We were carrying on the bus with us a very large quantity of explosives. A mixture of, TNT blocks, Bangor demolition tubes with timers, a couple of boxes of plastic explosive, a few detonators and two coils of fuse wire. These caused us some concern as they were all piled in the isles at the front of the bus the only concession to safety being that we have moved the small sawdust filled box of detonators away from the rest of the explosives.
The roads out side Zagreb were empty and we met only the occasional checkpoint. At this stage of the game we really didn’t know who was who and could only pray that we didn’t bump into anyone who didn’t like us in our very vulnerable state.
the country was in turmoil, Jugoslav baracks still existed on Croation soil surounded though they were by police and national guard units a break out or advance could happen at any time, we drew the curtains on the buss to hide ourselves from prying eyes as we headed into the unknown.
All we had with us were the two hand grenades and in the close quarters of the buss they would not be much use
We arrived in Vinkovci to find burnt buildings and the streets littered with roof tiles the civilians had all fled or were in hiding. It was overcast cold and miserable; we could hear the sounds of fighting in the distance. Looking round I could see that almost all of the windows in the town had been blown in by enemy artillery fire, whilst those that had remained intact had been boarded up. The piles of rubble and roof slates in the road betrayed the fact that very little traffic had used this road recently, welcome to the front.
When we pulled up outside an area command post, we found that it was in a shopping centre under a hotel. Here a Croatian boarded the bus and looked us over. He was very confident in himself as he checked out the “new meat”; he then asked us if he could have our berets. Now nobody touches or wears a beret that he is not entitled too so we told him that it was not possible. He then said, “then tell me where you are going to fight, so I can go and pick them up when you are dead!” A very warm greeting, especially when we never actually saw him on our area of the front.
After getting off the buss we followed the journalist carrying our kit and the explosives he led us to a ‘deserted house, it is numbered No. 42. It is a typical Slavonian design with the house built right on the edge of the street and a large back garden. The owners were probably Serbs who have fled the area for health reasons.
The house was being used by a man who introduced himself as Mark Tidwell the commander of all forgein units in the area. He explained to us that he was the liaison for the local Croatian commander, and that he would have to ‘interview’ us before we could be considered for deployment and were allocated to any of the front line units. He had a few other foreigners with him, who claimed to work closely with the local police unit. Mark carried an Argentine Self-Loading Rifle (7.62/51) it was not the kind of weapon we wanted due to the shortage of ammunition available for it.
We unloaded the explosives into the garage at the back of the house; the general question went round as to who had what military experience.
Being a Gulf veteran I toped the list. However being a tank soldier I slipped down to the bottom of the list, they were mainly looking for grunts, and at this stage of the game I was willing to tow the line when someone had more local knowledge than I did.
Mark Tidwell then went on to explain to us that he had been with the 2nd battalion of the Queens regiment, and claimed to have come from the Shetlands. Obviously this confused Mark Western because he genuinely had been in the Queens regiment and this ‘expert’ didn’t know the battalion or fit the bill as an old hand! Mind you his uncle tried to do the same to me with his I’m a Stafford speech, so we accept them as a ticket to the front were we expect to meet more realistic people.
He had us wait in one of the rooms, while he and Dragen interviewed us individually, he took notes in a notebook about our units and our past. We were all issued a dire warning that we were not at any point to communicate with the press or to keep diary’s containing names of other unit members in case we were captured. These seemed like normal requests to us. Dragen spoke to Danny the Canadian and he decided that he was going to go back to Zagreb to join one of the Croat units.
He then has the group divided into two sections. One was the experienced group the other was the ones with no experience who would be sent to a group of students charged with defending a piece of the front under the supervision of a former French soldier.
It goes without saying that Herman the German had been kicked right out the door after in his interveiw he explained that he intended to use CS gas on the first Serb he saw, stab him with a bayonette he had aquired and steal his gun! Ok an interesting tactic that may have worked on the streets of Hamburg, but not a viable plan of action for a war zone! The last we heard of him, he had been attempting to get cyanide from the local hospital.
Anyway we are left to fend for ourselves in the house whilst the others disappear to make our movement arrangements.
We were to be fed at the local Red Cross centre. This in its self is to provide a challenge to some of the new bodies. The food was served in the community hall, which was some distance away from the house.
When we made our way to the hall we could hear the sounds of the front behind us; sporadic machinegun fire and occasional explosions as positions were shelled.
The journalist led us, he was carrying the Argentine FN with him, which had been lent to him by mark. The streets were still deserted There was no visible signs of war, just an oppressed feeling about the place as we moved across the wide empty streets.
When we got there the hall had no electricity; it was furnished with trestle tables on a wooden floor. A large, brick built wood burning stove against one wall heated it.
A soldier was sitting up on an old curtained stage with a field radio relaying messages; this place was being used as some kind of a command post.
The food when it came was typical government food STEW! Lots of vegetables and some odd bits of animal all stuck in one pot and boiled. A large pot of the stuff was put on our bench with lumps of bead.
