Chapter 12: The Plan

Bravo Company was accommodated in an abandoned school, which would have probably been attended by the Bosnian Serb children of Bugs as it was just across the road from the Russian Orthodox Church. The school was a two story, fairly modern structure, and had plenty of classrooms and offices, allowing each section of the company their own room. Added to this was an assembly hall that could house the complete company; a kitchen that allowed the company cooks full rein of their expertise, assisted by some local women, and what was probably the best thing - an ablution block with plenty of toilets and showers.

My section was strangely quiet, as we cleaned off the accumulated muck of two days at the checkpoint in the showers. Usually there would be horseplay and singing; Chaz Bowyer had a fine tenor voice, which he liked to show off in the acoustically enhancing shower room, but after what we had seen earlier this morning there was silence. Back in our room, as the lads got themselves ready for the Christmas Day dinner, which we had thought we would miss as we had been due to stay at the checkpoint for another two days, I thought to give the section a pep talk.

I knew that the sight of the dead and dying villagers had hit them hard. Not many of Bravo 6 had seen a dead body prior to this deployment. I was lucky – if that is the correct word to use – that I had seen dead bodies in the Falklands, Kuwait and Kenya, and the trauma of finding those dumped and mutilated corpses along the road was not as great a shock to me as to the 'virgins' of the platoon. It was seeing people you knew and liked – friends – that made the distress of finding bodies even more horrific, and the scenes that the half section saw at Little Bugs would remain in their memories for ever, suddenly confronting them with terrifying flashbacks. Join the club.

"OK, listen up." Not that there was anyone talking, but I needed them to pay attention to what I was about to say.
"We've all had a terrible shock, especially the half section that attended the incident at Little Bugs." Their faces showed their anger and sorrow, and I saw that a few of the boys had tears in their eyes. "We all want to go and kick seven shades of shit out of those bastards that killed so many of our friends, and I know you are wondering why we are not already steaming up the road to do just that."
I had their full attention now, and I saw many nodding. "The Boss told me that he will avenge those killed at Little Bugs, and I believe him. Big Ben has never lied to us. He says that he will do it in his own time, and not be suckered into reacting rashly by them bastard Serbs, and I know that he bloody well will."

They all looked somewhat happier now they knew that Big Ben was going to avenge Little Bugs. It was probably the thought that the Serbs might get away with their atrocity that had really had got up their noses.
"The Boss says we can stand down until oh six hundred tomorrow. We have a Christmas dinner to eat, and then a full evening's entertainment in the Social Club tonight. Big Ben has booked four Bugsy Girls for our exclusive use. So tonight have a few ales, a game of darts, a go on the Karaoke, and then fuck yourselves senseless with a Bugsy Girl."
Not quite Henry V's address before the battle of Agincourt, but then, I'm no Shakespeare.

Christmas Dinner, as is traditional in the British Army, was served by the officers and SNCOs of Bravo Company, and soon my section were laughing and joking with the best of them. As Big Ben served me he said quietly, or as quiet as Big Ben could. "Meet me in my room at the Excelsior at four this afternoon Dewey. I'm in room twenty seven; I won't keep you long, and you'll be able to join your section in the Social club for the evening's festivities."
The five commissioned officers of Bravo Company had rooms in the Hotel Excelsior, or Hotel Sex Cellar, as the boys referred to it. Officers of the countries represented at Bugs, including Bravo Company and the Danish Army medical unit, plus the civilian officials of the UN and NATO, and all their interpreters, also lodged there. It was assumed, and it was probably true, that non-stop sex parties were held in the hotel, as a majority of the UN officials, the medical staff and the interpreters were female.

I made my way over to the Hotel Excelsior just before four. I was as full as an egg with what I'd stuffed down myself at the dinner table, and I really could have done with a snooze, as it would be a long night at the social club. I would not be availing myself of the Bugsy Girls, nor any of the other females who would be on hand for multifariousness extra-marital activity. I had kept myself free from any sexual dalliance for over four months, and was determined to return to Miriam unsullied and unsoiled.
In fact I had just spent half an hour waiting in the queue to use the few landlines available to ring home, and was disappointed, and somewhat surprised, that no one had answered the telephone at 23 Kitchener Road, Plaistow. Maybe they were all down the pub?

As I walked up the palatial staircase of the hotel to room 27 I had to admit that there was some very tasty totty adorning Hotel Excelsior, and I got many come on smiles, that in an earlier time I would have definitely followed up. I knocked on the door of room 27 and heard Big Ben invite me in. He was sat in a chair by a table, and seated on his bed was an attractive woman with ash blonde hair, who I recognised as the senior nurse that had attended the wounded in Little Bugs. She stood up as I entered, and Big Ben made the introductions. "Dewey, this is Lieutenant Astrid Carlsson. Astrid, meet Corporal Dave Desmond."
We shook hands, her grip was firm—and she looked gorgeous.
"I remember you from this morning, Corporal. I believe your action saved many lives." Her English was flawless, with only a slight accent – and she sounded gorgeous.
"I remember you too, Ma'am, and believe your action also saved many lives."
Her laugh was a tinkling bell. "Ma'am? I'm not some old schoolteacher; and you have a silver tongue."
I had a swift vision of me sinking my silver tongue into her golden ... no, no, I'm eschewing extra-marital sex – damn it.
"I am on duty this evening at six, Bernard, but I will see you both tomorrow."
With that she gave Big Ben a kiss on both cheeks and left, leaving a slight whiff of expensive perfume lingering in the air.
"What did she mean Boss, that she would see us both tomorrow?"
"Ah, -- I will get around to explaining that later."

