Sarajevo to Banja Luka (Part 1)

Livno

Livno is actually a beautiful place. The long winding valley runs north to south. As you drive in from the north you come off of a switchback mountain road and onto a straight stretch of road. The stretch was originally designed by Tito to double as an air strip in times of national threat or need. Driving fast along it was too much to be resisted. The fields on wither side were filled with flowers of the most brilliant and vivid colors. The flower fields, as most who worked in this area called them, were about a quarter mile wide and went back across the fields. They seemed to carry on to the base of the mountains that lined the valley. One stretch of flowers was a deep purple, the next red, then orange. The colors went on and were the most vivid colors that could be imagined against the green of grasslands. It was hard to believe that, at one time, the Livno Defense Brigade was using its light infantry to defend this valley against a tank company.

Mixed in with the beauty there were ghostly reminders of that and other similar events scattered sparsely throughout the fields. There were occasional burnt out and rusted T-55 Soviet era tanks to catch the eye and rudely bring you out of the almost fairy tale fields. There was also a good number of bright red signs along the roads near unplanted swaths of of farm land clearly warning of mine fields. The signs were in the Latin alphabet that the Croatians used as well as in Cyrillic, such as the Serbians used. It was another stark reminder of the training that I received in Sarajevo, only walk on the pavement.    

Coming into Livno from Drvar there was a tiny restaurant to the left on the outskirts of town. It was dark, but open and almost always quiet. None of the intelligence operators who worked this area believed that the place had any business but theirs.

Inside and to the back in a corner sat four people. Sergeant Jason Lonon, Lieutenant Erdy Rendor of the Hungarian Army, their interpreter Emira Abdic, and Milan Dudakovic. Emira was more a petite woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and a fit body. Jason Lonon did not look like the typical military professional. He was lean, but not ripped as would a hard trained professional soldier would be. Something about his eyes were trusting and honest. Erdy Rendor, his real name Nemes, was larger than life. He stood nearly seven feet tall and was proportionally built. Erdy was a career solider and he looked it. Not just his large build, but there was something about him, something that clearly stated that he was not to be messed with. Milan Dudakovic was a local politician who bragged about having been the Commander of the Livno Defense Brigade. He was older than the three others, his hair was grey around the edges.
Milan's eyes were steely and just as cold. He seemed to long for those days when you listened to him talk about them. He missed his glory days. When you think about it, who doesn't miss the old days? Those days when strength, stamina, and quick wits got you through the dark and dangerous times or simply made the mundane exciting. Milan Dudakovic also had a string history of constantly trying to distract SFOR personnel from their jobs. He did this in a multitude of ways.

The most effective was with stories of red phosphorus or promising to deliver ubiquitous lists of names with the alleged war crimes those persons were to have committed. Red phosphorous was a mythical substance that the Russian KGB made up as a means of making money from the uninformed. This magical substance was pushed as the vital component in making nuclear devices. That proved to be an easy sell and a quick source of income for the cash strapped organization. To those field operators and intelligence personnel who had been around a while this distraction did not work. The newbies and uninformed, well, they were easily hooked. Those previously promised lists never materialized for any SFOR team. Sergeant Lonon never seemed to mind the delays. Dudakovic was also prone to listen to a questions carefully and then not answer it. He was easily collecting against SFOR. Several operators missed this and were quickly distracted.

The other way in which Milan worked against SFOR was to set up meetings and not show up. This would keep SFOR personnel from finding anyone or anything that may be useful to their ends. Over the last three months that Jason had been trying to get meetings with Milan he had been blown off at least four times.

This was only the second meeting the Milan had showed up to with Jason.

Perhaps, as Jason was told, Dudakovic blew off those meetings to waste time, but Jason thought better of his contact.

Milan looked at the two SFOR troops at the table, now talking tersely with each other, and smiled. This man, he thought to himself, was not cut out to gather information about anyone. This evening would be a good way to provide his people with some breathing room for a few weeks. The Commander of SFOR was going to have to reevaluate things soon. “You see, Jason, the Red Mercury is part of the nuclear device's triggering system,” Emira was translating. “It is extremely important to get this product, he dares not say the name of it again, out of the area. He is afraid that someone else will buy it and use it against the US or her allies.” Jason was considering this, he saw it as vitally important. He could not understand why Dudakovic was being considered for removal from the company's database. Jason was thinking about the impact that a nuclear device would do to the people in the impact area. He was also picturing his own family as part of the impacted people.

“I could not agree with you more,” Jason answered.