We all took it in turns to fill our bowls dipping into the mystery brew with the ladle, when it came to Robert’s turn he pulled the ladle out to and found a chickens foot sticking out of it!
The expression on his face said it all; he went from hunger to going to throw up in about 5 seconds flat. He just sat there staring at the foot to make sure it was really there. Then put the whole lot back in the pot and just ate the bread.
It was I must say a very clean chickens foot, however Robert’s pampered western life stile had not prepared him for the brutal truth that something normally has to die to get its self on to your plate, it was the beginning of the end for Robert. Real country food with bits and bobs in them turned his guts, god knows how he was going to react when he found his first pick and mix person on the front.
Sunday
Thursday
Oh what a lovely war!
Driving towards zagreb I saw my first signs of the conflict an old soviet lorry with Cro Army written on the side rubbled towards the Slovenian border, but my own experience of things is that all because it says it on the tin it doesn't have to be the same inside.
After a refuel I drove into Zagreb main and took a little tour round the town, there were no uniforms on the streets except for the dark blue police dotted around.
I needed information and I needed it rather quickly, the UK numberplate and the right hand drive car was getting attention and it would not be long before I was stopped and the contents of my boot discovered, and I did not need this at all.
I stopped at a post office hoping that I would gain at least a little information there.
The inside was like a scene from a 1950's film people qued for phones on the wall hoping to get an international connection, I ventured to ask a question of a passerby and got mo where English may be an international language but it is not a universal one, A young man approached me and asked if he could help, I bantered some rubbish and asked him how the war was going and got the information I needed Croatia still held Zagreb! fantastic!
I decided that honesty is the best policy and came straight out with the fact that I had come to join their army and help with the effort.
The young chap was more than helpful, next thing I knew we were driving through traffic to the Ministry of Defence buildings.
I got there and reported to reception with my helper and we were shown up to an office on the second floor.
All offices that I were to visit looked the same, deep set windows, high ceilings and padded doors, the padding was an attempt to prevent eves droppers in a paranoid state, the man behind the desk wore a crumpled suit, he did not introduce himself just looked at me and fired off questions at my escort his main interest seemed to be if I had bought weaponry with me, the answer was no going AWOL was one thing to go AWOL with a weapon is just asking for major problems.
he told my escort that I should go to OBUKA KOMANDO in kumravec, ( a small village in the mountains and by chance the birth place of Josip Broz Tito the father of former Yugoslavia).
My escort had really gone above and beyond the call of duty in his help for me and with rough directions and an assurance that the area was safe, I headed off looking for a base in the mountains.
I almost back tracked to the Slovenian border and stopped at a little road side Kavana and asked if any one spoke English, Two very drunk but helpful Croats told me in German that their friends wife spoke fluent English and that they would take me to her.
I drove and my passengers gave me directions through a dark and rainy night to a house on the side of a mountain, The Croat's still roaring drunk went and roused the occupant's, who led me to the kitchen where a bottle appeared and they started to consume vast quantity's of home made alchol, I was on edge to say the least as one of the Croats had already explained to me that this was partisan country so I decided to opt out of the offers of home brew. my host kindly offered me coffee, a drink I love with all my heart.
the man came back from the stove with a small cup of black frothy stuff which to my mind looked and tasted nothing like coffee, it was black thick sweet and tasted like ground burnt floorboards, in fact it was horrible! not wanting to offend my hosts I took a few sips and then decided to down it in one as this would seem to be the best way to consume it without tasting it.
This was probably a mistake as the bottom of the cup was full of coffee grounds and as soon as it was gone my host pored me another cup, I had been waiting now for almost half an hour and regrettably was coming to the end of my second cup of coffee, the host looked at me and his friend asked in German "trinken ze kakou". Kakau I thought well the coffee was awful and this other drink sounded remarkably like POO to me so I was defiantly going to give that a miss!
fortunately I was saved by the appearance of the lady of the house and a buzz of excitement ensued as they explained what they thought I was looking for.
the lady the only other sober person then asked me exactly what I was looking for, I explained that I had been asked to report to OBUKA KOMANDO for induction into the military and that was where I was trying to get too, we all piled back into the car briefly stopping before the main road so that one of my passengers could vomit by the road side.
The KOMANDO was a group of buildings built into the side of a mountain more like a sports complex than a military training centre, we were challenged at a check point and one of my passengers explained the nature of my visit and the guard waved us through, my reception at the main desk was a little more guarded than my previous meetings, probably due to my entourage of drunks, who I could see were not winning over the desk Sargent. the Sergeant managed to get hold of a Canadian Croat to come forward and speak with me.
the crux of the situation was that they were not sure if they wanted a forgein national in the building and that the commandant of the base was not present and the decision would lay with him, however there was also the problem of where could I stay the night so it was agreed that I should stay with one of the troops in a double room and await the commandant's return in the morning.
