Bosnian Inferno. David Monnery
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Bosnian Inferno
DAVID MONNERY
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by 22 Books/Bloomsbury Publishing plc 1994
Copyright © Bloomsbury Publishing plc 1994
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photographs © Collaboration JS / Arcangel Images (soldier); Archive Holdings Inc. / Getty Images (background)
David Monnery asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008155216
Ebook Edition © December 2015 ISBN: 9780008155223
Version: 2015-11-05
Contents
OTHER TITLES IN THE SAS OPERATION SERIES
Zavik, 17 July 1992
The knock on the door was loud enough to wake the dead, and John Reeve had little doubt what it meant. ‘I have to go now,’ he told his son, putting the book to one side. The boy must have read the seriousness of the situation on his father’s face because he didn’t object. Reeve kissed him lightly on the forehead and hurried down the new wooden staircase he’d just finished installing in his parents-in-law’s house.
Ekrem Abdic had already opened the door to admit the others. There were four of them: Tijanic, Bobetko, Cehajic and Filipovic. One Serb, one Croat and two Muslims. Reeve knew which was which, but only because he had talked to them, visited their homes. If he had met them as strangers on the street, wearing the same jeans and T-shirts they were wearing now, he would have had no idea. The dark Tijanic looked more like a stereotypical Muslim than the blond Filipovic, whose father taught children the Koran at the town’s mosque.
‘They’re here,’ Tijanic said without preamble.
As if to verify the statement, a gunshot sounded in the distance, and then another.
‘How many of them are there?’ Reeve asked, reclaiming the Kalashnikov from where it had been hanging on the wall, out of reach of the children.
‘I counted twenty-seven, so far. One transit van and three cars, all jammed full.’
‘Let’s go,’ Reeve said. He stopped in the doorway. ‘No partisan heroics,’ he told his seventy-year-old father-in-law. ‘If it looks like we’ve failed, just take the kids and head for Zilovice.’
The old man nodded. ‘Good luck,’ he said.
The four men emerged into the early dusk, the town of Zavik spread beneath them. The sun had fallen behind the far wall of the valley, but the light it had left behind cast a meagre glow across the steep, terracotta-tiled roofs. The thought of the kids and their grandparents struggling up the mountain behind the town produced a sinking feeling in Reeve’s stomach.
At least it was summer. A light breeze was blowing down the valley but the day’s heat still clung to the narrow streets. In the distance they could hear a man shouting