Culture Military

A Delta Man’s Tale; The Advance of Saint Bono

(Dedication for this write goes to Freq Media brother Alex Green.)

The year was 1996; the place was Croatia; the conditions were post-fall of former Yugoslavia (Jugoslavia). “Yugoslavia”… that country belonged to an exclusive (and very sparsely-numbered) league of nations that I never thought I would find myself in while serving with the Army’s Delta Force. But there was a war there, you see, and where there was/is war, you will find Delta.

We Delta pukes came to serve as a small personal protective force for the NATO Commanding General. The incumbent wanted army boys at his six, but he didn’t want his boys from Germany where he came from, he wanted Delta because the situation in Yugoslavia was just too… real.

Croatian_War_1991_Vukovar_destroyed_tank

A Serbian M-84 tank put out-of-action by a mine during the 1995 siege of Vukovar 

“He asked for you men by name,” consoled our operations officer.

“I didn’t come to Delta to be some old fucker’s butler!” bitched one of the men assigned to the 12-man detail that we comprised.

“You’ll do as your told, Mike!” warned the Major.

“I’m not taking a bullet for that guy,” the Sergeant rejected.

The Major was silent and grim, irritated but silent still. I wasn’t of the mind to complain about where I went or what I did with Delta. I was never the guy in the gym who got all shitty about the weights… I was just happy to be there and ready to work, all the time, and didn’t mind doing it, even if it meant taking a bullet while butlering around the old fucker.

I was the Advance.

The Advance was the guy who traveled out to locations a day before the general and the boys of the detail to scout routes, collect environmental details, handle logistic essentials and the like. I wanted to be with the boys in the detail, but Advance was a singleton gig. I liked working alone, for there was nobody there to see me screw up, and I could cover up tracks if the need reared its head.

“Never say anything to make yourself look bad,” rang the words in my mind from my best friend in Delta, Samuel Booth Foster.

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” chimed the words in my head from some genius on the playground of my junior high school days. I was full of all these acquired pearls of wisdom, and the Balkans would provide the scenarios to put those pearls to sensible use.

So I advanced

I found myself in the city of Vukovar, Croatia. Vukovar was sieged by Serbian forces and was ruthlessly shelled by Serb gunboats from the Danube River. In all of my time in the Balkan states, I had never seen such a granular instance of war destruction. The city had the appearance of a wax city that was built to close to the sun. My, but even the shrapnel holes had bullet holes in them. The whole enterprise seemed to just melt into itself from hate-rendered damage.

I learned to say Vukovar-specific phrases in the language because of my time there:

“Ja sam bio u Vukuvaru jedan put; Bože… puno šteta je bila tamo. Nije poznato koliko  boli mi srce zbog toga.”

The Google translator, to my glee, translates my words in such fashion:

“I was in Vukaruara one time; God… a lot of damage was there. It’s not known how much my heart hurts because of it.”

Croatian_War_1991_Vukovar_destruction

Destruction in the Vukovar city center

So the general, the boss, wanted to see the violated crypt of a Roman Martyr, St. Bono, the patron Saint and protector of the city of Vukovar. In 1995 Serbs reportedly broke into the crypt of St. Bono, doused the mummified remains of the Saint, and set it ablaze. Where’s the love, right?

The crypt was in the Church of Sts. Philipp and James, up on a hill above the city. I got a U.S. Army driver and the Army’s version of an SUV. We two drove up into the hills to the church, the driver grumbling and complaining every cobblestone of the way.

“I dunno why the old man thinks he wants to come to this miserable shithole and gawk at some dead guy. He must think he’s gonna see skulls and bones and creepy Halloween shit… claw hands sticking out of the ground. That dumbass. Why don’t he jus park his stank ass in Sarajevo and sip some milk.”

When he got too out of line in his rant I stopped talking to him at which point he would shut his pie trap for a breath. I got it; the regular army was miserable in the Balkans. Well, I had 99 problems to solve and his morale sure as hell was not one of them. Regular army grunts had zero responsibility and bored me. That’s just how it was.Vukovar-watertower-after-war

Damage to the city water tower by Serb gunners from the Danube River as it remains today a monument to the siege

I stepped from the SUV and pushed my way through the front door of the church. I didn’t know what I expected to find there either, though I was at a minimum less irreverent about it than my driver… oh but, there it was, painfully apparent in the heavy masonry wall to my left.

A large man-sized hole was fractured into the wall of the crypt. I drew near and gazed into the expanse. I saw only shapes wrought by the ambient light. Raising my M4 Carbine I washed the inside of the crypt in halogen white-light with my SureFire gun lamp… I scrolled it slowly to the right, to the left.

There he was; there was good ol’ Svijeti Bono in all his demise.