I was shown up to a room on the second floor occupied by a young man who spoke limited English and prepared to bed down for the night, we spoke for a while and he explained that they were a special ops group and did not do front line duty's only going where they might be required. he produced a 9mm Browning from under his pillow and asked me if I knew anything about them, my answer was a simple yes and he passed it over. I did a quick field strip and assemble to prove my point, as I finished assembling the weapon the desk Sargent appeared and a quick exchange in Croatian ensued between the lad and the Sargent.
I did not understand it but I could imagine what it was about, as I passed the weapon back I said that I agreed and he should not have passed the weapon to a stranger with or without bullets, they didn't know who I was and yes these were uncertain times so you could never be too careful.
In the morning the commandant had still not returned so the Sergent decided that it would be best that I return to Zagreb.
when I left I took the three Canadian Croat’s into Zagreb with me, they told me that the police were forming a unit of the foreigner volunteers and that I would be better of with them my lack of Croatian was a major problem. We went up together to the Tuskanac Military Police station where they spoke to the guard for me. By the time we reached the base the car was almost out of fuel, I had no money to refill it and didn't expect that I would be using it again so I happily sold it to them on the spot for $200 with a warning that it would be very foolish to take it into western Europe unless of course they wanted problems with the German police.
The guard directed me to a group of modern buildings; they looked more like some kind of social club than a base. I went into what looked like a large cafe where there were groups of soldiers milling around inside, I asked them where to put my kit and they pointed to some stairs that went down to a bowling alley and a firing range. The whole range (22cal.) had been turned into a make shift dormitory. Camp beds lined the walls at spaced intervals. The whole place was dusty and dim. Only the buts were well lit, piles of empty shell cases littered the floor around the buts, amongst the brass I noticed the occasional 9mm shell, the rubber back stops were tattered in places showed signs that they hadn’t been made to take anything bigger than .22 cal.
Spread around the room was groups of soldiers from various Croatian units. I found a small group of foreigners there towards the end of the range. I went over to talk to them and they said that one of their people and the guy who was organising them had gone into Zagreb to sort something out for them.
As far as experience was concerned only one of them seemed to have been a regular soldier. He was wearing a British uniform with corporal stripes and a Stafford’s beret. As everyone else was in uniform I dumped my stuff on an available cot close to two eastern Europeans and changed into my uniform.
I spoke to the man from the Stafford's for a little while, the thing that struck me as odd about him was that the man did not seem to recognise my beret? The Stafford’s had been the Irish Hussars infantry support during the Gulf war, so it really didn’t ring true to me that this man could be who he said he was!
In a friendly manner I pointed out that perhaps he was not quite what he claimed to be, he then backed down a bit and said that he was actually from the Staffordshire’s T.A regiment, which in my book is something completely different.
When the others came back from the city I met the T.A mans nephew who was a completely different type of man, a short thickset honest man who had served with the Queens regiment I took an immediate liking to him. He was quiet and reserved, yet at the same time had a certain confidence in himself.
They had been to the Zagreb marine institute where the Croatians had been planing some kind of raid on the gunboats on the river Vuka. The Yugoslav’s had bought there fresh water navy up close to the besieged town of Vukovar and were mercilessly bombarding it. The institutes’ answer had been to make an attempt at making their own type of magnetic mines. There was however a number of draw backs with these things. Mainly they were heavy, hard to set and absolutely no equipment was being made available for the job. From basics like maps and swimming fins to luxuries like weapons and radios there was nothing available to support the operation.
I very much doubt that they ever did get someone for the operation. The mission when you look at it realistically was to hump 40 kg of explosives and timers across a hot combat zone and to then pass through 4km of occupied territory to an area next to a siege. Then to set the fuses (max 4 hours delay fuse) on the riverbank reseal the mines and swim out into one of Europe’s busiest waterways (in the winter) with no equipment, attach the charges and swim back. No way, as this never happened during the course of the war they definitely never found anyone mad enough to do it or perhaps they never asked the right people.
shortly after my arrival the military police came piling into the cellar, they were speaking to one of the police Sargent upstairs.
They came over to me and accused me of one of the worst things ever! they said that I was French!!! now I was justifiably insulted by this and then they asked if I had any tattoo's this I could prove beyond doubt and stripped my shirt off to show clean skin. French! how dare they!
we were to sit in the firing range for two days and get to know each other reasonably well, there was a young Finnish guy only 17 with a liking for knives as most Finns do, a German who claimed to be an American soldier, but spoke no English. Two Bulgarians who were quiet and for language reasons kept themselves to them selves, A young Englishman again only 17 like the Finn, a rather strange English man who should I say had a number of issues. the guy from the Stafford's, his Nephew from the queens regiment and a young American.
the young American hung round with the weird Englishman who let us say did not blend with the group and I would describe as an angry person.
I can not remember the Englishman's name but things came to a head the next day when he was seen outside repeatedly stabbing a sandbag with a bayonet, I spoke to Robert about the knife incident and he confided in me that the guy also had a hand grenade that he had stolen from the back of a vehicle too!
