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

finished saying something to Lazar, who was slightly shaking his head. Lazar, with his gaze upon the floor, considering everything, peered at Reed from under a heavy brow. And Reed thought he detected the smallest amount of amusement, rounding the corners of Lazar’s mouth. Despite diversity of circumstances, a traditional orchestration of friendship was afoot.


Chapter 37 – Mother Nature’s Eyes


“There’s been a turn of events, Sam. We lost our contact in Kosovo and the fight has moved to Bosnia. The Intel provided to us was three months old. In that time, the Serbs have been around the region and back again.” Reed kept pressure on the cord going into the receiver to reduce the static. He was surprised to see there was any reception at all in this part of the country.
“Where are you now, Reed?” Sam asked, with a trace of panic in his voice.
“We’re in Bosnia.”
“Bosnia? Reed, you’re talking about a whole different country. You should have cleared it with me.” Reed could tell Sam was shocked and waiting for an explanation.
“There were signs of Milosevic’s army in Kosovo. Maybe even genocide. Lots of towns were abandoned and burnt to the ground. The people were either, killed and buried in mass grave sites or they’ve joined large groups of refugees on foot to Macedonia. We got some good photos but the place was a ghost town.”
“Reed,” Sam interrupted, “I understand what you’re saying, but you’re missing the point. We don’t have a network in Bosnia, nor do we have Intel there. If something happened to you I would have no way to find you.”
“You’re right, Sam. I should have checked with you first.”
Something Reed learned on the farm as a boy and then in the military, was to instantly admit your mistake when speaking to a superior. You’re always wrong. Once you get the subjection out of the way, you’re invited to the table of discussion. But your time at the table is short, so you must provide your best material first before the command decision falls.
“Are you telling me that Milosevic’s army is in Bosnia now?” Reed detected a trickle of interest.
“Milosevic moved into Bosnia on a claim that Bosnian Serbs were being maltreated and victimized. His forces are arming them and showing them how to deal with the Bosnian Muslims and Croatians. From what we’ve heard, it’s a blood bath and they’re not allowing any local or foreign press in to cover it.”
“Tell me the truth, Reed. How close are you?”
Reed took a breath, “They’re about ten miles north of us. We’re watching a refugee camp just east of Srebrenica. The refugees seem to have gotten some kind of warning that the Serbs are coming and they’re starting to move south. But the ones that are too slow or too weak to get out of the way will be slaughtered. And that’s why we’re here, for the proof.”
“Listen to me Reed, you’ve got twenty-four hours to gather whatever Intel you can and then get the hell out of that country. But I need to know exactly where you are at all times in case your luck runs out and I have to send in another team to find you. Remember, we’re not the arbiter of the Serbs on how they conduct warfare. We won’t mix up in that. We are looking for genocide and that’s it. That becomes an international affair. Now, how are your men holding up? I mean the Italians, how are they holding up? I know Otto is fine and doing exactly what he’s told.”
It was the question he hoped Sam wouldn’t ask. Despite its simple nature, it severed Reed’s buoyancy. The fate of the mission teetered on the substance and delivery of his answer. If he told Sam they’d been captured and their Intel compromised, he would pull the plug and fill in their footprints. But it wasn’t in Reed’s character to hide something like that from Sam. The problem was that Radenko was only inches away. His time to deliberate had expired. He made the decision to tell Sam later.
“Everyone is fine, Sam. Everyone’s fine.”
“You don’t sound so sure, Reed. What’s really going on?”
He was caught, but the timing still wasn’t right. “There have been some setbacks.” admitted Reed. “But we’re okay.”
Reed knew what to expect next. There were a series of duress code words used to determine if a Marine’s answers were forced: Eisenhower = Are your answers forced? Roosevelt = Is the enemy within hearing range? Queens = Yes. Brooklyn = No.
Sam started the exchange, “Eisenhower?”
Reed knew the long pause would concern Sam, “Brooklyn.”
Sam quickly fired back with, “Roosevelt?”
“Queens.” replied Reed.
“Reed, I’m sending someone in after you.”
“Brooklyn.” answered Reed. “It will derail the mission. We’ll manage.”
“I don’t like the way you sound, Reed. Get some distance and we’ll talk again. Remember, twenty-four hours and you’re out. Just be careful. And Reed, don’t forget what it means to be an American. Don’t forget what it means to be a Marine. We’re depending on you.”
“I won’t forget, Sam. Thank you.”
Commissioned or not, Reed and Sam both knew that a Marine would always bleed red, white and blue.
Florentine was the first to hop out of the van, then Reed, followed by Radenko.
“Do they know where you are, America?” Radenko asked, as his GI boots hit the ground with a thud.
“Yes.”
“Are they sending anyone after you?”
“No worries, Radenko. We’re on our own out here. I’m just not sure what’s next. We still have a mission to complete, but I don’t want to push my luck with Lazar.”
“You have to understand, America, It was a hard thing that the Corporal did and he doesn’t want to learn that it was for nothing.”
“I understand, Radenko.” acknowledged Reed, but not necessarily conceding to the admonishment.
Reed lagged a little behind to reposition a board over the opening of the shed. Radenko seemed not to care much about the distance. As Reed turned around, the dense green smear under the horizon caught his eye. The forest seemed to be stretching its limbs after a satisfying, mid-day nap. But a peculiar feeling quickly assembled in the brisk, unsheltered wind. Reed caught up to Florentine and Radenko, who were already near the house. Perhaps it was the insecurity of openness; the thought that somebody might be watching them. Then, the suspected, vast unknown opened its mouth and a ghostly hiss raced through them. The sound, immediate and razor-sharp, collided with the smooth surfaces of Reed’s skin, erecting an army of goose bumps. What happened next petrified him. Florentine’s body distorted and was hurled against the house, a spatter of blood on the bricks above him. Before the earth fully supported his body again, the distant echo of gunshots cracked in succession.
Despite an adrenaline charged impulse to dive for cover, Reed found himself stooped over Florentine. He grabbed his belt at the middle of his back, dragging Florentine’s folded body like a rag doll, toward the doorway of the house. Radenko duck-walked backwards, following them to the door. He kept his rifle pointed at the mass of trees in the distance.

