Synopsis of ‘No Time for Goodbye’

Although similarly titled to some of my previous novels, this book is set in Bosnia during the 1990’s at the height of the Bosnian war. Attached are a synopsis and the first chapter:

The war in Bosnia from 1992 to 1996 was among the most brutal conflicts ever seen in Europe. People could not believe that such heinous and sub-human acts thought to be consigned to history, could still happen in modern day Europe. But they did….

Drazen Itsakovic is a simple farmer; all he has ever wanted to do is to live off the land and provide for his family. But when the Bosnian Serbs come to Srebrenica, his entire world is turned upside down. He is torn from his wife and children and he witnesses genocide. He narrowly escapes death himself but when he returns, his village has become a mass grave.

His wife Sonja and his daughter are subsequently separated from his son and they are imprisoned in one of the notorious ‘rape camps’. Sonja manages to escape by killing the camp commander but as a result she becomes the most wanted woman in Bosnia. She assumes her husband is dead and she has no idea if her son is alive.

Meanwhile Drazen teams up with Bosniak refugees who try to reach safety by avoiding Serb patrols but he encounters murder at every turn and survives an incredible number of escapes in his single minded pursuit of his family.

As a counterpoint, Sefer Milanovic is a Serbian Army Colonel from Belgrade, assigned to the Bosnian Serbs as an adviser. He becomes increasingly sickened by the savagery of the militias and decides he has to do something to stop it or the name of Serbia will be blackened for ever.

The novel is meticulously researched and is based on real events and real people. It explores the interactions of the Serbs and the Bosniaks and the racial tensions which were submerged for years until they suddenly exploded during the early 1990’s.

Chapter 1

July 1995:

Drazen Itsakovic stirred in his sleep. He made to turn over on his side; surely it couldn’t be time to get up already? He felt like he had only been in bed for a few moments. As he tried to move, he felt the pressure on his chest and realized Sonja must have fallen asleep cradled in his arms again. He sighed and realized that all was right with his world. He wouldn’t disturb her but would lie quietly until she stirred. He slipped back again into a satisfied slumber but awoke as the pressure seemed to intensify on his chest. Maybe Sonja would have to lose a little weight! He smiled as he thought; I won’t be the one to tell her.

He could feel a slight throbbing in his head and realized in his half waking and half sleeping state where the headache had originated. Yesterday had been his Grandfather Mirko’s seventy fifth birthday and they had partied long into the night. Toasts had been made; songs had been sung; the food had been superb and he realized he had drunk far too much slivovitz. He would pay for it today in the fields. He realized that it was high summer and knew that would only make it worse. Still, maybe it was worth it. He loved the old man dearly and his wife, Drazen’s Grandmother. They all still lived together in the small country house: Old Mirko and Edita, Drazen and Sonja and their two children Zoran, who was thirteen and little Diana, who was eight. Drazan’s parents lived in the city but Drazan himself had always loved the land and the countryside and had spent all his summers with his Grandparents. When they had gotten too old to tend to their land, Drazen had offered to come and live with them permanently. He had been scoffed at by many of his friends in the city but he had never had any doubts. From his earliest days, he knew that this was what he had wanted.

Life wasn’t easy on their small land holding but Drazen was a hard worker and his Grandparents had helped when and where they could. He had known Sonja from the local village for as long as he could remember. She had given him his first kiss behind a haystack when they were both twelve and they had later experienced all the joys of young love together as they progressed thru their teens. Neither of them had ever been interested in meeting anyone else and they had been married when they were both nineteen. Again, some people had shaken their heads and said that they were too young but that had been fifteen years ago and their love had only grown stronger. They still made love most nights and invariably fell asleep in each other’s arms.

He felt Sonja stir a little and prayed that it wasn’t too early and that he’d be allowed just a few more minutes of sleep. He knew that whether or not she woke, his Grandmother would soon rouse him. Today was going to be a busy day on their farm. His friend Elvir who owned both a tractor and a cutting machine was calling to cut the wheat that Drazen had planted last spring. It had been a beautiful hot summer and they were assured of a bumper harvest. Most of the grain he would sell to the flour millers in the city but he would keep enough to grind flour for themselves so as to ensure they had a plentiful supply of bread throughout the harsh winter months. That reminded him; the butcher from the village was due to call too at the end of the week. He would kill one of Drazen’s fat pigs, half of which he would purchase for sale in his shop and the other half, Drazen would salt and keep for the winter. There was always something to do and there never seemed to be enough time but it was what he had always wanted; to be his own boss and to produce his own food for his family.

