Field of Blackbirds by Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (best ebook reader ubuntu .txt) 📕

Reed thumbed through the directives and studied the Intel, most of which was disturbing; villages raided, lives lost, people in masses being ordered from their homes, families displaced; all in the name of ethnic cleansing. Reed couldn’t help but compare it to the activities that lead to the Holocaust. But he was astounded that atrocities like these could be implemented in today’s world. He wondered how one man could possibly rise again to such power. In Reed’s attempt to remember his studies on the Holocaust, one cry came to mind, “Those who forget the past are bound to relive it.”
At the bottom of the stack was an envelope marked “Photos.” Reed opened it. The pictures were more bothersome than the report. It became real when he was able to unite faces with the suffering.
When the word, ‘People’ or ‘Masses’ is thrown at you, your mind subconsciously leaves out ‘children’. But now, Reed was forced to see them, some dead, some dirty, some hungry, crying, and some scared. Reed held back some emotion. He thought of his reasons for joining the Corp, convictions instilled in him when he was an eight-year-old boy; convictions that his family knew had defined him as a man. He could no longer sit still and ignore the individual struggles for life, the fear. . . . . . the faces.

Reed loosened his tie that seemed to gradually be getting tighter around the knot developing in his throat.
“What kind of team will I have Sir?”
The Lieutenant nodded with a modest grin of approval, “You’ll lead a five-man team. Three men from the Italian Rapid Deployment Corps have been selected. They were transferred from Milan, Italy last week: Sgt. Angelo Gotti, Pfc. Florentine Roccobono and Pfc. Marcielli Corleon. All three have been trained in Special Ops and undercover recon. They currently work in Slavic relations and have an impressive knowledge of the Serbo-Croat language. Commander Riatti has promised them to be his most qualified.
Also assigned to you will be, Otto Reinhardt, a Sgt.-in-arms with the German Bundeswehr Rearmament Unit. He is also trained in recon, crisis reaction and conflict prevention. He will be providing state-of-the-art equipment, tracking devices, wiretaps, night vision and other advanced German technologies, mostly because we want to minimize American equipment over there.
You will also be assigned a secondary auxiliary team that will be primarily Intel support. That team will consist of me, Marko Sava of Kosovo, an Albanian National and Kacak resistance fighter. He has recently gone underground to gather Intel on genocide; basically for the same reasons your team is going over there. He can share a lot of credible, firsthand Intel with you. He can get you things and give you contacts to other supporters, people that will take you in, help conceal your identity, give you a place to sleep and a place to do your work. Simon Weisenthal’s office has also agreed to work with us if we need them. Agent Goldfield has been assigned to you. You’ll find his number in the orders.
If you don’t know who Simon Weisenthal is, he’s also known as the “Nazi Hunter” He is credited for finding and bringing to justice over eleven hundred Nazi war criminals, including: Hitler’s second in command, Albert Speer, the “Angel of Auszwitz” Dr. Josef Mengle, and the Gestapo agent that arrested Anne Frank and her family. In order that communication is understood, I made sure that each of them speaks English. So you can see Sergeant, your team is highly trained and extremely credible and you have the resources for a successful mission.”
The Lieutenant put his hand on Reed’s shoulder and looked him in the eye, “I hope you know Reed, I selected you for this mission because you’re the best man I have. But most of all, I know your heart. I know your conviction will carry you through this one. Maybe it wasn’t right for me to play that card against you, but I wanted someone who would see the honor in the mission and hunger for its completion. I am fully confident in you. You’ve been under my command since you joined the Corp. I know what kind of training you’ve had and I know what you’re capable of. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this responsibility.”
Reed hoped that confidence was showing in his demeanor now. “I won’t let you down Sir. I’m going to need two weeks to put this together and plan the operation. I’ll brief my team tonight.”
“Thank you Reed, you got the two weeks and whatever else you need. Here’s the contact number to Marko Sava. Give him a call tonight so you know what you’re up against. Let me know when you’re ready to enlist the expertise of the Wiesenthal Office. If I know the Italians well, you can find them in the sports stadium on the soccer field. They’re on their weekend. Otto Rhienhardt is on a ship in the Baltic. He’ll be reporting here tomorrow night. Report your advancements to me in forty-eight hours.”
“Yes Sir!”
Reed raised and lowered his hand in salute. Lieutenant Clay did the same; then he extended his hand to Reed.
“Oh yeah, before I forget,” The Lieutenant removed his commission card from his pocket and tossed it on the table in front of him. Hesitantly, Reed followed suit.


