Casca 44: Balkan Mercenary Page 5

  De Klerk unfolded the map and spread it out on the rubble-strewn floor. “Twelve to fifteen kilometers south-east. Here, where the woodland covers both sides of the road north from the main arterial highway from Belgrade to Zagreb.”

  “We should be there by dark. Tomorrow those jackals come through. Safe to do their evil job once the JNA have cleared the HVO away from protecting their people.” Lonjic grimaced. He’d seen plenty of butchery in his long life but it still made his stomach crawl when civilians, especially women and children, were senselessly slaughtered. The Serbs wanted to create a new state here, Srbska Krijina, by expelling or exterminating the Croat population. Knowing the history of the region, it was mostly likely to be the latter rather than the former.

  “Let’s eat, then set off again. Rotate the point and drag people. The road from Lipovac to Nijemci shouldn’t be too far – once across that we head due east and the next road we cross is a small country route. Then it’s a straight walk to the Sid-Adasevci road which is what we want. We’re not far from Serbia proper. Its more open beyond this point so be careful. It’ll be open fields, with plenty of high corn and wheat, so you can keep in relative cover, but we’ll be open to the air so I want us scattered just in case.”

  They broke out rations and ate in squads, with one from each keeping guard a little distance away. Lonjic was happy with the distribution of the weaponry amongst the squads. A squad had the M84 machine-gun and B squad the two M80 anti-tank launchers. Their plan was simple; one M80 at either end of the ambush site, take out the front and rear vehicles, and then spray the trapped convoy with the M84. All from one side of the road, naturally, as that would avoid ‘friendly fire’ incidents. The unmanned side of the road would be mined with the ubiquitous Claymores, so anyone jumping away from the shooting would land in a lethal trap.

  Once the M84 had been used up the men would close in using the M70 Zastavas. Very much like the AK47s they clearly came from, these were Yugoslav-made assault rifles utilized by all in the region; the JNA and their Serb militia allies would be armed with them as would the Croat HVO forces. It was therefore natural that the group would also use them, both as a means to not stand out as being foreigners or foreign-supplied which would cause problems, and also in order to be able to pick up clips from downed opponents and use them without any difficulties.

  Lonjic had toyed with the idea of using Czech-made Skorpions but opted for the Zastavas in the end. The Skorpions were more compact and based on the good old MP40, the WWII German sub-machine gun that he had used when he had been Carl Langer. He knew the MP40 inside out and the Skorpion would have been a familiar shape in his hands. No matter, he’d used the AK47 before and the Zastava M70 would be a reasonable copy.

  De Klerk led A squad. He sidled up to the Belgian. “You happy with the plan of attack?”

  “Mmm,” de Klerk nodded. “I’m glad Toloba has the MG; he’s the biggest and strongest in the group so he’s the perfect choice. The other two – Rrallos and Knai – will be either side of him ready to go in with blades and bullets. Those two are close-combat specialists, as if you didn’t know!”

  “Yeah, I know. Knai reminds me of the Gurkhas.”

  “He’s Burmese, isn’t he? Not that distant from the Nepalese Gurkhas.”

  “Yeah – the Gurkhas scared the shit out of the Argies in the Falklands back in ’82. I wouldn’t fancy facing those little bastards at night – they come out of the dark in silence, those huge blades of theirs already drawn, and can take a head off the shoulders in one go.”

  De Klerk grimaced. “Give me a gun any day.”

  Lonjic grunted. “What of the mines? That’s your expertise, explosives.”

  “It is. I’ll plant a nice little trap for those rats to jump into. Boom!” he threw his arms up and grinned widely.

  “So what happened in the Gulf then?”

  De Klerk looked haunted for a moment. “Fucking accountants. Cut so many corners and told the MD he could save a shitload of money. So the cretin did as they said and the safety was removed. BOOM! Up went a whole fucking boatload of explosives because they had nobody checking it and no bulkhead separating the ordnance from the engines. Took out half an oil rig with it. Accountants! Let them decide your policy and you end up with lots of money and no company.”

