the lower road and meet up with you on the other side. Itâll be dark soon, so the rest of the way shouldnât be a problem. Just keep them calm. And for Godâs sake, keep them behind the carrier. Got that?â
âGot it, Sergeant,â they replied in unison.
âGood. Now letâs get the hell out of here before they change their minds.â
The peacekeepers secured the vehicle, closing the hatches and tossing the remainder of their equipment inside. Arie rearranged the gear around the pregnant woman and closed the ramp. Janssen jumped on top and gestured to the crowd to stand up. Everyone stood and surged ahead. Jac held out his arms and shifted from side to side like a cowboy trying to corral a loose horse.
Janssen lowered himself into the driverâs hatch until only his helmet and sunglasses were visible. Erik dropped into the gunnerâs hatch, everything above his waist still visible from the outside. The vehicle roared to life, spooking the refugees. They stepped back, falling over one other. The carrier lurched ahead and then slipped sideways, heading for a ditch. The saturated embankment gave way and the carrier slid farther. The tracks rotated, spitting dirt and mud as they dug twin ruts into the loose soil. Jac stepped back, avoiding the flying lumps of earth.
âHeâs going to have to take the pads off the treads,â Karel said. âWeâll be here all night.â
Men shouted.
Jac looked back. A group of Bosnian soldiers emerged from the woods, weapons pointed at the peacekeepers. The soldier carrying the anti-tank weapon on his shoulder ran to the front of the carrier, shaking his head and waving his free arm. The carrier powered down. One of the soldiers walked up to the peacekeepers.
âNo,â he said. âYou stay. You canât leave or Chetniks come.â
Another soldier raised his rifle to Karelâs chest.
âStay,â the soldier said. âYou go, Chetniks come.â
The sergeant pulled himself halfway out of the driverâs hatch and twisted around.
âWhatâs going on?â
âTheyâre not letting us go,â Karel said.
A third soldier pointed his rifle at Erik who raised his hands away from the machine gun mounted on the hatch.
âGoddamnit.â The sergeant hauled himself up on top of the carrier then dropped to the ground and faced the first soldier. âWill you make up your goddamned minds? Do we go or donât we?â
Jac heard a commotion among the refugees and turned. Nezir had pushed his stocky frame through the crowd and was shouting in Bosnian at the first soldier. The soldier hollered back, motioning to the carrier and the refugees.
Nezir fell silent. He wiped the sweat from his brow and dropped his hand to his hip. His eyes shifted between Jac, Maarten, and the sergeant. Jacâs gaze drifted down. Nezirâs fingers had unbuttoned the clasp of his holster and his hand was grasping the butt of his pistol.
Jac looked up. Nezirâs eyes had moved back to the first Bosnian soldier and, without a word, Nezir raised the pistol and shot the soldier in the head.
Jac sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled backwards, bumping into Maarten.
âJesus!â
The second soldier swung his rifle around. Nezir shifted his aim and shot him in the face.
Blood splattered Janssen.
Nezir shouted at his men; muzzles lowered and the soldiers trudged away. Nezir turned to Janssen.
âNow Sergeant, you can go to Potocari,â he said. âMy soldiers will not stop you. So, please, take my family and go.â
Nezir jammed his pistol back in the holster, patted the sergeant once on the shoulder, and walked over to his family. He kissed his wife and hugged his children then vanished into the crowd.
âMy God,â Jac said, staring at the two bodies.
Janssen wiped the blood from his cheek and turned away from the dead soldiers.
âLetâs get the hell out of
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