Aid Memoir. Larry Hollingworth

Because you took ammunition in last time—This was the second time this oft to be repeated accusation was made. I was horrified that they could even think of this. How naive I was.

      – It is not possible that we took in ammunition. Firstly, we are the United Nations. We are totally impartial. Secondly, I would never permit any war material on a convoy. Thirdly, you ransacked the convoy before it went in.

      – No we didn’t, we did a random search. You must have taken in ammunition. They are using weapons that they have not used before. Weapons and ammunition that they did not have before your last visit.

      This actually turned out to be true. But we had not taken it in; it had gone in via the mule route from a little place called Grebac. We later used it to send in food.

      The search was long and thorough and may have gone on forever had not the commander who had, on my first visit, insisted that I see the bodies arrive.

      – You have heard of the Muslim attack? Ah, now it was an attack.

      – Yes, I have and I have been accused of having taken in weapons last time. I am furious and demand an apology.

      He ignored me but continued—They have ambushed a mobile patrol of ours. We have tried to recover the bodies, but they have a sniper covering them. Will you please go and collect the bodies and bring them here?

      I thought quickly—I cannot collect them now. The sniper will probably shoot us. I will talk to the commander in Gorazde and ask him to call off the sniper. I will then try to collect the bodies on the way back. OK?

      – Please, Mr. Larry, the families know that they are dead and lying in the road. They want them back. I liked this man, he was a good man caught up in an evil war. He agreed that we could go forward but only if I accepted full responsibility. The Egyptian drivers may have been lacking in driving skills, but they were not lacking in courage. They wanted to go forward. The journalists also wanted to go forward, but they were told that Pale had forbidden them to go beyond Rogatica.

      Not everyone wanted to go forward. Lovely loyal driver Dragon came to see me.

      – Last time when we went in, they were killing Serbs on our way out. This time they are killing Serbs on the way in. Do you really need me? On this convoy we had brought three vehicles with aid and medicine for Rogatica.

      – No, my friend, I would much prefer you to distribute the aid here in Rogatica. I was then without a driver but not for long. A gentleman with previous Hereford skills and current camera expertise volunteered to leap into Dragon’s seat. He agreed to pool his resources for the benefit of his less fortunate colleagues. His camera was carefully stowed under my personal possessions, out of sight.

      We moved on. In the valley, we found the bodies. It had been a mobile patrol. They had been in a car. All three men were lying in the road. All very dead. It was a very hot day. We had to weave the APC and my vehicle around the bodies, as they almost blocked the road. I stopped my vehicle and discussed with my driver the moving of the bodies. We should have done but we didn’t. They were not a pretty sight, and if we handled them there was nowhere to wash our hands. Also, the sniper may not agree. So we drove on but, sickeningly, not all of our trucks could avoid the bodies.

      We could hear a lot of gunfire, but we were way up the twisty mountain road before we could positively see the change of fortunes. Near where Fabrizio had lost the APC, a Serb truck had been shot off the road. It had fallen down the side of the mountain and been stopped by a clump of trees. Bodies were strewn over the hill and around the vehicle. They were Serb and all had bullet wounds. The vehicle, probably containing reinforcements, had been ambushed.

      On the crest of the hill from where the Serb guns had pounded Gorazde, there was the most remarkable sight, the Bosnian flag was fluttering and a platoon of jubilant Gorazde fighters were sitting out of breath. I was at first disbelieving that they could be government troops, but then, from amongst them emerged the little round civilian who had been the first man Eric and I had seen when we entered Gorazde. He threw his arms around me. I was overwhelmed.

      – When? How?—I asked, spreading my arms.

      He was too emotional to reply. He just hugged me.

      I wanted to be in and out of Gorazde within the day. The last night move out of Gorazde had put me off night moves, and now that there was a battle raging, I did not want to be caught up in it.

      – We must move—I told our friend. He insisted on coming in with us.

      We descended down the hill to Gorazde. Government troops were everywhere. Sadly, they were burning houses and bizarrely cutting the throats of pigs which they found in the Serb farms. Muslim symbolism. The pigs were lying in the road squealing and squirming.

      Gorazde was chaotic. Last time we had been the star attraction. This time we were a side show. A welcome sideshow. I spoke to Major Bulabasic, the commander and the man responsible for the success of the day. He was tired, but he was not elated. He knew that he had won a battle but that the war was far from over for Gorazde.

      We did not unload the trucks where we had on the first occasion. They now had more territory and were able to use the old ammunition depot where it could be stored safely and issued safely. It was weird to use the road to the depot. The previous day, it would have meant certain death from the snipers. Today, it meant low risk, although there was still the odd round coming in. Not all the Serb sites were overrun.

      I maintained pressure to get out. There was enthusiasm from the convoy to stay and join in the festivities, but I was worried about a counterattack. If it came, it would be furious. It did eighteen months later and was far more evil than I had expected. It was also a shameful time for the UN. I collected some of the large plastic sheets that wrapped the pallets to collect the bodies in on our return.

      We began to leave late in the afternoon. My substitute driver had gone on a walkabout with no intention of returning, so I was behind the wheel. The French APC commander had not been on the first convoy. I had been to Gorazde before. I was in charge. So, I insisted that I lead the way out and took the convoy with flags flying and people frantically waving up a cul-de-sac. That’s why they were waving. We had to reverse and there was very little room. So the last became the first, and I became the tail end of the convoy!

      So, with the convoy spread out before me, we left. The last APC negotiated the first bend and was hit by a BMW car travelling at great speed having negotiated what it thought was the end of the convoy. There was little damage to the APC, a few flecks of white paint had fallen to the floor; the BMW was a write off. I raced across and was on the scene quicker than the APC crew could dismount. I expected to see tragedy, but four exceedingly drunken Bosnian soldiers tippled out of the car forcing the bent doors open with alcoholic force. I was concerned, they were drunk, they probably had been euphoric. This would not be the way they would wish to end the day. But quite the contrary. They staggered, looked at the BMW, looked at the APC and began to giggle.

      By now, I was worrying about exchanging insurance details and thinking of calling for a policeman. The man who had been in the driving seat spoke English. With a “who cares” wave of his hands, he dismissed my apologies and commiserations.

      – Don’t worry Mr. Larry, it is a trophy car. We will go and get another. He had just “liberated” it from the garage of a Serb farmer who had fled. Thank God they had liberated the slivovica as well. Sober, I do not reckon they would have survived the crash. As I motored to catch up with the convoy, I wondered about the car. If farmers in relatively recent capitalist ex-Yugoslavia could run BMW’s, what would they drive if they ever join the Common Market?

      By the time we entered the valley before Rogatica, it was dark. I spoke to the French commander and asked him to stop at the bodies. He agreed. We were not too sure where the bodies were. Distance is deceptive at night. Also, we were worried about some of the debris on the road. There were the tails of mortar bombs which had not been there on our way out. If any mortars had failed to explode, we did not want to drive over them. We motored very slowly.

      It was a