He felt what seemed like dust catch in his chest and he coughed to clear it. That was another thing Sonja would be on to him about; he needed to quit smoking. Ach, but he was only thirty four; he could enjoy them for a few more years yet. All the men smoked in the village and it was almost like a ritual when they met in the evenings to chat and have a cigarette. He coughed again and found difficulty breathing; of course Sonja was still pressed against his chest but perhaps he would try to cut down on the cigarettes; yes, he resolved to try.

He half opened his eyes but drifted off again. It must be earlier than he thought as it was still dark. He had detected a flash of brilliant sunshine out of the corner of his eye but that was surely the dawn and the sun rose at what time these mornings? Was it five am? Yes! That gave him another two hours before Grandmother Edita would call him for his early morning cup of coffee. He smiled and closed his eyes tightly. Ah, life wasn’t so bad after all.

When he woke the next time, it again seemed like he had only slept for minutes but it must have been more because this time he heard the steady throb of the diesel engine away in the distance. That would be Elvir arriving for his day’s work. Ah damn it, Grandmother would make him welcome and give him coffee. They were the best of friends and Elvir would not begrudge him an extra few minutes in bed. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol from the night before or whether he had been working too hard lately but he had to admit that he felt very tired. The drone of the diesel grew louder as it approached the farm gate; it seemed to hover for a moment but then faded away into the distance. Perhaps it wasn’t Elvir at all but another man heading to work on a nearby farm. Ah bliss, he could grab a few more moments of sleep.

A few minutes later, the diesel engine was back. Perhaps Elvir had gone on an errand or maybe it had been a different tractor but for some reason the engine sounded the same. Ah but didn’t all diesel engines sound similar? The machine kept moving and again the sound faded. Maybe there were lots of people on the move this morning; and why not? It was the beginning of harvest time. The back of his head felt wet and he realized that he was sweating; another side effect of drinking too many shots of slivovitz which no doubt Sonja would remind him of when she was changing the bed clothes.

My, she was sleeping soundly this morning; not a peek or a movement out of her. Perhaps she had had more to drink last night than her usual few glasses of wine? She was normally up ahead of Drazen although no one ever managed to make it ahead of his Grandmother. He thought again of how lucky he was. There was friction in so many families with in-laws but not in his. Sonja loved his Grandparents as much as he did and they loved her dearly. It helped that they had known her since she was a little girl but still; sharing a home was never easy and he was proud to say that he had never heard a cross word between his wife and his Grandmother in the fifteen years that they had been under one roof.

The diesel engine had faded but now came closer again. Poor Elvir he thought, perhaps he had started already? But no, the wheat wasn’t that near the house so he wouldn’t have been able to hear him. Ah, perhaps Grandmother had asked him to do some other task. The diesel grew louder and he felt the dust in his throat again and had to cough, this time more strongly. He tried to turn on his side so as not to disturb Sonja with his spluttering but he found he couldn’t. He was still very tired but he forced his eyes fully open and tried to rub the sleep from them. It had grown darker and the sun was only barely visible now. How could that be? The sun should have grown brighter; ah, unless his Grandmother had drawn the drapes to allow him sleep. But no, he would get up now anyway. He tried to rise but still could not. He adjusted his eyes to the semi darkness and saw a grey shape on his chest. Sonja didn’t wear grey. What was this?

The sound of the diesel grew louder still and another shower of dust descended, causing him to cough violently and this time temporarily blinding him. He rubbed his eyes again and eventually the horrible realization dawned. No, this couldn’t be, but it was; Sonja wasn’t lying across his chest but a man was and on top of him was another man. To his right and left he could see arms and legs and bodies and blood and brains and gore. He almost screamed but at the last moment, self preservation kicked in and he kept silent. But it was hopeless; he was trapped beneath a pile of bodies with just a tiny chink of light visible. He struggled to free even one of his arms. He prayed; he had never been a regular at Church but he prayed now; he prayed like he never had before. His legs also seemed to be frozen in place but he kicked and he detected some movement.

The diesel now became frighteningly noisy as it made another pass. Yet more dusty yellow clay was dumped into the open grave where Drazen lay trapped. He had no idea how large the grave was. Slowly things began to come back to him. He had been in the fields with Elvir and Zoran and Mirko. The soldiers had come from the village and rounded everyone up. They had initially been friendly and said they just had to take a census of all the men and boys. But Drazen was suspicious; he was reluctantly separated from his beloved Sonja and Zoran and Diana. He remembered how the soldiers had initially wanted to bring Zoran also but had left him as he had appeared to be no more than a child. But other fathers and children had not been so lucky and all had been brought to this freshly mown meadow where the earth mover had excavated an enormous hole. People were in such shock that they went almost silently to the edge and stood while the soldiers shot them in the back of the head. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of his countrymen had perished; it was like a bad dream. They had known the war was on and that ethnic tensions were heightened but it had never been a problem in their little village so they had assumed that the controversy would pass them by.

