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Page 4 · column 5 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
People seemed eager just to touch us. To hear us. To somehow sense that there is indeed a civilization beyound this living hell.
It was little better outside the cellars. Streets running toward the river offered clear fields of fire to snipers on the hill in west Mostar. Walkers trudge along the crossing streets until, arriving at an intersection, they suddenly sprint across the opening, their haste denying a sniper the time to draw a bead. We, too, quickly mastered this tactic.
At some intersections people had stacked tires, wood and metal sheets and other debris to obscure the sniper’s vision of ongoing foot traffic.
We went next to the town of Grade to meet with Mr. Mate Boban, president of Bosnia-Herzegovina Croats. Clearly, his view of what is taking place there differs from my own. I urged him to end the siege of Mostar, the existence of which he denies.
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