Lan|zer(s) m. Sing./(Plu,) simple soldier or private
At the beginning of 2014, I had reached emotional ground zero. My long-standing relationship had broken down, which was a moderate catastrophe in itself. To top it off, hidden occult forces were threatening to drive the world to the brink of a nuclear holocaust. Now that sounds extremely dramatic and, for most people, probably also downright wacky—potentially even “pathologically conspicuous.”
Nevertheless, if you want to understand how I came to such radical assessments, you can’t blame a single event for it. Instead, it was a complex process that occurred in waves or spurts. Fundamentally, this grim reality was due to a transformation of my consciousness. The world looked so chaotic because my being was in upheaval. The inside was always projecting itself into the outside world – that’s how I would psychologically break down my perception at the time today. Yet I had once been such a sensible and down-to-earth person. But certain key events had permanently destroyed my old solid worldview. Only where had it all started?
Indeed, there were always smaller or larger shocks in life that put my view of the world into perspective enormously. For example, there was the moment when I realized that Santa Claus was my mother in disguise. This deception might sound like a banality, but this disturbing revelation was, for my childlike consciousness, comparable to the realization that Osama Bin Laden was only a CIA puppet, which served the same scheme as the henchman in red.
This is the principle of conditioning and subtle steering through the pretense of an illusion. In my case, the figure of Santa Claus was more like a kind of spendthrift reward system. According to the motto, this is also a form of conditioning: If you are cooperative, you get something. Not so with my relatives! Their dramaturgical interpretation of Santa Claus resembled that of a terrorist prince and thus did much more justice to the al-Qaeda leader in question.
My cousin was terrorized by intra-family propaganda 12 months out of the year with the idea that a chubby torturer would get him at the end of the year. Santa Claus would initiate the Last Judgment to retaliate for all his accumulated transgressions in an orgy of rod strikes. This figure had godlike powers and saw everything! In case of serious misconduct, my uncle would sometimes let Santa’s face mask peek out from behind some corner, which would send my cousin into sheer panic. Ergo, it did not have to be necessarily (un)holy evening for the horror to strike. Therefore, terror level 3 was a common condition for cousin Mario for 12 months.
As usual, I do not want to judge whether this form of pedagogy was really sensible or morally justified. After all, my cousin has become a pretty good character. I am more interested in the patterns and mechanisms with which people bring other individuals under manipulative control. Specifically, I would like to explain the instrumentalization of mirages.
With the help of such illusions, individuals, as well as the entire human collective, are conditioned and consequently controlled by the authorities. I will discuss the terror prince with turban later, but its image is also pure fiction. These fantasies create an artificial fear, and the System can use dread to control people effectively.
Basically, in my opinion, it should be the case that we gain experience throughout our lives. This process includes recognizing patterns and programming that are used to manipulate us. However, it looks like the learning curve for the majority of people slopes flatter and flatter with age. In the end, it even seems to buckle rapidly. Individuals thus become incapable of overcoming their worn-out beliefs, and fictions retain its power. But this is not obligatory.
After the great childhood revelations, I already had a quite solidly established worldview. Nothing moved about it for a long time. I think I had a relatively “reasonable” idea of reality. However, when I entered basic military service in 1999, my flattened awareness curve was able to register the first new impulses.
I was still serving in the Bundeswehr from the end of the following year. After my basic military service, I was now stationed in Sarajevo as part of the SFOR contingent. I was a willing servant of the System because it knew my acute weakness: It lured me out of everyday life, and I had a thirst for adventure! Admittedly: The luxuriant payment had waved likewise. I was young and needed the money. To express it a little differently, and from today’s perspective, I would say that I was stupid enough to fall into the first best trap of the System.
The System had lulled me, and so I prostituted myself beyond regular military service. Similar to the first years in the career of a port hooker, it was a time when many naive notions went overboard. The most decisive episode took place in Mostar. My company was transferred to this part of Bosnia at that time because riots had broken out there.
There was only scanty information about what was going on in Mostar for the ordinary soldier. By “chance,” it happened that I became the driver of a major. This officer was the direct liaison between the French General Staff, which was in command in the sector around Mostar, and the German units. Since the major and I harmonized quite amicably, I got hold of information that generally never reached my military ranks. After all, I was only a plain lancer, as they called a lance corporal with 3 “fries” on his shoulder in internal Bundeswehr jargon.
The situation presented itself to me as follows: Mostar was dominated by ethnic Croats, but the city belonged to Bosnia. Since Croatia itself had suffered little from the war in the Balkans and tourism was booming again in 2001, the spiritual home and wealth for the majority of the inhabitants lay on the other side of the nearby border. No wonder many citizens would have liked to integrate their city into the neighboring country.
