Injured in Nato raid, Eve-Ann Prentice reports from inside Kosovo
The Times of London
June 1 1999
BALKANS WAR
"The bomb hit. I thought I was dead"
The bomb exploded a few yards in front and to the left of me. That was the moment
I thought I was dead.
I heard a phenomenal noise and thought it was the last thing I would hear on
Earth. I was thrown to the ground, and was amazed when the thick grey-black smoke
cleared to discover that I was still alive.
We were deep in southwest Kosovo near the front line heading for Prizren, not far
from the Albanian and Macedonian borders. There had been two cars with five
journalists and two drivers, one of whom was also the translator. When we had
first reached a road tunnel about four miles from Prizren it was obvious it had
recently been bombed. There was rubble all over the road, which was impassable. We
decided to abandon the car, clamber over the rubble and make our way by foot into
Prizren.
We spent about three hours in Prizren. When we hitched a lift back to the tunnel
we found there were two of them side by side, about 30 yards apart. But both were
impassable.
They seemed to be normal mountain road tunnels. But they were a newly strategic
target because they were the last relatively safe route for the Yugoslav Army to
travel from Pristina and other cities to the border region.
We had just started making our way back across the rubble on foot when the sound
of jets, which had been fairly constant, suddenly screeched far louder. At that
moment we all just knew we were going to be bombed. We had nowhere to run; nowhere
to hide. The remains of the nearest tunnel looked a death trap because of the
danger of it falling in on top of us. The nearby riverbank was far too exposed.
The burnt-out wreckage of a military vehicle was still smouldering in the
undergrowth.
Then the first bomb hit.
We all scattered. Almost immediately came the sound of another jet diving. By this
time, three of us had run into the opening of the nearest tunnel. Most of us were
shouting and screaming - trying to find the safest place to go. There was simply
nowhere.
Then the second bomb hit and that was the moment I thought I was dead. When I
recovered, I crawled to my feet and a Portuguese radio journalist shouted to me to
run towards the second tunnel.
Then came the sound of yet another jet. At the same instant I saw the wreckage of
one of our cars. It was flattened. The last time we had seen it, the
driver/interpreter, Nebojsha Radojevic, had been inside. The Portuguese and I
scrambled into the undergrowth and found a water culvert about six feet in
diameter. We began to crawl in, when the unrelenting whine of another impending
bombardment pierced the air. My colleague wanted to go deep in the culvert. I was
afraid of being buried alive.
We compromised and hid by the entrance. The sound of four explosions was hideously
menacing. It seemed then as if the attack would never stop. We called to the
others in our party but there was no sight or sound if them. We decided to stay
put for at least half an hour after silence finally descended. After about 20
minutes, we heard a car close by.
Seconds later, two enormous Yugoslav Army soldiers popped their heads over the
edge of the culvert, held out their hands and scooped me up. One smiled a big grin
and hugged me like a father. Almost carrying me, they shepherded me to their
vehicle, where all but one of our party was already ensconced. We could not find
Nebojsha.
Nenad Golubovic, the other driver and hero of the hour for his coolness under
fire, set off to investigate while the rest of us were driven to a nearby village.
Serbs and Muslims paraded out of their homes and swarmed over us, proffering sweet
drinks, chairs and life-giving cigarettes.
Then I noticed that this display of hospitality was occurring 2ft away from a road
bridge - one of Nato's key targets. Two of us begged that we should find somewhere
else to congregate. An army doctor then ushered us into two cars and we were
driven several miles up to what appeared to be a sleepy village - but was, in
fact, an army base.
What followed was one of the oddest moments of my life. We were given some of the
most royal treatment I have ever experienced - and that includes tea at the House
of Lords. In this bizarre world, minutes after being almost killed by Nato, we
were being pampered, and calmed and fed by the very people the alliance is trying
to destroy.
Platters of beef, bread and cheese were spread for us. The doctor tended our light
injuries, and dozens of troops spent the entire night calming our nerves. All the
time, Nato jets streaking relentlessly low across the village. It was only then
that there was time to take stock of my injuries. They were miraculously light -
cuts and grazes to my legs, right arm and forehead. About an hour after we arrived
in the village, a soldier who had gone to investigate the damage to the tunnel
returned. He brought the news that Nebojsha was dead. The troops brought his
relatively unmarked corpse back to the village for his best friend Nenad to
prepare him for his eventual burial.
We also discovered that one of our party, a Portuguese television cameraman, had
been separated from us during the last bombing run. He had plunged into the river
and was carried by the mountain current for about a mile and a half - still
clutching his camera. He managed to drag himself to the bank outside a monastery,
but was initially arrested on suspicion of being a downed pilot. His documents
eventually persuaded the authorities of his real identity. Then he had a
terrifying four-hour journey across mountain tracks to reach Pristina and rejoin
us. He came under constant fire from the Kosovo Liberation Army as it tried to
ambush his police escort.
Also slightly wounded in the bombing were a Portuguese television reporter, Elsa
Marujo, and Daniel Schiffer, the French philospher who organised our trip. He had
injured his arm, leg and nose.
Last night we made another terrifying journey along sniper-racked roads said to be
infested by the KLA and where dozens of Serbs have been shot in the past ten days.
We prepared to sleep in the Grand Hotel in Pristina.
Today I try to get out of this land. At least I can attempt to leave. The horror
of the attack has made me realise even more how desperate is the plight of the
people in Kosovo, caught between Nato's screaming devils and the KLA's daunting
deep-blue sea.
[This last bit inserted by the Times' editor]
Nato said that one aircraft had attacked a tunnel near the road where the
journalists were wounded but denied attacking vehicles. A spokesman, said the
alliance admired western journalists who were determined to report from Kosovo,
but it could not guarantee their security.
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