We all Faced the Sky

Describing the life of a soldier in Bosnia during the Balkan war.

War is hell, that’s all I know about war. It tears friends and families apart every single god damn day. Who would have thought that one day, I would be spending some time with a friend at a coffee shop, only to find out that the following week would be the time I fight against the same individual who accepted me as a friend not too long ago? “Nothing in this world is more frightening than a human, especially with a gun.” These words were spoken by my father, a loving and protecting person who would rather die than to see my brother and I suffer in the hands of the Serbs. People I loved and cared about are wiped out by the sinful and destructive forces of the opposing side.

 What war does to people is a frightening sight; it changes the people who would welcome anyone to their house for a cup of coffee to monstrous killing machines. Those who are not in the army are left to survive and scavenge for food or materials. Ever since this war started, all the people of the same religion and nationality would fight over food and money. Being the son of a humble man, I give most of my food and wealth to the people who need it more than myself. Although this is true, my only flaw is that I get nervous in stressful situations. This is a land of violent history �" now a bleak area of farm lands, extending from coast to coast. This is a place of ruins, where bullet holes cover every single manmade wall. Occasionally, the Serbian army would march along the road between Serbian-occupied towns of Trzac and Cazin, creating a cloud of smoke with their deadly weapons. All of these incidences came to me. The only thing I could do is to join the army. I feared for the future of my beloved country, once known as Yugoslavia.

Due to the war, I lost both parents to a soldier who came to our town, given orders to warn my village not to support the Muslim army with any food, supplies for survival, and accommodation. My parents refused and in a split second, I was standing by myself, with both parents facing the sky. I never wanted to experience something like this again.

a group of men and I, all who had some sort of disturbing history similar to my own, were dispatched in Sarajevo by the Mujahideen, an Islamic branch of the Bosnian army. We were in the back of a pick-up truck for about five whole hours. It was completely silent until Muhamed spoke up.

 “Heard we were there to check up on the city”, Muhamed said in a relaxed manner. Muhamed is a kind hearted individual who I really looked up to. He glanced at my arm, noticing a scar that was left there. “You’ve always had this?” he grabs my arm.

 “Yeah,” I answered, “shrapnel hit me when my house was taken down. I never really had it treated properly, so just one little scratch and it bleeds.”

We had very random conversations, talking about what happened to each other. Muhamed and the others listened to my stories as if they were there. It is noticeable by the way this group talked, how they were never meant for the army. It was if they had to leave their families to fight.

“I forgot to ask you, what town are you guys from?” I introduced the question to everyone. “Surely we have to be living in neighboring towns since we are on the same team.”

“Cazin” Responded Muhamed.

“Bihac, for the rest of us” Mujo answered while staring down.

Bihac is under a large attack by the Serbian army. Bosnia, in general, is a war ground between Croatia and Serbia, and no one cared about the lives in this country. During this time, it is an uncomfortable thing to ask one where they are from. Basically every town and city is being blown up. Apparently the United Nations are trying to ‘help’ the situation by bombing Serbs, but it’s only making the situation much worse. From what the general said, more than 80% of Bosnia and Herzegovina is under Serbian control. It makes me think as to what is left of our lives. If we were to win this war by sheer luck, what would remain would be the memories of the ones we love. I am afraid of one thing; loneliness.

The road to Sarajevo makes an average five hour drive seem like hell. The remains of executed civilians and burnt down houses make it almost impossible to drive to, especially over mountains. It was a pretty horrible day to be dispatched to Sarajevo. All there is to see is the atrocity committed by the Serbian army; all there is to smell is burned rubber and wood, which made this ride extremely difficult to endure. The trip to this city takes longer than normal because of all the detours we encountered. Many places were occupied by Serbians; we did not want to set foot into a potentially dangerous region. The wonderful view of Yugoslavia is no more. For the five hours sitting and watching the country fall apart makes me wonder if our lives mean anything to anybody.

My group began to grow on me. They were very friendly to all of us, as if we have been friends since we were kids. One of our members brought in some wonderfully prepared smoked beef, called Pastrema, for us to enjoy what was left of Yugoslavia’s tradition.

“I’m getting out of this country when this is all over,” stated Muhamed. “I have nothing in here anymore, and I always wanted to start a family.”

“We’re in for a hell of a fight, man.” Mujo told him “All these Serbs know is genocide, genocide, and genocide.”

I tried not to blame the Serbians who are just trying to survive like my family did. They want to live their lives, but war just budges in and screws everything over. Until there is peace in this country, there will never be true happiness.

“Not all of them. We are all just here to survive, right?” I calmly pointed out.

Blank stares right at me as if they did not expect that to come out of my mouth.

“We are at war with these monsters,” yelled Mujo “Every single Serb will be shot on sight. These b******s will regret stealing my life.”

