Texas Nights - Book 13 of the Damned of the 2/19th

Old Sins

Sarajevo, Bosnia (Contested Zone)
02 June, 1992
2300 Hours ZULU - Tuesday

Operation Shield Strike - Day 5

We were running in blackout drive. Nothing but pinlights and NVG's as we moved through the streets of Sarajevo. I was in Humvee-Five, driving, with a gunner I didn't know from Bravo Company on the SAW.

The back of the humvee was loaded with medical supplies, same with the six vehicles behind me. Five-Ton Eighteen was pulling a big 60W trailer as well as having a set of emergency batteries in the back. We had two dozen Marines with us for security, all of them under strict orders with very narrow RoE (Rules of Engagement) and PoW (Plan of Warfare) laid down in no uncertain terms to who would be doing what.

I was in the lead, my M-3 in my lap, feeling butterflies in my guts as we moved through the streets. There were very few cars on the street, the artillery barrage on the city earlier in the day from the surrounding hills had pounded the streets. The tanks on the streets for the last three days had gotten worse and the population had learned to leave the streets clear.

The hospital lights were on, the electricity was still on in the city, but the water had died earlier in the afternoon. Nobody was sure why but I figured that  either the processing plant had been hit by artillery fire or something like that had happened.

That wasn't good. There were half a million people in Sarajevo according to the 1991 census, and I figured probably only a fifth of them had left, leaving four hundred thousand people in a city without running water. Without running water the sewage system would stop functioning.

That meant disease would be following soon after.

The UN had sent in relief supplies, ironically all marked with US Army stamps. We'd gotten orders from the USS Saratoga to take the supplies to the hospital. It had landed in the morning and right afterwards the power had gone out.

We started going up the hill and part of me cringed.

Jesus, this hospital was exposed as hell. It might as well be a ranging stake for any artillery unit that wanted to peg...

the sound of quail fluttering caused me to gun the vehicle and whip it to the right, grabbing the Bravo guy's yanking it to throw him down into the vehicle.

The artillery shell hit just to the left of the humvee, throwing dirt and shrapnel against the hard shell armor. I slewed it again, remembering my Soviet artillery doctrine, gunning it.

All I could hope is whoever was doing it would get bored after throwing a few shots at us.

Shrapnel and dirt kept showering over the vehicle, once I hit an impact crater, the big V-8 throwing the vehicle up in the air as the engine roared like a dying beast. The Bravo guy was yelling, holding onto the seat belt, trying to get it buckled, trying not to get thrown around as I swerved back and forth.

please don't hit please don't hit please don't hit

The artillery barrage stopped right as I swung around and pulled into the ambulance bay.

I stared at the ambulance for a moment. The NVG's shades of green brought everything into stark relief. There were bullet holes across the ambulances, one had the trails of blood out the back deck and I knew what that meant.

The floor had been awash with blood.

I slapped the Bravo guy's leg as I pulled my Kevlar helmet off.

"You still alive, champ?" I asked him, pulling my UN blue beret out of my pocket and putting it on my head.

"Yeah, Chief. Holy shit, thanks for pulling me in, ma'am," he said.