Perhaps its wrong what we did but the safety of others was at stake, we dragged him out of bed and under the threat of extreme violence stood him by the wall and searched his kit looking for the grenade, which we could not find and then had him thrown out the base, The guy was crying as we did this but he was a danger to himself and most of all us he had to go!!
The next day Vukovar fell,the fall of Vukovar could be compared to the fall of Srebrenica, but it was a pivotal point of the war. The conscript army of Yugoslavia suffered horrendous losses taking the city and exhausted but well armed it heralded the dawn of the para militarys.
The Croatians in the cellar took the loss very badly and the very dramatic Balkan hysteria knows no end there was a lot of shouting and wailing and weapons cocked despite the 150 odd miles between us and the city it seemed we were going there now!
We made ready our kit and were issued uniforms, and they were uni formal size 10 boots, 40"waist trousers and massive jackets. The man issuing them said they were winter uniform, even so for someone with a 28" waist and size 7 boots they would need a lot of packing out so I returned them just taking the webbing belt.
In the morning we boarded the bus, half a loaf of bread a tin of meat paste each, I looked around me the two Bulgarians were there, the American, the German and four Brits. The only Croat on the bus was driving it, looked like it was going to be a lovely war.
After a refuel I drove into Zagreb main and took a little tour round the town, there were no uniforms on the streets except for the dark blue police dotted around.
I needed information and I needed it rather quickly, the UK numberplate and the right hand drive car was getting attention and it would not be long before I was stopped and the contents of my boot discovered, and I did not need this at all.
I stopped at a post office hoping that I would gain at least a little information there.
The inside was like a scene from a 1950's film people qued for phones on the wall hoping to get an international connection, I ventured to ask a question of a passerby and got mo where English may be an international language but it is not a universal one, A young man approached me and asked if he could help, I bantered some rubbish and asked him how the war was going and got the information I needed Croatia still held Zagreb! fantastic!
I decided that honesty is the best policy and came straight out with the fact that I had come to join their army and help with the effort.
The young chap was more than helpful, next thing I knew we were driving through traffic to the Ministry of Defence buildings.
I got there and reported to reception with my helper and we were shown up to an office on the second floor.
All offices that I were to visit looked the same, deep set windows, high ceilings and padded doors, the padding was an attempt to prevent eves droppers in a paranoid state, the man behind the desk wore a crumpled suit, he did not introduce himself just looked at me and fired off questions at my escort his main interest seemed to be if I had bought weaponry with me, the answer was no going AWOL was one thing to go AWOL with a weapon is just asking for major problems.
he told my escort that I should go to OBUKA KOMANDO in kumravec, ( a small village in the mountains and by chance the birth place of Josip Broz Tito the father of former Yugoslavia).
My escort had really gone above and beyond the call of duty in his help for me and with rough directions and an assurance that the area was safe, I headed off looking for a base in the mountains.
I almost back tracked to the Slovenian border and stopped at a little road side Kavana and asked if any one spoke English, Two very drunk but helpful Croats told me in German that their friends wife spoke fluent English and that they would take me to her.
I drove and my passengers gave me directions through a dark and rainy night to a house on the side of a mountain, The Croat's still roaring drunk went and roused the occupant's, who led me to the kitchen where a bottle appeared and they started to consume vast quantity's of home made alchol, I was on edge to say the least as one of the Croats had already explained to me that this was partisan country so I decided to opt out of the offers of home brew. my host kindly offered me coffee, a drink I love with all my heart.
the man came back from the stove with a small cup of black frothy stuff which to my mind looked and tasted nothing like coffee, it was black thick sweet and tasted like ground burnt floorboards, in fact it was horrible! not wanting to offend my hosts I took a few sips and then decided to down it in one as this would seem to be the best way to consume it without tasting it.
This was probably a mistake as the bottom of the cup was full of coffee grounds and as soon as it was gone my host pored me another cup, I had been waiting now for almost half an hour and regrettably was coming to the end of my second cup of coffee, the host looked at me and his friend asked in German "trinken ze kakou". Kakau I thought well the coffee was awful and this other drink sounded remarkably like POO to me so I was defiantly going to give that a miss!
fortunately I was saved by the appearance of the lady of the house and a buzz of excitement ensued as they explained what they thought I was looking for.
the lady the only other sober person then asked me exactly what I was looking for, I explained that I had been asked to report to OBUKA KOMANDO for induction into the military and that was where I was trying to get too, we all piled back into the car briefly stopping before the main road so that one of my passengers could vomit by the road side.
The KOMANDO was a group of buildings built into the side of a mountain more like a sports complex than a military training centre, we were challenged at a check point and one of my passengers explained the nature of my visit and the guard waved us through, my reception at the main desk was a little more guarded than my previous meetings, probably due to my entourage of drunks, who I could see were not winning over the desk Sargent. the Sergeant managed to get hold of a Canadian Croat to come forward and speak with me.
the crux of the situation was that they were not sure if they wanted a forgein national in the building and that the commandant of the base was not present and the decision would lay with him, however there was also the problem of where could I stay the night so it was agreed that I should stay with one of the troops in a double room and await the commandant's return in the morning.
