Field of Blackbirds by Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (e reader manga txt) 📖

Lazar never had any money. His family was poor too. But he promised himself if he had money oneday, he would give it all to her, just to see her smile.
Then one evening, Lazar was helping Mr. Nowak close up shop when he stopped to watch the woman from the window. A nice Mercedes Benz pulled up next to her. She stopped shaking and gathered her money. She stood up, carried her crutches to the trunk of the car, appearing not to need them. The two children that were with her parted separate ways after she flipped a few coins at them. Then she got into the Mercedes and drove off. She wasn’t at all in need. Lazar was confused and felt betrayed for feeling sorry for her.

“People are not always as they appear or claim to be, Marcielli. I am not like Radenko and Radenko is not like me. Neither of us are like the rest. But my country is full of good, honest, hardworking people. You have to really get to know them. Know what makes them great. Marcielli, I agree, horrible things are happening out there. I too, hope it’s all over soon.”
Reed remembered a conversation his dad had with him and Reddin just before he left. Tom was digging into his favorite repertoire of historical facts, World War Two. He was talking about the regular German army. Not the Nazis, not the SS, but the regular German army, the Wermacht. He said they were a decent army who treated their prisoners with respect. They were active long before Hitler ever became Chancellor. Reed always thought every German soldier was a Nazi. But Tom explained that only Hitler’s most trusted followers wore the Nazi symbol. Tom went on to explain that, collectively, people have a natural goodness about them. Only a few nurture their desire to control others, their desire for power. And they will take that power at any cost, even if it’s the cause of their own demise. It’s what sets them apart from everyone else. Dead or alive, it’s what gets them on our televisions sets, on the front page of our newspapers. It’s what gets them into our history books. These people attract those who admire their power and will do what they’re told until their time comes; their moment in history. This is when good people suffer.
Reed studied Lazar and Radenko. Surely they were only subject to such circumstances, like the regular Wermacht soldier and not the NAZI.
Radenko stood silent for awhile. He cupped his hands together, blowing hot air into them. It was cold enough to see his breath curl upward around his face. He wasn’t sure why it seemed appropriate to share such intimate details of their lives with strangers; potential enemies even. He figured he and Lazar had fallen overboard when they gave their jeep to Milla and warned all the refugees. But it went even deeper for Radenko. He had severed ties in the restaurant when he refused the ‘Partner in Crime’ handshake with General Pec. Radenko left that evening sure of two things: he had disappointed his father with his undiplomatic way of politicking and he had made his mother proud of his stand against compromise.
Radenko took the picture of Mary and Jesus from his coat pocket. He examined the new fuzziness on the corners; the small creases intruding on the Omnipotent, his novel alliance. As he thought of the pain the picture once brought him, it scared him beyond measure to lose it now. He was grateful for its rescue. Petrovich had always been wise beyond his years. He knew Radenko would never forgive himself for irately discarding it outside the hospital that morning.
Radenko thought of Sasia. He allowed her to move gracefully through his mind and then downward to warm his heart. He pushed back the tears bathing his vision. Radenko thought he could share what he was feeling. He just couldn’t find the right words. He didn’t have the heart to make more enemies. Radenko had eaten his fill. He didn’t feel the need to inflict senseless hardships anymore.
These young men seemed to be decent people. He felt he even had things in common with them. But like Lazar, he knew they would all be dead a day or two after Nikola got to them. Radenko tried to disconnect the feeling. He knew he would have to harden himself. He knew the real moral dilemma rested on Lazar, the higher ranking officer.
Radenko realized some time had passed and he had never lifted his eyes from the picture. He didn’t bother drying up the moisture at the edges of his eyes. He didn’t want to draw the attention. But some already seemed to notice his struggle as he replaced the picture in his coat pocket.

