Field of Blackbirds, Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen [historical books to read TXT] 📗

me up for insubordination too.” Otto racked the slide on his M-16 and headed for the back door.
Reed stopped him in his tracks.
“Nice try Otto.” Everyone laughed, including Marcielli from down in the cellar.

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

Radenko believed he was within fifty meters of the shooter. He was now inside the circle of buzzards. He knew the shooter wouldn’t startle or act impulsively. The lifeblood of a sniper was positional autonomy; classified rule over the tiny bit of earth he occupied.
He waited and watched. And then a blood thickening sound rang out as a little gray cloud pushed through the grass. Radenko saw exactly where he was. He could take the shot. He was only forty meters away, but a horrifying chill ran through Radenko’s body as he thought of who might have been hit by that bullet. He slowly moved his hand over his face and chest in the shape of a cross and said a small prayer for whoever it was.
The mass in the brush began inching forward. At a snail’s pace, Radenko brought the binoculars to his eyes. What he saw shocked him; the Serbian patch, with their own unit number on it. It was one of their own. Radenko even recognized him; Goran Rugova.


Chapter 38 – Guns and Boots


Steady, steady. He reminded himself, resting his assassin’s profile atop his iron sights. The pressure began to swell in his fingertip, nearly dragging the trigger to its limits. Radenko wasn’t sure what impeded his will to follow through. He held the perfect shot for almost three minutes now. The tall dry grass was slightly penetrating his clothing, becoming annoying. It was unfathomable that Nikola would send Goran to kill them. How could it have possibly come to this, Radenko asked himself? How could they know everything? He had to find out. He slowly straightened his finger, invigorating it with blood. Radenko had to act quickly before Goran got off another shot.
He retreated quietly and still, the loyal hiss of the wind was in his favor. He fell back a hundred meters until he was directly in Goran’s wake. Then he started straight for him. He doubled his pace since Goran was also moving forward, away from him.
Fifteen meters away, Radenko was inhaling his own excitement. He slowed and managed his breathing.
“God be with me.”
Goran was peering through his scope, fomenting the will of an evil man. Radenko aimed between his shoulder blades.