Emira continued, ”The General is very eager to remove threats of any and all sorts from the area. As a political leader in Livno and in the canton Mr. Dudakovic is very concerned about the people here. He is deeply interested in seeing that the people of Bosnia are able to return to their homes and live in safety.” It did not appear that Emira had ever heard of this threat before.

Dudakovic smiled at the sincerity and earnestness Jason showed. This was very easy, perhaps too easy.
No, thought Dudakovic, this fellow is sincere and too open for the job he is doing. He wanted to believe that every person he met was inherently good and that they wanted only to affect good. Jason never liked the idea of using a cover name or manipulating the conversation is any way. He felt that those actions were dishonest and deceitful so he did his job with no pretenses.

Milan continued talking and Emira translated, "I was commander of the Livno Defense Brigade here, in this valley, during the war. With only ground troops and riflemen, mostly, I stopped an armored column here. These were tanks of Serbs and they were stopped here by my men. We fought them only a little, once the tanks were stopped and trapped we only had to wait them out." Jason listened to Milan intently, he was picturing in his mind what this terror might look like.

Dudakovic continued talking and Emira translated, “If a terrorist got hold of the item then he could make more than just a dirty bomb. It would not go off in Livno, nobody knows of us here. But, it could go off in ...” Dudakovic's phone rang. “Da?”

His conversation was going to be translated and noted by Emira and Milan knew this. This call was important enough to excuse himself to the empty bar area. “Gospodine,” the voice on the phone spoke.
“We have confirmed that Lonon is the man's name. His wife is named Sandra. They have two daughters, Sherry and Emily. We have found their house at 127 Heavens Way in Los Angeles.”

Milan scowled. Looking up at Lonon Dudakovic spoke, "Izvinite, ovo je hitno." After that he got up from the table and walked briskly into the bar area. Emira spoke up, "You must excuse him, Jason.
This appears to be a very important phone call." She shrugged and added, "I have never seen a contact get up and walk away, but Milan, well, he has a habit of not showing up for meetings. I cannot explain this."

When Dudakovic was in the bar area with this phone call Lieutenant Rendor spoke sharply to Lonon, “Why do you continue to let this guy run you?! Dudakovic is handling you, not the other way around, Jason.” He was very angry as he addressed Jason. Rendor was more than irate, this was a tired and old conversation, but still necessary. Rendor knew about Lonon's propensity to reveal everything and conceal nothing prior to their being teamed up. He didn't like the behavior in rumor and he loathed it in person as he felt that he was being put at unnecessary risk. "I have no idea why the Commander keeps you out here working. You know you are going to get someone hurt or killed like this!" He glared at Lonon.

Jason smiled his almost naive smile, the one he used whenever he was blatantly discounting what other people were telling him. “It's fine, Nemes,” Maybe Jason was being naive, but he hated to lie under any circumstance. He refused to use a cover name or story of any sort. “We need to be honest with ... “

Rendor cut Lonon off sharply, “If you use my real name, so help me, I will more than hurt you, I will kill you.” Jason hated it when Rendor talked of or threatened violence. “Rendor, what is this guy going to do? He ...”

Angrily, Rendor again cut Jason off, “You do not know what he could or even would do! You use no cover name, you do not do anything to protect yourself, us, or even your family from what these people can do.” Rendor, although Bulgarian, had seen what criminals of this sort were capable of. He grew up watching the Communist thugs pushing people around, robbing them, raping them, stealing anything that they wanted from the people. They operated outside of and beyond the law in his home town and across the country. "Need I remind you that my country is very near to this place? I know what the people in this war did and continue to do. I understand that they will kill us without thought and loose not a single moments rest over it!"

Jason had heard the stories Rendor told him, he felt too often, “My family is in LA and we're here in Bosnia. Seriously, what is this paranoid guy going to do?” Erdy was ready to reach over the table and throttle Lonon.

Dudakovic was walking back towards the table now, smiling. He nodded to the waiter who quickly brought the bill for the dinner. He spoke, Emira translated, “He calls you his good friends,and that he must take his leave. There is a situation which he must attend to.”

Milan Dudakovic watched as Lonon and Rendor listened and feigned disappointment. “Mr. Dudakovic, thank you for your time this evening,” Lonon said. “I hope that this urgent matter is handled easily.”

As Emira translated Lonon's statement Dudakovic smiled broadly, but with no warmth in his eyes. Dudakovic spoke in English with a heavy accent, “Oh, it vill be handled tonight.”

Milan left the restaurant with quick steps. Moments after the front door shut his car left. Nobody noted that the car went north.

