This story originally appeared in The Potomac News.
Maj. Jay Greeley is a busy man.
He works seven days a week in Bosnia, often working both day and night shifts as the Reserve Component liaison, smoothing out the transition of Army Reservists and Army National Guard soldiers to full-time work in Bosnia.
“It’s ‘Groundhog Day’ every day!” he laughed. A popular reference at Eagle Base in Tuzla, the Bill Murray movie featured a weatherman who awoke every morning at dawn to relive a frantic Groundhog Day broadcast from Punxsutawney, Pa.
But Greeley also has lots of irons in the fire back home in Leesburg. He volunteers for the Red Cross, coaches Little League baseball and several youth hockey teams.
They will all have to get along without him until his return to America in October. But in the meantime, he keeps up with the Greeley household sports news with daily e-mail dispatches.
He’s been disheartened to hear from his three sons that his teams are spending time in the penalty box in hockey. When he was coaching, time in the penalty box often meant spending the rest of the game on the bench.
Having the e-mail link makes being 4,720 miles away from home a lot easier, he says.
“I think what’s wearing is if you had to sit and wait on your mail,” Greeley said. “We have almost instant communication with our families.”
“It’s difficult sometimes to get to the e-mail,” said Sgt. Mark Gonzales of Manassas, who is stationed at Dobol base east of Tuzla, near the demilitarized zone. The base is more primitive than Eagle Base, where nearly every soldier has easy access to a laptop computer. “But it’s nice to know that when you send it, it gets there in minutes.”
A generation ago, such rapid communication was unthinkable. Soldiers in Vietnam communicated with their sweethearts back home the way soldiers always have: by applying pen to paper. The letters were bundled up and carried out on military flights back to the United States, where they would arrive a week or so later.
But for the U.S. soldiers in Bosnia, that’s yesterday’s news. Literally.
“It’s terrible nowadays in the ’90s,” said Lt. Timothy Mangum, a former Woodbridge High School student now stationed in Germany. “I write a letter, then I go to call [my wife] and, well, all that news is old. If I was paying for [the phone calls], I’d be much more of a writer.”
Mangum, a platoon leader for an artillery division at Camp Demi, south of Tuzla, can make free calls his wife who works on a U.S. base in Germany.
Soldiers who aren’t lucky enough to have spouses working for the Army in Europe get free 15-minute “morale calls” home once a week.
And for those who still can’t get enough of phoning home, AT&T has a Bosnian number. Soldiers can use calling cards at any of dozens of phones set up throughout the American bases.
Greeley pulled out six e-mail print-outs folded in his back pocket.
“‘Hey, Dad, this is a test of your new e-mail,'” he said, reading off the top sheet. Greeley looked at it a moment, smiling. He shuffled it to the bottom of the stack of print-outs.
“This one’s from my wife. She tells me when spring break is, so maybe I can get some leave.” It might be important that he go: “Eric said ‘Mom’s been really bad. Send more gifts.'”
This story originally appeared in The Potomac News.
The chaos in the former Yugoslavia has disrupted more than just the lives of the natives of the strife-torn region.
There are hundreds of U.S. Army Reservists and members of the Army National Guard at staging bases in Hungary, and even more at bases worldwide — including more than 2,000 in Germany — taking the place of full-time soldiers deployed to Bosnia. Another 938 reservists are among the 8,500 American troops stationed in Bosnia.
Since the U.S. military joined the multi-national peacekeeping forces in Bosnia in December 1995, 11,700 reservists and Guardsmen have left their civilian jobs to take up arms and do their part.
(In comparison, the 84,990 Army Reservists made up one third of the force deployed in Desert Shield and Desert Storm and 1,223 reservists were deployed in Haiti, less than one-twelfth the entire fighting force.)
If there’s a difference between the reservists and full-time soldiers in Bosnia, it would be difficult to tell by looking. In the U.S. military bases around Bosnia, the reservists are a smoothly turning cog in the Army machine.
And that’s just how the U.S. Army likes it.
“If you’re in the Army Reserves, the question isn’t if you’re going to go, it’s when you’re going to go,” said Maj. Jerry Sullivan, in the Office of the Chief of the Army Reserve at the Pentagon.