The interior was dank and stank and was dirty and burnt. There were bones and shreds of cloth, broken timbers and… clay pots… receptacles of a sort? In the center of it all lay the charred remaining thorax of the saintly saint. His rib cage was intact and vertical, still attached to his spine which ended abruptly and morbidly where his head once was.Ovcara_building

Ovčara barn Vukovar was the sight of the massacre of 260 citizens of the city

“Be careful what you ask for,” rang the words in my head. At least I had a head, and then there was poor ol’ headless Bono, there. “Be careful what you ask for,” a brother had told me when I left my then assignment to go join Delta. “Be careful what you ask for,” and at that moment all I wanted to do was punch that guy in the face as hard as I could. At least that guy had a face, and then there was poor ol’ faceless Bono.

“Soooo… here be the tomb of Sony and Cher Bono… kkkkkkkkkk,” my driver smirked as he be-bopped his way toward the saint’s improvised front door. He held a Stanly thermos with one hand and balanced the cap/cup in his other hand, sipping and be-bopping. He did a penchant at the waist to lean in and gawk into the crypt.

“I ain’t see shit!” he bawled.

I raised my gat and gun-lighted the interior. The driver froze. “Mmm… my Lord what the… oh dear God, that’s a body there!” he dropped the cup and put that hand over his mouth as vomit sprayed through his fingers. He dropped the thermos and put that other hand over his eyes as he flailed himself and his vomit out through the front door of the Church of Saints Philipp and James… and Bono.

Memorijalno_groblje_Vukovar

Casualties of the 1995 siege of Vukovar as they lay in the municipal cemetery

I looked at the thermos on the ground and I was put immediately in mind of the fact that the morning coffee at the TOC had run out unusually early that day; why had that been? I recover the cup and poured it full. I sat on the edge of the waist-high breech in the walled crypt of Mr. Bono and sipped. It (coffee) was toward the south end of hot and smelled a hint of vomit; everything did, you see.

In my mind’s eye I closed my eyes and “said”: Dear Saint Bono, you just made a man puke and cry and stumble away from your tomb. Were you really that revolting just now or was that a man weak of spirit and intent? Me, I’m not a man who believes in Gods, spirits, ghosts or saints… but I do thank you for the coffee.

The good general did advance to Vukovar that day, and he saw… skulls and bones and creepy Halloween shit… claw hands sticking out of the ground. That dumbass.

Screen Shot 2018-12-26 at 6.34.42 PM

The charred remains, mainly ribs of the thorax, as they appear today in St. Bono’s sarcophagus

By Almighty God and with honor,

geo sends

Brod_Sv._Bono_Vukovar

A local Vukovar vessel on the Danube River bears the name of St. (SV) Bono

Photos courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

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Mic-Mac
Member
Mic-Mac

Oh geo, that was a fantastic Delta Tale! I have been missin dem George E. Hand IV Delta tales like crazy! I just listened to audio book (read book a few years back) “Love Thy Neighbor” written by a Washington Post Journalist who was covering the war there during the years of 1992-1993. As I read your essay there were a lot of visions flashing in my mind, and they weren’t pretty. Only those of you that were there can truly understand what you all must have seen and felt. But, no, I bet it was not to be understood,… Read more »

Susan B
Member

Liked your comment, MM. And, I would have been right behind you. 🙁

JoniS
Guest
JoniS

I’d be behind y’all. ☹️

texj3
Guest
texj3

Oh poor St. Bono. Now the Lord giveth and taketh away. You,my dear sir, were granted nectar of the gods-coffee! That which keeps me from sinning directly in the morning…oh, but then I get up. But I digress.

A Delta tale and from Geo. My day is off to a grand start!!!

The time you discuss does in fact make my heart hurt. However, Advance—-I can see how that prepared you for saving those souls that you are an angel to now. All things have a purpose.

TexJ3

Mason
Member
Mason

Outside of yet another great article, that gives me a sense, of things I will never experience, and your life, that has shaped your thoughts and drives; we get the amazing background photos and vivid imagery of a past conflict. The bonus for me, was the photo of the M-84, being a minor tank buff, I looked at that photo, and thought to myself “well the rear looks like a T-55, but the turret is odd . . . “, so I googled, thinking “M-84, that sounds murican”, and sure enough, an indigenous tank design, based on Soviet tech, I… Read more »

joyblack1196
Guest
joyblack1196

Geo, I hope you found somewhere to hose down the foolish driver before heading back with his smelly, disrespectful carcass. My very superstitious Great Grandmother would have wagged her finger at him and advised him to never disrespect any spirit regardless of his lack of belief. Joy

Suz Dixon
Guest
Suz Dixon

Hopefully, the Army driver learned a valuable lesson while in your, gentle giant, presence that day.

homanj1
Member

Geo-I always feel like I’m silently there with you when you spin these tales. You have observed and reported in such a way that all of my senses are stimulated.

Mic-Mac
Member
Mic-Mac

LPD256, such gifted writers are rare. How fortunate I feel to have come across a Georgia E. Hand IV article on google that led me to REP, back in the day. Words come together when the author adds heart and soul, humor and humility. geo accomplishes this every time. Hugs LP. It is sooo great seeing your comments in this community.

susanh
Member
susanh

Wow, Mic-Mac! That’s how you found Geo? That sounds like the hand of God guiding you.