The people on the other side obviously felt the same way, which, according to the senior SFOR leadership, was catalyzed by ample financial support from Croatia. Accordingly, “radical separatist groups” that were causing turmoil in Mostar were receiving monetary contributions of unknown amounts and were thus endangering the peace. This situation brought the UN into play, drawing an unfavorable borderline from the Croatian perspective.
In the meantime, the UN had tracked down the groups of troublemakers and their accounts. In the summer of 2001, they were determined to turn off the money tap finally. All they had to do was walk right into Mostar’s central bank and end the spook.
Unfortunately, the “radicals” got wind of this, and – according to the SFOR leadership – these subversive elements ambushed the UN officials in the bank. Thus, they stopped any intervention in the accounts and immediately took the UN people hostage. That was the official narrative within the NATO forces. We were dealing with a bank robbery, so to speak, in which the UN’s most official bank robbers themselves became hostages of the robbed. It was, therefore, a morally tricky situation.
Many Mostar citizens surrounded the bank building to complicate the situation further, precluding any classic action by international law enforcement forces. The French units in the sector were overwhelmed by the case and called in reinforcements from other parts. This situation was the beginning of a confrontation that led to my company being drawn into this drama.
The following day, a massive convoy was assembled in Sarajevo to drive to Mostar in 4 hours. The aim was to settle the matter quickly, but this was not to happen that day. The deployment of this substantial military armada naturally did not go unnoticed. No sooner had we left the barracks in Sarajevo than the change in the situation was reported by sympathizers to Mostar. On the spot, the citizens reacted quasi with military logic. In front of the bank, the ring of demonstrators was reinforced accordingly.
Reports reaching us spoke of a tripling of the human shield. Among them were women and children. It was not possible to march through bluntly at a goose step.
In the end, we drove back to Sarajevo. This cat and mouse game continued for over a week. In the meantime, our cell phones were collected – on a volunteer basis – because outgoing calls, e.g., to families and friends whom we regularly informed about our situation, were intercepted and used against us.
At the time, I swallowed the story. With distance, I understandably see things in a more differentiated way.
Eventually, all the SFOR units involved hid in the mountains around Mostar to strike on a rainy night. It was highly uncomfortable, and there were devastating downpours, which were somewhat unusual for this region. The perfect time had come. Only a hardcore of demonstrators continued to brave the rain outside the bank. The civilian defense ring became increasingly thin, and there were hardly any women and children left on the ground.
The SFOR units struck. The desperate citizens of Mostar hastily tried to bring in new forces from outside, but it was too late! The trap had snapped shut. The German troops formed a ring around the city and in the immediate vicinity of the bank. The action was in line with what we were historically best at: We took the designated enemy by surprise, blitzkrieg style. The last remaining sympathizers were beaten up by Italian carabinieri.
It was the same tightly organized force that had impressively demonstrated its capabilities at the G-8 summit in Genoa only a short time earlier. The unit brought a delicate reputation with it from there. A young anti-globalization activist died in Italy right in front of running cameras. He was shot at close range with a Beretta 9mm in the head. This incident was supposedly a slip! The guys were considered the créme de la créme in the art of violent suppression of belligerent crowds. They were flown in, especially from Rome, for the operation.
Before the carabinieri could bludgeon their way to the bank entrance, the Germans had to cordon off the battlefield. German forces used barbed wire and warning shots to thwart any attempt by further demonstrators to advance to the scene from outside. There were isolated exchanges of fire with radical individuals. The operation as a whole, however, was highly surgical. Armed individuals or groups were scouted early by American Kiowa helicopters and “neutralized” by German snipers entrenched in the mountains around Mostar. As far as I could tell, everything was going as usual. Special forces eventually stormed the bank, and English troops removed extensive documentation from the building.
The curious thing about the whole story was that, except for the French general, no nationality could say with certainty what was going on as a whole regarding the evening described. Even the German major probably only knew about the outer ring. This part of the operation was no witchcraft. It was exclusively a matter of blocking various significant roads and defending them with the use of force. Even the major had no clue what was going on in the bank at that point. He knew the plan’s essential elements, but whether the operation was modified or how the procedure went in detail was virtually irrelevant to accomplishing his task.
Were there any dead or injured? What happened to the hostages, and what kind of stuff was taken out of the bank by the truckload? These details were irrelevant to the German troops.
There may have been an extensive “debriefing” with all the details days later, but by then, I was no longer the major’s driver, and whether he would have told me about it, I dare to doubt. I bet he never got any more information either.
De|brief|ing noun sing. final mission analysis
By sheer coincidence, I had temporarily arrived at a forward information point. Thus, I was allowed to experience how a major military operation is conducted at close quarters. The realization was sobering and fascinating at the same time. There was no factual information—no all-encompassing picture! Even the mission description before the military operation could have been completely fabricated.
At what point is a person a radical combatant to be eliminated? Is it possible that most citizens were quite plain individuals defending their libertarian rights? Of the thousands of military personnel involved, only a handful knew what was really going on. The rest of the troops focused only on their individual roles in the whole spectacle.