Part of the reason so many reservists have been called to active duty is because of the different skills needed by an army in the field.
“Increasingly, the Army Reserve has become either the primary source or the sole source of different specialties the Army needs when they deploy,” Sullivan said.
In Bosnia, that includes specialists in water purification, railways, who are needed to help rebuild Bosnia’s shattered infrastructure and other specialists, in psychological operations, civil affairs and public affairs, who deal with politics, refugees and the media.
“We are the Army’s capability,” Sullivan said, “And when the Army goes somewhere, chances are, we’re going, too.”
Ironically, these soldiers are seeing more action in the field now that the Cold War has ended than their fathers could ever have seen.
“When there was a Cold War, the times we actually deployed for ‘real world missions’ was almost none,” Sullivan said. The last few years have included peace-keeping missions to Haiti and Somalia, where non-combatant skills proved invaluable.
“We’ve deployed more over the past seven years than we did during the entire Cold War,” Sullivan said.
By law, employers are required to hold the jobs for employees temporarily on leave as part of a military deployment and “by and large,” Sullivan said,”employers have been supportive.”
Of course, the reservist — who typically has weeks, if not months, of advance warning — has to meet the employer half-way.
“When it’s gone to court,” Sullivan said, “They haven’t looked too favorably on soldiers who, 15 minutes before quitting time, said ‘hey, I’m gonna be taking off for the next few weeks.'”
It’s more than a few weeks: Reservists are typically away from home for an initial hitch of 180 days, with the possiblility of another 90-day extension. These times aren’t precise, though: Dates shift as different units overlap with the ones they replace, to allow for training, and transportation is always dependent on what is available.
For local reservists, the transition from daily life in Northern Virginia to living on-base in Bosnia has been a relatively smooth one.
“From our perspective, there were one or two hitches at the very beginning, but those seem to have worked themselves out,” Sullivan said. “And now the operation is fairly smooth-running.”
Part of the reason may be Maj. Jay Greeley, of Leesburg. Based at Task Force Eagle Base in Tuzla, he’s the Reserve Component liaison who helps smooth over the rougher transitions.
“If you wanted to label it, I run a help desk. I get 20 phone calls a day, 20 walk-ins a day,” Greeley said.
Although most soldiers’ transitions are smooth, there are always one or two reservists whose families aren’t receiving pay checks, or employees worried about whether or not their jobs will actually be secure when they get back home.
It keeps Greeley hopping, seven days a week, often two eight-hour shifts a day.
“The biggest thing to worry about is you don’t get burned-out. You could work all day, all night, doing things that haven’t been done,” he said.
Reservists — who train at least 39 days a year — say they were well-prepared for soldiering in Bosnia. They spend two weeks stateside, going through a battery of physicals, skills tests, practice sessions and information on the Bosnian rules of engagement before being shipped to the Intermediate Staging Base in Taszar, Hungary, where they go through another round of preparation before being sent to Bosnia.
And just because the reservists have civilian jobs and lives, they don’t necessarily have less military experience.
“We’ve got a good cross-section of people with active-duty experience, combat experience,” said Capt. John Mills of Dumfries. He himself was in the Persian Gulf during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm, and he’s been in Bosnia since January.
A contract specialist for the Federal Aviation Administration in his civilian life, Mills’ Psychological Operations reserve unit produces news about the peace process and rebuilding for the Bosnian population, which otherwise makes do with heavily slanted partisan media or no information at all.
The FAA was very supportive of his deployment, Mills said, and he keeps in touch with his office with almost-daily e-mail communication.
Greeley himself is a reservist, a functions analyst for Boeing in Tysons Corner. The company is sensitive to the needs of reservists, he said. Although it has to give him only 10 days leave by law, he’ll have his old job waiting for him when he returns in the fall.
He’s got a full life back in Virginia, with a wife and three sons, whom he1s eager to be reunited with upon his October return stateside.
“Oh yeah, I’ll be ready. But by the same token, this is important,” Greeley said. “And this is kind of like my last hurrah. I expect to retire when I get back.”
Beyond shifting gears from their civilian to military jobs, reservists have to make other adjustments.