Luke Ryan

“At least I had a head…” Haha, that part made me laugh. Great story, Geo. Some of my favorite memories/stories to tell from Batt were not the times when guns were blazing, but the weird, humorous, or just interesting moments — often the small ones.

homanj1
Member

Luke-My experience is that humor is a way to maintain sanity. Those of us that have been around the horror and brutality side of life use it as a defense mechanism as I know you understand. I once went into a bedroom where a recently headless person was laying in a bed. I turned around and walked down a hallway where I met fire paramedics that were rushing in to save the victim. I said “ You guys better hurry he’s in pretty bad shape…” They called me all sorts of names and we decompressed with a coffee at the… Read more »

Mic-Mac
Member
Mic-Mac

Ugg, LPD. Identifying my brothers nearly decapitated body after an auto accident. It had me in a bad place for many years. Knowing the local police, they did the best they could to make him look the best they could. But, I couldn’t get the vision out of my mind. He was 24, I was 34. It took me years to rebound. The District Attorney asked me to be present at the trial as well as family of the other two victims. I walked into the courthouse and when the photographs taken at the scene were taken out and put… Read more »

homanj1
Member

Mic-I’m a tough guy when it doesn’t involve family for the most part. I try to put the horror in a little box to help forget which the shrinks call compartmentalization. Sometimes they escape the box and visit. Hearing about the headless Bono brought my headless guy out momentarily. I will say I about freaked out one time at my kid’s diaper rash. Death or injury of family or friends is different as is when the victim is a child. I hope you also remember good times with your brother and celebrate his life. My kid is 40. His diaper… Read more »

Mic-Mac
Member
Mic-Mac

LPD256-I have been to ER for similar things with my daughters. Ya never know when diaper rash can turn to infection. Right?

susanh
Member
susanh

I’m so sorry, Mic-Mac. No-one should have to go through that.

Susan B
Member

I cannot imagine what that must have been like for you, MM. Even my worst imagination must fall far short. I am so very sorry that it is that memory that is your last. I have many regrets over Buzz’ loss, but I don’t have that horror to haunt me. Now, more of what we’ve spoken of makes sense. Hopefully, you are filling your mind with pictures of the good times and memories of the good times to chase that image back into the locked room where it needs to stay. Love you. 🙂

Don Lewis
Guest
Don Lewis

Geo, been a while, think TexJ3 provided the Freq link to me, via the former SOFREP MiniMafia – which is still a group of like minded folks, led by recon 6, which is a good thing. I’ve missed reading your comms, which have always been great and interesting. I look forward to more!
And may Saint Bono bless you withan endless supply of more better coffee!
oldSquid

homanj1
Member

Welcome to you Squid!

texj3
Guest
texj3

So happy to see you. Blessings!!!

shooten1st
Guest
shooten1st

Welcome Squid!

susanh
Member
susanh

Another great article. Thank you, Geo. Looking forward to the next one.

panzer102015
Member

I don’t know what’s worse, the headless corpse or the smell of vomit, I will have to agree with MicMac and say vomit will turn my stomach every time (except when the kids had a bug and would throw up everywhere and I would have to clean it).
It’s nice to see everyone back. Thanks Geo.

Mic-Mac
Member
Mic-Mac

Irene B, I must admit that even when my kids would throw up, I would throw up cleaning it. Not once did my husband offer! He cut his hand on glass once (a significant gash) and passed out looking at the blood LOL.

panzer102015
Member
panzer102015

My husband would often help, thank goodness, but yep I would try and hold my breath us much as possible or it would turn my stomach.

rynobucket
Guest

I really enjoy these take-aways from a time not long ago, yet far from our collective memory. It makes something that, at the time, seemed far away… but is now not at all removed from this life thanks to Geo’s perspective of having been there. Geo, the one who travels by Almighty God with honor and ‘returns with much’.

shooten1st
Guest
shooten1st

Bravo Geo. I love these been there stories. Surprised at your driver’s reaction but different folks… I’ve been trying to post for a few days but WordPress is acting really weird on my iPad. I know a lot of good Serbs but their brutality during that war is up there with so many other heavy hitters in that division. As always, thank you for the respite.

JoniS
Guest
JoniS

I’m behind reading so I am finally getting to catch up and I’m really late to the party. 😉 Sony and Cher Bono had me laughing. And it hurts to laugh right now. Love reading the misadventures of Geo in Delta. Always humor and food for thought. In this case coffee for thought. A gift for Christmas from RangerUp is T-shirt front caption – EGO BIBERE CAPULUS UT ALII VIVERE.. Back caption – I drink Coffee so others may live….. hahaha….There is truth to this statement. I love my coffee in the morning but I might have had to take… Read more »

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