Chapter 27. Srebrenica
The night after Debit’s father completed construction of the underground tunnel, Debit was sleeping on an old mattress laid out of the floor of the apartment. Next to him on other mattresses were his two twin brothers and younger sister. Suddenly, he felt a firm pushing on his shoulder.
"Wake up!" his father whispered.
"What? Huh?" asked Debit, confused.
"Debit, get up!"
Debit sat up in bed. His brothers and sister sat up on their mattresses, too, confused. It was 3:00 a.m.
Yuriy handed each of the children a knapsack. "Each of you fit some clothing into these sacks. You should have at least three changes of clothes and underwear. Only bring what is absolutely essential. We are leaving Sarajevo tonight!"
"Tonight?" asked Debit. "Are we going through the tunnel?"
"Yes, we are going out tonight with the President himself! Because the tunnel was my idea, the President is letting our family go out of the tunnel first. It will be dangerous, but if we make it to Butmir, then we will be free again!"
Marastina put her arms around her father's neck. "Daddy, can we bring B.J.?"
B.J. was her pet turtle. Yuriy looked at his daughter lovingly. They shouldn't bring a pet. It would only get in the way. He started to say no, and then his daughter said, "Please, Daddy! B.J. will be too scared if we leave him all alone here." Yuriy looked at his daughter's big brown eyes and turned to putty.
"Of course we can bring B.J.," said Yuriy, smiling. “But I want you to know this journey will be very difficult, so we may have to leave B.J. somewhere along the way. But if we have to leave him, we will give him to a nice family, so that he is not lonely."
His daughter smiled and hugged her father tight. The boys began packing immediately, and Liliya packed her daughter's things. When the family was ready with their backpacks, Yuriy tucked a gun into the back of his waistband. Liliya looked at her husband, frowning, but knew that it might be necessary. When they closed the door of their apartment, it was dark and cold. Other than an occasional gunshot in the distance, the city was quiet as a tomb. The family of six quietly hiked their way across the paved streets, being as careful as they could to avoid sniper alleys, and hugging the sides of buildings. When they had to cross a street, Yuriy held his daughter close to his chest and dashed across the street, pausing to stop on the far side. He asked his daughter to please be as quiet as a mouse, because it was very dangerous. Marastina tucked her head into her father's chest, afraid to look. After going about a mile, while they waited in an alley to cross the next street, they heard a gunshot ring out about a block from them. Then they heard a scream. The twins were terrified. Yuriy looked down. Rkatsiteli was crossing his legs, holding his manhood. He had wet his pants and looked embarrassed. Yuriy put his daughter down and hugged his son. He looked him in the eye, and said, "It is OK, Telly. Do not be afraid. Daddy will protect you."
"I peed in my pants, Daddy."
"That is OK, son. Grown men do that, too. We will get you changed later tonight. Right now, you have to focus and be brave, can you do that?"
"Yes, Daddy." Rkatsiteli stuck out his chest like a little soldier.
"That's my boy."
Yuriy picked up his daughter again and the family dashed across the street to the next alley. Yuriy thought of the Sound of Music, one of his other favorite movies, and thought for a moment that he felt like Captain Von Trapp evading the Nazis. As they got to the end of the next alley, a young man met them, and escorted them down the dirt road to the small apartment where the tunnel entrance was located. When they got inside, the President of Bosnia-Herzegovina, in his wheelchair, and his wife, were waiting for them, along with about ten other families and about forty loyal Bosnian troops. Yuriy introduced his sons and daughter to the President, who greeted them with strong handshakes.
"Debit, what we do tonight we do for our country. I am proud to have you with me on this journey."
"Yes, sir," said Debit, star-struck at meeting the President.
Some of the Army soldiers went in first, followed by the President and his wife, and then Yuriy's family. The tunnel, which looked like a coal mine with its thick wooden timbers framing the pathway every five feet, glowed from the red gasoline lamps hung on wall hooks. The tunnel angled downward at a slope, which was difficult for the President's wheelchair, but a strong soldier held the back of the wheelchair, making sure it did not go careening down the shaft like a rollercoaster car out of control. After a ways, the tunnel straightened out. It was stiflingly hot in the tunnel. Yuriy's family quickly stripped off their coats and carried them. Marastina carried her turtle in front of her, assuring B.J. that everything would be okay. The tunnel was only three thousand feet long, less than a mile, but with the slow pace of the President's wheelchair, and the occasional stops to make sure they were not making too much noise, it took over an hour to get through the tunnel. By the time they got near the exit, Yuriy was drenched in sweat. Debit and his brothers, who had good endurance from their lifetime of running, were holding up fine. When they finally took their first steps into the wine cellar on the far end, Liliya was elated and hugged her husband. For the first time in a very long time, she saw real hope for her family.