Big Ben fished under the bed and withdrew something wrapped in sacking. "Seen one of these before?" He unwrapped the sacking to reveal a rifle. I took the weapon from him and examined it.
"I've seen photographs of one. It's a Zastava M- Ninty one sniper rifle. The Serbian army has only been equipped with them for about a year. Where did you get it?"
"Bravo four stopped a tractor that was approaching the convoy they were escorting yesterday. The driver ran off, and they found this in the trailer. Four platoon handed it over to a friend of mine in the local police."
"Was there a magazine, or an optical sight, with it?"
He opened the drawer of the table and brought out a magazine and a sight. "Although the magazine holds ten rounds there are only five left in this one. Is this sight the correct make for the rifle?"
I took a close look at the sight and saw ON-M91 6x42 stamped on the side. "It seems to be the correct model. Wasn't it attached to the rifle when four platoon found it?"
He shook his head "No, it was found underneath the seat of the tractor, wrapped in a cloth."
I slid the sight down the guide rail on the left of the rifle, and it locked into position with a satisfying snap. "It fits, it fits. You shall go to the ball." Big Ben laughed.

He turned back to the drawer in the table and took out a sheaf of papers, which I recognised as the sketches the section commanders had made of the Bosnian Serb's position overlooking the bridge. "Take a look at these." I studied them. Some were very basic hand drawn maps of the terrain, mine included, but one was brilliant, everything to scale; the machine gun position and the trenches, and the contours of the ground shaded to look almost in 3 D.
"Who drew this? I didn't think we had a John Constable in the platoon."

Big Ben picked up the sketch. "That's mine. One of the subjects taught during my time at Sandhurst was sketching terrain and fortifications. Before photographs, and decent maps, it was only through personal observations, and sketch maps, that a commander had information to plan his attack." He sighed. "I think sketching has now been removed from the Sandhurst curriculum. Damn shame, as it really helps in teaching a fellow how to develop an eye for terrain and the lie of the land."

He looked at me quizzically as he pointed to his sketch. "How far do you think it is from the line of trees on that ridge to the bridge?" I recalled the terrain from my memory and applied it to the drawing.
"I would think between seven and eight hundred metres." He nodded his head. "Well that ridge is on the contour line of one fifty metres, and measured on a Yugoslav army map, it works out to exactly seven hundred and twenty three metres to the bridge; call it seven hundred and fifty metres to the line of trees on the far side of the road beyond the bridge." He pointed on the sketch map.
I was wondering where this was all leading to, when Big Ben dropped his bombshell. "Could you put two rounds into a Land Rover parked by the bridge, from that tree line on the ridge, with this rifle?" He indicated the M-91.
I knew the effective range of the weapon was about 800 metres, and I was a good enough shot to hit a Land Rover at that range. I nodded, waiting for more from Big Ben—I doubted it was just a vehicle he wanted shooting.
He took a deep breath. "I'm going to kill those murdering Serb bastards, but I can't just swan across the bridge, it would create an International incident. I need them to open fire on me first, and then I can retaliate. We would have Danko as a witness if they did, but of course the bastards are too cunning for that. However there is a way around that, if you are willing."
And he outlined his plan.

Big Ben wanted me to take the M-91 and get into a firing position behind the Serbs, in the tree line along the ridge. Once in position I would fire two shots into the Land Rover, while Big Ben and Danko, the interpreter, were standing alongside it, negotiating with the Serbs – the spent projectiles would furnish positive evidence of the Serbs firing at them. Big Ben would then order the platoon to return fire. I would leave the sniper rifle, to be found by our men after the completion of the attack. Danko, our Bosnian Serb interpreter, would be an independent witness to the Bosnian Serbs initiating the fire fight.
"I can't give you a direct order, but we can't let those murdering scum get off scot free for what they did at the village." He looked straight at me. "Can we, Dewey?"
I thought of the anger and fury on the faces of my section when we saw the dead and wounded at Little Bugs, and then I recalled the satisfaction on the faces of my section when I had told them Big Ben intended avenging those killed and wounded at Little Bugs.
"Count me in, Boss."
He smiled gratefully and gripped my shoulder. However there was one thing that bothered me, and I let Big Ben know of my concerns.
"What about that heavy machine gun? It dominates the area, and as soon as you make an attack it will blow our men away."
He grinned. "It would, had it been positioned correctly. Look, I'll show you."