Freed Soldier Recalls Ordeal as Serb Captive

U.S. Army Sgt. Andrew Ramirez and two fellow soldiers were relaxed as they headed along a dirt road in Macedonia to an observation spot near the Serbian border. They had been on patrol for four days, and Ramirez was thinking about the shower he’d take on base that night. Maybe he’d even get a haircut.

Then they heard an odd sound, the sharp ping of metal hitting metal. At first, he thought rocks were hitting the side of their armored Humvee, Ramirez said Tuesday in his first one-on-one interview since their release from a Serbian prison last week.

But within seconds, the soldiers realized they were taking fire. They passed a rifle-toting soldier standing along the side of the road and noticed he was wearing a red patch with a two-headed eagle insignia--a Serbian symbol.

At the wheel, Ramirez hit the gas, and the three Americans came face to face with about 20 Serbian soldiers.

“Everything went in slow motion,” Ramirez said. “I figured they got us, they’re going to do whatever they’re going to do. I thought we were dead.”

Ramirez was sitting at the dining-room table of his mother’s Baldwin Park home, dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans, as he carefully detailed his 32-day ordeal.

In the first days of captivity, the three soldiers were beaten and interrogated, kept hooded and handcuffed. For more than a month, they were kept isolated from each other in tiny cells. For a while, Ramirez said, he thought he was going crazy.

On Tuesday, he often had trouble putting into words how he felt during the toughest moments. Several times, he turned his head away as he recalled his emotions.

Ramirez said he is grappling with the instant hero status now accorded him and the other two soldiers. And as his wrists heal from the gashes left from the handcuffs he had to wear for a week, he’s finally realizing how close he felt to death, and how lucky he is to be free.

When Ramirez was stationed in Macedonia in February to assist with a U.N. peacekeeping mission, it was his first brush with real war. Reports about the fighting in Kosovo circulated on the base, and the soldiers started mapping the buildup of nearby Serbian forces.

On the afternoon of March 31, Ramirez, his good friend Staff Sgt. Chris Stone and Spc. Steven Gonzales were driving north through the hills to meet other U.S. soldiers for a routine patrol. They were about seven kilometers from the Serbian border, Ramirez said, when the gunfire began.

As he turned the Humvee around, a bullet pierced the vehicle’s armor and flew between Stone and Gonzales. Then the Humvee hit something and ran into a tree. Thick, black smoke poured out of the dashboard. Stone tried to call for help, but the radio went dead.

The vehicle was surrounded by Serbian soldiers. All they had inside were two pistols and a rifle.

“I knew it was over,” Ramirez said. He said his prayers and prepared himself.

He opened the door, showed the Serbians his pistol and put it on the ground. He was quickly hit on the head with the back of a rifle, knocked down and beaten so hard that the weapon started coming apart, he said. Several soldiers tore off his flak jacket and began kicking him in the side. Nearby, he saw Stone and Gonzales receiving similar treatment.

The Americans’ hands were bound with plastic strips and they were forced onto their knees. They thought they would be shot. One Serbian took a bayonet and threatened to cut off their ears.

Instead, the Serbians threw them in the back of a truck and took them into Serbia. For the next week, the three soldiers were moved several times, kept isolated, hooded and handcuffed, and beaten if they tried to stir, Ramirez said. For the first few days they weren’t allowed to sleep and were fed sporadically. They were interrogated for hours.

“It was like a dream,” he said. “The whole thing was totally unbelievable to me.”

Because of dehydration and exhaustion, Ramirez said, his mind started playing tricks. Once he thought his platoon had come to rescue him, and he began calling out their names until the guard shushed him. Another time, he thought he was in a movie.

After about a week, he and the other two soldiers were taken to a prison in Belgrade. Ramirez was kept for the rest of his captivity in a small cell with a chipped vinyl floor.

He could see a window in the hallway. He watched the light and tried to count the days by memorizing what he had for breakfast.

In Belgrade, their treatment improved, Ramirez said. Their hoods and handcuffs were removed, and some guards were friendly.

“You’re a human being, and we’re going to treat you like a human being,” they told him in broken English.

For more than 20 days, Ramirez was kept alone in the cell. He did push-ups. He paced.

He worried about his family and friends. He sang to himself, snatches of old rap songs to keep his mind busy. He thought about trying to escape.

“I’m a nervous person and I can’t just sit still,” he said. “It was a nightmare for me.”

Whenever the guards would walk down the hall jangling handcuffs, he got the chills.

At night, he could hear the NATO jets roaring by and the sound of bombs hitting Belgrade.

His hopes soared one day when the POWs were taken to meet a Red Cross official and finally received letters from their families. Several days later, they met the Rev. Jesse Jackson and his delegation.

That night, when Ramirez was in his cell, a guard made the gesture of an airplane flying. “Home,” he said, pointing to Ramirez.

Ramirez was startled. “You’re not joking, are you?” he asked.

The next day, he and the other two POWs were handed over to Jackson.

But Ramirez couldn’t comprehend what was happening until their bus reached the border. He was reunited with his family several days later in a hospital room in Germany. “I’m safe, mom,” he said, hugging her, as everybody cried.

After ceremonies in Germany, Ramirez said he thought he would return home, have dinner with his family and take a month off.

But when he got off the plane at Los Angeles International Airport on Friday night, he was greeted by a phalanx of media and a cheering crowd. His mother’s house was mobbed by well-wishers; he got a call from Jay Leno, and free tickets to see the new “Star Wars” movie.

Tuesday night, Ramirez threw out the first pitch at the Dodgers-Cubs game at Dodger Stadium.

“I’m just a guy in the Army who ended up getting caught,” Ramirez said. “I don’t see myself as a hero. My idea of a hero is something different than what we did.”

He said he is grateful that “all those people cared and pushed to help just three people.”

The experience has affected him, he acknowledges. He won’t procrastinate in telling people how he feels, or put off doing things anymore.

He will probably return to the Army, he said, although he is going to spend the month thinking about it. For now, all he wants to do is relax and catch up with friends and family.

“I want to let them know that I’m OK,” he said, “that I’m not a changed person.”