The group ascended the stairs and, with soldiers keeping a careful lookout, walked into the windy streets of Butmir. Debit noticed that none of the buildings were damaged, and he took this as a welcome sign. Yuriy's family, along with the other ten families, walked to the far edge of Butmir, where they met a farmer with a large open-bed truck for carrying produce. He was going to transport them safely away from Sarajevo. The men, women and children got into the back of the truck, and the farmer covered them all with a burlap cover. The truck rumbled north and east through Bosnia for several hours. Yuriy's family was finally free!
When they stopped for gas, the farmer went to the back of the truck and took off the cover. He was convinced they were in a safe area now. Yuriy asked the farmer where they were going.
"We go to Srebrenica," said the man. Yuriy was worried when he heard the destination.
"Srebrenica? I heard that the Serbs have attacked there."
"Yes, there have been many attacks, but three days ago, the U.N. declared the Drina Valley of Bosnia a 'safe area' under U.N. protection."
"The U.N., have they sent soldiers to protect Srebrenica?" asked Yuriy.
"Yes. You can recognize them by their light blue helmets."
"Are they Americans?"
"No, mostly Dutch at this point, although we hear on television every day that President Clinton will be protecting us. When he ran for President, he promised he would protect Bosnia, but so far all we have heard is a lot of talk. Bush, Clinton, they are all the same, these Americans. A lot of talk and no action. Same goes for the British. We have almost three hundred towns in northern Bosnia wiped out by the Serb Army. These Serbs, they are animals. They rape the women. They take the men and boys, line them up and slaughter them all with machine gun fire. They are as bad as the Nazis."
"How many are in Srebrenica now?"
"Over fifty thousand. People are coming here from everywhere."
"We are from Makarska in Croatia. Is there any way we could get transport there?"
"Not unless you have a death wish," said the farmer. “The Serbian Army is everywhere. They have every road closed. Srebrenica is the only safe place to go."
Yuriy went to the back of the truck and told his wife the news. He assured her with a smile that everything was going to work out, but inside he was not so sure. A half hour later, when the big produce truck finally rumbled into Srebrenica, Yuriy was shocked at what he saw. The village was in ruins, the result of months of mortar shelling. People lined the streets everywhere. Dirty people with filthy faces and filthy bodies. Debit looked around and was distraught.
"Father, I thought we were finally going home? What is this place?"
"This is only temporary, Debit. Soon, the Americans will come and save us."
"How long do you think we will have to stay here?" asked Debit. Liliya looked at her husband for the answer. She did not want to stay either.
"A month or two, I would think. Pretty soon the Americans will get involved, and when that happens, Milosevic will retreat. The Serbs would be no match for the American armies. They are the best in the world."
Yuriy and his family stayed in a burned out building, with no rooms, no furniture, no appliances, no electricity, and no running water. There was no work to be had. Yuriy's family, like the other refugees, relied on donations of food and water from the U.N., the Red Cross, and humanitarian organizations. B.J. the turtle died within the first month at Srebrenica. Within the next month, Serb forces began cutting off supplies to the city. Relief donations came in shorter and shorter supply. There was no way in or out of the city.
Yuriy and his family lived in poverty and desperation within Srebrenica for the next eighteen months. Liliya complained bitterly and often to Yuriy that they should have never left Sarajevo. They should have never left Makarska, for that matter. For his part, Yuriy's once bright outlook turned dark and bleak. Like his wife, he too, had a bitter outlook. It was not his fault they left Makarska. It was that damned virus. If it weren't for that little bug, his family would be living the high life in Makarska. And Yuriy, becoming ever more cynical, blamed the Americans. Those goddamn Americans. They knew the situation here. They had satellites, for Christ's sake. What was taking the Americans so long? He prayed every day that the Americans would get involved. He saw that as their only hope. Debit often heard his parents' complaints. Although he did not understand much about Americans, he learned from his father that Americans were to blame for all of this. The Americans and that stupid virus.
