Now all three stand as pawns in the nasty Balkan conflict pitting NATO forces against the Serbian-led government of Yugoslavia. It is still not clear how the men fell into enemy hands. While the three were on patrol along Macedonia's ill-defined border with the Serbian province of Kosovo, one of them urgently radioed, "We're taking direct fire. We're trapped...." U.S. officials could not say for sure whether the patrol had been seized on the Macedonian side or had strayed into Kosovo, where marauding Serbs have been attacking ethnic Albanians.
The Yugoslav government initially warned that the three captives faced trial on unspecified charges but later promised that they would be well-treated. At press time attempts at negotiations to free the men were beginning. Until their release, however, the soldiers remain in the hands of a desperate, often lawless regime.
A young man not easily deterred
Growing up in Palestine, Texas, Steven "Paco" Gonzales had never given much thought to joining the military. But after his first year at Texas A&M, when he saw that his education was going to put him and his family deeply in debt, he and best friend Tommy Russell, both church-going Christians anxious to obey the biblical injunction against borrowing, decided to enlist in the Army and take advantage of its scholarship money. "They felt like God was directing them to do this," says Russell's mother, Debbie McKinney.
Gonzales's mother, Rosalie, 40, and his father, Gilberto, 41, both of whom work for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice in Huntsville, weren't happy about his decision. But the Gonzaleses, who have two other sons, Andrew, 14, and Josh, 8, knew that once Paco had set his mind to something, he was hard to dissuade. At Palestine High School he'd gone out for the cross-country team, even though he wasn't naturally gifted. "The first couple of meets he got blown away," says coach Tommy Blake. "But he really worked, and by the end of the year he was a pretty good runner."
Paco, who graduated 10th in his class, showed the same kind of drive academically. While hoping for his quick release by the Serbians, Gonzales's family and friends are confident that his mental toughness, and his religious faith, will give him an edge in enduring captivity. "Gilbert and Rosie told me they were hanging in there," says Debbie McKinney. "They just thank God he is still alive."
From free spirit to dedicated soldier
Back in high school in Capac, Mich., Christopher Stone earned a reputation as a class clown and confirmed party animal. But he also had a quieter, more serious side. When Stone was 14, his mother, Mary, died of breast cancer. His buddies were shocked, since Stone, one of three children of a now-retired Chrysler plant blueprint inspector, had never even told them she was ill. "He was missing from school for about four days before I found out what happened," recalls his good friend Randy Kincaid.
Friends say that after seven years in the Army, Stone had left his high school persona far behind, becoming a committed soldier and later reenlisting. While stationed in Germany, he met Tricia McKinney, now 24, whose father was also in the military, and after a brief courtship they married in November 1993. As evidence of the ways in which Stone's horizons were broadening, friends point out that even his musical tastes expanded. Once a rap devotee, he now also listens to the softer fare of such singers as Paula Cole, Tori Amos and Fiona Apple. "He has matured a lot," says Melanie McNutt, 26, a high school girlfriend who has kept in touch with Stone. "He's grown into a strong man, an incredibly good soldier."
The older of Stone's sisters, Dawn Reliford, 31, a homemaker in Riley Township, Mich., received a rare letter from her brother on March 26, five days before his capture. He wrote about Tricia, who is living in San Antonio, and boasted that their 4-year-old son, Ryan, could already spell the word "Nike." He also indicated to Reliford that he was looking forward to performing further NATO duties in Macedonia once a peace agreement in Kosovo could be reached. "You could tell he was in awe [of the mission's importance]," says Reliford. "He was just, like, 'It's so great.' ".
Following in his brother's footsteps
While on leave in East Los Angeles late last year, Andrew Ramirez told his family he would soon ship out from his base in Schweinfurt, Germany, for a tour of duty in Macedonia. They all realized that for the first time in his nearly seven years in the Army, Ramirez might find himself under fire. "He knew the risks," says his great-uncle Frank Jasso. "If you're going into the service you have to be prepared for what happens."
Ramirez not only accepted the challenge but welcomed it. He grew up in a close-knit family with a deep respect for those in uniform. In high school he was the straightest of arrows, making good grades. His father, Andrew, 55, a computer programmer divorced from Andy's mother, Vivian, 53, a K-Mart employee who volunteers as a teacher's aide, never served in the military. But Andy's brother Steven, 32, whom Ramirez idolized, is an Army vet who became a detective with the LAPD. "Andy was always into the Army," says cousin John Hernandez, 22. "He's an all-American guy."
No one in the family was surprised when Ramirez enlisted at 18 after briefly attending East Los Angeles Community College. Even after Andy's capture, the Ramirezes weren't second-guessing either his decision or the American-led bombing of Yugoslavia. But at a prayer vigil outside a local medical clinic, his mother laid bare her anguish. "Mi hijo [My son], I love you," she cried to more than 100 friends and supporters. "I wish you were here."
Bill Hewitt
Patricia Smith in Huntsville, Lorna Grisby in Capac and Leslie Berestein in Los Angeles
- Contributors:
- Patricia Smith,
- Lorna Grisby,
- Leslie Berestein.
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