  “Don’t tell me, they then blamed you as the man looking after the explosives?”

  “Oh yes, the guilty must be protected at all costs. So what if three people are killed and five more disfigured for life? Screw that – cover your own back and blame some innocent who warned all about it in the first place. So I quit before the investigators nabbed me.”

  “So how come they’re not still after you?”

  De Klerk grinned mirthlessly. “I blew up one of those fuckers in his car in downtown Guatemala City the following year and warned the others they would follow unless they left me alone.”

  Lonjic laughed and slapped the Belgian on the arm. “Nice one. Glad to have you aboard.”

  “Likewise.”

  Lonjic wandered over to the big, surly figure of Jerzy Toloba, sat eating something unidentifiable. He sat on a fallen tree trunk. “You okay handling the M84?”

  “Yeah,” the Czech grunted, chewing on his ration. “No problem.”

  Lonjic gave the big man a careful look. “You handled this sort of thing before?”

  “Yes,” he said, his accent thick. “Think I cannot handle it? I will show you. You do not trust me.”

  “I’ve not worked with you before, so I need to know as much as I can. You were in the StB, I’m told.”

  “That is history; the Státní bezpečnost is no more. Now I hire myself out like you do. You think me a bad man because of my past? What of the others? They have their own bad memories and bad experiences. They are no different to me.”

  “Perhaps, but I need all of you to act as one team. You’re sitting by yourself; I want you joining the others and contributing to discussions. Don’t think you’ll get through this by doing nothing other than carrying that lump of metal about and using it.” Lonjic stood up. “I need to know I have a complete team I can rely on. This is no place for loners, Toloba.”

  The Czech watched as Lonjic walked away towards the other two of the group. Toloba grinned and resumed eating.

  Rrallos and Knai sat next to one another talking in low tones, in what seemed to the Eternal Mercenary as a pretty intense conversation. He squatted alongside them and asked how they were doing, to which they gave the usual non-committal reply. “You two clear in what you’ve got to do? I don’t want anyone thinking they know what’s needed only to suddenly realize they haven’t a clue when the action begins.”

  “We kill the Serb pigs,” Rrallos said with a shrug. “Simple.”

  “Firstly Vardaric is Macedonian, or maybe even Bulgarian. Nobody knows, but he’s no Serb. Many of his men aren’t Serbian either. There’s Bulgarians, Montenegrins, Bosniaks, Romanians, Ukrainians, Croats, Slovenes…shit even a goddamned Cypriot amongst them. This isn’t an anti-Serbian crusade, Rrallos, so you’ll have to suspend your campaign for a greater Albania for another day. You’re being paid to do this, not fight for your homeland.”

  Rrallos shrugged again and began sharpening a hunting knife. “I kill.”

  “So I understand.” Lonjic turned to the darker skinned Knai. “And you – Burma is a long way from here.”

  “Too many bad men,” Knai said. “Drug barons control the north, the military the south. Each as bad as the other.”

  Knai’s accent was an odd mixture of Burmese, English and a touch of Indian. Lonjic jerked a thumb behind him. “You set yourselves up by Toloba’s side and wait till he stops shooting, then you go in at the center and take out anyone still standing or breathing.”

  “Yes, we understand.”

  Lonjic grunted. They seemed aware of their job but how they’d perform together under fire was another issue altogether. They’d had three days together and it wasn’t enough. The whole missio
n was a rush job and plenty could go wrong.

  He returned to Linderroth who was carrying the radio. They only used the radio briefly – electronic surveillance and detectors would pinpoint them given enough time, so fifteen seconds was the maximum allowed. Lonjic checked his watch and nodded. The Swede pulled the radio out of his pack, an oblong green colored metallic device the size of a cassette recorder, and flicked a switch. He listened in at the small speaker and spoke one word after a few moments, then turned it off.

  “Vardaric is leaving their camp as expected and will be at the ambush spot tomorrow between ten and eleven.”

  “Good. Let’s get going in that case; the sooner we’re there the better, and we can set things up properly.”