I was shown up to a room on the second floor occupied by a young man who spoke limited English and prepared to bed down for the night, we spoke for a while and he explained that they were a special ops group and did not do front line duty's only going where they might be required. he produced a 9mm Browning from under his pillow and asked me if I knew anything about them, my answer was a simple yes and he passed it over. I did a quick field strip and assemble to prove my point, as I finished assembling the weapon the desk Sargent appeared and a quick exchange in Croatian ensued between the lad and the Sargent.
I did not understand it but I could imagine what it was about, as I passed the weapon back I said that I agreed and he should not have passed the weapon to a stranger with or without bullets, they didn't know who I was and yes these were uncertain times so you could never be too careful.
In the morning the commandant had still not returned so the Sergent decided that it would be best that I return to Zagreb.
when I left I took the three Canadian Croat’s into Zagreb with me, they told me that the police were forming a unit of the foreigner volunteers and that I would be better of with them my lack of Croatian was a major problem. We went up together to the Tuskanac Military Police station where they spoke to the guard for me. By the time we reached the base the car was almost out of fuel, I had no money to refill it and didn't expect that I would be using it again so I happily sold it to them on the spot for $200 with a warning that it would be very foolish to take it into western Europe unless of course they wanted problems with the German police.
The guard directed me to a group of modern buildings; they looked more like some kind of social club than a base. I went into what looked like a large cafe where there were groups of soldiers milling around inside, I asked them where to put my kit and they pointed to some stairs that went down to a bowling alley and a firing range. The whole range (22cal.) had been turned into a make shift dormitory. Camp beds lined the walls at spaced intervals. The whole place was dusty and dim. Only the buts were well lit, piles of empty shell cases littered the floor around the buts, amongst the brass I noticed the occasional 9mm shell, the rubber back stops were tattered in places showed signs that they hadn’t been made to take anything bigger than .22 cal.
Spread around the room was groups of soldiers from various Croatian units. I found a small group of foreigners there towards the end of the range. I went over to talk to them and they said that one of their people and the guy who was organising them had gone into Zagreb to sort something out for them.
As far as experience was concerned only one of them seemed to have been a regular soldier. He was wearing a British uniform with corporal stripes and a Stafford’s beret. As everyone else was in uniform I dumped my stuff on an available cot close to two eastern Europeans and changed into my uniform.
I spoke to the man from the Stafford's for a little while, the thing that struck me as odd about him was that the man did not seem to recognise my beret? The Stafford’s had been the Irish Hussars infantry support during the Gulf war, so it really didn’t ring true to me that this man could be who he said he was!
In a friendly manner I pointed out that perhaps he was not quite what he claimed to be, he then backed down a bit and said that he was actually from the Staffordshire’s T.A regiment, which in my book is something completely different.
When the others came back from the city I met the T.A mans nephew who was a completely different type of man, a short thickset honest man who had served with the Queens regiment I took an immediate liking to him. He was quiet and reserved, yet at the same time had a certain confidence in himself.
They had been to the Zagreb marine institute where the Croatians had been planing some kind of raid on the gunboats on the river Vuka. The Yugoslav’s had bought there fresh water navy up close to the besieged town of Vukovar and were mercilessly bombarding it. The institutes’ answer had been to make an attempt at making their own type of magnetic mines. There was however a number of draw backs with these things. Mainly they were heavy, hard to set and absolutely no equipment was being made available for the job. From basics like maps and swimming fins to luxuries like weapons and radios there was nothing available to support the operation.
I very much doubt that they ever did get someone for the operation. The mission when you look at it realistically was to hump 40 kg of explosives and timers across a hot combat zone and to then pass through 4km of occupied territory to an area next to a siege. Then to set the fuses (max 4 hours delay fuse) on the riverbank reseal the mines and swim out into one of Europe’s busiest waterways (in the winter) with no equipment, attach the charges and swim back. No way, as this never happened during the course of the war they definitely never found anyone mad enough to do it or perhaps they never asked the right people.
shortly after my arrival the military police came piling into the cellar, they were speaking to one of the police Sargent upstairs.
They came over to me and accused me of one of the worst things ever! they said that I was French!!! now I was justifiably insulted by this and then they asked if I had any tattoo's this I could prove beyond doubt and stripped my shirt off to show clean skin. French! how dare they!
we were to sit in the firing range for two days and get to know each other reasonably well, there was a young Finnish guy only 17 with a liking for knives as most Finns do, a German who claimed to be an American soldier, but spoke no English. Two Bulgarians who were quiet and for language reasons kept themselves to them selves, A young Englishman again only 17 like the Finn, a rather strange English man who should I say had a number of issues. the guy from the Stafford's, his Nephew from the queens regiment and a young American.
the young American hung round with the weird Englishman who let us say did not blend with the group and I would describe as an angry person.