Debit spent his days running across the city, looking in vain for food. Occasionally, he arrived just as a new shipment of food would arrive. Debit would stand by the truck with over a thousand other young boys and men and dive for the chunks of bread being thrown from the truck by the Dutch soldiers. When he snagged a few pieces of bread, he would sprint madly back to the building to give the food to the family. For Debit, he hated these Dutch U.N. peace keepers much more than the Americans. He would often hear them talking by their trucks, smoking cigarettes. "No teeth? A mustache? Smells like my ass? Meet Miss Bosnia!" Graffitti on the walls sprayed by the Dutch said things like "Bosnian women smell like pigs." He was convinced that these Dutch soldiers did not give a damn about the people starving in the town.
On July 11, 1995, the Serbian Army began massing at the edge of town. The Serbian Army, directed by General Ratko Mladić, marched into Srebrenica, determined to exterminate the Bosniak Muslims in the village. While Yuriy and his family were Catholic Croats, he knew the Serbs would make no distinction. Yuriy quickly gathered his family and, along with 20,000 to 25,000 Bosniaks, fled to the nearby town of Potocari, where the U.N. had established a supposedly protected refugee camp. The July heat was stifling. There was very little room. Panicked civilians smashed their way against the soldiers, hoping to be protected.
Yuriy gathered with his family and hundreds of other refugees behind an equipment shed inside the compound. Debit, the twins, and little Marastina were huddled together, absolutely terrified. That night, Serbian soldiers with guns went through the crowd, grabbing men and boys away as their wives and daughters screamed and pleaded. At 2:00 a.m. that night, Debit saw haystacks only a few hundred feet away which were burning. He crawled away from his parents to the edge of the equipment building to get a better look. In the light from the haystack fires, he saw rows and rows of men being led out into a field. What were they doing out there? Why were they all standing in a line? Then he heard a volley of machine gun fire, and all the men went down. Then he saw the Serbian soldiers walking away, laughing. Standing about fifty feet away from the Serbian soldiers were three Dutch peacekeepers, standing there smoking cigarettes and doing absolutely nothing. Debit had never seen violence that up close and personal before. Shaking, he sprinted back to his father and told him what had happened. Yuriy told Debit not to leave his side again.
The next day, on July 12, 1995, stories began spreading through the camps. Did you hear about the two Serb soldiers who took a Bosniak woman's legs, raised them in the air, while a third soldier began raping her? Yes, a fourth one put a rag in her mouth and took his turn. And the Dutch soldiers were just laughing! Yes, and what about those three boys found shot to death behind the red barn? One woman, Ramiza Hotic, told the story of a young woman with a baby on a bus to Potocari. The baby cried and a Serb soldier told her that she had to keep the baby quiet. The baby kept crying so the soldier grabbed the baby and slit its throat! Another woman, Zumra Sehomerovic, told how Serbian soldiers had raped a nine year-old girl, and when her mother complained and tried to fight, they shot her in the head and cut her head off. Zumra had been in shock all morning after seeing the incident. These type of stories continued all day. Later that day, word began to spread about something called the White House, where men were taken in mass groups to be shot.
Yuriy could not believe the Americans would allow this! Where were their planes? Where were their soldiers? Yuriy tried to rack his brain to think of a way out of this. The edges of the compound were covered in chicken wire. He could probably get through the fence, but there was a good chance he would get them all shot. He could try and kill a Serbian soldier and steal his uniform, and drive out, but that, too, was incredibly risky. He decided to wait out one more day to see if a more strategic alternative presented itself.
That night, while his parents slept, Debit, Gegic, and Rkatsiteli decided to go on a scouting mission. They were too terrified to sleep. Debit figured if they snuck around the camp, they might be able to find a way out. The three boys were fast runners, so they could speed across the streets and fields quickly in the dark without being seen. Over near the southeastern edge of the camp was a place where there was a little hill which dipped down and then up. The chicken wire went straight across, leaving a small gap at the bottom of the wire which Debit was sure they could crawl under. Serbian soldiers guarded the fence, but this area appeared to be a blind spot between sentries. The three brothers silently crept on their bellies under the wire and then sprinted across a field another two hundred yards to the edge of a forest. Debit became convinced that this was their family's way out. He motioned to his brothers to be quiet, and the three boys ran back to the spot in the fence. Just then they heard, "Who's there?"
They hit the deck and pressed their bodies to the ground. Each of the boys suppressed his breathing so as not to be heard. A flashlight went over their heads a few times as they heard the sound of footsteps coming toward them. They stayed deathly quiet and heard nothing but crickets. They waited what seemed like an eternity to make sure the guard was not standing near them. When Debit was confident the soldier was gone, he silently led his two brothers back under the wire and across the field back to the place where his parents were sleeping. It was still dark when they got back. As they crept to the edge of the equipment shed, Debit peered around the corner and saw soldiers talking with his father. Debit immediately pulled back around the corner, his back pressed against the corrugated metal of the shed. "Shhh!" he whispered to his brothers.