For the next hour, it was nothing but silence. It wasn’t silent because of what I said, it was silent because we recently sneaked past a concentration camp, unguarded from our side. Words cannot describe the unbelievable pain and agony these innocent people are exposed to everyday. The camp was surrounded by high barb-wired fences, with guard posts on each corner, yet unoccupied. It was not a big camp however, yet there were approximately 300 people inside of it. A few houses for the prisoners were there and a larger one for the guards. Passing by it, I was able to hear music coming from the big house; one of my favorite Bosnian singers. A group of Serbian soldiers listening to Bosnian music, while wiping them off the map?

“We’re here,” yelled Mujo “let’s get off at the UN checkpoint.”

Muhamed got out the same time as me. “Let’s just make sure that we finish our jobs quickly so we can get out of here” he nervously picked up his gun. I knew I had to keep a look after him, but a couple hours ago he was very relaxed.

Sarajevo was what I expected. The impenetrable smoke from previous gunfire, buildings being blown up, and fires surround the city. Occasionally, you can see a line of green army tanks crawl along the roads.

“We need to take the women and children to the safe zones,” yelled Mujo

“Where do we go?” I asked.

“We need to get to Milijacka River. There will be UN boats waiting for us”

“I’ll go to one of these apartments.”

The team separated to search the apartments downtown. I took one of the damaged buildings to make sure everyone evacuated. I ran into the building in hopes that no one was there. I noticed a large gunshot noise outside; two citizens were shot, along with a child. It looked as if a family took their last breathe together. The father attempted to drag himself from the ground, scrapping his own fingernails across his own puddle of blood, trying to reach his wife and child. He grabbed both of them, screaming is pain and horror. The soldier’s fingers pulled the trigger again and they all faced the sky. A gruesome sight to encounter and an overwhelming sense of familiarity. I could not handle the pain that once again filled my chest, so I had to run out there to see if they can be saved. I started to get nervous because snipers roamed the hills and the roofs of buildings in search of any citizens and soldiers. I couldn’t believe it, but the child was still alive and perfectly fine, yet was crying. I had to bring him out of the open area.

“Mama! Babo!” cried the boy. “Wake up!”

“Hey! We need to leave now!” I told him, “They’ll be fine.”

I hated the fact that I had to lie to this child, but we needed to leave as soon as possible. I held the boy in front of me and ran to the safe zone as fast as possible without giving an opening for the snipers. I met up with the team at the boat and we all hugged each other in relief. We were glad that we all came back alive, especially with a few citizens. Just as soon as we were relieved, Serbian troops began marching the streets. Tanks began knocking down all the streetlights and crushing cars that were in their way. I knew they were Serbian when a faint chant saying “Bosnia is Serbia!” began to get louder.

“Get in the boat, man!” Mujo yelled, “They’ll kill us!”

            “We can’t leave my parents!” cried the little child.

            “They’ll be okay, come on!” I told him.

As we all escaped the siege of Sarajevo by boat, we were headed to a UN safe zone near the city to drop off all the survivors. We decided to go to Visoko, a war-free town where UN soldiers protect every side of the place. My group and I had to take shelter at a small hut made of cement because the day was fading. We all talked about what happened to each other in Sarajevo and how we found our survivors. When I told my story of what happened over there, no one bats an eye.

            “And there I was,” I said “both parents died by my own eyes. They had a child who I rescued.”

            “You okay man?” wondered Muhamed.

            “I don’t know man, I never wanted to experience this again.”

“Again?”

“His parents died the same way my parents died. Together with me, shot by a soldier.”

We decided to stay in this shelter overnight, hoping that no dangerous animals were to come near us. As the sunset fell past the horizon, a black haze filled the sky and the moon glowed over the land. It was as if a canopy of stars spread through the dark sky. The faint wind brushed against the water’s surface on the river near us, creating ripples that interfere with the smooth surface. Our fire began to shrink to nothing.

I woke up to the sound of a group of soldiers coming to check the shelter that we were all in. I quietly woke up my team to get ready to aim their sights at them. When they finally noticed us, we realized that they were carrying citizens with them as human shields. We could not risk their lives, but Mujo couldn’t resist and pulled the trigger. The sound of his gun was extremely loud, making him flinch. The flinch made him lose his aim, killing a hostage and a soldier.

“What the f**k Mujo!” I yelled. “You just killed he-“

“I’m sorry” both Mujo and Muhamed whispered.

Both of them ran out of the shelter to escape but they ended up not surviving as the soldiers managed to shoot both of them. All that was heard were two gun shots echoing inside the shelter. The hostages were crying just as loud as the gun shots. All of this was happening too fast. My heart started racing and I lost control of myself; I had to run to them. Before I even had a chance to realize how dumb of an idea it is to run out into the open, I heard the bullet scream out of their gun. I couldn’t move; I could feel the life being sucked out of me. I fell slowly to the ground; my eyes were beginning to shut. My face hit the ground next to my team mates and I started to think about my parents. The next thing I knew, we all faced the sky.

Author's Note

If there are problems with this story, I will take any constructive criticism