“It’s so funny: You live back in the States, you have to have this nice car and house,” Mills said, sitting near his cot and footlocker. Photos of family and friends in nearby frames and a copy of “The Indigo Bunting,” a collection of Potomac News columns by Mills’ pastor, the Rev. Charlie Chilton, are the only things that personalize his living area and link him to life back in Dumfries. “But this here is my domain and I’m satisfied.”
This story originally appeared in The Potomac News.
No one believes soldiers can be totally prepared for every situation they will encounter in a war zone, but the U.S. Army has tried to cover all its bases.
Before being deployed to Bosnia, American soldiers go through simulations of life in Bosnia, receive detailed instruction on what to expect and receive a sheaf of books and pamphlets containing additional information.
One of the pamphlets, “A Soldier’s Guide: Bosnia-Herzegovina,” includes such information as the size and population of Bosnia (it’s slightly larger than Tennessee, with a slightly smaller population than the state of Georgia), a brief history of the conflict, information on the different military and political factions, useful phrases (“Oruzje dolje!” means “Put your weapon down!”) and even hints on meeting the media (“There is nothing wrong with saying ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I can’t tell you.’ However, never lie to a reporter.”).
But all the preparation in the world can’t prepare a soldier for the emotional reality of war.
“I expected to see a war-torn country,” Lt. John Grantz of Fredericksburg said. “But for a young guy who came from a middle-income American family, it’s hard to believe it until you see it.”
“The training was pretty realistic,” said Lt. Timothy Mangum, a former Woodbridge High School student, “But I still can’t believe how these houses and lives have been turned upside down by this war.”
What shocks many of the soldiers is how beautiful the country — the host of the 1984 Winter Olympics — clearly once was.
“If you look out here, it looks like a hillside in Italy,” said Maj. Ed Burley of Kingstown, near Fort Belvoir. “The problem is, it looks like a hillside in Italy in 1945.”
Soldiers who have been in Bosnia less than six months are seeing the damage after the Bosnians have had more than a year to rebuild.
“When you look at the situation, what would it be like if we weren’t here, what would it be like?” said 1st Sgt. Edward Gaines of Aldie in Loudoun County. “Total chaos, total devastation.”
Nearly every soldier interviewed mentioned those hardest hit by the war: the children of Bosnia.
“Every time we go out, the little kids wave at the convoy,” said Cpl. Keith Wiedeman of Centreville. “And that reminds me of why we’re here: We’re here for the kids so then they can grow up safely.”
“You meet little kids or teens talking about going to college in Belgrade,” Grantz said. “It’s nice to think that the reason they’re not dead in a ditch somewhere is because we’re here. I wouldn’t mind if we stayed here for a while.”
Although the American soldiers have never been purposely attacked by any factions, they are still in danger. Soldiers are told “if you didn’t drop it, you don’t pick it up” and to never step off the road for fear of mines. UNICEF estimates 1.8 million landmines have been planted in Bosnia.
Despite that, the troops are relaxed, if alert.
“I don’t think it’s any more dangerous than D.C., personally,” said Lt. Col. Mike Webb of Lake Ridge, a career military officer.
“It’s a different kind of danger,” Burley said. “D.C. is a random sort of danger.” Bosnia’s violence, he said, is more “systematic.”
Despite the grim nature of their mission, many of the soldiers are excited to be in Bosnia and by the work before them.
“The mission is a lot better than I thought it would be to tell the truth,” Sgt. Mark Gonzales of Manassas said. “I wasn’t aware of the good work the soldiers are doing here.”
“It’s kind of nice — to be honest with you — to come from being in D.C. a year and be wearing this uniform,” Webb said of his camouflage fatigues. “Soon enough, I’ll be back … driving the Beltway.” He laughed.
Bosnia’s future is less bright. Most people in Bosnia believe fighting will begin again, soon after the U.S. troops pull out in 1998. The question is how long the fighting will last next time.
“Our job is to make the peace, to go out and convince them the benefits [of peace] far outweigh the violence,” Burley said. “And you have some very angry people and it’s hard for them to forget.”
He has seen hopeful signs in the trucks that roll past his base camp, trading Serbian gravel for Muslim-Croat coal.
“That’s a first sign that maybe it’s possible for the whole country to heal,” he said.
