Four Drunken Years

As far as I am concerned, I lived like a king in Karlovac before the war. I had my own business. What can I say: a car, a girlfriend, weekends in Austria. I was aware of my Serbian origin since I was a kid, but I was always a Yugoslav oriented Serb. I come from a Communist family. I became a "Serb" (in inverted commas) after the commemoration in Gazimestan (1989, 600th Anniversary of the Kosovo Battle) . Why? Because Slobo (Milosevic) seemed most democratic. He differed from other communist officials because he was the first to approach the common people: I saw him as a replacement for Tito, as someone who wanted to change things, to get people out of the backwater.

When JNA general Aksentijevic was arrested by Croatian police, September 13. 1991, a friend of mine came to see me and told me that I will soon be summoned to join the "Zenga's" (the first generation of Croatian Army recruits in Jastrebarski). I packed immediately and ran away with a friend to Korenica, via Kladusa and Bihac.

In those days no one knew exactly what was going on in Krajina. It resembled a small town in the Wild West full of different armies; there was plenty of booze, we partied every night, and fights took place regularly in the local inn. I really enjoyed it at the time: it reminded me of total anarchy and democracy in its most basic form.

I joined the Territorial Army in October. I received an old uniform - the shirt was far too small, and my riffle had a bullet jammed in its rusty barrel. I carried it around for ten days before I realized that no one could get the bullet out, and dumped it. Then my unit received two cases of brand new "Scorpions" which we distributed between us. Soon afterwards we received automatic riffles as well.

We did absolutely nothing for two months.

I experienced a real baptism of fire in Ramljani, December 12, 1991. Around 150 of us gathered on Duman at 7 a.m. Snow was up to our knees, it was twenty degrees below zero, and the winter sun made it seem colder rather than warmer. While we waited for Milivojevic, the commander of our brigade (a very brave fellow) we ate some of the dried ham we captured from the enemy. I was so thirsty afterwards that I ate a shovel of snow.

When Milivojevic arrived he sent twenty of us to lay an ambush for the enemy. We lied on the ground, behind the trees. We waited, nervously. After a while their snipers started shooting at us. A chap lying next to me said: "Listen, birds are singing". When bullets started hitting the trees above our heads we became dead silent. We only used body language to indicate: lie down, shut up etc. Suddenly we heard mayhem from the direction of Ramljani. Shelling, small arms fire - hell broke loose. Silence came with nightfall - we could hear only occasional, sporadic shooting. Since we did not have a radio link with the command, we sent two of our men to find out what we should do next. After a while, they returned and told us: "There is no one down there!". We gathered in a circle to decide what to do. We concluded that we must not wait for the night to fall. We descended to the valley and got caught in crossfire. Then, a truck driven by the same bloke who drove us earlier arrived from the direction of the enemy. He said: "Get into the truck, there are none of ours left here". We drove down the road towards Canak.

During the whole episode, I haven't had a clue about what was going on. I was not afraid: at the time I thought we were untouchable.

I was demobilized 29. November 1992, only to be mobilized again 22 January 1993. A month after the general mobilization (quite an uneventful one, only 50 or so grenades in total), people started saying that the whole thing was part of an arrangement and that we have been sold out. The command introduced irregular shifts and people started getting nervous because they could not complete the work in the fields. This period lasted until June. Officers realized that demagogy was no longer sufficient to keep the soldiers in trenches, all the fuss with the unification began, followed by referenda... At the beginning it all seemed sincere, but it all turned out to be a farce.

A day at the front line, if it was quiet, looked like this: the older men got up at dawn, and went to fetch some brandy. Younger soldiers got up in time for brunch at around 11 a.m. If we had brandy - the meal would be followed by cards and booze. If the weather was nice, we played football. If there was fighting at all during the day, we had to clean our weapons.

However, things were different if there was a battle. We would get out to the front line, wait for instructions and pound. If we had brandy, who ever was least busy would go from one cannon to another and pour. When the fighting stopped, we would have a look if anything had been hit. While the fighting went on I felt powerful and did not think much about whether I killed someone or not. When we were being shelled, I felt fear only after the shelling had already stopped. Then I relived the whole thing again and was very scared.

Our shifts were: seven days at the front, seven days at home. Those with physical authority and deep pockets went home more often to slaughter a lamb, to chop wood or to plough a field. Those of us who stayed played cards, and joked with the officers... We trust only those officers who distinguished themselves in battle. We only listen to them. Those who were sent on a mission from Belgrade could have ordered anything. We only obeyed the orders of our commander.

In the end, the shift was like prison sentence. Everyone looked for a way to avoid it. While we were at home, we tried to black-market with UNPROFOR... It was all half a normal life. Apathy. Time passed, nothing happened, things were only getting worse. There were times when we were three months without pay, though our pay was only three and a half German marks. After Avramovic became governor of the Yugoslav Bank, things got a bit better. Shops were full of stock, army salaries were up to thirty marks...This lasted until the cease-fire in March 1994. Although demobilization was declared, people were still being sent to the front.

After the whole thing, I was a bit ashamed. The ideals I had at the beginning were gone: I realized that it leads nowhere, that the state is based on deception and robbery by the authorities, and that Krajina is lead by puppets installed by Belgrade... Petty smuggling was outlawed while the state traded regularly with Croats and Muslims and smuggled truckloads of goods. Nothing changed, people lost the will to fight and in the end only wanted to defend their properties, rather than Martic and co. We waited for the final settlement. We knew it had to come . We prepared for that day. Then it came...