Field of Blackbirds - Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (me reader txt) 📗

The Sergeant spoke with an accent but his English was fairly decent, Reed thought.
“I was just admiring your skills.”
Angelo laughed.
“Sgt. Reed Beckly, United States Marine Core, 3rd Regiment.” Reed saluted and gave a hand in return.
Angelo motioned Marcielli and Florentine over. “Something tells me you know why we’re here.” Angelo probed.
Reed put on a confused look, “Actually Sarge, I have no idea what must have possessed the three of you to practice in this weather. In my country we make snow angels and drink hot chocolate on days like this.”
Smiling, Angelo declared, “An Italian must excel in three things; eating, singing and soccer, and in that exact order. Nothing else really matters.”
“Well, I can hold my own at the dinner table.” bragged Reed.
“That’s a start I guess. I’d like you to meet Private Florentine Roccobono and Private Marcielli Corleon, my comrades, my team mates, my tenors and well, my very best men.”
Both Marcielli and Florentine saluted Reed. Respectfully, Reed did the same.
Reed spent a moment testing each of their English. He was truly impressed. He didn’t think he would run into any roadblocks as far as communication went. He could deal with the accents. Reed saw the wedding ring on Marcielli’s finger.
“What’s her name?”
Marcielli saw Reed looking at his ring. “I call her ‘Belleze De Milano’ and sometimes I just call her ‘Bella Bambina’, but everyone else calls her Marianna. Are you married Sir?”
“Just call me Reed.” Reed decided that he would wait to explain that. “No. I’m not married, but I do have what you call a ‘Bella Bambina’ at home.”
Both Marcielli and Florentine were built like the soccer players Reed had seen on TV. Their upper bodies were of medium build, but their legs were large and muscular. Florentine was a good six inches taller than Marcielli and thinner. His ears were his most defined features. Marcielli’s, was his Don Juan charm, a magazine page come to life, from his dreamy hair, to his beguiling brown eyes, full lips and chiseled jaw-line. It was Angelo who didn’t fit in. He was older, balding and too squatty to be a soccer player.
Reed looked at Angelo, “Well, you’re right. I do know why you’re here. We’ll be spending a little time together in the upcoming weeks. But first I want to know if I can take you all to dinner tomorrow night? I’ve been here long enough to discover the true taste of Belgium.”
“I must put my foot down, Reed. You’re not really the type of person I’d consider dating.” Everyone laughed. Florentine always had a way of finding the opportune moment. “I’m sorry. You left the door wide open.” cautioned Florentine.
“Then I too must put my foot down,” Angelo chipped in, “He’s talking about free food. I hope you understand Flo, my love for food outweighs any dating or gender issues you might have. What time Reed?” Angelo blew hot air into his hands and rubbed them together.
“Let’s start early. We’ll eat and then we’ll talk. I am still waiting to meet Otto Rheinhardt. He’ll be coming with us. He’s on a ship in the Baltic, but he’ll be reporting here tomorrow at 1500 hrs. I’ll pick you up in the Italian Wing in front of your barracks at 1700 hrs.”

When Reed returned to his quarters, he sat down at the table where he had the operation orders laid out. He began going over them again, the Intel, the maps. He even studied the photos again. Reed really did feel that the cause was worthy. And in a strange way, he felt as though the people in the photos were calling to him, even those who were deceased seemed to be calling out to help their loved ones who were still suffering.
That night, Reed asked God for the courage to seek them out, courage to see the mission through and courage to lead his men. He thought of the ring on Marcielli’s finger. It had been bothering him. He knew he was dedicated enough to make it back to Lindsey and his family, but he didn’t know the determination of these men. He only knew he was responsible for their safety, for their safe return to their loved ones. It was a task he wasn’t sure he was prepared for. He hadn’t let that reality surface so early in the game. He promised himself however, that he would embrace the responsibility.
As Reed lay in bed, he thought of Reddin. UCLA was going to be playing UNC tomorrow. It was Reddin’s first game as starting quarterback. How exciting, Reed thought. He would have loved to be there. He knew the family would be planning a huge barbeque before the game. He even thought that Lindsey might be there. What a memory it would be for the family. What a day for him to miss. Reed never felt so far away, but he was proud of his little brother. He faded off to sleep as he thought of football and tried to play out the first quarter in his head.