But then the soldiers had come and there had been no escape. He felt the side of his head again and realized that the wetness was a mixture of sweat and blood. The bullet to the back of his head which they had intended to kill him with had obviously glanced off his skull and had just put a dent in it; but it had stunned him and knocked him out cold and he had fallen into the pit. He had no idea how long he had lain here or how many more poor souls had met their end after he had fallen.

He again struggled to free himself. He fought the urge to scream but he was panicking. Every pass the earthmover made now, the diesel engine seemed to get louder; nearer; lessening his time; reducing his chances to escape. He marshaled all his strength and managed to free his right leg. But it was frozen from inaction and he couldn’t get it to move. Openly panicking now, he heaved against the body on his right and managed to free his right arm. The smell of blood and sweat and fecal matter and rapidly decaying bodies filled his nostrils and assaulted his olfactory senses. The stench was overpowering; but the will to live, to survive — is man’s greatest and strongest motivation. He vigorously rubbed his right leg and managed to restore circulation to it. His left arm was next. He again gave an almighty heave and managed to move the body to his left just a fraction. He now had both arms free but his left leg was hopelessly trapped.

The earthmover made another pass; its closest yet and a huge quantity of earth spilled down on the occupants of the pit, almost burying Drazen in the process. This was it he thought; the next pass will finish me. If I don’t get out before then, I’m finished. He fought to control his panic again. He rocked back and forth and from side to side, building momentum. He pushed and heaved only to fall back again, tears streaming down his cheeks. He thought one last time of his beloved Sonja and his little Diana and his fine boy Zoran and he heaved until he thought his heart would burst — he freed his left leg. It was frozen stiff and useless but he could drag it. He started upwards, towards the tiny crack of light which was all that was visible now. The day had seemed to become darker somehow. He made a metre, then two, then the diesel engine throbbed and whined and came so close as to be almost on top of him. He anticipated the massive mound of earth falling into the pit and held his breath. He was almost buried and the place where he had just come from had disappeared beneath the earth. He coughed and spluttered again and, now covered completely in earth, he crawled towards the surface. As he agonizingly dragged himself centimeter by centimeter, he became aware of the import of what had happened; of the vastness of the tragedy that had transpired. He gazed at the bodies all around him. All of them were dead; there was no point looking for survivors. This was appalling but he had to try to distance himself; he had to concentrate on getting out of here. As he neared the surface, he thought he recognised a flash of colour to his left; glancing at it quickly, he recoiled in horror. It was a shirt his friend Elvir had bought in the market some weeks before. Elvir had worn it today and the poor man was still wearing it. Drazen fought the urge to scream and to go seeking revenge there and then.

He slowly dragged himself to the surface and quickly realized that the day hadn’t gotten dark after all. There was still a bright sun in the sky. He glanced at the amount of earth that had been disturbed and gasped. It seemed to stretch for about two hundred metres, twice the length of the football field which had been here and where he had played in his youth. He could only guess at the amount of bodies that had been buried. This was a massacre; this was genocide; this couldn’t happen nowadays, could it? Had he been transformed backwards in history? The imminent return of the diesel engine quickly reminded him that he had not. This had happened here today, now, in the last decade of the Twentieth Century. He lay flat on the earth camouflaging himself as best he could. As far as he could see from his prone position, there was no one about now. The soldiers had departed and everyone else seemed to be dead. The only person around seemed to be the driver of the excavator.

He waited until the digger moved as far as he reckoned it was going to go and then crawled rapidly away from the pit. He was so covered in dirt and earth that he was unlikely to be seen anyway but he wasn’t taking any chances. He managed to reach the safety of a hedgerow. He kept his eyes sharply focused on the man who was driving the machine. He was shocked as he realized it was Goran, a resident of his small village. He wasn’t a close friend but he was part of the circle of men with whom Drazen enjoyed an occasional glass of beer or a shot of slivovitz or a cigarette with. But why? Goran had never seemed like someone who had problems with his neighbours; he wasn’t a bigot or a racist; had he been stirred up by the extremists who wanted to pull the people apart or had he been forced to do this task. Drazen couldn’t afford to stay around to find out; he needed to find his wife and family and to flee this hell hole, this terrible place, this killing field. This day, which had started out so well, would change his life. The innocent boy who had played all his life in the fields and had never wanted to do anything but be a farmer had died that day and was gone forever. He cautiously made his way back along the track. Tears flowed freely down his face as he thought of the tragedy that had befallen his village; he thought of his polite neighbours and his warm kind friends and his colleagues; all gone, all massacred by fanatics. He decided not to risk the roadway lest there be stray patrols and would instead try to return to his home thru the forest. He prayed that there would be someone waiting for him as he turned off the road at the sign post for Srebrenica.