For Gonzales, the promise of peace is symbolized by the mosques being rebuilt, day-by-day.
“When you meet the people here and see how they’re pushing forward despite how they’ve gone through so much, it’s very uplifting,” he said.
But the Bosnians still have a long way to go before their lives can approach what Americans would recognize as normal.
“A lot of people say we should just take care of ourselves, but there’s a lot of people here who need our help,” Grantz said. “Our tax dollars are going to a good cause and I wish everybody could come and see it. And I’m a cynical guy.”
This story originally appeared in The Potomac News.
0655 hours
Tuzla, Bosnia
Gospel pop-rock plays from radios from one end of the base to the other.
“You’re listening to the Armed Forces Network Bosnia, in Central Europe.”
The only consistently transmitting signal in this part of Bosnia, AFN dominates the airwaves.
It’s another morning at Task Force Eagle Base in Tuzla, the U.S. Army’s base of operations in Bosnia. A former Yugoslav air force base, Eagle Base shifted to American hands on Dec. 26, 1995, and now serves as home and workplace for 1,336 soldiers.
0710 hours
Pausing to double-check that their weapons are empty, soldiers point their M-16s into the dirt-filled barrel outside the door, pull the trigger, and then enter the dining facility.
The temperature outside hovers around 40 degrees.
On the far side of the building, counter space is shared by several franchise restaurants: Anthony’s Pizza, Robin Hood Sandwich Shoppe and Baskin Robbins Ice Cream.
At this hour, the main dining room is about two-thirds full. The soldiers, gesturing with breakfast rolls or plastic spoons, are, in military parlance, “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
0725 hours
Unit commanders and staff officers troop into the “White House,” the headquarters of the Second Dagger Brigade, First Infantry Division. This early in the morning, they aren’t yet mud-encrusted enough to need the three long-handled brushes chained to the three shallow wells of the boot washes.
The officers’ destination is a large white tent behind the White House. Known as “Battlestar,” it’s a canvas conference room where twice-daily battle update briefings, or BUBs, are held.
There, the detail-oriented Maj. Gen. Montgomery Meigs, commander of the American forces in Bosnia, holds court, checking the progress of units throughout his command.
0802 hours
Across the base, an old warehouse has been converted into the Eagle Base gym. As Guns N Roses blares from two man-sized speakers, a handful of men and women stretch out for an early morning run around the base.
On their only day off for the week, they have gotten up bright and early for a 3.2-mile run with the Eagle Base Running Club.
“It was established as a New Year’s way to get people to recommit and refocus on personal fitness,” says Staff Sgt. Greg Binford, dressed in a red T-shirt and blue sweatpants. “Give them something to do on Sundays that’s just a little bit different.”
Sunday is typically a light work day. Roughly one-seventh of the soldiers have the day off, and others are allowed the chance to go to religious services and take things a bit easier.
“For those who feel extremely frisky first thing in the morning, there’s a core group that runs a 10K. They get here at 7:30, run the course, meet back with us and run again. My boss, Maj. Dupont, is one of them,” Binford said.
Ten runners line up outside the gym, jogging slowly toward the Post Exchange, ready for the run to the East Gate and back.
“We all ready?” Binford jogs in place. “We set?”
And off they go.
1000 hours
Air Force chaplain Capt. Pat Fletcher walks across the small room to the sound of a choir singing to organ music and turns off the boom box.
A congregation of 32 soldiers and three civilians sits in the folding chairs for the Catholic Mass. “Blessed are the Peacemakers, (Matthew 5:9)” reads the sign behind Fletcher’s head.
Fletcher asks the soldiers attending their first and last Masses to stand up and introduce themselves. With troops constantly rotating in and out of the country, this is a necessary, and important, ritual.
“Welcome and goodbye.” Fletcher is soft-spoken and smiling. “Can we have a round of applause for our first and last-timers?”
He sits at an electronic keyboard.
“Now, if I’m the organist, guess who’s the choir?” He looks up from the keyboard, still smiling. “That’s right: ‘We are, Father!’ Number 55 in the processional.”
As the congregation stands and sings “Holy God, We Praise Thy Name,” Fletcher walks up and down the aisle, shaking holy water on the congregation from a plastic flask.
