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

repeated.
Reed held out his hand, palm to the sky. Lindsey took a step forward and placed her hand and all her love in his. Reed pulled her in and felt that perfect tightness, that perfect fit.

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

Otto sat in a long row of interlocked leather seats. He watched his comrades embrace their loved ones, his hand still painfully molded around the handle of the briefcase. It was perhaps the greatest task he had ever been assigned; definitely the most rewarding. Sam approached him and saluted.
“Sergeant,”
“Lieutenant,” Otto returned the salute.
“Well done.” Sam said simply and shook Otto’s free hand. Otto then handed him the case.
Ironically, in twenty years of dedicated service to his own country, it was the first time Otto had heard the words: ‘Well done.’ It was a good finish, he thought.
“What will you do now, Sergeant? You’ve already put in your twenty.”
“It’s a good question, Sir.” Otto rubbed his brow. “I think it’s time to settle down, find a girl to love and raise a family.” It was touching to hear a man of Otto’s definition speak so tenderly.
“I think you will enjoy that.” said Sam.
Then Otto added, “And I think I will paint.”
“Paint?” said Sam.
“Yeah, it’s my trade. The Russians are finally leaving East Germany. I would like to see more colors there; greens, blues, reds, and yellows. For too long everything was this dull gray color. Do you know how disturbing it is for a painter to see life as one, large gray canvas? It’s time to live my life.”
Sam tapped the case, “Perhaps a lot of people will begin to see more color in their lives. You’ve got my number, Sergeant. Call me if you need anything.” Sam passed Otto a business card.
“My gratitude goes out to the Bundeswehr, thank you. You’ve served well, both your country and your neighbors.”

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

Reed lifted his head enough to see out into the busy airport. People were passing in every direction all around him. He couldn’t help but notice one family, as motionless as he and Lindsey were. Angelo had a child in each arm and a third, reaching, jumping at his leg. In front of him stood a beautiful Italian woman, wiping tears and smudging eye makeup.
And then it dawned on Reed, exactly what Angelo had at stake, perhaps the most of them all or more that he could count, anyway. It would explain why he maintained a higher level of doubt and unwillingness to go along with Reed’s decisions. This very moment could have been stolen away from Angelo if the mission didn’t go well. Reed understood and he wished many hopeful years for him.

Angelo caught Reed’s eye, their view was broken with passerbies. But Angelo saw a brotherly kinship in Reeds eyes; shared reflections of a timeline of events that would surely define his life, or at his age, refine it.
Angelo nodded his head to Reed. Reed did the same.

“One month. You’ve earned one month of leave.”
Reed felt a firm pat on his shoulder. Sam was there.
“Reed, Lindsey.” Sam shook each of their hands. “You ran a phenomenal mission out there, Reed. I’m putting you up for another promotion.”
Lindsey patted Reed’s chest and clearly he was embarrassed.
“I just wanted you to know that I have a chopper in the air right now on the way Bosnia. Flo’s going to be fine. Then Sam held up the case. “We’ll talk when you get back. In the mean time, take that girl on a date.”
“Thank you, Sam. I will.”
Sam reached into his front shirt pocket and removed something; held it out to Reed. It was his commission card; ‘Reed Beckley, United States Marine Core’ was written on the face. Reed took it and studied it for a moment. The great Marine seal reflected a new sense of pride.
“HUA!” said Sam.
“HUA!” replied Reed.
Sam started to leave. “Oh sir,” Lindsey called out, “thank you for the time off.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Sam tipped his hat.

Sam walked briskly down the crowded corridor. Reed’s eyes fell to Radenko’s case which seemed to be glowing at Sam’s side. Reed considered all that it represented, all that it had cost. He couldn’t help but think of his friends, Lazar and Radenko. The fuzzy scars in the leather announced the struggle, proclaimed the victory and defined the heroes. Reed couldn’t say he knew where Lazar’s and Radenko’s lives would lead them. But one hope resonated its way to Reed’s conscience; the two men were measured in the time-honored arena of Good vs. Evil, and they bled with good. And Reed, Otto, Angelo, Florentine and Marcielli had bled with them.

There was so much Lindsey wanted to do with Reed. She draped her arms back around his neck.
“It’s been a long nine months,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Where do you want to go first?” she asked. “Baseball season is over.”
“The beach, Huntington Beach.” said Reed.


45 Epilogue


“There he is, Reed. We found your guy.”
Reed felt the wind on his face when the folder fell on his desk. The papers inside peeked out at him. He shifted his bodyweight in his Attila the Hun style chair. The leather creaked.
“The thug stole nine and a half years of freedom. He won’t get ten,” assured Mr. Love.
“Where did you find him?” asked Reed, running possibilities through his head.
“In Serbia. He was arrogant enough to think he could come home.” Mr. Love shook his head in disbelief. “He must have thought we forgot about him.”
Reed opened the folder and browsed. He picked up a mug-shot style Polaroid. He ran his thumb and forefinger along the ridge of his chin.
“Finally,” he said smugly. “When should I leave for Serbia?”

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

Otto Reinhardt finally married a young German bride named Brigitte. They moved and settled smack dab in the middle of West Berlin; a city that had been cut off from every deprived East German citizen for twenty-nine years. Otto fathered a baby girl. They named her, Katelina. They called her, Kat, for short. Only Reed knew why; it was the name of Otto’s first love. After two years of improving the color of his country, Otto decided to improve the way his country operated. He ran a successful campaign and was elected into the Free German Democratic Congress in 1998.

Angelo Gotti devoted his career to the military and was the first Italian officer to achieve the status of Commander in the NATO forces.

Florentine Roccobono was rescued from the Bosnian hospital in Srebrenica, but returned only months later to claim the heart of the nurse who took care of him there. Lejla was her name. They stayed in Bosnia and have six children now. Three of their own, and three adopted from the hospital’s abandoned children’s unit.

Marcielli and Marianna Corleon named their . . . . . . son, Christiano. Marcielli was right all along. And the boy has become a young soccer champ after the makes of his father. Marcielli was quickly absorbed back into the Italian Pro National team and was awarded MVP three years in a row. In addition to that, in 2000, he led them in the battle for the World cup. During the off season, he and Marianna have enjoyed spending their time under the Tuscan sun at their vineyard in Tuscany. Dominico and Rianna live very comfortably in the guest quarters there. Coincidently, the Mafia never bothered them again. Marianna never told Marcielli of her gutsy encounter with the Mafia. But it was the only thing she ever kept from him. Marianna awarded him all the happiness he could ever imagine and Marcielli thanked Rosalina for the recipes.

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

“Take us to ‘The Time Machine’.” Reed told the cab driver.
“Old Town?” the young driver was anxious for business.
“Old Town,” Reed confirmed.
In the car, the cab driver kept smiling in the rearview mirror, clearly happy with the hundred dollar bill Reed handed him.
“America?” he asked.
Reed chuckled low in his chest. “Yeah, America,” he admitted. He might as well have been wrapped in the flag. He was an open book, a walking constitution.
“Ah, I was right,” the cab driver waved his finger in the air.
Lindsey’s eyes skipped along the mature European landscapes of Belgrade. She was awed by the dramatic exploitations of quartz, sandstone and granite. It all cried out to her at once. She loved the intricate details of the brickwork, the cobblestone, Serbian kings, heroes and relics all frozen in concrete. And finally, the waist-high, rot iron fences closing off all the open spaces around churches and government buildings. She wanted to get out and