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

do mind. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
The boy was caught off guard. He stared at Otto, nothing to say. Otto waited. The boy took one step backward out into the hall. He brought a radio to his lips. Otto noticed the uncomfortable gasp the boy took and the movement of his hands. The boy was nervous as he cleared on the radio.
Otto had to act. It was the very reason he held the case. He stood and quickly glanced down the hall. The pudgy ticket inspector was almost at the end of the car, facing the other way. The boy was rambling in his native tongue trying not to appear scared as Otto towered over him.
Otto grabbed the back of the boy’s collar with one hand and knocked the radio down with his other. The boy released half a yelp before Otto covered his mouth and violently jerked him into the cabin. The boy’s arms flailed about, landing a few weak punches on the side of Otto’s head. Clearly a waist of muscle mass, thought Otto. Otto hoped the constant racket of the train would remain loyal.
Next, the boy tried reaching for the pistol on his hip. Otto knew this kind of altercation would only promise one thing; a fatality, and surely not his own. He brought the boy’s head down in front of him, pulled it inward and twisted.
Twenty years in the German Bundeswehr; it wasn’t the first time Otto had heard the snapping sounds of a breaking neck. Otto wondered if he should feel guilty. But he told himself the boy was just part of the problem, part of the evil that haunted Yugoslavia with the poisonous drip of its own blood. And now, he had four good men to look after. The young soldier could have gotten them all killed. And the mission would be lost and over.
Otto propped the lifeless body into a sleeping position against the window. He heard the constant buzzing sounds of radio traffic. They were trying to reach the young soldier. The train would soon be littered with camouflage. The radio was just outside the cabin. Otto poked his head out. The struggle had called no ones attention. Otto grabbed the radio and twisted the knob to off. He tossed it on the bench next to the boy, and pulled the curtains tight.
Marcielli and Angelo were three cars down. Reed was at the end of the train. Otto began the seemingly precarious charge to find his friends. At the end of the car was the ticket inspector. The pudgy man was backing out of the last cabin. Otto made eye contact with him, but was still too far for conversation. He could see the inquiry in the inspector’s eyes. The inspector was looking passed Otto, possibly searching for the soldier who, up until now, was in his back pack.
As Otto closed the distance, the inspector nodded with a half grin. He too was plagued with inferiorism under Otto’s menacing shadow. He watched Otto as he passed by.
“Bathroom?” Otto asked, pointing to the sliding car doors.
The man also pointed to the sliding doors and said something Otto didn’t understand. So he just nodded his head and kept walking. Otto only turned around once as he waited for the sliding doors to part. The inspector was comatose in the isle, waiting for the soldier to pop into view.

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

Marcielli and Angelo were sitting in their cabin when Otto flashed by the door. Marcielli poked his head out into the isle.
“Otto!” he said, in an elevated whisper.
Otto turned around, relieved that he’d found them. “Are you guys alone?”
“No, there’s an elderly couple with us. What’s going on?”
“Get Angelo out here.”
Angelo pulled the curtain closed behind him. The three stood in the hallway. Otto looked behind him and then over Angelo and Marcielli’s shoulder.
“A soldier was asking questions and he asked to see the case.” said Otto.
“What happened?” interrupted Angelo, realizing he had spoken too loudly.
“We have to find Reed and get off this train.” explained Otto.
“What happened?” asked Angelo, this time less excited, but with more fervor.
“I had to kill him. Nobody was around. It was quite. But he got to his radio. Let’s go. It’s only a matter of time before the police will be everywhere.”

Marcielli and Angelo were dressed in their light soccer wear; the same clothes they had worn when they arrived in Macedonia. All their stories were the same; Otto was there for business, Marcielli and Angelo had come for the winter games in Macedonia and Reed was there researching large universities. They abandoned their van in a thicket of trees a few kilometers south of the train station in Tuzla. It was decided that their equipment and big guns would stay in the van. They were each armed with a silenced, 22 caliber assassin’s pistol and that was all. From here on out, if they had to take life, it needed to be quiet.