“You’re a dead man, Goran!” The words roared past his lips.
Goran froze in position, possibly contemplating springing into action. Radenko noted Goran’s anxiety as the back of his ribcage expanded with each breath.
“Back away from the gun and show me your hands.”
Goran sat up and raised both his hands; one of them cradled a cigarette. The smoke spiraled upward and then ebbed into the wind.
“Radenko, how are you?” Goran roguishly asked as he began moving his cigarette downward toward his mouth.
“Move and I’ll kill you.” Radenko recharged his weapon.
Goran showed his defiance and fearlessness by continuing the drag on his cigarette and then taking his time to raise his empty hand back up.
“I thought I shot you. I saw you go down.” muttered Goran, with the cigarette now dangling from his lips.
Radenko closed the distance between them and smashed the butt of his rifle into the back of Goran’s neck. He kicked Goran’s rifle out of reach and yanked a CZ and a knife from his waist line. Goran was coughing and laughing at the same time.
“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t kill anyone. The prisoner you shot even survived.”
“Oh but you’re wrong, Radenko. My last shot was commendable. The guy spun like a merry-go-round before he fell. You should have seen it.” Goran spit a mouthful spiked with blood.
Radenko felt strangled by trepidation. Had he taken too long to get to him? Could he have prevented the last shot? He didn’t want to believe Goran. He hoped the last shot was as horrible as the one before.
“What’s in this for you Goran?” Radenko paid close attention as Goran rolled over and made eye contact for the first time, his bulging gray-green eyes, now bloodshot, his hair misplaced.
“The first guy I shot, you called him a prisoner? What was he doing walking around? No gun on him?”
Radenko didn’t answer the question. “Look at this uniform, Goran. Look at your patch. It’s the same as mine.”
“Your uniform represents nothing. We’re not of the same blood, Radenko.”
“Well I’m Yugoslavian damn it! And so are you.” Radenko felt his blood throbbing at the surface again.
“You’re not a Serb Radenko and you’ll never understand. They should have never trusted you.”
“Then why, Lazar?” Radenko challenged. “He’s a fellow Serb.”
Goran broke half a laugh when he heard the name.
“His fidelity is lost in a Muslim girl. Tell me, how is he going to purify Greater Serbia?” Goran sucked the remainder of life from his cigarette. “Lazar is ill, Radenko. In Visegrad we thought he was going to turn his gun on us. You weren’t there. I nearly shot him myself.”
Radenko was sure of it now, Nikola had sent him.
“What did Nikola promise you, Goran, a throne in his kingdom?”
“Listen Radenko, your citations are worthy. You graduated second in your class. Nikola warned me you were good. Myself, I despise lawyers. That’s why I don’t mind killing one. I didn’t intend to be sitting here at your mercy. You could have chosen the right side. You could have made a name for Montenegro. It was your big chance. But you know too much now. You’re stepping in your own snare, just like your father, always resisting.”
Radenko saw it in Goran’s eyes; he knew something about the attack on his father. Maybe he was even a part of it. Fury possessed Radenko. Every limb was fused with anger. His whole body tightened. If he spoke, fire was sure to incinerate Goran.
Radenko threw his rifle into the grass at his side and reached for Goran, balling up his fatigues under his neck and jerking him instantly to his feet. Radenko pulled him into his chest.
“You’re wrong.” Radenko smashed his forehead into Goran’s nose and released his grip. Goran plummeted back to the ground; blood already covering the lower half of his face. He stayed on the ground in too much pain to get back up again.
“My father is the only real General left.” Radenko growled.
Radenko reached down and cut the laces from Goran’s boots. He pulled them off.
“It figures Nikola would pick another backstabbing coward, like himself, to run his pet projects. You tell Nikola that I might not be not be a Serb, but I am at least a man. You tell him that if he wants to see my father’s or my blood flow, to bring his own knife.”
Radenko un-holstered his CZ, pointed it at Goran’s right foot and fired. When Goran tempered his whimpering and squirming, Radenko left him with one last bit of advice.
“You can lay down for the buzzards or you can hobble back to the unit. But if you even move one inch toward that house,” Radenko pointed, “you won’t finish the breath you started.”
Radenko grabbed Goran’s guns and boots and started back to the house.

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

Lazar and Reed were hunkered down in the hallway, out of sight from any of the windows. It was obvious the shooter had moved in, when he hit Otto’s dummy square in the head. It didn’t resemble anything close to a human, but perhaps the shooter wanted to demonstrate his marksmanship. Anyway, Otto learned his lesson and buddied up with Angelo at the cellar opening.
Lazar told Reed all about home, all about Milla, all about Mr. Nowak and ‘The Time Machine’. In return, Reed told Lazar all about Lindsey, Disneyland and football. Reed knew exactly how to get to ‘The Time Machine’ from the dramatic details of the bridge to the historical tour through Old Town. He knew more about Mr. Nowak than some of his own relatives.
And Lazar had virtually experienced every dark musty corner of the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’. He even felt a little nauseated imagining Space Mountain, a rollercoaster in the dark. Lazar listened as Reed recounted every inning of Dodgers baseball, but was more interested in UCLA football and Reddin’s trek to stardom. And finally, neither could out-do the other with sweetheart stories. Marcielli even chimed in from the cellar.
It was a time of understanding and recognition. Understanding for the risk Lazar and Radenko were taking. But also understanding for why the risk was self-healing; self serving, like sugar on a slice of grapefruit or finally reaching that itch in the middle of your back. And recognition, awarded to the extraordinarily rare circumstances that brought them together, leading to an exhibition of strength and character, not always found on the playgrounds of war. If Lazar was a sample of the typical Serb soldier, then it was possible that reports of genocide were isolated. Reed was determined not to choose sides in this conflict. There was so much he would never understand. He did, however, feel strongly that peacekeeping efforts by the US were imminently necessary.

Radenko announced his arrival outside the house to avoid friendly fire. He silhouetted himself at the back door, expecting the worst, another casualty. When he saw that everyone was fine, the knots in his stomach untangled and his breathing finally reached the depths.
“All clear.”