Chapter 13 – Devos, on Rue de la Coupe Street


Mons, Belgium 1992

“East Berlin, born and raised. I have four brothers and two sisters. My father was a Corporal in the Wermacht during WWII and retired as a machinist in a Volks Wagon factory. My mother was an old-fashioned Arian women, hard to please and easy to upset. She gave birth to me at forty-three years old. She was bitter about the war and bitter that she’d been left all alone to raise the children and work the farm. Her calloused hands won her the responsibility of wearing the pants in the family. But Reed, I must also tell you, I never missed a meal and I was tucked in every night. She will always have my respect for that.”
Otto Reinhardt was a man of good stature with obvious, rounded muscles. He was definitely the largest of Reed’s crew. He had a perfectly round head, which would explain his desire to keep such a close shaven hairdo. The stubble he did have was ash-blond. His large brow muscles cast a shadow over his eyes. They were a faded blue, weathered and cold from years of weighty Soviet inhibition. He had a square jaw and a vertical scar through both of his lips. He looked like your typical breed soldier. Reed noticed that Otto was a bit older than the rest of the guys. He had been in the Bundeswehr for fifteen years. He joined when he was eighteen years old. Reed already liked him. He seemed to have no other engagements, no distractions. He was a mule to the Army.
“Well Otto, you definitely seem like the right man for the job, raised on hard-nosed discipline and work. If we get caught between a rock and a hard place, you can be the bulldozer.”
Reed reached to open the car door for Otto. “Shotgun’s all yours,” He said.
“I understand getting upset with a mixed up meal order, but why bring a shotgun to dinner?” inquired Otto.
Reed laughed, “It’s only a figure of speech. It means you can have the front seat.”
“English is hard enough. You’re going to confuse me,” warned Otto.
When the Italians climbed on board, Reed introduced them to Otto. No one was in uniform. That was Reed’s request.
“Reed, this doesn’t look like standard NATO transportation,” claimed Marcielli.
“It’s a Chevy, an American thoroughbred!” Reed explained as he placed his hand over his heart.
Sam was able to get Reed one of the new Chevy Suburbans that the Officers drove. It was unmarked, more reliable and most importantly, quieter, as opposed to the NATO vans that you could identify before actually seeing them.
“I’m just happy to lose those blue helmets,” added Florentine as he ran his fingers through his hair. “By the way, where is your hair, Otto?”
Otto rebuttled with, “In my country, hair is for civilians. But I am also glad to lose my blue helmet.”
All the men seemed to share the same views about their assignment to NATO as Reed did; NATO was useless.
They headed off into the older part of Mons where the menus and personalities were more authentic. Reed wondered if he would ever get used to driving these narrow, cobblestone streets, swarming with pedestrians. He was still fascinated that he would occasionally have to share the roadway with a horse drawn trailer.
They arrived at Devos on Rue de la Coupe street. Devos was nestled into the town square and was a place that dignitaries and celebrities would often come to eat because of its well rooted traditions. It was where Reed’s unit had celebrated Sam’s 55th birthday. The menu was a little more expensive but Reed was no longer on his own dime. The private donation that the Sam had spoken of was in. Reed had never seen so much money in one bank account. He was even promised more would be available upon request.
The waiter translated the menu from French into English. This was uniquely funny, Reed thought, an American, a German and three Italians eating together at a Belgian restaurant.
“Order what you want guys, money’s not an issue. I only ask that you exercise abstinence of beer and wine. I don’t need any disruption of thought, or character this evening. Tonight we will start to pull our expertise together. Your alcohol suspension will end when the mission is complete.”
“But Reed,” Otto interrupted, “My body doesn’t agree with water. Beer is all it knows. My thought may be disrupted if I have to go without.”
Florentine added, “He is a German you know.”
Reed realized that he was challenging Otto’s culture and upbringing, but at the same time, what a better opportunity to test the men’s restraint and discipline.
“I already thought of that, Otto. That’s why I’m promising you all the bread you can eat. With all the barley and yeast, your body shouldn’t suffer withdrawals.” Everyone laughed.
The table was littered with food; Croque Madame, Belgian Meatballs and Belgian Mussels, Brussels Sprouts in Vinaigrette, Hutsepot Soep(a traditional winter soup), Tarte Au Fromage( a famous Bruxelles pie), and Belgian Tea Cakes.
Reed took a moment to enjoy the company of his