Wednesday, February 21, 2001

Story and photos by Kevin Dougherty
Stars and Stripes

Army Spc. Tamara Locke, a nurse with the 313th Hospital (Surgical) Unit, checks the heart rate of Stojan Kosic, who suffered an ankle fracture and a broken nose in Friday's deadly attack on a Serb bus near Podujevo in northern Kosovo.

PODUJEVO, Kosovo — It was well after midnight when U.S. Army Col. Gene Kamena sat down to write a note to his boss. A long, tough day was drawing to a close, but what Kamena had to say couldn’t wait until morning.

"It will be a long time before those of us on the ground forget the scenes and events of 16 February 2001 in Kosovo," Kamena wrote in an e-mail to Brig. Gen. Kenneth J. Quinlan.

"The mission was simple: escort and provide security for a convoy of about 200 Serbs from Gate 3 in the British sector to the town of Strpce in the U.S. sector," Kamena continued. "The fact that I, the deputy commander for Task Force Falcon, was to ride the lead bus was purely symbolic of our confidence to provide security for Serb movement — symbology was replaced with reality in seconds."

In the wake of the deadliest attack in Kosovo in 19 months, more than a dozen people touched by the bus bombing in Podujevo discussed it and other recent events that have heightened tensions in Kosovo. They include a Kosovar Serb injured in the bus attack, Strpce residents and several U.S. Army personnel, from helicopter pilots and medical technicians to Kamena and his interpreter.

"This isn’t war," Kamena said the following night. "It’s terrorism."

The story of what happened near Podujevo in northern Kosovo last Friday is still unfolding. British and U.N. officials are continuing their investigation, while a German forensic team painstakingly examines the remains of those killed.

Officials also fear the death toll may exceed the 10 known fatalities. Several of the 43 people injured remain in serious condition. The 57-seat bus was reportedly filled to capacity.

The bus "was totally devastated, just blown apart," said British marine Maj. Tim Pearce at the scene. "So it’s not clear how many people were on the bus."

As if death, injury and destruction weren’t enough, the brutal attack has further deflated hopes for an easy peace. After months of relative calm, a week of volatility punctuated by one very deadly day has many on edge.

With Balkan leaders conferring this week in Skopje, Macedonia, it’s becoming clear that the gap between symbolism and reality may be wider than most people think.

"We know the power of Western society," said Predrag Grbic, head of the Serbian Movement Renewal Party in the southern Kosovo town of Strpce. "We know how the world is fighting against terrorism. But now we are confused and surprised that the international community cannot solve this problem."

One problem solver

Col. Gene Kamena

"The British and we few Americans were in shock at what we saw — [a] dead woman, children and dying people everywhere," Kamena continued in his midnight message to Quinlan. "We walked through the body parts to render assistance. For many, we were too late.

"The British commander asked me for assistance, and within an hour American helicopters and medics were treating the injured. The Serbs were in shock, many were trying to find loved ones. At first, there was resentment from most Serbs ... because Americans were on the scene.

"In my opinion, resentment turned to respect as young American soldiers treated the wounded, gave all their food and water to the children and held the hands of the dying. By the end of the day, the Serbs would point to the flags on our uniforms and smile."

The bombing occurred in the far northern reaches of the British-controlled sector, a good distance away from the American zone in the southeast. And yet, within minutes of the blast, 15 U.S. military personnel arrived on the scene.

So what were the Americans doing so far up range?

A sniper sent them.

Trouble begins Tuesday

Staja Ilic worked in Belgrade. His home was in Strpce, a picturesque village on the north side of the Shar Mountains, an 8,000-foot range that straddles the Kosovo-Macedonia border.

Every couple of months, Ilic would leave Belgrade by bus and return home for a brief visit. On Feb. 13, a bus carrying Ilic and dozens of other Serbs was met at the Serbia-Kosovo border by KFOR troops. It then proceeded overland under escort, with Strpce its final destination.

When the bus was about 10 miles east of Strpce, Ilic got up from his seat in the middle of the bus and moved toward the front. He settled into the jump seat between the driver and the door, his face just a foot or so from the windshield. At the time, he was sharing the seat with the co-driver. He joked a little with the two drivers and looked out at the winding road ahead as it lumbered up an incline.

The bus slowed at the top of a ridge to let the other vehicles in the convoy catch up. Suddenly, a bullet fired by a sniper pierced the windshield and struck Ilic in the mouth, killing him instantly.

"Some people [on the bus] were shouting to stop," Slobodan Stojanovic, the bus driver, said through an interpreter, "but I wasn’t going to do that because I was afraid they would shoot again."

A couple more shots hit the bus, injuring two passengers, but Stojanovic, with Ilic’s blood now running under his feet sped ahead and made it to Strpce without further incident.

Strpce erupted into violence that night. More than 500 residents stormed the U.N. police station in town, burning vehicles and heaving rocks and Molotov cocktails. In the midst of it all, Kamena, who had come down from Camp Bondsteel with reinforcements, did his best to help quell the uprising.

Said Kamena: "I think we all still have bruises from Tuesday night."

From rocks to respect

Kamena returned to Strpce the following day to bridge the gap.

The riot underscored the tenuous state of affairs in Strpce. Now the second-ranking U.S. military officer in Kosovo rode into town to assure Serb leaders that KFOR was committed to helping and protecting them.

The Serb leaders told Kamena they have no confidence in KFOR’s ability to protect convoys, which serve as vital links to Serbia proper.

"They dared us to ride in our own convoys," Kamena said.

Someone also suggested putting U.S. troops aboard, but Kamena shot that idea down. He had no intention "of using U.S soldiers as human shields."