Others, more simple-minded, focused solely on their first official “kill” for the fatherland. Yes, this attitude was also not uncommon there. I often encountered the premise in the troops, the credo propagated downwards by higher ranks, that one does not have to think for oneself. A decent lancer has not to judge but only to act! Indeed, this mantra was softened by various courses on military law and the importance of the Geneva Conventions. But in the end, the clear message dominated that very own rules would always apply in case of emergency.
Despite all the tension and excitement, two profound realizations stuck. First, the deeper implications of the “Need To Know” principle were conveyed to me without knowing it. So, suppose anyone should wonder how serious crimes can be conceivable by states of law and military, or even covert false flag operations, without hundreds of internal witnesses and potential information leaks. In that case, all I can say is, “Need To Know Principle!”
No one asks outside their area what is going on. In the military, everyone knows that they only have to know what they are told. If it is not relevant to the task, the principle of secrecy always applies. Only a very few people ever see the big picture. These people, in turn, have been handpicked over a long period and indoctrinated to be absolutely loyal.
So if one seeks clarity about what is happening in complex covert operations in the world, one should hardly play with the hope that any soldiers will come forward with the truth, e.g., because feelings of guilt plague them. This is unlikely to happen because a clear image of the enemy is drummed into every unit of troops. It took a few years for me to begin to wonder whether the citizens of Mostar did not have a legitimate reason to rebel against the UN. It was only with slowly growing empathy that I realized that Mostar was perhaps a kind of Gallic village that bravely stood up to the superior power of the Roman Empire. Only the point of view was decisive.
The ultimate disappointment of possibly having acted on the side of the oppressors can be an unpleasant experience. The regular lancer does not usually ask himself these kinds of questions. On the other hand, I was often penetratingly conspicuous by unsoldierly behavior. One reason for this was my habit of questioning delicate matters. Another reason was the general military incompetence I displayed. Some former comrades can still tell illustrious stories, but that should not be the subject here. I tried to come to terms with authority somehow. However, there were 1 or 2 skills made me a necessary evil to my superiors. For example, only I could speak English fluently in my platoon.
Coming back to the quintessence of Bosnia: There was a second important insight from the operation in Mostar, which falls into the context of secrecy: Since the military structures hardly say a word about sensitive details, even in the internal sphere, not much is revealed to the outside world either. Thus, it is only logical that one cannot expect any press releases of substance. Therefore, only the third pillar of democracy remains – the press itself.
One has to imagine that I was highly fascinated by the size and violence of this military operation on the edge of Europe. I was sure that such an event would have to produce headlines everywhere, even if the invasion would not necessarily appear on page one of the Bild newspaper – a dim-witted read popular with lancers. Yes, I read it often.
Publications like the Bild newspaper suggest to me that no banality in the world, no matter how moronic, can happen without a raving reporter writing a report about it. That was so simple-minded of me, and my disappointment was correspondingly great. It shook my worldview permanently that these incidents in Mostar were not noticed by the media at all. In my reality, a massive demonstration of power was carried out. People died and were injured. Regardless of this, a whole city was messing with the System! Why was no one interested in this?
Naïve as I was, I always thought that a host of journalists would have to appear on the scene at any moment to bring up-close pictures of the showdown in Mostar. Total coverage was supposed to hit networks at any moment. Fiddlesticks! Nobody was there! When two Portuguese soldiers were shot, this resulted in an official press release, which was printed in some daily newspapers.
Against many expectations, there were no concrete details. Moreover, there were no pictures, and the press mentioned only the injuries. That was all my friends and relatives learned from the press, despite intensive research. There was no remark about hostages, and the article did not mention the bank either. The Internet was certainly not a mass medium back then as it is today, but there was nothing to be found there either – at least nothing concrete in the German language. Could this inadequate reporting be related to the fact that our phones had been collected? Did all the other nations involved do the same?
Was there an information embargo, and if so, how often does something like that happen? These are questions that had not yet been clarified for me.
None of my comrades let on. No one seemed to find the procedure or the circumstances strange. Why were there so many unanswered questions floating around in my head? Were they simply more detached than I was? The fact was, there was an all too atavistic spirit within the military. The philosophy seemed to claim that a professional does not ask questions.
Some apparent contradictions with my previous worldview became clear while I was still in the country of assignment. Other aspects needed more time to diffuse to the surface. A certain amount of peace and quiet was also needed to be able to reflect more accurately on what I had experienced. I did not have the necessary relaxation on-site – quite the opposite. The mission in Mostar was not even fully completed when we were immediately given a follow-up assignment.
I was dead-tired from the exertions of the last weeks and drove the Mercedes G-Class – called “Wolf” – only in semi-trance to a Bosnian army barracks near Mostar.