7

After the meeting, I'd decide what story I was going to chase. The Volvo was pretty comfortable and I now knew enough to never drive off the paved area of roadway. The flak jacket and helmet lived on the passenger seat. The kevlar helmet wouldn't stop a bullet, it would only protect you from shell or mortar fragments. The flak jacket, if you were hit in the centre body mass, would stop up to a 7.62mm rifle bullet. The rest of the jacket, like the helmet, would only protect you against shell or mortar fragments. Through out my time in Croatia, I was never wearing the flak jacket and helmet when either I was shot at or there was a high probability of shots being fired, except an incident on the Kupa River. Extreme violence is rarely expected, things just go 'pear-shaped' in a big hurry. The reason the body armour spent almost it's entire life on the passenger seat was sandwiched between two huge, heavy ceramic plates it was almost impossible to drive in it.

My ex-girlfriend had sent me 'Hell Freezes Over' by The Eagles, which I spent a lot of time listening to, but I had a couple of dozen tapes. You never listened to music close to the conflict area though. It was vital to be able to hear what direction any incoming fire was coming from so. regardless of the weather, the windows got rolled down and the music turned off. Two tunes from 'Hell Freezes Over' became lifelong favourites. Some of the lyrics from 'I Can't Tell you Why' and 'Wasted Time' really resonated with me in this weird environment. I didn't really pick any one or two tunes but I became a huge 'Bruce Hornsby and the Range' fan in Croatia too.

One of the first stories I wanted to get was about the Canadian peacekeepers in Rastevic. One morning I headed down the highway to Karlovac, where Peter Brysky had died a few years back. East of Karlovac, I passed a big UNHCR aid convoy being 'held' by Croat troops. Nothing ticked me off more. Sometimes these humanitarian convoys were held up for days, shot at and even looted as they waited for various warlords to let the convoy's pass through. The UNHCR had offered to take me on one of these convoys but I wouldn't be allowed to bring my camera's so, for me, there wasn't any point. The unarmed aid convoy's UNHCR driver's were simply the bravest people I've ever met.

Another very special group of the UN were the Military Observers. These guys stayed in extremely viscious area's to see how many shots and shells were fired an hour and, if possible, who was shooting and shelling whom.

South of Karlovac I joined a line of vehicles waiting at a military roadblock. When it came to my turn, I produced my UN and Croat military identity cards but the soldiers motioned me back towards Karlovac. They were on a short fuse. As soon as I hesitated, I found the business end of a Kalashnikov resting on the top of my door and the barrel pointed at my chest and neck. The previous day, BBC Radio reporter John Schofield had been shot dead just a few miles away near Vrginmost so, on this occasion, I didn't press my luck. I stopped a little way away and shot some pictures of an abandoned block building which had been a checkpoint until recently. I noticed my hands were not shaking, which seemed like a good sign.