I can not remember the Englishman's name but things came to a head the next day when he was seen outside repeatedly stabbing a sandbag with a bayonet, I spoke to Robert about the knife incident and he confided in me that the guy also had a hand grenade that he had stolen from the back of a vehicle too!
Perhaps its wrong what we did but the safety of others was at stake, we dragged him out of bed and under the threat of extreme violence stood him by the wall and searched his kit looking for the grenade, which we could not find and then had him thrown out the base, The guy was crying as we did this but he was a danger to himself and most of all us he had to go!!
The next day Vukovar fell,the fall of Vukovar could be compared to the fall of Srebrenica, but it was a pivotal point of the war. The conscript army of Yugoslavia suffered horrendous losses taking the city and exhausted but well armed it heralded the dawn of the para militarys.
The Croatians in the cellar took the loss very badly and the very dramatic Balkan hysteria knows no end there was a lot of shouting and wailing and weapons cocked despite the 150 odd miles between us and the city it seemed we were going there now!
We made ready our kit and were issued uniforms, and they were uni formal size 10 boots, 40"waist trousers and massive jackets. The man issuing them said they were winter uniform, even so for someone with a 28" waist and size 7 boots they would need a lot of packing out so I returned them just taking the webbing belt.
In the morning we boarded the bus, half a loaf of bread a tin of meat paste each, I looked around me the two Bulgarians were there, the American, the German and four Brits. The only Croat on the bus was driving it, looked like it was going to be a lovely war.
Tuesday
Into the fray
out on the autobahn it started to become apparent why Stuart wanted rid of the car, at 80mph the car started to skip and vibrate and would stall at low revs.
after a long drive through the night I decided that I had put enough distance between me and the base a rest and a refuel was in order.
taking a jerry can from the boot of the car I went to unlock the fuel cap, the key jammed and broke off!
now I had a major problem, the car had a quarter of a tank of fuel no ignition key and was about to be reported stolen. I broke the fuel cap off and dismantled the lock removing the piece of key and filled the tank leaving the jerry can next to the road. logic dictated that with no fuel cap to worry about anymore the slither of key could hopefully be put in the ignition and pushed home with the remainder of the key. It worked! I was back on the road putting as much distance between me and my persecutors and almost in Austria.
I drove through Saltzburg heading towards Maribor on the road now for almost two days foot as close to the floor as I could get it to keep the car at speed and stable, I pulled into a service station to sleep and prepare for the next border crossing.
during the night I was woken by an ambulance pulling up next to me, the driver got out of his cab and ran to the back of the ambulance and got in, the vehicle swayed from side to side and muffled crys came from the vehicle followed by a baby's crying, I was resigned to my future and I smiled at the thought of a child coming into the world as I was leaving it.
The border was an old school affair, unlike European borders this one had a 50 meter no mans land the guards looked at each other from a distance, the gap of politics and culture was here.
The Austrians looked at the passport I offered, a black and white picture of Stuart looked out of the passport at them they handed it back and waved me through, and the car stalled!
this was not really the time or the place for this to happen so close to freedom but closer to return, I opened the door and bump started the car on the crossing.
The Slovenian customs men on the other side of the border found this very funny, with a little sympathy as I nursed the engine they asked where I was going, Zagreb I said they just gave the passport a quick glance and waved me through.
Once over the Yugoslav border I started to drive towards Zagreb, the mountainous roads were deserted of traffic, obstacles and anti tank bollards where scattered at the sides of the route where make shift roadblocks had once stood. As I journeyed on left the main road at a pass where a few houses stood on a little track . There I met a Slovenian peasant and tried to ask him for directions to Zagreb with a hope to find out what the current situation was from him.
I tried in English and then in my halting German. It was obvious that the man didn’t understand his own language never mind mine. So I went back to the car and travelled on to a new checkpoint, which by my now out of date map should have been the Hungarian border.
I passed a few more dragons teeth and obstacles that had been pushed to the side of the road by the crossing. I saw a large white limousine parked under some pine tree's it was marked up as if it was from the American embassy. The crossing was just a Porta-kabin, which was manned by some very shady looking characters in suits. They asked me where I was going.
Now who the hell were these people? I certainly didn’t want to say the wrong thing, the last news report I had heard on the radio said that the Yugoslav airforce was bombing Zagreb and that ground forces were advancing on the capital. That had been two days a go I really didn’t know how these people stood. The safest bet was to tell a whopper and hope not to get caught out, so I said to them; “I have some friends in Zagreb” fortunately they didn’t bother to look in the boot of the car, because all my kit plus helmet were in the back!
and so it continues.
after a long drive through the night I decided that I had put enough distance between me and the base a rest and a refuel was in order.
taking a jerry can from the boot of the car I went to unlock the fuel cap, the key jammed and broke off!
now I had a major problem, the car had a quarter of a tank of fuel no ignition key and was about to be reported stolen. I broke the fuel cap off and dismantled the lock removing the piece of key and filled the tank leaving the jerry can next to the road. logic dictated that with no fuel cap to worry about anymore the slither of key could hopefully be put in the ignition and pushed home with the remainder of the key. It worked! I was back on the road putting as much distance between me and my persecutors and almost in Austria.