1023 hours
Outside Tent City 2, where roughly half the enlisted personnel on base are billeted, a pair of civilian buses sit idling, ready for the 10-hour trip to Taszar, Hungary, where the troops rotating out of Bosnia will process their paperwork before going home.
Eager soldiers stow their rucksacks in the baggage compartment under the bus and climb aboard.
One soldier, trying to balance carry-on luggage, a helmet and Kevlar vest, eyes his M-60 machine gun at his feet. Another soldier squats down and scoops it up.
“Thanks, Sarge,” the first soldier says as he climbs on the bus.
“Yep.” Sarge follows.
Nearby, two white buses sit empty, ready to take soldiers to Budapest on leave, their drivers standing smoking near the open doors.
1104 hours
Things have begun to slow down inside the circus-sized white tent that houses the Task Force Eagle Base mail center.
The center, which receives and processes all the military mail for U.S. forces in Bosnia, receives 6,000 to 8,000 pieces of mail daily. Thirty soldiers, working three shifts, sort the mail, which is delivered to three other bases — McGovern, Dobol and Guardian — by the Brown and Root civilian contractors, who are not bound by the military’s “four-vehicle minimum” convoy rules.
Rap music blasts from a distant boom box as Sgt. Les Fultz, of the 30th Postal Company based in Wurzburg, Germany, slings packages aboard a conveyor belt.
The work is hardly new to him. In Cincinnati, the Army Reservist is a 23-year U.S. Postal Service veteran.
“It’s a very worthwhile operation we’re doing here,” he explains during a break. “You’re talking about having a direct effect on soldier morale.” He pauses to catch his breath. “It’s important.”
1120 hours
Near the East Gate, soldiers inspect a line of Humvees, trunks and hoods open.
The soldiers are the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Infantry, newly arrived from Vilseck, Germany. Later today they’ll be shipping out to Colt Base.
Rubbing their red eyes — the soldiers are still numb from the 10-hour bus ride from Taszar, Hungary — they crawl in and out of the Humvees, closely examining the vehicles they’ll soon trust their lives to. Other members of their unit stand nearby, going through checklists on clipboards, item-by-item.
1135 hours
Stafford County native Cpl. James Snyder, his red hair bare, opens up one of the plywood-and-fencing pens.
“We have bomb dogs and narcotic dogs. This is my dog here,” he says as Ricky, a frisky black-haired Dutch shepherd, one of the drug-sniffing dogs of the MP’s K-9 patrol, zips out. “Everybody gets a dog. Sit!”
The dog sits momentarily, then seeing his master relaxed, hops up and puts his paws on Snyder’s shoulders. Snyder grins and rubs the back of Ricky’s neck.
Snyder joined the Army 2 1/2 years ago, following in the footsteps of his father, a retired Fairfax County sheriff’s deputy.
“Kill two birds with one stone: Get a police job and serve my country,” Snyder says as he lowers Ricky’s paws to the floor and rubs the dog’s head. “My dad was in Vietnam and so was my uncle. I think everyone should serve two years out of high school.”
Snyder has been in Bosnia for three weeks and will remain there until September.
“The living conditions are better than I expected, but the kids are worse than I expected,” the father of two young boys says. “The littlest things make them happy: a wave or a piece of candy.”
He looks pained.
“My boys have everything they ever could wish for, and that’s what makes it hard for me.”
1230 hours
Back outside the gym, a group of soldiers in athletic wear stands in a circle around 1st Sgt. Todd Holiday. Exercise time is the only occasion U.S. soldiers in Bosnia are allowed to be out of uniform.
“Don’t touch the rim and go back in,” Holiday says, looking around him. “Backboard? It goes out.”
Everyone nods and steps to the sidelines. Six people take off their sweatshirts and sweatpants, stripping down to shorts and T-shirts in the cool air. They are the first participants in the day’s three-on-three basketball tournament. The temperature still hasn’t gotten above the high 40s.
Spc. Will Gibbs receives the first pass, streaks past Capt. Frank Earnest, and slam-dunks the ball.
“Damn!” yells a bystander, his foot on a basketball.
The rest of the game is similarly one-sided.