Chapter 11 – The Briefcase


Just outside of Tuzla, Bosnia-Herzegovina 1992

The truck sputtered over the loose, eroded dirt. Lazar had eaten too much, he knew, but didn’t foresee the problem it would pose until he got on the ride.
Lazar’s company was part of five thousand troops, enroot to Vukovar, Croatia. They were going to assist the Bosnian Serbs under the command of Radovan Karadzic. They were supposed to seize Vukovar. Both Serbia and Croatia were fighting over Bosnia and Herzegovina territories. The conflict first broke out in Vukovar when the Bosnian Serbs claimed to be discriminated against and suffered a mass loss of employment. The Bosnian Serbs requested that the National Army intervene. Lazar’s company was only asked to give three good weeks for an initial push into the city; then they could return to the Kosovo region.
Lazar sat in the back of the truck, studying the faces of his comrades; faces that had become so familiar to him. He thought it was unfortunate that they would only share one aspect of their lives together. He wondered what some of them would be like in another environment, like school, maybe. Take Cedomil Kosic, he seemed to be someone with no enemies, the guy that everyone loved, but not handsome or socially confident enough for a girl to ever like more than just a friend. He was one of those guys you just couldn’t greet without a slight grin on your face. It was a shame that the current environment wouldn’t abet his good will.
As Lazar spent more time with his men, little inklings of their personalities would seep through, but he couldn’t help but think that there was more to each of them; that they each had their own history, stories he would never hear. What Lazar did find a little unsettling was that their personalities began to grow dim as the fighting went on. Their love for life, their innocence, sense of humor and vitality were all slowly bleeding. Lazar wondered if those things could ever be repossessed.
After a report that Lazar had “lost it” in Visegrad and voiced his distaste for the operation in Slatina, he thought he might be subject to some sort of discipline. What he didn’t expect, was his promotion to Corporal. Lt. Nikola Obilic said combat experience goes a long way. So he was sent to a military counselor for his behavior, who said his feelings weren’t all that unusual considering he lost his father at a young age to the fighting. For the injuries he sustained during the air-strike on the Kosovo-Albania border, he was awarded the oldest military medal in history, the ‘Iron Cross’. It was a symbol of the German Teutonic Knights; one that was established by Friedrich Wilhelm III of Prussia and awarded for the first time in 1813.
Lazar wondered where he would be if he was still under the command of his first Lieutenant, Vuk Brankovich. He was someone Lazar could trust, and most importantly, he understood Lazar. He was someone who could distinguish right from wrong. When the Yugoslav Peoples Army became the Serbian People’s Army, the command staff was reorganized and Vuk was promoted and transferred to another battalion. Vuk tried his best to bring Lazar with him, but things didn’t work out. He said after a few months as a commander he would have the pull.
Three months had passed since the raid on Visegrad. Lazar made himself believe Milla had gotten word of the raid in plenty of time to evacuate. It was the only thought he would accept. He wished he could go back to a time where people weren’t forced to choose an identity, or a nationality, where it didn’t matter if you were a Serb, a Croat, a Muslim, a Jew, a Gypsy or a Pole, like Mr. Nowak. He wished he could go back to a time where you were permitted to act simply as a human being. Since Visegrad, Lazar’s unit raided another small town just outside of Pristina called Slatina. The massacre there was equally as brutal. They were told that the town was a stronghold for resistance and a training ground for organized ambushes. The only report Lazar even heard out of Slatina was that a human shield, consisting of Croat and Muslim civilians, stood in front of an armored Serb column on its way to Vukovar. The armored column opened fire on them.
When they arrived in Slatina, they weren’t met with any resistance, in fact, Lazar was bewildered that there was no organization at all. The Albanians simply tried to defend themselves once they realized what was happening. Nikola stood by his orders to engage the enemy and take no prisoners. He then feigned ignorance and told the men he would investigate and find out why their Intel was bad. What he did next was even more disturbing; he explained that this incident would defame Milosevic’s good intent and it was necessary to mask the operation. Nikola then ordered in a truckload of arms, munitions and explosives and planted them in homes throughout the town. They spent the next day and a half burying the bodies. Nikola faced trial in a military court, but had been found innocent, vindicated from the death of two hundred noncombatant civilians.
Their faces were filthy with blood and dirt. Their bodies were lifeless and Jell-O-like and the smells were indescribable. Pretending it wasn’t really happening, that the bodies were just dummies, only worked until Lazar’s shovel full of dirt landed over a child’s face. Then, nothing could protect him. He buried four children that day and laid shovel in with the last one. He told Nikola