Then Kamena, in effort to demonstrate his confidence in the convoys, told the Serbs he would ride in the lead bus when the next convoy crossed the border on Friday. When Kamena came back on Thursday with Quinlan, the U.S. commander, and Italian army Lt. Gen. Carol Cabigiosu, the KFOR commander, the Serbs took his pledge to heart.

"If this guy [Kamena] hadn’t shown up here," said Grbic, the local Serb leader, "I would have lost my faith in KFOR. I really don’t believe in KFOR, but I believe in Col. Kamena."

‘You never know’

About 10 minutes after the first bus in the convoy was hit by a remote-detonated bomb, Kamena and his squad arrived at the scene.

In addition to the five buses that constitute the so-called Nis Express, there were two other buses bound for Strpce.

Kamena had intended to ride on the lead bus heading to Strpce. Zeljan Stojcetovic, an Strpce elementary school teacher heading home from a ski trip with 10 students, was on that bus. Stojcetovic said it was just by chance the two Strpce buses got to the border after the five in the express.

"That could have happened to us," Stojcetovic said days later as he sat in the family pizza parlor back in Strpce. "You never know who is going to go first [across the border]."

Evacuating the wounded

At the accident scene, Kamena offered what assistance he could. He called in helicopters to help the British evacuate the wounded. Food, water and First-Aid were given to those on the red bus that was hit horrifically by a blast created with between 100 and 200 pounds of explosives.

Kamena’s translator, Tanja Gavrilovic, was busy, too. She spoke to several of the injured, some of whom were in critical condition. One injured woman begged Gavrilovic to take custody of her young daughter if she should die.

The colonel and his translator were also worried about the welfare of the people on the two buses headed for Strpce. The two buses were stuck at the border roughly a mile away. When they approached, the people seemed confused and concern. They were worried about the other Serbs, themselves and how or if they would ever get home.

"They’re our Serbs from our sector," said Kamena, who was named an honorary citizen of Strpce on Thursday. "We are responsible for them."

About an hour after the noontime attack, the first U.S. Army UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters arrived on the scene.

"You had pretty much everybody and their brother out there," said Army Chief Warrant Officer 2 Alec J. Johnson, one of the pilots on the scene.

First Lt. Joel B. Neuenschwander, who was Johnson’s co-pilot, credited Spc. Karl J. Kostecki and Spc. Benjamin St. Pierre, with quick work in prepping the first two medevac helicopters once the call came.

"These guys were jumping through hoops to make it happen," Neuenschwander said.

By the time the U.S. helicopters reached the accident scene, the British had matters under control. Many of critically injured were already evacuated.

"Once we got there," said Sgt. James Gambill, a medical officer, "the [serious] casualties were down to a minimum."

In all, the Americans airlifted eight of the injured, taking them to the U.S. Army hospital at Camp Bondsteel. Two more patients were later transported there for special care.

One of Serbs evacuated to Bondsteel was 51-year-old Stojan Kosic.

Accompanied by his sister-in-law, Kosic had gone to Belgrade to apply for a disability pension. He was seated toward the middle of the bus when the Swedish armored personnel carrier in front of them rolled past the bomb.

"I heard the explosion," Kosic said from his hospital bed, speaking through an interpreter. "It threw me to the back of the bus. Then I heard screaming and crying. The scene was too horrible."

Kosic escaped with a fractured left ankle and a nose laceration. His sister-in-law sustained slight facial cuts from the flying glass.

Six of the eight Americans in the two helicopters were interviewed. None of them had ever seen such carnage.

"I don’t know how to put it into words,’’ said Sgt. Wendy Lawrence, a flight medic. "It was scary, scary that people would treat other people that way."

Strpce keeps its cool

Passengers aboard the two buses bound for Strpce designated a man to represent them. He and Kamena then flew by helicopter to the mountain village to tell people there they were safe. Rumors had been circulating in Strpce that up to 20 of its residents were dead.

At some point during the day, Grbic entered the same U.N. police station that had come under attack 72 hours later. He was with three other local Serbian leaders. They pledged to keep the peace, which, for the most part, they did.

As the sun set Friday, the problem for those bus passengers stranded on the border was how and when would they get to their destinations. In the end, British and American forces staged a nighttime helicopter airlift, transporting more than 200 people in under three hours.

"They were so happy to be going," said Gavrilovic, Kamena’s interpreter. "They were almost like children, sneaking up in line."

A medley of cars and trucks that were unofficially part of the bus convoy remained at the border along with their drivers. The Polish army quickly organized a convoy the following day to help those people get home.

Now what?

Perhaps the silver lining in all of this is the budding relationship between the people of Strpce and the U.S. military. But Kamena would be the first to say that things in Kosovo can turn back around just as quick.

"If all soldiers in KFOR keep their word like Col. Kamena," Grbic said Monday through an interpreter, "there will be no problems in Kosovo."

Authorities reportedly have two men in custody in connection with the bombing. Grbic applauded the arrests, but said other acts of violence against Kosovar Serbs are sure to follow.

For now, the people of Strpce anxiously wait to hear how KFOR plans to protect future convoys. The village of 3,000 people may be the most isolated of all the Serb enclaves in Kosovo. They are heavily dependent on the convoys for food, medicine and other supplies.

Many of those interviewed remain doubtful that much can be done to thwart "the Albanian extremist." And there is no indication whatsoever that Serbs will abandon this pictorial corner of Kosovo. Some families have lived here for five centuries.

"We will stay here another 500 years," Grbic said, "no matter what the Albanian terrorists do."

RELATED STORY:
          Yugoslav official visits bus attack victims

Back to February's stories
Page Two news roundup
Stories from January, 2001
Stories from December, 2000
Stories from November, 2000
Stories from October, 2000
Stories from August and September, 2000
Stories from June and July, 2000
Home