  They moved off, Lonjic making sure he was next to Mendez. He went over the plan for the morning with him. Mendez had his squad split into two. At the rear would be himself and Linderroth, the latter with one of the rocket launchers, and at the front would be Trifunovic and Baja with the other. Their task was simple; blow up the first and last vehicle, shred them with everything they had, then move along the line gunning down everything that moved, and maybe some things that didn’t.

  He spoke to the Argentinian at length, wanting to know how the man ticked. He certainly had a hatred for the British, and Lonjic supposed anyone who had lost a brother to a foreign army might well bear such a grudge. The man was fine other than that. He had a pair of dark eyes, a receding hairline and that olive-tinged skin that Latins tended to have. He was small but wiry, and exuded an air of quiet competence.

  Satisfied Mendez knew his stuff, Lonjic allowed him to forge ahead, and he dropped back to speak to Godan again. “You go to the front of the ambush when we set it up. I want someone reliable up there just in case.”

  “No problem. Where will you be?”

  “Providing extra cover in between the rear and the machine gun. I don’t want any gaps being left.”

  “Do we know which truck Vardaric is going to be traveling in?”

  “No – but my guess is it won’t be the front one. He’ll have four trucks at least – maybe five. Nobody knows for sure till they set off tonight. Keep an ear out for the broadcast – they should have details by then.”

  Godan nodded. Lonjic stood aside and watched as the main file of men passed, then waved to the drag man to catch up. He would take a spell himself, if only to do some thinking. They were passing into Serbian territory and the landscape was still as flat as ever. They were near the Sava River and this was a series of floodplains, fertile farmland and so on. Crops were growing in profusion, and they filed through the fields, climbing over wooden fences and continuing eastwards.

  Sometime in the afternoon they crossed a small narrow road and carried on. It was close to evening and the sound of aircraft engines came to them. Instantly they all dropped to the ground, seeking cover from the gently waving wheat they were forging through.

  A MiG jet came flashing over at low level. It passed on swiftly but Lonjic craned his neck, trying to see what it did. It vanished quickly, heading North West. Godan came crawling over. “Think they saw us?”

  “Doubt it. He looked as if he was on a low-level approach to a target just over the horizon. The Croats must be putting up more of a fight than the JNA thought possible. Come on, let’s get going – I want to be there by the time it gets dark.”

  They plowed on, crossing a narrow watercourse and venturing into undergrowth. This was a good sign – the road to Sid was bordered by such vegetation, and within five minutes they came across the route, ten feet wide and running in a straight line roughly north-south. Birch trees grew here and thick shrubs provided good cover.

  As the light was fading Lonjic waved de Klerk over with his squad. “Set the Claymores up then come back over for a last briefing.”

  It was fully dark by the time the squad returned, having planted the mines. Lonjic grunted in satisfaction. Now all they had to do was to set themselves up in their positions and wait. “We know where each of us is to be on the attack. Go to those places and sleep there. I don’t want to have to move much once its light, just in case they have eyes in the sky or on the road. The less movement the better. Eat, sleep in your positions. I don’t need to tell you your jobs, you know them, and the briefing. Take out the end trucks and waste the lot of them. No survivors. It’s a simple kill job. Once we do our job we head south and cross a couple of watercourses, and our rendezvous with a truck. If that goes wrong, then make for the hills. We’ll be taken in by Croat sympathizers at three locations; the squad leaders know their locations as do Sergeant Godan and myself. If anything goes wrong keep heading south. Any questions?”

  There were mute shakes of the head in the darkness.

  Lonjic waved them to their places. Now it was a matter of waiting.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The wait was interminable; eleven o’clock at the latest, according to the intelligence. Linderroth had confirmed the radio had said they were on their way in five trucks. Vardaric was in the second truck. Good. Lonjic sent de Klerk to his position and he moved past the MG and Toloba to place himself roughly where the second truck would be when the ambush hit. He wanted that bastard himself.

