Braco (31 page)

THURSDAY:
ATIF STAVIC

ATIF'S LEG SANK
in the swamp up to his thigh. He grabbed at bushes on the river bank, trying to pull himself free, but the leg didn't budge. Hands slipped under his arms; Tarak and Salko dragged him forwards. The swamp gave up its grip on his leg and he was deposited on firm ground. He crawled next to a tree and lay back, breathing hard and shivering. The soldiers returned to the Jadar River to help the other men cross the swollen and fast moving current. Atif knew he wouldn't have made it without Tarak's firm grip on his back pack.

Atif shut his eyes then someone shook his shoulder. Opening them, he saw Tarak motioning to the woods where the others stood waiting. Atif climbed to his feet, his clothes sticking to his body. He twisted the ends of his sleeves as he followed Tarak into the forest. Water dribbled down his arm.

“That's it?” Salko said.

Two hours later, Atif crouched beside the soldiers and scanned the forest. Trees and thick brush obscured the steep embankment leading to the road above.

“I don't see the bridge,” he whispered.

Tarak handed Atif the binoculars and pointed. Atif adjusted the focus and stared at the patch of green.

“It's hard to see,” Tarak said. “Look for straight lines, like the side of a building.”

Atif focused on one spot. Unnatural straight lines emerged among the trees, forming an opening not much larger than two men. The ground sloped upwards towards the opposite side of the road. Only a thin sliver of sunlight indicated an exit.

“What's on the other side?”

“That's the sticky part,” Salko replied. The other three men leaned in. “There's some brush in the ditch, but beyond that is a farmer's field and I haven't been this way since March, so I don't know what he's growing. If it's corn, we're okay. If it's carrots, we're going to have to cross it in the open. The forest is only about a hundred and fifty metres away. Once we're in there, we can keep to the trees for some distance.”

“Can we cross it after dark?” Kemal asked.

“Maybe. Let's wait and see what Ratib has found.” The younger soldier had volunteered to scout the area to find out how many Serbs lined the road. “I would prefer to wait until dark, but we run the risk they'll patrol the area and discover the bridge.”

“Or us,” Tarak said.

Atif gazed at the bridge through the binoculars, chewing on his bottom lip. Once they had crossed, Tarak expected they would make up a lot of time and catch up to the main group before they reached the front lines. There, he told Atif, they should be able to cross safely, with the help of the Bosnian army.

All we have to do is get across this road.

As Atif handed the binoculars back to Tarak, he spotted movement in the trees.

“Ratib is back.”

The soldier rejoined the group, out of breath. He took a swig of water and then nodded.

“Chetniks are on the road. There's one leaning on the guardrail directly above the opening. I could see him clearly through a break in the trees.”

“Which means he would see us,” Salko said.

“Right at the entrance.” Ratib took another swig of water. “But we can get close without being seen. I could only see about a half dozen others in that immediate area, but a truck stopped down the road and let off at least a dozen more. I heard another vehicle coming from the direction of Nova Kasaba, but I didn't stick around to find out what it was because some of the new troops were already setting up to patrol.”

“Damn it,” Salko said.

“They looked like they were going in the other direction, towards the Jadar. They probably expect some of us would try to cross where the river goes under the road.”

“Only a matter of time before they turn west,” Tarak said.

Salko looked at the men.

“Decision time, my friends.”

Kemal opened his mouth to speak, but Ratib raised his hand. A truck rumbled by and then squealed to a halt.

“More and more are arriving,” the young soldier said, gazing at Salko. “These woods will be infested with Chetniks long before it gets dark.”

“Can we go farther west and cross after dark?” Kemal asked.

“The longer we wait, the more soldiers there will be,” Izet said. “I would be willing to take my chances crossing here.”

“How about we vote on it,” Tarak said. “I'm willing to go now.”

The three men turned to each other and then looked back at Tarak.

“We will go now,” Kemal said. “Before there are more soldiers.”

