Aid Memoir. Larry Hollingworth

tired they must have been. Opposite where we were unloading was a police station. A policeman came over to me.

      – Mr. Larry, don’t get angry. They are not lazy. They are taking their time simply because they do not want you to go. They know that when you go, the shelling will start again and probably worse than before to punish us for your visit.

      I understood their fears, their hunger and their reluctance, but I had an obligation to my convoy. We had told the Serbs we would be out before dark. The road we had come along was bad enough by day. To negotiate it by night would be reckless. Besides, it may by now be mined.

      The locals were not interested in my problems, they proceeded at a very slow pace. I was not prepared to compromise, nor was I prepared to take any of the food back as I had threatened.

      – Right. We will dump the sacks straight onto the floor. This will make life more difficult for you. Instead of them going straight onto your shoulder, you will have to pick them up off the floor.

      We began to dump them, in the hope that more people would help with the unloading. They simply called my bluff. We dumped the whole lot on the floor and had emptied the trucks in half an hour.

      All three convoy packets met back at the town centre. We had a farewell ceremony with the Mayor. We promised faithfully to be back. Before we left, the French marine Battalion Public Relations Warrant Officer took a photo of a very happy Eric and myself shaking hands. The photo, I saw much later in a magazine when I was in Rwanda. It was captioned: “Bravo Eric. Well done Larry.” So far so good. We now had to get the convoy back safely. We left the cheering, clapping crowd and headed back. We were late. We would at least clear the first checkpoint before dark, probably we could get beyond the summit of the hill. We would then need an unhindered run down the twisting road to be back into Rogatica, where we would overnight.

      It was a slow haul up the hill. The Serb checkpoints were interested in the conditions inside. The majority seemed genuinely concerned, but I remember one in particular who said—If the conditions are so bad, why don’t they surrender?

      In truth, having the image of the little girl fresh in my mind, I was not in a pro Serb mood. By the time we reached the summit, Eric and I knew that we were going to need a lot of luck if we were to reach Rogatica that night.

      – How far do you think we can go?—I asked him.

      – We must still aim for Sarajevo—he replied, then a long pause—And hope we reach Rogatica.

      We passed again the remains of the ten-tonne truck of Fabrizio’s convoy. Now that we had been into Gorazde, we could appreciate just how close they had been to achieving their aim. I silently saluted Fabrizio.

      By now, night had fallen and we decided that I would travel in the leading APC, which was commanded by a really bright young French Lieutenant who spoke beautiful English. We started the descent. The APC had a spotlight and the young officer stood in the commanders’ hatchway and swept the dirt road with the beam of the light as we motored along at a very steady pace. It was a dark night; the mountain was on our left and the hedge of trees delineated the track and prevented us from falling to the next level on our right. Both the mountain and trees captured the dark and enveloped the convoy. As we approached the sharp hair pin bend which led to the foot of the sheer rise where earlier we had seen the Muslim look out, the Lieutenant slowed the APC down to the pace of an escargot. On our way up, he had fleetingly seen a suspicious pile of stones at the side of the road. The sort of location where a mine could be laid at short notice. As we inched forward, he caught the mound of stones in the beam. He stopped the APC. He slowly traversed the light across the track. In its beam, his sharp eyes saw a wire stretching from the mound of stones to the other side of the track. He was on the radio to Eric, who came forward. I got out of the APC, together we slowly, in my case somewhat clumsily, advanced to the wire. At Eric’s order, the Lieutenant held the gaze of the lamp on the pile of stones. There, clearly visible, was a mine, an evil mix of plastic, metal and highly explosive. A few more feet forward and the APC would have set it off. It was so positioned that it would have done most damage to the officer standing in the hatchway. Eric spoke on the radio, and soon we had a small gathering of experts.

      – The end of a long day—I said to Eric.

      – Non—said a Warrant Officer—We can shoot it and set it off. Then proceed.

      I was not happy with this. It may be the “Gung ho Marines” answer, but it was not my recommendation.

      – What happens if it is the first of a number of mines. Do we go down the road shooting at all mounds of rocks? Whoever laid it knows it is there. The side that didn’t probably does not. Therefore, if we fire even a single round, let alone set off a mine, we could find ourselves in a firefight—Eric was in no doubt.

      – We do nothing till dawn—Sandhurst and St. Cyr were in agreement.

      By now, the Press Corps were happy snapping from a distance. For them, the convoy was getting better by the minute. We gathered the drivers together, briefed them and warned everyone to make minimum noise. Mess tins rattled, cans were opened, bottles produced. I particularly remember a good single malt emerging from the bottom of Jeremy Bowen’s bag. Whatever the drink, whatever the food, the conversation was the same in every group.

      – Who had laid the mine and why?

      – The Serbs—They usually got blamed for everything, so it was natural that someone should start off with them.

      – But why, what have they got to gain? Surely, they would have mined the road on our way in to prevent us reaching Gorazde—said someone, refreshingly applying logic.

      – Yes, if they had laid it on our way in, the Serbs could easily have said that it was part of the Muslim defence—added a man with a little more time in the Balkans.

      – It was the Serbs. They did it now, knowing that we would blame the Muslims. An old Balkan hand talking.

      During the long night, the answer partly became clear. Behind us and above us there was a lot of noise. The French had deployed guards and listening posts. They reported that armed men were moving around us. The Marines knew their mandate. If attacked, they could return fire. If they were not, they sat still and observed. Eric had great faith in their training. It could not have been easy for them. The armed groups were close enough to be heard and seen but far enough away not to be identified.

      At first, we feared an ambush. We were in a perfect position. We considered moving the convoy back. But not seriously—there was no room to turn, every vehicle would have to be reversed, in the dark, on a narrow road with a steep drop. Also, had we now been mined behind us? So if you cannot go forward and you cannot go back. You make the best of staying.

      At the height of the movement, behind our position, another clue as to who had laid the mine fell into place. A mortar bomb came whooshing through the dark sky and landed amongst the trees about one hundred metres behind us. The trees shielded the flash, the blast, and the splinters. The mortar had undoubtedly come from Serb positions ahead of us in the direction of Rogatica. It was unlikely that the Serbs would fire on Serb troops. I was later to learn that this was not a hard and fast rule. Balkan forces could deliberately fire on their own in order to blame the other side.

      But this night, we were convinced that the troops moving around us were Bosnian forces from Gorazde. They had mined us in and were using us as a screen whilst they moved. The mortar was a warning shot from the Serbs who knew what was going on.

      – Eric, do you think the Serbs will fire anymore?

      – No, I do not think they will risk hitting the convoy. But, if I were you Larry, I would sleep in one of my APC’s.

      So saying, Eric stretched out in his flimsy little jeep. But I knew that before long, Eric would be up, out, and at the forward sentry posts. I have to admit that I took his advice and found a corner in an APC. Dragon slept in the back of a truck.

      We were awake before dawn. We wanted to see the situation by daylight. Eric