Both Serbian soldiers wore green military fatigues and black berets. Each had a rifle slung over his shoulder. The first man was skinny and tall, over six foot, with a mangy brown beard and a gourd-like nose that looked crooked. The second man was shorter, maybe five foot ten, with a baby-like face, squinty eyes that were set far apart, and a gap between his front teeth. Yuriy was slumped down against the wall of the shed under a blanket, holding his daughter quietly in his lap. Liliya leaned against his shoulder. Yuriy did not look up, afraid to make eye contact with the men. The tall soldier said, "You, Get up!"
Yuriy did not move, pretending not to hear the soldier. The tall soldier smashed the butt of his rifle into Yuriy's shoulder, making him wince.
"You Muslim pig! I said get up!"
Yuriy put his daughter in Liliya's arms, stood up and faced the soldiers.
"I am not Muslim. Our family is Catholic."
The smaller soldier slammed the butt of his rifle against the side of Yuriy's head, then he talked close to Yuriy's face.
"Did I ask you to talk, you filthy Muslim piece of shit?"
Yuriy's rage boiled to the surface. He wanted to snap the guard in two, but he knew if he did, it would not end well for his family. Around the edge of the shed wall, Debit and his brothers watched in anger as their father was mistreated. But they were too scared to move.
"No, you didn't," said Yuriy, gritting his teeth. The tall soldier tied Yuriy's hands together with a small rope, while the other soldier held a gun to Yuriy's head.
"You're coming with us," said the tall soldier, grabbing Yuriy by the neck of his shirt. Liliya knew what that meant. He would be taken out and shot. She had to do something. Liliya knew what perverted pigs most of these soldiers were. She had heard the tales of rapes in the camp. If she had to be violated to save Yuriy and Marastina, it would be a price she would have to pay. She looked her small daughter in the eyes and told her to close her eyes and go to sleep. Marastina did as her mother told her and curled underneath the blanket. But she wasn't asleep. Liliya stood up and faced the soldiers walking away with her husband.
"Wait! I will make a deal with you for my husband's life."
The two soldiers turned around and looked at the woman. The taller soldier left the prisoner with his comrade and walked back to Liliya. He looked her up and down and then put the back of his hand on her cheek.
"Liliya, no!" yelled Yuriy. "I will be okay!"
"Well, said the tall soldier, she is filthy and disgusting, but if she needs a real man to satisfy her, who am I to deny her?" He grabbed her around the waist and put his scratchy beard on her cheek, laughing. Then he grabbed her by the hair and started to walk towards the edge of the shed where the three boys were waiting. When Yuriy saw that, he exploded. He kneed the small guard in the groin, who doubled over and dropped his rifle. Yuriy dove for the weapon on the ground and tried to focus the gun to shoot it, but his hands were tied together. Before he could get off a shot, the tall soldier pulled out his rifle and put two slugs into Yuriy's mid-section. As Yuriy lay on the ground holding his chest desperately and coughing up blood, the tall soldier walked over and stood over Yuriy, and put one final rifle shot into Yuriy's face, killing him.
Liliya said nothing. She could not think. She was dazed. She ran over and dove on the ground near Yuriy's fallen body, running her hands through his blood-drenched hair. She wanted to say something, like "No!" but her vocal cords were paralyzed. She loved her husband so much. He could not be gone.
Around the corner of the shed, all three boys had seen what had happened to their father. Gegic started to cry out, but Debit clamped his hand over his brother's mouth to silence him. The boys were also in shock. Their father was gone. All Debit wanted to do was to shoot a bullet into that soldier's brain.
Liliya began to cry, but the tall soldier was not finished. "Now that you don't have a husband, you Muslim whore, I would like to take you up on your offer." With that, the tall soldier grabbed Liliya's arm. Liliya was enraged and tried to scratch at the soldier's face but he punched her hard in the face. "You don't touch me, you bitch!" He held her down on the ground and pummeled her in the face several times. When Marastina, peeking from her blanket, saw that, she ran over to her mother, yelling "Mommy!" The soldier wheeled around and struck Marastina in the head with the butt of his rifle. She fell back to the ground and did not move.
"MARY!!" yelled Liliya. She fought and struggled as hard as she could but the soldier was too strong.
Debit and his brothers began crying when they saw that. They knew if they tried to help their sister or their mother, they would be shot. There was nothing they could do.
