This is Anderson’s first meeting with the Serbs and the KLA. He plans to discuss the Military Technical Agreement, which says the Serb Army is supposed to be out of the American sector of Kosovo by 2 p.m. The KLA, in the meantime, is to be disarmed and disbanded. The Serbs want to sit down at a table, but there isn’t one at the deserted gas station, so the group goes behind the building to negotiate. Anderson taps the pistol strapped to Male’s thigh. “That has to go,” he says. “The only guys here that have weapons are KFOR troops.” The Albanian shuffles and scowls.
After a half hour of Anderson’s explaining to Male that he can’t have a gun, and to the Serbs that their soldiers have to get out of town, it’s decided that each side should make a list of key demands. At the top of the Serb list: safety for Serbs. At the top of the Albanian one: safety for Albanians. Through his Brooklyn-born interpreter, Anderson tries to reassure both parties that KFOR is a neutral force. As one U.S. soldier patrolling Urosevac told its citizens: “I will take a bullet for a Serb, and I will take a bullet for an Albanian. I am here protecting peace.”
Both the Serb and the Albanian wish-lists include some strange items. The Serbs want a week off for their people to recover from the war. “No, we’re not declaring a holiday for Serbs,” snaps Anderson. “But civilian law says…” the Serb translator begins sputtering. “Wrong. There’s no civilian law,” snaps Anderson. “The KFOR is the law.” Commander Male wants all the Albanian employees who were banned from working in government offices after 1989 to be able to show up for work the next day. The Serbs, in turn, want the Americans to restore the political situation as it was before the war began in March. Anderson insists that he’s here to keep peace, not to set up a new society.
That’ll be tough enough. Anderson proposes daily noon meetings at Urosevac’s Municipal Building, with one Serb official and one Albanian representative. Commander Male balks at meeting at the Municipal Building–a symbol of Serb power. He proposes a nearby KLA post. “Bulls—,” shoots back Anderson. “You have no post. You have no authority in this city.”
At 2 p.m.–the moment all Serb troops are due to have gone–Anderson has finally persuaded the two men to shake on the daily meetings. Anderson hops in his jeep, and his driver, “Fast Eddie” O’Shea, steps on the gas. By 2:50, Anderson has marched into the Municipal Building and stuck his head out of a third-floor window to survey the square below. Urosevac’s citizens stop strolling and look up in surprise. The Americans, it seems, are the new power in town.