Inside the gym, about 18 soldiers stare intently at cards spread on the tables before them, the sounds of clanging weights echoes all around them. They’re playing the fantasy strategy card game Magic: The Gathering.
Both tournaments are sponsored by Morale, Welfare and Recreation, the Department of Defense’s civilian morale officers.
Glen McMurtry, rotated in from Mannheim, Germany, looks up from the basketball tournament chart he’s working on and stares at the Magic players.
“It keeps the morale up a little bit. ’cause there’s nothing to do” on Eagle Base. “I don’t know how much we help. At least we keep a few people happy,” McMurtry says.
1315 hours
The dining facility is full, but the soldiers are more subdued than the breakfast crowd. Soldiers eat burritos, cheeseburgers and strawberry shortcake.
1510 hours
Over at the Acute Care Clinic, Pfc. Chris Payne has just gotten dressed. He worked a 12-hour night shift last night, and the Rappahannock County native is still a little sleepy.
In Virginia he worked both as a volunteer and professional paramedic and here he is practicing emergency medicine.
“I was looking for adventure, the Army said they could keep my skills up, so I said ‘why not,'” he said.
He’s currently halfway through a six-year enlistment. The Army has kept its end of the bargain, training him in advanced cardiac life support, qualifying him to use the defibrillator paddles, and his education is still continuing.
Of course, not all his work is television-style glamor.
“Last night was pretty quiet. We had some abdominal pains, but it was pretty quiet,” he says. Just in case, the medics sleep in tents next to their offices.
“A few weeks ago, we had a mass food poisoning from the chow hall,” Payne says. “It was the macaroni and cheese. We had like 50 cases in like three or four hours.”
His family is very close and he calls home once a week.
“I have a worrisome grandmother,” he says. “She wants to know that they’re feeding us well.”
Naturally, he never told her about the macaroni and cheese.
1545 hours
Following a half-hour break after lunch cleanup, preparations for dinner began at 1400 hours. A Bosnian fry cook grills onions and green peppers for tonight’s dinner.
The dining facility prepares 2,000 meals a day, with a staff of four NCOs, 10 Brown and Root employees and 73 Bosnian nationals, who do everything from cleaning the floors to cooking the meals.
“Food service has come a long way,” says Sgt. Abelardo “T. J.” Tijerina, who oversees the dining facility operation. “Now we get our rations through distributors that, say, Denny’s gets their food from.”
The food at the dining hall is surprisingly good and private contractor Brown and Root is working hard to keep the contract it received in February. Previously, the dining hall had a 10-day dinner menu cycle, with leftovers for lunch. Now it has a 21-day dinner menu cycle, including such dishes as stuffed pork chops, shrimp curry and Cantonese spareribs.
1817 hours
Back at Battlestar, the evening battle update briefing is well under way.
Three rows of unit commanders, nestled behind their laptop computers, pass a microphone from seat-to-seat, answering Meigs’ questions. Field units chime in via conference call, and the Battlestar staff displays pertinent information on large video monitors.
“The Hodge flight,” Meigs says. “How does the Hodge flight look?”
A unit commander places the microphone close to his mouth.
“Uh, it doesn’t look good.”
“Yeah.” Meigs pauses. “What do we tell the Infantry? They don’t teach you this stuff in school.” The collected commanders laugh. Meigs is known for his low-key reprimands and dry humor.
1829 hours
The line is out the door at the dining facility: It’s fajita night.
But the tortillas never arrived, so the grilled meat and vegetables are served on plates.
Dinner time is prime time at the dining facility: Nearly everyone is in from the field or off work for the day. About 200 people are eating at any one time and about 50 more are in line.
The diners include about two dozen foreign troops tonight. Troops from Russia, Turkey, Sweden, Norway, Poland, Denmark, Hungary, the United Kingdom and Italy come through Eagle Base on occasion, and a single Canadian is stationed full-time at Eagle Base.
2007 hours
An advertising banner — “A true connection: AT&T AAFES” — hangs on the side of the tent in Tent City 1. Outside, enlisted soldiers wander back and forth in workout (“physical training”) clothes or in their bathrobes, getting in a shower before bedtime.