“Reed’s in the last car.” confirmed Marcielli. “Otto’s right, we have to get off this train. Let’s move.”

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

“Tuck and roll.” yelled Reed. “Don’t try to brace yourself when you hit. You have to relax or you’ll break something. Cover your head with your arms.”
The four of them stood on the small platform at the end of the train. The train was slowing down but the wind continued to aggressively whip around them. The sound of communist air-raid type sirens competed with the shrieking resistance of asbestos and lead against steel. It made it nearly impossible to hear each other.
“I’ll jump first. Otto will toss the case and then he’ll jump, then Marcielli. Angelo, you jump last.”
Reed climbed down onto a side step and got his footing. He pushed off and disappeared into the darkness. Otto pitched the case, covered his head with his arms and jumped.
Marcielli looked out and saw the yellowish lights of the buildings trickling past. Another second would be too long. He hesitated and then jumped. Clearly the train was moving faster than he anticipated. He covered his head and tried to roll but the force of the impact just unraveled his body. The burning sensation on his arms and face assured him he didn’t land in that soft patch of grass he’d hoped for. Shoveled up to the tracks was about a meter and a half of black cinders. But in some areas the cinders had bled out into the grass. Marcielli knew he was scraped up, but the adrenaline popped him to his feet. He heard someone running toward him, breathing heavily. It was Otto. He seemed to be fine. The case was still intact. Otto had tightened his belt around it to keep it from bursting when it hit the ground. Reed caught up to Otto, but he was limping with a banged up knee.
“Are you okay?” asked Reed, ignoring his own injuries.
“I’m fine.” Marcielli huffed.
“You don’t look fine.” said Reed.
“Neither do you, Boss. Let’s catch up to Angelo.”
Marcielli never saw Angelo jump, but he heard the groaning ahead. He most likely found the cinders as well. He had the same burns and cuts as Marcielli did on his arms and face.
The sirens on the train were still blaring.
“Nobody saw us jump.” said Angelo, panting like a dog. “But when they don’t find us, that’s what they’ll assume, and then they’ll be crawling all over these tracks.”
They stayed low and moved quietly.
“There’s another train.” Angelo pointed. “We’re inside the train yard.”
Up ahead they could see yard clerks and the dim beams of their flashlights. They began sounding their whistles. But it was impossible that they could see them from this distance. Maybe someone had seen them jump.
“It looks like they’re moving towards us?” Otto whispered.
Then, on the far east platform, under a newly illuminated spot light, they saw the local police filtering out of the station. There were four or five barking dogs diving into the tension of their own chains, clearly riled up by the sirens and flashing lights. One of the K9 officers straddled his dog, facing it toward the rear of the train. He unsnapped its collar and smacked it on the tail. The dog peeled into the darkness. The other K9 officers did the same with their dogs. Darkness never seemed to make so much noise.
“Follow me.” ordered Reed. They cut between two trains and jumped the areas where the cars connected. “Get your pistols out. The silencers will also suppress the flash.” Reed tried to explain under choppy breaths. “We can’t get caught. If a dog gets near you, don’t be afraid to put it down.”
Marcielli pulled his weapon and quietly charged it. Angelo reached for his, but it was gone. He must have lost it when he jumped from the train. The four of them waited between trains, contemplating the direction they needed to go.
Marcielli looked at Otto’s weapon and made a split command decision, “Otto, give your weapon to Angelo. You need to concentrate on keeping that case secure.”
“Smart thinking Marcielli.” concurred Reed.
Angelo was happy to wrap his fingers around the grip of the handgun. “Marcielli and I will stick right next to you. He’s right,” said Angelo, “we’ve got to protect that case.”
The dogs were getting closer and the whistles were getting louder.
“This way.” said Reed. “Give me a boost.” Reed found a train car slightly open.
Marcielli boosted Reed into the hollow car. Then, one by one, Reed gave the others a hand up. Once inside, Reed