************

Goran sucked in the moist scent of the evergreens. He checked his watch. One minute and fifteen seconds he had held his breath for steadiness. He sat back away from the gun and leaned against a tree, easing his exhausted posture. He reached for a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket; something he’d waited so patiently for. Goran brought the cigarette to his mouth. The paper absorbed the moisture on his lip, allowing it to suspend there while he struck the match, no longer worried the spark would give away his position.
Goran watched each little cloud dissipate in front of him, waiting to see if the guilt would set in. A short time passed and he was convinced he didn’t have to concede to remorse. He felt nothing. Emptiness burst over him like fireworks. Silence stomped around him in the form of a marching band. He was a killer, by every definition. No pity, no mercy, one down. Only half burned, Goran smashed his fourth cigarette into the ground, reclaimed his position and began twisting the cold knobs atop his scope.

************

“Get down! Get down!” shouted Reed, mopping the dusty linoleum with Florentine’s wilted body. He grunted as he exerted his energy into one last tug, landing him and Florentine in the middle of the room. Florentine began coughing and throttling his own neck, which was proof enough that he was still alive. Bedlam and chaos saturated the new, truce-like environment achieved only moments ago. Everyone was yelling. No one knew where the shot came from or who fired it.
Reed began army crawling toward the box of rifles in the corner. Lazar, who was backed up against a wall, pointed his gun at Reed.
“Stop.” he ordered.
Reed blew out his breath, stirring the dust in front of him.
“We’re under attack. My men need their weapons.” Reed tested.
Lazar took a quick glance out the window and then back at Reed, “Who are they?”
“I don’t know.” promised Reed.
“You made a phone call and now we’re getting shot at.” accused Lazar.
“It was one of my men that got hit, Lazar and I won’t let it