“Jason,” Emira began, “I know that it is none of my business and I am happy that you trust me with your name and talk about your family, but”

Cutting Emira off Jason said, “I am not going to come in here and tell these people that I am going to help them AND lie to them. There is nothing good that will come of lies.”

Erdy cut in sharply, “Listen to me, then, Jason! I am the officer and you are the enlisted! I am ordering you to be more cautious with this. You are also putting Emira and me at risk by exposing yourself. You should be more careful!” He jabbed his finger into Jason's chest to emphasize both his point and his anger.

Jason just looked at the two with confusion. Emira and Erdy knew that they had not impressed upon Jason with the risks he was taking. Without saying another word they all climbed into their SUV to head back to their field office. Nobody spoke as Jason made a right turn out of the parking lot and headed north.

The drive back to their office at the Canadian camp in Drvar would take about two hours. In the darkness along the main road, just outside of Halapic two cars were parked along the side of the road. The seven occupants of those two cars waited silently.

A phone rings in the darkness inside Milan's car. Milan picked up the phone, “Yes?”

“Milan, it's Rade. They have just left.”

Milan smiled a very cold smile, “Thank you, Rade.”

“Nema problema, Gospodine.”

Jason Lonon had always prided himself on honesty. No one had ever said that he had lied nor that he had ever misled anyone. He was determined to not change that. Lonon was tired of hearing his coworkers on this set of orders continually harping on him to use a cover story. The cover story was not so much to protect ourselves, his commanding officer would say, it is to protect our families and our jobs. Captain Douglas Dunn, USMC, was currently Lonon's commanding officer. Captain Dunn had all but given up on trying to impress Jason with the reality that, at least some of the people they would work around, had the reach and capacity to get to the families of some of the field operators. Jason listened to all the urging, but chose to ignore the advice.. As he drove along the road heading straight north out of Livno, Erdy Rendor and Emira Abdic had given up trying to convince Jason that he may be putting himself at undo risk.

Jason had driven about 45 minutes and was heading up into the mountains. There were no other cars on the road. Just one or two other cars an hour seemed to be coming south. He did not anticipate the dark car that suddenly appeared on the road ahead of him. It was in his lane. The headlights blinded and disoriented both Jason and Erdy. Emira, who had been resting in the back seat, screamed in terror as Jason slammed on his breaks and turned the steering wheel hard to the right. The Land Rover hit the sharp inclining embankment and came to a stop. Before Jason or Erdy could react and draw their weapons the driver's side windows were being smashed. Jason felt the deep, severe pain of fingers being pressed deeply into the small space at the back of the jaw and just under the ear while another hand clamped hard over the right side of his head. Jason was painfully ripped through the open space that was his window.

Emira screamed as she was wrenched from the vehicle. She was feisty, that was for certain as her scuffling was clearly audible. Erdy was also being dragged from the Land Rover and was being beaten. This initial attack lasted only seconds, although the pain and sudden nature made Jason feel as though it had been a much long er time. He found himself forced into a kneeling position. By the feel of the ground Jason was knew that he was in the road. 

“What the hell is going on?” Jason managed to spit out the question. The response came in the form of a foot in the middle of his back. He was stomped down against the road surface. One of his arms was cranked around. The pain and pressure from this new position kept Jason still.

“Just one moment, if you please, I am making a phone call.” Dudakovic! It was Dudakovic talking from the darkness. Jason realized, far too late, that he had been too trusting and was now about to pay the price for it, as were Erdy and Emira.

In Los Angeles the doorbell at the Lonon house rang. “Just a moment, please!” Sandra was in the kitchen going over papers while pulling together lunch Sandra hurried to the front door to find no one there. There was, however, a long box from a local florist on the door step.

“What? I wonder who these could be from,” Sandra said to nobody, as her two children were at school. Smiling and thinking of Jason she opened the box, expecting to see a dozen long stem red roses, she gasp a little in surprise. Black roses? Who, in their right mind would send me black roses, she asked herself. Sandra was interrupted by the phone in the kitchen ringing.

Flowers in hand she answered the phone, “Hello?”

“Good day, gospodice,” Dudakovic spoke into the phone with a sick smile, “Is this the Lonon residence at 127 Heavens Way in Los Angeles?"

There was a moment of silence as Dudakovic turned the phone speaker on.
“Yes,” Jason heard Sandra's voice clearly.
“It is? Good.” Dudakovic was smiling that sick and twisted smile of his, the one that Erdy had mentioned after their last meeting with this guy.

Sandra Lonon's voice wavered noticeably as she responded, “Who is this?”

“Mrs. Lonon, you do not know where your husband is, do you?” Dudakovic said.

“Sandra!” Jason yelled.

