The guards at the docks eventually let us pass and we rejoined the main convoy and turned inland bound this time for the border crossing at Metkovic. We'd already seen signs of the war that had spilled over into the narrow Croatian strip we were travelling down - ruined river bridges replaced by UN pontoons, shelled power stations and downed power lines.

Once into Bosnia many of the major highways were ruined in places and most major river crossings blasted into uselessness. Hardly a building appeared free of some sort of damage, many had been rendered uninhabitable but those living in them had moved to the basements. Large areas were without power, a few scattered buildings could be seen obviously lit and powered by independent generators.

We'd been driving for some time and were climbing over the mountains. Suddenly the convoy pulled to a halt at the side of the road and a few minutes later the lead officer approached us. Soldiers began emerging from vehicles and pulling on flak jackets.

"We’re under orders to wear flak jackets from here on. Many of the UN convoys and vehicles have been sniped at around here. We'll be dropping down into Mostar quite soon and you'll see the town has been badly hit by shelling from the surrounding mountains.

"I'd like you to lock your doors and keep your windows closed and don't break from the vehicle in front. I know you don't have protective clothing and ours is just a required precaution, but you'll be all right. Just stay close."

He walked off but returned. "Oh, and if you do any filming, do it discretely - television cameras have been known to provoke trouble."

We played around with ways of disguising the camera and did a passable job as the convoy rolled on, though the big hooded lens remained exposed. The the road topped a ridge and ran down a steep mountain slope into a long and narrow enclosed valley. Far below, Mostar nestled in the shelter of the valley, surrounded on all sides by high ridges. Only now the valley no longer offered shelter but exposure to attack from enemies on the summits.

We knew artillery in the mountains shelled the town and snipers regularly shot down. We knew too that two UN aid soldiers had been driving through the town and had stopped to speak to someone at the roadside.

It was believed someone observed their actions from an opposing ethnicity and they were marked. Snipers shot the driver dead the next time their jeep was seen. It was later widely reported that he had died in a traffic accident.

As the convoy drove down the long, steep decline to the valley floor we wondered of those living and remaining in the town to face the constant danger of shelling and sniper fire. We saw damage was concentrated in one particular area and guessed it was the only part the shelling could access. As we drove through Mostar it was plain to see that damage was completely indiscriminate. Houses, shops, businesses - a complete cinema stood gutted and unused on one street. Hospitals and churches had been hit. It seemed nothing was sacred here, least of all, human life.

Just beyond the city we ran into trouble as we pulled up an incline into the mountains and back into snow. The convoy halted. For a few minutes nothing happened then we began to see the UN soldiers dismounting from the trucks with their arms at the ready. A number moved forward toward the head of the convoy, out of site somewhere around a bend close ahead.

Ten minutes later nothing had changed. Then we saw the soldiers returning at a prompt pace. The convoy leader approached.

"There's an Afghan rebel road block up ahead with small canon and heavy machine guns. They're refusing to let us through," he told us.

"I've given instructions to all drivers to turn their vehicles across the road and would like you to do the same please. We've told the rebels that if they won't let us through, then we'll just sit here and block this road for as long as it takes. Okay?"

"Okay," I said.

He grinned back and went to tell the situation to Ken as I started the truck and repositioned it across the road. We thought of the rebels up ahead. Most were mercenaries and some had been known to be ruthless. Most of the UN soldiers we'd met so far had been utterly fed up with the stupidity and brutality of the war and were beginning to be exasperated with the situation.

Nothing changed over the next hour. Soldiers paced about in the bitter cold with their weapons ready. We couldn't see much of the convoy on the winding road and didn't know what was taking place along its length. It was a strange standoff. The road was a major route north from Mostar and also to Sarajevo and nothing was now able to pass in either direction. The convoy leader's gambit paid off and a few minutes later he approached us. "Okay, they're clearing the way," he said. A few minutes later we were again underway and passing through the opened barrier manned by the rebel group. Our destination was Gornji Vakuf.