Inside the tent is the Eagle Base phone bank, where soldiers can use AT&T phone cards to call back home to the States. They mutter quietly into their phones, their conversations inaudible, except for one soldier, who speaks in loud Italian.
As they finish their calls, they put the phones down and exit quietly, heads down, boots heavy on the plywood floor. But they’re soon replaced by other soldiers, punching in their calling card numbers.
2307 hours
The base is quiet now, the soldiers bedded down for the night as a light drizzle falls on their green tents.
Here and there, a few signs of life of remain. The base taxi (a small maroon Peugeot van) drives down the newly muddy road. The last Bosnians working the dinner shift leave the dining facility, although a skeleton crew will remain to serve light snacks to soldiers working the night shift. A pair of MPs test fire their empty weapons into a dirt-filled barrel outside the door and go in.
The only sound is the whirring of the generators powering the halogen security lights that bathe the perimeter.
Another day at Eagle Base in Tuzla, Bosnia, has ended.
Potomac News photographer Chris Moorhead and I spent over a week in Bosnia-Herzegovina in March 1997, covering the day-to-day life of Virginia soldiers serving as part of SFOR (“Stabilization Force.” And don’t ask me why the military isn’t using real acronyms any more).
We went as part of the U.S. Army’s “regional media visits” programs, flying for free from Dover Air Force Base in Delaware to Ramstein, Germany and from there to Tuzla, where the American forces are based. The program was free, as the Army basically requests the use of six seats on one of the regular U.S. Air Force flights across the Atlantic and from Germany to Bosnia.
Chris had heard a rumor that a similar program had been run during Desert Shield, and a year after I first contacted Major Stanley Heath at the Pentagon – the delay was due to fretting by my management – we flew into Bosnia. Once there, Chris’ biggest contribution – well, besides the photo stuff – was pointing out “hey, look: Blackhawks!” whenever a helicopter flew over. Oh, and also recognizing a UN International Police Task Force member as a cop who’d once pulled him over in Virginia. A good story, gotten by serendipity.
Working long days – 12 hours was typical, although we worked longer – we interviewed soldiers and Bosnians, getting a glimpse at what war has done to this country.
“War torn” is one of those terms people like to throw around willy-nilly. Bosnia today is worse off than Cairo, Egypt, where I lived for 15 months. But Cairo has worked to reach its current stage of Third World squalor (“Third World” is another term used inappropriately. People compare DC to the Third World, although as bad as it is, it’s far better than genuine Third World conditions). The former Yugoslavia, on the other hand, was once the vacation paradise of the East Bloc. It’s as though the people of Switzerland – the country really is that beautiful, with similar culture and style – decided to tear apart Paradise.
Many of the soldiers we interviewed said they’d opposed the Bosnian mission before being shipped there, but all but one said they thought we should stay longer, if only for the kids. The country has been ravaged, and the plight of the children hurts the soldiers most of all. Even the poorest Army Reservist knows his kids will have a better lives than the children who waved to us as we drove by in Army Humvees (which are really uncomfortable, by the way).
When we pull out in a year or two (we will be staying longer than summer 1998, of course), everyone, Bosnians and NATO troops, expects the fighting to begin again.
Everyone is exhausted by the carnage, but no one believes the other sides will keep the peace. The border areas we visited were quite scary, with a near-clash between Serbian police and Muslim villagers occurring before us.
While it was frankly exhilarating to ride a C-130 into Bosnia or to drink Serbian beer in the town of Zvornik, it was hard to forget how dangerous everything really was, or to ignore the horror around us. Soccer fields looked like prairie dog fields from all the land mines (there’s one land mine for every two people), nine year old children’s graves were desecrated by opposing ethnic groups, an elderly couple the warring sides were consciously avoiding killing had to hide in their pig sty for several weeks as their entire yard and home were filled with shells and sweet kids still can vividly remember seeing the enemy (formerly their neighbors) sweep into their homes, killing their brothers and fathers.
There are no easy answers there, but giving the Bosnians a chance to get on their feet, and to realize that peace is worth the effort, is critical. That’s not me talking: That’s the soldiers of Eagle Base, Tuzla and all the other camps around Bosnia.
A sampling of my Bosnian stories from the Potomac News:
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