As he approached the rest of the men, a buzzing sound hit his ears, causing him to stop.
"Get with the rest of them," someone barked from behind, and he continued forward.
A few of the dirty soldiers ahead of him laughed and pointed down into the pit, which demonstrated exactly how clueless some of the new recruits were, when confronted with the obvious. He saw the guards from the eastern side of town walk around the pit to join them. They had the same look on their faces as Sava when they glanced downward.
Marko caught his first look into the shallow trench and fought the urge to gag. He betrayed no emotion as the full scope of the atrocity appeared before him. He no longer wondered about the buzzing sound. Thousands of flies swarmed over the freshly slaughtered corpses; fighting to land in bright red pools of blood, drawn to the stench of involuntarily voided bowels. The smell started to overwhelm him, and he decided to stop and turn around.
He faced members of the same firing squad that had put all of the village's men into a hastily dug mass grave. The rest of the shooters mingled with him, some complaining about being put on burial duty, others bragging about the accurate shots they had fired into the "terrorists." One of the loudest newbies called out to the platoon commander, who was talking into a radio headset.
"Hey, Nenad! How about the guys with the easy jobs on the road bury this garbage?" he said, pointing toward Marko and Sava.
"How about you shut the fuck up!" a stocky Serb crouched near one of the jeeps said.
The man's bravado disappeared, and he started to melt back into the dozen or so men standing around in front of the trench. Marko took in the scene. Nobody was pointing weapons in their direction, but he could see the looks passing surreptitiously back and forth. He located some shovels nearby, which were caked with dirt and had probably been recently used by the slaughtered Kosovars to dig their own grave. Nobody else glanced at the shovels. This was not a work detail. This was either some kind of sick initiation that might involve the surviving women and children, or something entirely different. Either way, he wondered if he had made a mistake. His eyes found the nearest M-90 assault rifle, and he did the calculations, casually looking around. He could put a knife through the owner's throat and get the rifle, but his chances beyond that were now non-existent.
The sound of vehicles broke his concentration, and everyone's heads turned to see two black Range Rovers speed down the road from the east, kicking up a storm of dust behind them. He saw the armed Panthers straighten themselves up, and some of them even attempted to brush off some of the dirt and mud in a futile effort. Nenad Sojic and his radio operator, Goran, jogged to the road to meet the occupants. He recognized the SUVs, and suddenly it all made sense. He might survive the day, but only if Radovan Grahovac, Hadzic's security chief, decided to indulge in his patented sadism for a few minutes, before putting them all into the ditch. He was optimistic. Radovan didn't like to stray too far from Belgrade without the promise of some entertainment.
The Range Rover doors opened simultaneously and disgorged their cargoes. Serious, brutal-looking men dressed in pressed camouflage uniforms formed a loose perimeter around the man who had emerged from the front passenger door of the lead vehicle. Radovan Grahovac stood in the middle of the heavily armed men, surveying the destroyed village and nodding in agreement Nenad Sojic, who gestured toward the mass grave at Marko's feet.
Marko was as equally interested in Radovan as his security detail, and he scoured their faces to determine if he might survive what lie ahead in the next few minutes. As Radovan's group walked toward the pit, his heart sank, and he thought about the closest assault rifle. Maybe with this distraction he could pull it off. If he could get the rifle and find cover within a few seconds, he might be able to survive long enough to channel these overconfident simpletons into a few fatal funnels, which would give him easy targets until he developed a plan to escape.
He found too many flaws in his plan within the span of this millisecond long planning session. He carried the wrong ammunition magazines for an assault rifle and would not have time to grab more if he wanted to survive the first few seconds. Plus, Radovan's entourage was comprised of special operations types that had worked together extensively for years. He could handle them alone, with the element of surprise, but in this scenario, their presence would weigh heavily against his survival. Just as he finished this thought, he spotted his only hope of surviving the day. Andrija Brujic was among Radovan's security team this morning and represented Marko's salvation.
As Radovan approached, Nenad Sojic, de facto platoon commander, issued orders to Marko's group.
"Turn around and face the pit!"
Marko turned his body, along with most of the group. A few hesitated, possibly sensing what was in store for them, and one of the men, a particularly overzealous Nationalist named Vukasin Mokric, refused to follow Nenad's abrupt order. Vuk wasn't intelligent enough to realize the gravity of the situation, and Marko assumed his defiance had more to do with one of his many personality disorders than any sudden enlightenment regarding what was in store for them.
Nenad issued an order directed at the platoon, and Marko heard the metallic sounds of several rifles put into an immediate ready state. Rounds chambered and safeties disengaged. He didn't have to look back to know that these rifles were now aimed at their backs, or in the case of Vuk, at his face.
"What the fuck is going on here? If this is some kind of initiation joke, I'm already fucking initiated. Get your rifles out of my face, motherfuckers," Vukasin said.
The platoon commander ordered him to turn around, and Marko heard a few of the soldiers reinforce the command.
"Nenad, this is fucking bullshit. I joined this group to fuck and kill these pieces of shit. Not to be treated like a fucking dog," he persisted.
"All thieves are dogs," a voice boomed, followed by two sudden pistol shots.
Marko heard Vuk's body hit the ground, and everyone in the line started mumbling prayers.
"Fuck with Mr. Hadzic's money, and you get treated like a rabid dog. No better than the scum rotting in the pit at your feet," the voice continued, and Marko now recognized it as Radovan Grahovac's.
"Just one week ago, a large sum of money disappeared from one of Mihail Kunac's safe houses. This money was on its way to Mr. Hadzic, when someone broke into the safe house, killing the guard responsible for watching the money," Radovan said.
"Evidence suggests that this was an inside job. Mr. Kunac had just stepped out when the money was stolen. I arrived with a small group to personally collect this money, no more than thirty minutes after the hit. The poor shit assigned to watch the money was still fucking warm when we got there. This is all too much of a coincidence for me, and you can only imagine my embarrassment. I'm ultimately responsible for this money, and having to explain to the loss of nearly fifty thousand dollars to Mr. Hadzic is not a pleasant experience!"
Fifty-three thousand, two hundred and eighty dollars to be exact.
"I had to front this fucking money to keep my own head from showing up at his feet! I haven't had a theft like this in over three years, so what's changed? We bring on a fresh batch of recruits, and I suddenly have a fucking major theft on my hands. I want this money back, and one of you pieces of shit knows exactly where to find it! Someone better start talking, or every one of you will end up in that pit…blamed for the worst massacre in recent history."
Time stood still, silent for several moments, until another gunshot broke the quiet, startling all of them. Marko felt a warm spray hit the left side of his face, and a large volume of thick, dark red fluid bathed the filthy corpses directly below him in the pit. Time slowed even further for Marko as he registered the absolute insanity of the moment. He was actually standing in a line of men about to be executed by a stark raving mad lunatic, and very little stood between his own death and salvation. His thoughts came quickly and clearly, almost serenely, as the man's body was kicked into the pit before it could even fall to the earth.