NO PEACE FOR THE PEACEKEEPERS

By Kevin Fedarko

Mounted on a United Nations armored combat vehicle blocking the entrance to Sarajevo's Marshal Tito Barracks, a 12.7-cal. machine gun points in the direction of Bosnian Serb forces just 220 yds. away. The gun is menacing but can almost never be used, and it serves less as a weapon than as a symbol of the paradox faced by the peacekeepers in Bosnia: they are soldiers forbidden to function as soldiers. "You are not allowed to act like a fighting force and return fire," says Guillaume Grouzelle, a French chief corporal whose job it is to guard the barracks.

That's not entirely true. Most peacekeepers are allowed to return fire if they or their vehicles have been hit. Imagine living with that restriction as you are being shot at every day, and you have a sense of the peacekeepers' condition.

A freckled 26-year-old physicist from Toulouse, Grouzelle serves with one of the three French battalions deployed in Sarajevo. On this particular morning his thoughts are with the 51 members of the unit who were taken hostage by Bosnian Serbs six days before. "I don't know any of them personally," he says, "but I think a lot about them. I believe they must feel very unprofessional."

"Unprofessional" is the euphemism that peacekeepers resort to when they want to say something negative about their mission. Every soldier, from private to commander, is forbidden to offer his opinions to journalists. But the troops have many reasons for frustration. The Bosnian Serbs torment them, humiliate them, take them hostage. Meanwhile, the Bosnian Muslims revile them for standing by when women and children are shot. They must stand by, however, since as impartial "peacekeepers" they are forbidden to take sides.

During his first week of duty, Grouzelle served at a checkpoint along the line where Serbs and Muslims face off nine miles south of Sarajevo. The peacekeepers drew the fury of both. "In front of me were Serbs, behind me Bosnians," he recalls. "And you just knew that if they wanted to shoot, they could." Once, a mortar round landed less than 70 ft. from his vehicle. Under the rules of engagement, he could do nothing.

No similar restrictions hold back the Serbs, who have delighted in turning much of Sarajevo into something like a shooting gallery at an amusement park. "The Serbs always shoot at us," says Colonel Alain Ferrand, commander of the 100 French soldiers who protect the Sarajevo airport, five miles from Grouzelle's barracks. "Every time we go to the runway or other exposed places, we get a few bullets. Usually they hit the ground 1 or 2 m [3 or 6 ft.] in front of us. And they love to shoot at night. God knows why." Ferrand says the morale of his troops is high. Still, he repeats the familiar complaint when he says, "We would like to do more, but we are not allowed to fight."

The views of another French soldier, Stephane Itric, 21, are less qualified. The stocky chief corporal is convinced of the value of the U.N. mission and will sign up again after his six-month tour ends. "If we left, nobody would take care of [the civilians]," he says. He has been stationed at the airport, but is happy that he will soon be assigned to a nearby suburb, where he will have more contact with the locals. Since his father is from Croatia, Itric knows some Serbo-Croatian and can communicate with them. "I saw this country three years ago, peaceful and united, and I wanted to come back and see what it is like now," Itric says. "If I could, I would stay with the U.N. here forever." The way things are going, he just may get his wish.

--REPORTED BY ALEXANDRA STIGLMAYER/SARAJEVO

With reporting by ALEXANDREA STIGLMAYER/SARAJEVO