberto and Haris, who had left his food to come and join them. ‘I think we’d like to go now. Back to Sarajevo. Where anybody is somebody. If that’s all right.’

‘Well, it is up to you, of course,’ the captain said, ‘but I would appreciate a few more minutes of your time.’

‘I don’t-‘ Carla began, but stopped as a soldier they didn’t recognise came up to them.

‘Hi, everyone,’ said the stranger. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘Meet Jack Hickton,’ the captain said, pleased for the interruption.

Katy looked at the man with interest. There was something different about him, as if he didn’t really belong here. He had a wide mouth and large eyes which seemed to be smiling directly at her in the evening sun. He carried his gun at his side casually, as if he was just going for a walk, and there was an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. His body was all muscle, hard and fit.

‘Hi,’ he said, holding out his free hand. ‘I’m Jack Hickton. From New York. Not quite what you expected, huh?’

‘Yes. No,’ Katy replied, trying not to embarrass herself. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m just here for the party, you might say,’ the handsome soldier replied.

‘Party?’ she said stupidly. Carla and Alberto had moved away with Haris and were talking to Captain Popovic.

‘OK, I’ll be honest with you. I’m here for the money - and the fun!’ He was laughing at her.

‘You’re a mercenary? You’re doing this for money?’ Katy asked.

‘Well, I like to call myself a professional soldier. It sounds better,’ he said.

‘Yes, but it’s the same thing, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes, I guess it is. But I’m not really bothered, to tell the truth.’ He was looking at her with a smile. ‘What about you? I guess you’re a journalist?’ he went on.

Katy nodded.

‘I tell you what,’ the American said. ‘Why don’t you spend the day with me tomorrow?’

‘Spend the day with you?’ What was he suggesting?

‘Yeah. I’ll take you round the city. Show you what’s really going on.’

‘But I-‘ she protested.

‘No buts.’ Jack Hickton laughed. ‘You can see what a professional soldier like me does. It would make a good story for your newspaper. What do you say?’

‘Yes, all right,’ she said, deciding quickly. ‘That might be a good idea.’

When Katy, Carla and the others left to drive back down to Sarajevo, Captain Popovic sent a group of soldiers to protect them. Despite Carla’s anger and the argument which had followed with the general, the captain had remained polite and calm. He’d insisted on telling them again and again about Croat aggression and the threat to the Serbs in Bosnia. He was clearly educated and cultured. What was it, Katy asked herself, about nations and tribes that changed a man like that? Years from now, if he survived, how would he explain himself to his children? Perhaps Captain Popovic was just one more victim of war - a man ruined by circumstance.

She had time to think about all this on the drive back because no-one talked very much. And then, when they got back to the hotel, it was quite late and Katy didn’t feel like going to the bar, so she said goodnight quickly and went to her room.

But why, she thought to herself as she slipped into bed, hadn’t she told her friends about her arrangement to meet the American soldier tomorrow? ‘It’s because it’s wrong,’ she told herself as she started to fade into sleep. ‘There’s something wrong with it. I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind. I won’t go with him.’