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Even as it ad-libbed adjustments, the West, led by President Clinton, put on a brave face, insisting the alliance's unity, patience and determination would not crack. "Just remember, everybody, we knew we were going to take some hits on this," Clinton reminded his inner circle. "We knew this going in, so we've got to stay the course." But outside the White House, it was hard to understand what "the course" now was. As bombs kept falling, refugees kept fleeing and Milosevic refused to budge, it was no longer clear what a NATO victory would look like or whether anyone knew how to get there.
If the U.S. and Europe were shaken by the slow progress of the air war, Serbs were solid in their defiance, and Milosevic surely felt stronger than ever, cast as the nation's plucky savior. The bombing effectively silenced most of his opposition, and he shut down or intimidated anyone else who still had a mind to speak out. Proudly painting targets on their shirts and buildings, the young of Belgrade rallied for Slobo in the same streets and squares where protesters had marched two years ago to throw him out. Serbs who danced in jubilation on the wreckage of a U.S. F-117A gloated a few days later at the capture of the three American soldiers. That propaganda coup was followed by another when Milosevic appeared on television in the company of moderate Albanian leader Ibrahim Rugova--once rumored to be dead or in hiding. Milosevic claimed that together they were calling for a political solution, but the tape may have been old footage from some previous meeting.
As Milosevic closed in on his objectives in Kosovo, he also turned his attention to Montenegro, Serbia's restive partner in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. The state, which sits between landlocked Serbia and the Adriatic, has refused to support Milosevic. Late last week Milosevic replaced the state's top general with a loyal crony and threatened a military coup to unseat the pro-Western elected government. Montenegrins feared they too would be engulfed in civil war.
Through it all, Washington gave off an impression of disarray. The White House engaged in semantic jujitsu: Was this war, was it not? Was this genocide, was this not? Clinton worked hard to project the image of a resolute leader, but confidence was no substitute for answers.
Perhaps the most astonishing reality to confront was that the largest NATO military action in the alliance's 50-year history offered scant relief for the crude savaging of Kosovo. Officials doggedly insisted the "cumulative effect" of NATO's bombardment was starting to tell on the Serb war machine. They also said the late-week strikes against Belgrade itself were only a beginning. Even though many in NATO were nervous about bombing a European capital, the images of Belgrade buildings on fire was the first p.r. victory for the allies--and it made them hungry for more. As planners unleashed a broader weekend bombing campaign, they still believed air power could keep Milosevic from sweeping the province clean of ethnic Albanians. But as the human tide continued to flood out of Kosovo, the alliance could offer little but grim hope that anything they were doing could stop it.
THE NIGHTMARE SCENARIO