“Who the hell is this and what is going on?” Sandra's voice was shrill and fearful.

Dudakovic spoke calmly, “We know precisely where he is.” Dudakovic nodded at the man holding Jason down by his right arm.

The man holding Jason down started to twist his arm stressing the shoulder joint and twisting the bones painfully. He tried not to make any noise. The man twisting Jason's arm suddenly jerked hard, breaking it. Jason yelled in pain.

Panic shot through Sandra at the sound of her husband's pain filled yell. Reflexively, she call out to Jason.

From the darkness someone laughed. “I'm still alright, Sandra,” Jason spoke through the pain. “They're just trying to scare us, honey.”

One of the people behind Jason cocked a gun. The clanking of the slide slamming back into place nearly echoed in the night. Sandra heard that sound clearly over the phone.  There heard a gun shot and the phone went dead.

"JASON!" she screamed into the phone. The line was dead

It was cold, dark, and noisy inside that old cargo plane. Cargo and combat troops don't really need lights in flight. The wooden benches were only big enough to hold your ass. No one was comfortable. 

Looking around at the faces of the others on the plane anyone could see that everyone was just there. They were all quiet, not really sitting next to anyone. None of us were in uniform, either. Once we get off the plane no one could tell that we were all military. Except for the huge, green duffel bags. Certainly they all had their guns hidden under their jackets, too.Yeah, my bags were scanned, but I wasn't. So, I carried my 9 under the coat.

So, how did I come to be sitting here on this Soviet made, Lithuanian flown, arms trader (Viktor Bout) owned plane flying into the Balkans? Me? I'm Mark Thompson, well, that was the name I was using then, and for the next year, too. Before this assignment, my name was Mark Decker. I had a varied and wildly, wicked military career. It started off in West Africa. Had me roaming deserts in the Middle East. Some time in North and East Africa, Chad, Sudan, Nigeria,Uganda, Rwanda, and Somalia were some of the lovely garden spots I got to work in. Macedonia came along and I jumped on that. I spent more than enough time running through jungles with temperatures in excess of 120 degrees. This was a region with a histdory of violence that rivalled that of anywhere i had already seen. At least the Balkan states were cool in temperature. The Balkans also weren't crawling with deadly snakes every three feet, either. So it had to be better, right?

Recovering a captured patrol was not exactly simple, but shit intelligence made it worse than it needed to be. My unit lost more people that night due to poor and shoddy intelligence than I had lost on any other job. Mission, job, orders, whatever you want to call it. I nearly bought it in that mountain compound, too. 

The chaos disappeared for me. The action was still there, in slow motion. All the shouting, screaming, and gun shots were silent. My fire team had moved around the back of a building.Combs was the point man on this one so he got to kick the door in. We alternated, took turns kicking. The door slammed hard against the inside wall. I was kneeling beside Combs, shooting through the hallway. Combs writhed as he fell backwards. He was dead before he hit the floor.

I liked the M249 I had, but what I really wanted right then was an M60. The other gunner went down in a hail of lead. With the morning light pouring through the open door on the other end of the hallway the spraying blood was highlighted and bright. 

Someone upstairs reached around the top of the stairs and threw a grenade towards me. It bounced in my direction and I jumped to the left for my life. All I knew then was to get some cover between me and that grenade. The concussion from the grenade exploding hit me.My head was pounding and ears ringing were ringing. There was no other sound. 

People were running about, checking the fallen soldiers, evaluating each man's state then moving on. 

A corpsman was talking to me, but all I could hear was ringing in my ears. I passed out after that.

I sat up straight. I had fallen asleep, but was still on the plane. Even now, going into Bosnia, several years later, I still had the dreams. The dreams go all the way back and they will always be there. The dreams were the worst thing about that mission. They are what's there when I close my eyes. 

I decided that I wasn't going to deal with shitty intelligence again, so I tried to get into the Army Intelligence field. At that time they were only taking jump qualified linguists, I was neither. It was the Navy that said they would train me and put me to work. A cross-branch jump, a year of training, and here I was, back on a plane going back to the Balkans.

This time was supposed to be different. The Dayton Peace Accords were being implemented even though Bosnia was a hostile fire zone, that was Rotation 11, ROTO 11. The actual peace keeping would not happen until ROTO 12, the end of my tour.

Sarajevo International Airport was mess! There were still holes in buildings from rockets and bombs. There were a few patches of fresh patching compound on the tarmac. The burn marks along the bottom walls of buildings were from grenades. All I had with me was a 9mm Beretta and not a single freaking bullet. Talk about being under dressed for the ball, sheesh.

(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013