“We go,” Ratib said.

“Then that settles it....” Tarak held up his hand before Salko could finish.

“Just a moment. We haven't heard from everyone.”

Salko raised an eyebrow and turned to Atif.

“Yes,” Atif said, clearing his throat. “No sense in waiting for dark. There could be a hundred soldiers by then. I'd rather keep moving than sit here waiting for the snakes to bite.”

Tarak smiled. “Then we go.”

“So, what do we do about the Chetnik on the road?” Izet asked. “The one who can see the entrance.”

Salko looked at Tarak and they both smiled like a pair of schoolboys.

“Distraction,” Salko said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Tarak replied. “What do you have there?”

Salko dug into his pack, took out three grenades, and laid them on the ground.

“Perfect.” Tarak dropped a handful of elastic bands next to the grenades.

“Got any cigarettes? Matches?” Salko asked the men.

Two men gave up eight cigarettes and three packs of matches.

“I have some,” Atif said. He remembered that the Dutch rations included matches. He dropped six packs next to the pile. Ratib added his three grenades.

“What are you going to do with them?” Atif asked.

“I'll explain later,” Tarak said, gathering up the supplies. “We need to hurry.”

Salko pointed to Ratib.

“You stay with them and in five minutes bring them as close to the opening as you can.”

Ratib nodded and Salko looked at the others.

“We should get back before the grenades start blowing. The moment the first one goes, we go together. When you get through, run straight for the woods. Don't stop for any reason. If you can't find us in the woods on the other side, head for Mount Urdc. We will see you there or on the way. Okay?”

The men nodded. Tarak and Salko finished packing up the grenades.

“Wait for us,” Tarak told Atif. Then he turned away and disappeared into the woods.

Atif took a bottle from his pack and drank from it, gulping the water between rapid breaths. Prayer beads clicked behind him. He looked back.

“Remember,” Kemal whispered. “Everything is as Allah wills it.”

Atif stared into the woods.

This is the right thing. It has to be. If we stay, they'll find us. If we go, they might see us. What choice do we have?

“We should go down there now,” Ratib said.

Already?

Atif swallowed a breath and tightened the straps on his pack. He got up and followed the rest.

They took their time moving towards the bridge. When they got there, they stopped a few metres short of the opening. The ground sloped up towards a smaller opening on the other side and, to Atif's relief, bushes hid part of the sky on the other side.

Ratib motioned to the guardrail. Atif shifted his gaze and glimpsed two helmets through the trees. The soldiers wearing them shared a cigarette and spoke. Atif looked back into the forest.

Where are they?

He rubbed his palms against his damp jeans. His heart was pounding.

The Serbs above them stopped talking.

One walked away. The other turned to face the woods.

Nobody moved.

THURSDAY:
TARAK SMAJLOVIC

TARAK LAY UNDER
a thick tree bough with his face pressed against Salko's boot. A spider crawled across his hand. Mosquitoes buzzed next to his ear; some of them crawled inside and bit. Tarak cringed but remained still.

He opened an eye. A pair of boots stood an arm's length away. Another pair paced, crunching leaves and twigs. A cigarette dropped and a boot smothered it. The Serb coughed. One of the others offered him a canteen.

“Nobody is out here,” one of the Serbs said. “Those bastards are having all the fun while we babysit the trees.”

Tarak pulled a slow breath in through his nose.

More cigarettes dropped to the ground.

“We've done enough patrolling.” The Serb flicked his cigarette into the tree. It lodged in the branch above Tarak's head. “Let's go back. I'm hungry.”

The others murmured in agreement. Rifles clinked as they shouldered their weapons. The boots next to Tarak took a step back, crushing part of the bough. He held his breath as the soldier bent down and tightened a lace.

Five soldiers, maybe six. Thirty rounds.
Tarak's mind settled on the rifle jammed beneath him. He had cocked the weapon as they dove for cover under the tree, but the safety was still on. He imagined the motion necessary to pull the weapon up, disengage the safety, and shoot the soldiers before they had a chance to respond.

