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

said.

Petrovich started the car and began to drive away. Radenko turned around in his seat and looked toward Milos. He could see the big oak tree just outside his mother’s window. Time slowed down a little. Radenko stared at that tree. He noticed a leaf was falling. It fluttered back and forth as gravity tugged it downward. He thought of his mother. He watched the leaf until it hit the ground. And when it did, he knew that she had left them.


Chapter 2 – Sun of Serbia


Kosovo - Albanian Border 1992

Lazar leaned back firmly against the wall. He glanced around the corner, almost choking on the anticipation as they neared. He could hear the squeaky tank tracks getting louder and louder. Forty-five minutes of heavy shelling separated him from the other men in his unit. He thought of signaling for help, but he didn't want to alert the enemy.
Lazar kept a firm grip on his AK-47. It was cold outside and he could see every breath. Fog settled in the adjacent field and was now creeping toward him. In another five minutes concealment would befriend him. But Lazar wondered if he even had five minutes. He now felt the vibration in the ground. The rumbling worked its way into his body. It was only a matter of what reached him first, the fog or the enemy?
Lazar pointed his weapon. He saw the long barrel of a tank pierce the corner’s edge. Then he saw the black tip of a soldier’s boot. Just at that moment, Lazar heard an exhilarating noise that whistled down to the earth, and then came the crack . . . . . .!
Lazar's head was pounding. All he could hear was a loud monotone, ringing back and forth from ear to ear. He could tell that someone was on top of him, an Albanian soldier. Perhaps the owner of the black boot he saw coming around the corner. Perhaps the man to whom he owed for his good fortune. Lazar ached all over, but he was alive. He had to remind himself what was really happening. He pushed the soldier off of him and stood up to assess his own damage. His right arm felt warm and was covered in blood. He wasn't sure if it was his blood or the Albanian’s.
He regained control of his weapon and began firing. Now Lazar was fighting amidst fellow Serbs. Air reconnaissance must have located the Albanians and called in the barrage of artillery.
When the fighting ended, he made his way through the rubble, in search of his squad. He knew, because of the separation, he needed to report to the Commanding Officer as soon as possible. By now, Lazar was sure the blood on his arm was his own and the pain began to grow more intense.
When Lazar found his Lieutenant, Vuk Brankovich, he was standing a few yards from a burnt out tank, obviously pleased with the accuracy of the artillery drop. He was talking to a few of the guys.
“The Albanians are still using these Russian T-72 junks of metal. I can’t believe they have the courage to bring them on the battlefield.”
Lazar caught his attention.
“Lazar, are you alright? I thought we’d lost you. I was worried.”
“I’m okay assured Lazar. “I was hoping to see Stefan and Jovich with you. Have you seen them?”
Vuk took a long drag from his cigarette and then put his head down. Lazar knew they didn’t make it. He instantly felt sick. Vuk then stepped over and kicked the tank, which was still smoking.
“I swear, for every man I lose out there, I’ll kill ten of those rats.”