The sound of whistling wind caught Lazar’s attention. It was coming from the fireplace, which was filled with broken bricks. The wind meant the chimney was still intact. Lazar began to clear the bricks from the fireplace as Radenko collected splintered wood and broken two by fours. The extra warmth would surely be welcome.
“Can you hear it?” asked Otto, with his head turned slightly; hand behind ear.
“Hear what?” asked Reed.
But just as he concluded his inquiry, he could hear the sound off in the distance; remote popping sounds pursued by inconsistent echoes. Silence lingered long enough to force everyone’s attention. Although mild, each crackle was impaling.
“Mortars and tanks,” Otto warned. “They must be about ten kilometers off.”
“Well then we’re in the right place,” said Reed, trying to lighten the mood.
“They’re in Zwornik.” Lazar explained. “And Otto’s right, it’s about ten kilometers north of here. Nikola won’t spend much time there. He’ll be here in less than twenty-four hours.”
It was Angelo who asked the question everyone was thinking. “What will happen once Nikola get’s here? What does he want with us?”
“It depends,” replied Lazar, knowing full well what would happen. “What is it that you are doing here? Why were you watching the refugees? It all depends on what you tell him you’re doing or what he thinks you’re doing.”
Reed joined the exchange with some help from Florentine. “What will happen to the refugees out there?”
Lazar didn’t respond right away. He thought to himself, if only they knew the truth; about all he and Radenko had done to warn the refugees of Nikola’s coming.
“It won’t be good” was all Lazar could think to say.
“Nikola, your unit, what are they like? Are they the ones killing innocent people, burning villages and running people from their homes?” Reed knew time was running out. He needed to know, now.
“We are not the Arkan Tigers that you’ve probably read about, but our unit has committed its fair share of mayhem.” Lazar began to speak slower as if Reed would understand him better.
“Listen America, I’m not going to lie to you anymore. It’s not going to do any good. When the troops get here, there will be blood. If I could stop it, I would. If I could rescue every one of those refugees, believe me, I would. You don’t understand, America. You have never lived in conflict. My own father died before I was in elementary school. He was killed by the resistance. Forty years ago the Croatians slaughtered nearly two million Serbs and the world never batted an eye.The People and the Government do not get along in Yugoslavia. Your nation, America, has forced us to live with each other; forced us to see no borders and this is the result. We are trying to make it work, one government for seven nations.”
Lazar took one of the bricks from the fireplace and threw it across the room, clearly frustrated he couldn’t do more to stop the bloodshed. He tried to make some sense out of it. He tried to rationalize; but why, perhaps only to restore some dignity for he and Radenko? Perhaps he was embarrassed by his nation’s inability to make humanity work.
Reed’s blood began to boil. They were all going to stand by as women and children were slaughtered outside their window. Men were supposed to be the protectors of women and children. The valiant were supposed to defend the innocent from evil. And he sat there, inept with his hands bound.
“Let us go, Lazar. I’ve got five, well-trained men here. That makes seven of us. There’s got to be something we can do. I can call for more support.” Reed pulled angrily and helplessly at his ropes.
Something Reed said bothered Lazar; the words “seven of us”, the word “us”. They saw him as a traitor. They thought he was weak.
Lazar finished clearing the fireplace and then said under his breath, “Sorry America. I can’t do that.”
Reed growled, kicking the leg of a chair with his feet.
Radenko filled the fireplace with splintered wood and held a lighter under the pile. The sputtering hiss of the fire drowned out the distant sounds of tank and mortar blasts. Radenko felt so much freedom since he and Lazar left the unit for this journey. He hated to see it all coming to an end. He was just going through the motions, letting Lazar make the decisions. He felt the closer Nikola got to them, the farther away his father was. He wanted to pull Lazar aside and talk. They could already be put to death for aiding the resistance. What if Nikola found out? What if they found their guns on the resistance? What if they captured Ibrahim and his friends? What if they talked? Ibrahim owed them nothing. He had no alliance to them. Hundreds of possibilities raced through Radenko’s mind. None of them were slow enough to make any sense. He tried to compose the angst inside himself, as the minutes ticked away.

Eventually Lazar opened the briefcase, but not because Marcielli had pointed it out, he knew it was there. He and Radenko thumbed through it several times. The Italians refused to translate the orders for them and that was the end of that. No pressure and no threats of torture. Lazar and Radenko did the best they could with their elementary English skills. They passed pictures back and forth to each other. Nothing surprised them. They had seen it all with their own eyes.
They found out the team worked for a man named Sam. There was nothing in the orders that identified them to be from a military branch, agents of the government or any other large organization, for that matter. They had Reed’s California Driver’s license, Marcielli’s, Florentine’s and Angelo’s passports and nothing for Otto. There were no more questions.