  A couple of planes flew past in the distance, and as the wind eddied they caught the sound of distant artillery. That would be the JNA; Croatia didn’t have such ordnance – at least at the moment.

  It was all set – all the Vardaric group had to do was to keep their appointment. The minutes ticked by. The sun beat down, the glare off the white concrete surface of the road hurt the eyes. The crickets chirped incessantly, the sweat trickled down scalps and got into eyes, itches became intolerable. The usual stuff.

  On the wind came sounds; distant noises which could be something or nothing. A war was going on some miles to the north-west and people were dying. Here was a haven of peace, about to be shattered by men lying behind shoulder rests, triggers and undergrowth with quiet murderous intent in their hearts.

  Lonjic’s eyes continuously moved. Nothing remained constant and he needed to know of any changes, no matter how minute. These could make a difference when the shit started. The retreat route was known; he just hoped things went to plan, but in war one always had to be prepared for the unexpected.

  The distant noises they were hearing could be a truck, it could be an aircraft flying low – hell it could be some animal bellowing. Lonjic twisted in his prone position; he could make out the two men to his left, ready with the rocket launcher, and then to his right, the three grouped close to the MG. That was where most of the killing would be done.

  He slowly cocked the lever on his M70. That was a truck and it was coming their way. He quickly checked to see if the others were reacting, and they were, tensing and pushing their bodies lower. Now was the time. He eased the barrel forward and gripped the stock tightly. He would charge forward once the MG had ceased shooting.

  The distant corner of the road was vague – the fronds of tall grass and roadside vegetation made it hard to see properly. There was dark movement now, and the solid shape of a vehicle could be made out.

  Shit. An armored car. Where the hell had that come from? Nothing in the message about a goddamned armored car! JNA too. Shit. He quickly turned and pointed to Trifunovic, then at the armored car, nosing its way along the road cautiously. Cautiously? They should be driving confidently! It was if they knew there was trouble somewhere.

  Trifunovic nodded and loaded his launcher and aimed down the road. The armored car was reasonably well-protected but at twenty yards even armor plate was vulnerable. Lonjic strained his eyes and ears. The following shapes were army issue trucks, all soft canvas and tailgated. There was something else coming behind them - another armored car? Was Belgrade aware of the ambush? If so – who had talked?

  Well there was nothing else for it but to take the armored cars out. He hoped to hell Linderroth knew his stuff at the rear.

  The car passed Lonjic, a figure stood up with an MG in th
e ring turret next to the driver’s position. They were loaded for bear alright. The first truck was now almost alongside, and the reflection on the windscreen made it hard to see the features of the driver and the guy riding shotgun.

  With an ear-splitting roar Trifunovic’s shot took the armored car in the junction of the nearside wheel and the main body, smashing through the plate and exploding inside the cabin, turning the driver into a bloodied pulp and shredding the gunner. The car slewed to a halt, the tire crumpled and useless, turning nearly ninety degrees to effectively block the road. At the same time a similar report came from the rear, but Lonjic couldn’t look to see what was going on there.

  The trucks screeched to a halt. Toloba opened up, the MG chattering away, barrel moving left and right, sending bullets smashing into cabins, canvas and bodies. Screams came and glass shattered. Lighter shots came as the M70s began to open up, and Lonjic got to his feet. Cursing he aimed at the cabin of the truck alongside. With the armored car he was facing the first truck, not the second.

  His burst dissolved the glass of the cabin, punching into the driver who jerked spasmodically backwards into his padded seat, his camouflaged tunic smeared with red. Lonjic swung the barrel and emptied the remainder of the clip into the other man who had begun to dive sideways. He knew he’d hit him at least once, but the door now opened and his shape flew out into the undergrowth.

  He tripped a claymore. There came the deep throaty crump of the mine exploding, and the man’s body was sent flying back onto the road, his uniform shredded.

  Toloba screamed in pleasure, standing up, still holding the MG, and sent the rest of the belt into the second and third trucks, puncturing tires, breaking every window, shredding once-perfect canvas into strips.