I drove through Saltzburg heading towards Maribor on the road now for almost two days foot as close to the floor as I could get it to keep the car at speed and stable, I pulled into a service station to sleep and prepare for the next border crossing.
during the night I was woken by an ambulance pulling up next to me, the driver got out of his cab and ran to the back of the ambulance and got in, the vehicle swayed from side to side and muffled crys came from the vehicle followed by a baby's crying, I was resigned to my future and I smiled at the thought of a child coming into the world as I was leaving it.
The border was an old school affair, unlike European borders this one had a 50 meter no mans land the guards looked at each other from a distance, the gap of politics and culture was here.
The Austrians looked at the passport I offered, a black and white picture of Stuart looked out of the passport at them they handed it back and waved me through, and the car stalled!
this was not really the time or the place for this to happen so close to freedom but closer to return, I opened the door and bump started the car on the crossing.
The Slovenian customs men on the other side of the border found this very funny, with a little sympathy as I nursed the engine they asked where I was going, Zagreb I said they just gave the passport a quick glance and waved me through.
Once over the Yugoslav border I started to drive towards Zagreb, the mountainous roads were deserted of traffic, obstacles and anti tank bollards where scattered at the sides of the route where make shift roadblocks had once stood. As I journeyed on left the main road at a pass where a few houses stood on a little track . There I met a Slovenian peasant and tried to ask him for directions to Zagreb with a hope to find out what the current situation was from him.
I tried in English and then in my halting German. It was obvious that the man didn’t understand his own language never mind mine. So I went back to the car and travelled on to a new checkpoint, which by my now out of date map should have been the Hungarian border.
I passed a few more dragons teeth and obstacles that had been pushed to the side of the road by the crossing. I saw a large white limousine parked under some pine tree's it was marked up as if it was from the American embassy. The crossing was just a Porta-kabin, which was manned by some very shady looking characters in suits. They asked me where I was going.
Now who the hell were these people? I certainly didn’t want to say the wrong thing, the last news report I had heard on the radio said that the Yugoslav airforce was bombing Zagreb and that ground forces were advancing on the capital. That had been two days a go I really didn’t know how these people stood. The safest bet was to tell a whopper and hope not to get caught out, so I said to them; “I have some friends in Zagreb” fortunately they didn’t bother to look in the boot of the car, because all my kit plus helmet were in the back!
and so it continues.
Friday
Journey into the unknown
Do you know who you are? do you know your past or do you live a story, do you soak the bed in sweat every night?
This is a story about the conflict in Yugoslavia and forgein involvement, and the prices they paid, the invisible the deniable.
“and did you exchange, a walk on part in a war, for the lead role in a cage?”
(PINK FLOYD, Wish you were here.)
GERMANY
“and did you exchange, a walk on part in a war, for the lead role in a cage?”
(PINK FLOYD, Wish you were here.)
GERMANY
It all started for me on a morning in the gunnery simulator, I was doing my gunner mechanic course and was a few days into it when a runner from the squadron quartermaster came over asking for me. The message was simply that I was to go straight to the regimental Sergeant majors office. I didn’t know what it could be about I went in to see the regimental Sargent major he sat at his desk and asked me if I knew what this was all about? The closest guess I could give him was that the company who had towed my landrover home from Dover hadn’t got their money. He said, “No it’s not that, you see I don’t want to see you. They do!” Into the office came two suits, they introduced them selves as members of the Special Investigation Branch.
I stood there and had a basic frisk search and was taken outside to a car that took me over to my room at the barracks.
what followed was possibly the most thourgh but ineffective search I have ever seen.
after establishing that the area was my bed space the SIB started their search in earnest, one pulled apart my bed lifting the bedlinen, checking for any surprises he then sat on the bed clipboard in hand whilst his colleague dug through my lockers.
everything was checked! pockets were turned out and the fluff from the corners examined slowly bit by bit a large pile of uniform appeared on the floor, draws were emptied socks were unfolded everything came out, but nothing was found.
little did they know that they were sitting on what they were looking for! I had a little piece of solid blu tacked under the bed frame!
after their fruitless search we went over to the RMP station where I was taken to an interview room, the interview was rather simple the accusations had come from a private Paul Hassel of the Stafordshire regiment.
after their fruitless search we went over to the RMP station where I was taken to an interview room, the interview was rather simple the accusations had come from a private Paul Hassel of the Stafordshire regiment.
It seems that a friend of mine who I will call Irish sold Paul a small piece of cannabis and Paul had been caught with it!
why people do this I dont know, but for some people there is a belief that if they offer up other people to the authorities they will get let off. so Paul Hassel claimed that Irish had sold him the grass and that I and him regularly smoked in their barracks!
Madness! the expression is cruising for a bruising to walk into an Infantry barracks where you are not known, but that was his statement all totally false and all engineered to save his skin at the cost of our own.