Then the soldier began dragging Liliya toward the edge of the equipment shed. He was obviously planning to rape Liliya. If the boys did not move quickly, they would be seen. There was a large oblong metal tank here, possibly for water or gas. The tank abutted the wall on this side of the shed. Debit pointed and the three brothers dove behind the tank just as the soldier rounded the corner with their mother. He walked about ten feet, right toward the tank, and then threw Liliya down on her back so that her head hit the side of the wall. When Liliya hit the dirt and turned her head to the side, she saw her three boys behind the tank only feet away, and her eyes grew wide. Debit made a motion to his mother as if to say he was going to help her, and Liliya immediately furrowed her eyebrows, as if to warn them no, don't move! As the soldier took off his belt and pants and bent down to lie on top of her, he laid down his rifle to the side, where it sat on the grass about five feet from where the boys crouched. The soldier smashed Liliya in the face again and entered her.
This was too much for Debit. He crept behind the edge of the tank, only feet from the soldier. Silent as a grave, he picked up the rifle, turned off the safety, snuck two steps behind the soldier and shot him twice in the back. The soldier made a gurgling noise and fell on top of Liliya, bleeding. Debit stood over him and plugged him one more time in the head, just as the soldier had done to his father. Moments later, the shorter soldier came running around the edge of the shed and Debit shot him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
"Come, Mama!" said Debit, "We know a way out! We can get there if we hurry!"
"I must go back for Mary!" cried Liliya. "Debit," she said, holding her son's shoulders. "Marastina and I are not going to make it. We are too weak. We will get you killed. You are all fast runners. Run as fast as you can away from here and don't look back. You are my babies. I love you so much! Now go, quickly!"
"Mama, we cannot go without you!" sobbed Debit.
"You must! Now go!"
Debit wiped his tears, watching his mother limp around the edge of the shed in search of their sister.
Rkatsiteli looked at his older brother. "What should we do, Debit? I am scared!"
Debit was the man in the family now. "We must run, Telly. Let's go!"
The three boys sprinted through the darkness towards the place in the chicken wire wall where they had found an opening. Waiting first to make sure the coast was clear, they dashed with beating hearts across the open field into the woods, trying to forget what they had just seen. They ran for three straight hours that night, never stopping and never looking back, afraid, like Lot from the Bible, that if they turned around for even a second, they would be turned into a pillar of salt. They spent the next three months running, hiding in sheds, dodging behind fences, and camouflaging themselves in the high weeds as tanks and transports rumbled by them on the dirt roads. In October 1995, the boys made it from Bosnia into Croatia. Once inside Croatia, they found an abandoned house with food, and this sustained them for several weeks. In November 1995, a peace accord was signed and the war was over. The boys heard the news over a radio in the house. They walked twenty miles to the closest town and asked if anyone knew of a Catholic church nearby. When they found the church, they explained their plight to the priest. Within two months, a Catholic charity working in Croatia helped the boys to obtain refugee status and flew them to Tennessee in the United States. A social worker interviewed the three boys and explained to them that they were going to be separated and placed in foster homes, with the hope of later being adopted. Debit strongly objected. His brothers were all he had left. He could not leave them, but the social worker explained that they did not have anyone who would adopt all three of them together. The only way to remain in the United States was to be split up. The next day, the vans would come to take the boys away.
In their last night together, the three boys huddled together in the refugee dormitory in Memphis. Debit had a plan. In seven years, on Christmas Eve, when the twins were eighteen, and Debit was nineteen, they would all find a way to get back to Memphis. Where would they meet, Rkatsiteli wanted to know. The only place Debit had heard of from the social workers in this place was something called "Graceland." Debit did not know what that meant, but he knew it was somewhere here in Memphis. On Christmas Eve, they would come back to Graceland. And they would be together forever after that.
Debit was placed for adoption with a family in Seattle. Rkatsiteli went to Cleveland. Later, his adoptive father relocated due to his job, and the family moved to a small town in Germany. Gegic went to St. Louis. They learned to speak English, read every book they could get their hands on, and learned how to work computers. They each excelled in school, but even though their adoptive families were all quite nice, each of the boys harbored an incredible amount of rage for the people responsible for what happened to their father, mother, and sister. And they would never forget.
On Christmas Eve, 2002, the three boys met in Graceland. In the long seven years they had been apart, Debit had channeled his rage into a plan of revenge. When he shared the scheme with his brothers, they agreed to the plan--a plan involving a virus far more lethal than the crop virus that had changed their lives.