Tricky, he thought, but it could be done if Salko reacted as quickly.

The bough shook as the soldier straightened up and the smouldering cigarette butt fell. The Serb shouldered his rifle and followed the others. The cigarette burned against the back of Tarak's arm. His teeth clamped down on his tongue.

One minute.

Two.

When Salko's boot pulled away from Tarak's face, he reached back and swatted the cigarette away. Then he sat up and looked in the direction the soldiers had gone. When he turned around, Salko was making a circular motion with his finger. Tarak crawled out into the open, pulling his pack behind him. He and Salko put the grenades and other supplies on the ground and sorted them into six groups, each containing a grenade, cigarette, elastic band, and matchbook. Salko picked up a cigarette and examined it.

“Low tar,” he whispered. “We won't have long.”

“But they won't go out.”

Elastic bands snapped as Tarak wrapped each grenade. Salko checked to make sure the levers were secure and then he pulled the pins, tossing them into the bushes.

Voices drifted between the trees. Tarak and Salko froze and then looked behind them.

Nothing.

“Just plant them and run,” Salko said.

Tarak pulled on his pack and slung his rifle across his chest. He rubbed his hands on his pants and then picked up three grenades along with three matchbooks and three cigarettes. Salko took the rest and they each picked a tree.

Tarak stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and inhaled. The smoke tickled his throat and he swallowed, suppressing a cough. He drew on the cigarette a second time and then wedged it inside the matchbook. He placed the grenade between the trunk of the tree and a branch and slipped the matchbook under the elastic around the grenade with the lit end of the cigarette pointed down.

Four minutes at least, he guessed. Eight if they were lucky. The cigarette would smoulder until it ignited the matchbook and then it would burn through the elastic, releasing the grenade lever. Five seconds later, the grenade would explode.

Tarak moved to another tree and then another, repeating the process twice more. The voices returned. When Tarak turned around, Salko was motioning him forward.

“Go, go, go,” Salko whispered as he passed Tarak.

The pair lunged through the forest, hurtling deadfall. The bridge came into view; Tarak glanced at his watch.

Three minutes? Already?

They slowed as they approached the bridge. The others were crowded together near the entrance. Tarak counted five heads, all staring in his direction.

He looked at his watch.

Four minutes.

The forest rumbled.

He dropped down next to Atif and the boy pointed up. A Serb soldier was standing next to the guardrail, his rifle butt jammed against his shoulder. He was scanning the forest in the direction of the explosion. Other men shouted. Some ran.

Come on, come on.

Thunder rolled again. The soldier looked back and forth. A truck started up. Then the soldier ran.

“Go,” Salko whispered behind him.

Another explosion echoed through the trees. The men went through the opening and picked their way over the smooth rocks to the other side. Salko slipped ahead. He reached the top and parted the bushes.

“Damn it.”

Tarak climbed up behind him.

“What is it?”

“The field looks fallow.”

“Could it be mined?”

“I doubt it.”

“The woods will be swarming with Chetniks,” Tarak said, glancing at the others waiting behind him. “We can't go back.”

“I agree. We run.”

The ground shook. Automatic rifle fire erupted to the east. Tarak looked at Atif. The boy raised his hand, four fingers spread out. Tarak nodded and turned, his eyes fixed on the blue sky ahead. Freedom could be seconds away.

So could death.

“Okay,” Salko said. “I'll go first.”

They shook hands.

“Good luck, my friend.”

Salko disappeared through the bushes and then returned, waving to the others to follow. Ratib scaled the embankment and vanished.

“Don't stop for anything, Atif,” Tarak said. “Nothing. Do you understand?”

Atif looked up, his face drained of blood.

“Yeah. Nothing.”

“Good. Go. Stay ahead of me.”

The boy hesitated when the ground shook for the fifth time.

