9

Back in the UN headquarters, I met up with one of the Canadian NCO's who wanted to trade a UN baseball cap for some Toronto Sun memorabilia. As I strolled across the UN compound, I was surprised to see three US Air Force officers walking towards me. A colonel and two majors. The official line was, there were no US Army, Marine, Navy or Air Force personnel in Croatia. 'Hey, that's a cool cap,' said the Colonel. 'It would look great in my rec[reation] room. Where can I get one?'

Outside the UN headquarters I noticed a UN soldier hurrying past my parked car loaded down with plastic shopping bags. He'd just been to the UN's shop - the PX. A local was hurrying towards him. The local took the bags and the soldier took an envelope from the local. Back market, booze and smokes. Had to be. When I'd tried to buy a chocolate bar and soft drink in the shop the clerk had refused to serve me as I was not a UN employee. A Canadian officer came up and used his i.d. card to allow the transaction to continue. Small acts of kindness like this kept a smile on your face.

A day or so later, I drove out to Pleso, by Zagreb Airport. Pleso was the chief rear logistics base for UNPROFOR in Croatia. There were 433 Canadian peacekeepers amongst a total force of 2,528 military based there.

I wanted to track down the Canadian Forces media officer, Lt. Commander Agnew. He was doing a live 'phone interview to a Toronto radio station. When he had finished, we had a chat. What a man. When I told him of the problem I'd had at the roadblock south of Karlovac, he got a sheet of Canadian Defense notepaper and raced it into his typewriter. After bashing out a note, he signed it, then opened a desk draw.
'The Croats and the Serbs are impressed by forms and rubber stamps,' grinned Agnew. He got three different colour ink pads out and about eight or ten rubber stamps. He covered the sides and bottom of the note with impressive stamps. 'They figure you've probably got permission from Franjo Tudman [the Croat president] when they see this lot.'
He stuck the letter in an envelope.
'Anything else I can do to help?'
I'd been down towards Kutina late the previous evening and, dog tired, I'd slept in the Volvo.
'Couldn't fix me up with a shower?'
'Fill your boots!' boomed Agnew. 'Fill your boots, man.'
I learned that this was one of his signature responses, as he showed me to the shower block and left me alone.

A week or so late, I had a day with nothing breaking on the horizon. I decided to try the route south of Karlovac again. I checked my map and tried the smaller roads rather than the highway. I got stopped pretty much right away. These two soldiers were much more relaxed. I broke out the UN and Croat identity cards and Commander Agnew's letter. I showed them on my map where I wanted to go. I say they were polite, but the end result was they were not letting me through. 'Fighting, fighting' mumbled one. Oh well, gave it my best shot. The only way I could see cracking this was to find a small bridge that spanned the Kupa River that might not be marked on the UN map. If I saw another vehicle cross, it would mean probably no mines. Although they'd already refused me access, I broke out a pack of Marlboro and gave them a couple each.

The next day, I returned to the area of the roadblock but I took a small track that led towards the river. I parked by a big, empty house, turned the Volvo around and got out of the car. You can't be too careful, so I pulled on the flak jacket and helmet. I walked around and noticed the cellar had steps leading down - good shelter if I needed it. The Kupa River trickled by but my eyes were drawn to three barrels of an anti-aircraft gun, slowly moving from an upright point of aim... until I was almost level with my eyes.
'Oh dear...' I said, or something like that!
As I sprinted - as much as you can sprint wearing a ton of body armour - a couple of shells whacked into the ground and bits of stone and earth flew through the air. I ran and dove into the entrance to the cellar. I hit the door at some speed as 20mm shells whacked into the floor above me. Although the combined weight of me and the flak jacket was somewhere around 250lb, the damn door stayed put. I wished I'd left the flak jacket in the car, as the flak jacket was little protection to this firepower. The shells hitting the brickwork above me were designed to bring down jet aircraft flying thousands of feet in the air and would turn me into a sieve, flak jacket or not.
Essentially, I was trapped where I was. The door on the cellar was holding but even if I broke through it, it was likely the only way in or out of the cellar. Sooner or later I would have to move up the steps to ground level where I would be in sight of whoever was doing the shooting.
I spent a nervous half hour figuring out my options. There was only one. I'd have to jump out of the cellar entrance at light speed, turn and get back to the Volvo by keeping the house between me and the guns. Which is what I did. Luckily, they seemed to have something more interesting to do, and I reached the car without incident.
It wasn't until I was miles away from the front that I noticed a white area of material shining through the dark blue finish of the Kevlar helmet.  The money spent on body armour had been very worth while.