Lazar met Stefan and Jovich in basic training in Belgrade. They bunked together and promised to look out for one another. Lazar and Stefan even helped Jovich hide the fact that he was a Croatian national. If the authorities found out, Jovich could have been executed and Lazar and Stefan would have been severely punished.
Lazar grabbed the black beanie from off his head and began running his fingers through his sweat-matted, brown hair. The cinder smudges across his stone face contrasted his bright blue eyes. Jovanka always told him that he had the most innocent eyes. They would tell you all you needed to know. The Lieutenant noticed Lazar’s arm.
“That looks bad Katich, why don’t you pay a visit to the Doc.”
Lazar almost forgot about the gash on his arm. He still wasn’t feeling much pain.
“It will be fine.” replied Lazar.
The Lieutenant took one last drag of his cigarette and then flicked it. “That’s an order Katich. Get it looked at.”
The Lieutenant looked about ten years older than he probably was. He was a tall, slender man, maybe thirty years old. The hair that was not covered by his beret was almost a silver color. His skin was pale but leathery and there was a jagged scar that peered out from behind his right ear and extended into the middle of his cheek. He’d been fighting this war for thirteen years and was going to make a career of it. But the truth was; Lazar knew it was wearing him down and doubted the Lieutenant had another five years left in him. Lazar could still see a sort of gentleness in his demeanor and in his closely-set, aquamarine eyes.
On the way back from the medical tent, Lazar saw another soldier sitting inside of, what used to be, a tailoring shop. Now only three walls, halfway burnt to the ground, remained. The soldier was reading the ‘Slowodziennik’, the Sarajevo Daily newspaper. Lazar couldn’t help but notice one of the headlines, “Milosevic, Sun of Serbia”.
Lazar had heard a lot about Slobodan Milosevic lately. Up until recently, he was only a name in the Communist party, a man who worked his way into office because he was the son-in-law of a prominent party member. Last week, at an anti-Albanian demonstration in Kosovo, Milosevic stood from a two-story balcony and delivered a resounding speech. He basically gave birth to a New Serbia, identical to the Old Serbia, the Serbia that was clean and pure, self sufficient and independent, a Serbia that was free from the flood of non-Serbs. He couldn’t have planned it more perfectly. It was on June 28th, the same day as the glorious battle of 1389. It was even at the same place, Kosovo Pojie, ‘The Field of Blackbirds.’
What did this Milosevic guy have in mind for Serbia, Lazar wondered? Only time would tell, he thought. But an uneasy feeling took hold, like a massive storm was about to hit with almost no warning.
Lazar was apprehensive about the future, the future of his country and the future of his family. He had already seen many things that bothered him; homes destroyed, families separated and people murdered for no reason. This was what Milla tried to warn him about. Perhaps it was the unpleasant separation from her that was weighing on him the most.
Milla Markovich was Muslim by birth. She and Lazar had been with each other for almost six months. Even though it was a short time, Lazar thought their future together was promising. He really did love her. Milla had initiated the separation with Lazar last year when he decided to join the Vojsko Srbije, the Serb military. The conflict between Serbs and Muslims was swiftly increasing. Milosevic had already signed a creed, promising to relocate all Muslims south into Albania.
Milla had professed her love for Lazar before he enlisted, but she told him she couldn’t support his new decision. He could become an enemy to her family. Lazar denied such things could happen and tried to assure Milla the conflict would soon be over and a man like Milosevic would be short-lived. Nevertheless, Milla couldn’t fall in love with him under those circumstances. Lazar wrestled with the choice Milla had left him and knew he would end up doubting either way. He understood what Milla was talking about; their split would have been inevitable. Lazar yearned for her now more than ever. He felt that he had abandoned someone who was so close to him.
Lazar thought back on the day he met Milla. He was working late at ‘The Time Machine’ when he noticed a racing saddle in the corner of the shop. Mr. Nowak had horses in the country just outside of town but Lazar didn’t think they were racing horses. When he asked Mr. Nowak about it, he explained that a young girl he knew expressed interest in racing. She told him that one of his horses had shown signs of a potential race horse. The girl couldn’t afford to buy her own horse, let alone feed one. Mr. Nowak told her, if she could make a racehorse out it, she could call it her own.
“She’ll be at the stable in the morning, if you could drop this saddle off for her it would mean a great deal to me.” explained Mr. Nowak.
The next morning, Lazar arrived at the stable early. He didn’t see anyone around so he just hung the saddle over a fence post. It was then that he saw someone riding a horse in the distance near the trees. As the person came closer, Lazar realized it the young lady that Mr. Nowak was talking about. She was sleekly suited in jockey attire. As she neared the fence, she came to an abrupt stop. The animal’s hooves dug into the earth, moving little clumps of dirt forward. When she pulled back on the reins, the horse reared upon its back legs and then came back down on all fours. Lazar could see fog leaving the horse’s nostrils every time it exhaled. Then, it gracefully trotted over to the fence where Lazar was standing.
“Hi,” the girl blurted.
“Hello,” Lazar replied. “Mr. Nowak wanted me to bring you this new saddle.”
Mr. Nowak must have set this up, Lazar thought to himself.
She was beautiful. She had honey-blond hair and brown eyes with scattered bits of emerald-green. Her nose was sharp and straight, her lips full. Her skin had been lightly bronzed by the sun. It was hard for Lazar to tell how tall she was while she was mounted on the horse. But her whole look was breathtaking. It had been lightly raining all morning, so her eye make-up began to run at the corner of her eyes. But to Lazar, this only magnified her beauty. Oddly, he began to feel embarrassed,