“Go,” Tarak said, pushing Atif up over the embankment. He followed, pausing on the far side of the bushes to look left and right. The thick greenery ended on the edge of a wide furrowed field. Tarak swore under his breath and looked behind him. The road sat three metres above them. He saw no one but knew the Serbs would be able to see them as they crossed the field.

The last grenade popped.

Tarak tore after Atif through the heavy, damp soil. His feet sank deep into every furrow.

Not fast enough.

When he caught up to Atif, he looked back. A dozen men and three trucks crowded the far side of the road. The Serbs were still facing south. They were shouting and firing their weapons at random into the forest.

Don't turn around.
Tarak stared at the trees in front of him.
Just a few more seconds.

Salko and Ratib vanished into the forest. On his left, the other three men were spread out, struggling in the deep, sticky soil.

Sixty metres to go.

Tarak focused on a large beech tree at the edge of the field. It was directly in front of him and he was desperate to touch it. The voices behind him changed. Rifle rounds pierced the air above them.

Forty metres.

“Keep going, Atif,” he shouted to the boy. “I'll be right behind you.”

Tarak flipped the safety off on his rifle and turned. Soldiers were pouring over the embankment like water breaching a levee. Trucks revved their engines. The Serbs raised their rifles. Without bothering to aim, Tarak fired his rifle, spitting out the entire magazine in seconds. The Serbs dropped to the ground. Tarak turned around and sprinted the last few metres, slapping the beech tree as he passed it. Atif had stopped inside the treeline, gulping air.

“Keep going. They're coming.”

The boy's eyes widened and he ran.

Tarak took one last look. The three men were nowhere to be seen. At least a dozen helmeted heads bobbed around the edge of the field.

Will they follow us into the woods?

He ran ahead of Atif, zigzagging his way between half-dead trees that didn't provide a lot of cover but didn't slow them down.

“This way,” he said to Atif, shifting to the right. He searched for more cover, but the woods had thinned. He shifted their path again, hoping the troops following them would run in a straight line.

“I hear a truck,” Atif said, slowing.

Tarak grabbed a tree and swung around, listening. The truck rumbled unseen in front of them, growing louder. Behind them, voices drifted through the trees. Tarak remained still, until the sound of the truck faded, then shifted direction. They broke out onto a narrow dirt road.

Deserted.

Tarak patted Atif on the back and pointed straight ahead.

“Keep going.”

The boy hesitated long enough to pull in a mouthful of air and then he crossed the road. The shouting on the left grew closer. Gunshots rang out in the distance. The terrain now sloped downwards and they picked up speed. They ran and slid through thickening brush and trees. Atif slammed against a tree and stopped.

“I'm stuck,” the boy said, yanking at the backpack.

Tarak reached under Atif's left arm. A branch had found its way through the strap on his pack. He pushed Atif back, but the pack didn't move.

“Leave it,” Tarak said.

Atif flipped his arms back, and left the pack hanging from the tree. They slid down the nearly vertical slope. Tarak broke through the bushes first, coming to rest on a wide gravel road. A river bordered the far side. Beyond that lay another uncultivated field.

“Shit!”

Suddenly, the ground around Tarak's feet spit dirt. He turned, raising his empty rifle. The Serb truck had stopped up the road. Three soldiers were running towards them. He heard grunts behind him and turned around. Two soldiers dropped from the woods farther down the road. They raised their rifles and ran towards Tarak and Atif. Another soldier came out of the woods closer to them. Atif crouched at Tarak's feet and wrapped his arms around Tarak's leg. Tarak swung his rifle right, left, and then right again, trying not to lose his balance. The boy clutched tightly, his head down.

“Drop the weapon,” one of the soldiers shouted.

Tarak held it high, shifting aim between the three Serbs approaching from the truck. The pain in his stomach told him he and Atif had run out of options.

“Hey, Turk.”

The voice was nearly at his shoulder. As he was turning, the butt of a rifle came down on his face.

The blue sky blackened.

A voice shrieked.