Soldiers Head Into Harm’s Way With Bravado and Anxiety : Bosnia: ‘Sappers’ of Charlie Company face the dangerous task of defusing land mines.

Spc. Ron “Mont” Montgomery fibbed to his mother before he left for Bosnia, telling her he’d be driving a brand-new, virtually indestructible anti-mine vehicle for the U.S. Army.

“I had to lie,” said Montgomery, 21, a Los Angeles native, describing, as he rode the train that would take him to Bosnia-Herzegovina, how he had consoled his weeping mother. “I said, ‘Mom, don’t worry.’ ”

Montgomery is a member of the 16th Engineering Battalion’s Charlie Company. The unit of “sappers,” as military engineers are known, will play a key role in Bosnia, where its duties will include trying to eradicate the estimated 3 million to 8 million mines that dot the land.

On Sunday, members of the unit boarded trains leaving Bamberg, Germany, heading for Zupanja, Croatia, a launching point for U.S. forces involved in the peacekeeping mission in Bosnia.

As Charlie Company’s rail cars rocked from side to side, passing snow-topped fields and trees, or stopped for hours outside grimy rail stations while passenger trains whizzed by, soldiers mulled the future and felt the emotional tug of all they had left behind. Sgt. Byron Harris’ pregnant wife is due to have the young couple’s first baby any day now. Sgt. James Macheel checked his 5-year-old son into the hospital with pneumonia before rushing to join his unit later that morning at the railroad station.

As combat engineers, Montgomery, Harris and Macheel will help clear mines, build bridges, maintain roads and erect barracks for the 20,000 U.S. troops heading for the American sector of Bosnia. But the millions of mines are what make men like Montgomery tell lies to their mothers while privately battling their own anxiety.

“The thing that overcomes fear is your discipline,” said Sgt. Britton Deweese, 24, of Houston. “If somebody says they are not afraid, they are not telling the truth.”

Montgomery, sitting across from Deweese, snorted. “There is a real, real slight, minute possibility that I’ll be hit by a mine,” he said defiantly. “About the death thing--there ain’t no thing but a chicken wing.”

Deweese and Montgomery shared a train compartment with Spc. William “Tiny” Edward Anderson, so named because of his 6-foot 4-inch, 240-pound frame. The banter was fast, and the conversation ricocheted from topic to topic. Sitting with their Army-issued rucksacks, tote bags, bottled water and boxes of dehydrated food, the three soldiers were jammed into their seats--seats that would double as short beds on the long trip.

Montgomery said the three things Deweese cares about are his tool set, his bike (a 12-speed) and his car (a 1966 GTO hardtop). Anderson, 23, of Port Orchard, Wash., said he almost missed lunch one day while he waited for Montgomery to put gel in his hair and blow it dry. Indeed, Montgomery’s interest in his perfectly coiffed brown hair, stiffened slightly with styling products, has reached a level akin to that of Sam Malone, bartender on the television show “Cheers.” He is even bringing his blow dryer to Bosnia.

“This is a standard L.A. thing,” said Montgomery, defending himself. “You never know when CNN might be around.”

Montgomery joined the Army almost three years ago, after he and his twin brother got drunk one night slamming down shots of tequila. Then the brothers flipped a coin for first choice on which branch of the service to join. Montgomery won and chose the Army: his brother joined the Navy. When Montgomery told his mother he was going to Bosnia, she bawled until he came up with a tale about a prototype vehicle that made it seem like the trip wouldn’t be dangerous.

When Anderson told his father he was going to Bosnia, the older man asked him to claim himself as an only son so that he wouldn’t have to go. Anderson scoffed.

“I volunteered for the Army. They pay me all this money and train me year-round to be ready to go,” he said. “And now when they want me, am I going to say no? It’s my job.”

Deweese’s father did not try to encourage his son to stay home.

“I said, ‘Guess what, Dad, I’m going to Bosnia,’ ” Deweese remembered.

His father launched into a pep talk that ended: “Have a good game, son.”

Sitting one train compartment away, Spc. Steven Rhonomus, 24, was honest about his concern. Rhonomus looks like a poster boy for the Army. His hair is carved in a classic crew cut. He holds himself with the proud, cocky carriage of a soldier. He scoffs at foreign soldiers whose boots are not properly blackened or whose sideburns have grown too long.

Rhonomus is assigned to drive a large tank with a snowplow-like blade, a vehicle that usually leads convoys to ascertain that an area has been cleared of mines. As Rhonomus drives, his head may be exposed, vulnerable to sniper fire. Should he drive over powerful mines, he could be crushed inside the armored vehicle or blown to pieces, or he could survive intact, he says. It’s a mission that few envy.

“I’ve had a few sleepless nights,” Rhonomus conceded. “I think about different things. What would it be like after I’m gone, if anything should happen to me? How would people react? What would my nephews be like when they grew up?”

Rhonomus, from Hilliard, a small suburb of Columbus, Ohio, had volunteered to fight in the Persian Gulf War. But instead, to his disappointment, he was assigned to South Korea. He was glad to learn he would be going to Bosnia.

“I figure my daddy fought; my granddaddy did,” he said, “Why shouldn’t I?”