The interview was stopped and I was escorted to the toilets to provide a urine sample, the test was a simple additive placed in the sample to check for irregularity's.
mine went blood red, the Sergeant looked at this with a degree of surprise. so far I had walked through this with no problems, but according to his test you could probably re roll my wee and get off on it!
we were then taken back to the colonel's office to receive our dressing down.
we were sentenced to report to the orderly corporal every hour till 10 p.m., we were not allowed to leave the base and as the colonel had said we definitely wouldn’t be getting our Christmas leave! Well tough, I had had enough; he had left us in no doubt that he was going to send us to jail and then have us kicked out the army.
we were sentenced to report to the orderly corporal every hour till 10 p.m., we were not allowed to leave the base and as the colonel had said we definitely wouldn’t be getting our Christmas leave! Well tough, I had had enough; he had left us in no doubt that he was going to send us to jail and then have us kicked out the army.
This meant a couple of months of humiliation followed by a prison sentence and no pay which in turn would mean loan repayments not being met and even more problems for me.
So what was the point in waiting? When I went back to the room that night I spoke to Stewart he was also fed up with the boredom of with the peacetime army. I asked him if he wanted to go down to Croatia with me to join their army. At first he was interested and started to pack his kit ready to go. Then he sat down and seriously thought about the whole thing.
We would be going into a foreign country and joining a foreign army who did not have a quarter of the resources of the British army and worse still they were loosing the war. It was a big decision and a hard one.
We would be going into a foreign country and joining a foreign army who did not have a quarter of the resources of the British army and worse still they were loosing the war. It was a big decision and a hard one.
He thought about it and decided that he didn’t want to go. However he said that it was still ok to take the car. He would not report it stolen until at least two days after I had gone. He had bought a ford escort XR3I after the gulf with his accumulated pay. It was a nice car but the insurance and service costs were crippling Stewart so it would be better that the car disappeared. He gave me the keys and asked me to make sure that it would never come back. Considering where I was going this was a promise I could easily keep. To be honest I wasn’t even sure if I would be coming back.
I really didn’t have enough money to make the trip and it was going to have to be a fast one. I knew that I had to get out of Germany as quickly as possible. I needed fuel and fast. The best place to get fuel in the army is from a fuel dump. I knew where one was but didn’t have the correct documentation to get any legally. On the other hand the tax payer had spent a small fortune paying for them to teach me to climb over walls and fences, so I wasn’t going to let 3 coils of razor wire and a little fence get in my way. Climbing into the fuel dump was easy; the problem is always that you’re over active imagination manufactured sounds that don’t exist. The last thing that I wanted was a confrontation with a guard or a roving patrol. Once in the compound I stayed low watching my surroundings for dozing guards or any other possible hazard. When I was sure of myself I started to throw the jerry cans over the fence. I threw over about seven (the equivalent of 140 litres of petrol). I then got them back into the car with my kit.
Driving out of the gate was worrying. My regiment was on guard duty so it was possible that someone would recognise me, remember that I had been confined to barracks and turn me back. I drove down to the main gate, said hello to the sentry and he passed me the sighing out book. I wrote my destination as town, which I suppose was true, only I neglected to mention which town or which country for that matter. Then I turned left and drove out to the autobahn.
My first impulse was to get as far away as possible from my base preferably out of Germany. With no speed limit on the autobahn this wasn’t going to be a problem. Hopefully Irish would tell the regimental police that I had spoken about going to the foreign legion and that they would be looking in the opposite direction.
I really didn’t have enough money to make the trip and it was going to have to be a fast one. I knew that I had to get out of Germany as quickly as possible. I needed fuel and fast. The best place to get fuel in the army is from a fuel dump. I knew where one was but didn’t have the correct documentation to get any legally. On the other hand the tax payer had spent a small fortune paying for them to teach me to climb over walls and fences, so I wasn’t going to let 3 coils of razor wire and a little fence get in my way. Climbing into the fuel dump was easy; the problem is always that you’re over active imagination manufactured sounds that don’t exist. The last thing that I wanted was a confrontation with a guard or a roving patrol. Once in the compound I stayed low watching my surroundings for dozing guards or any other possible hazard. When I was sure of myself I started to throw the jerry cans over the fence. I threw over about seven (the equivalent of 140 litres of petrol). I then got them back into the car with my kit.
Driving out of the gate was worrying. My regiment was on guard duty so it was possible that someone would recognise me, remember that I had been confined to barracks and turn me back. I drove down to the main gate, said hello to the sentry and he passed me the sighing out book. I wrote my destination as town, which I suppose was true, only I neglected to mention which town or which country for that matter. Then I turned left and drove out to the autobahn.
My first impulse was to get as far away as possible from my base preferably out of Germany. With no speed limit on the autobahn this wasn’t going to be a problem. Hopefully Irish would tell the regimental police that I had spoken about going to the foreign legion and that they would be looking in the opposite direction.
and so slowly it begins should I have a little following I will print more, I hope it gets interesting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)