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

I do, that I am part of the resistance. They can’t openly support lawlessness, but they too have resentment for the Serbs. They often turn the other way when the resistance is involved. It is only when things go public that they have to act. Let’s just hope it’s not too late. The only thing I will say to them is that the Italians are with me. Say a prayer that it works.”
Marko and Kat both got out of the van and headed down the street. Kat opened an umbrella and held it over Marko as she intertwined her arm with his.
An image popped into Reed’s head, one he had carried with him for some time. The family was at a town hall meeting and someone alluded to what a great Mayor Tom Beckly would be. Tom thwarted the compliment by professing, “The substance of every man’s greatness is a great women.” And then he looked over at Anna, “Without her, I am just an ordinary man.”
Reed would never forget that. What an expression for someone you love, to raise them on a pedestal for all to see. In watching Marko and Kat, Reed found that to be true. He saw greatness in Marko, but he didn’t have to look very far to see where it came from. Kat was good for Marko. She was his reason to keep his feet on the ground, to be careful in his judgment, allowing him a safe return home in the evening. For how much fight Marko had in him, for how much passion ruled his behavior, he should have already been a martyr for the cause. Kat was the thread that attached him to life. And they both seemed to know it.
Reed noticed that Otto still had a firm grip on the briefcase that held the op orders. Otto looked down at the case. “I understand why we’re here Reed and I understand why you were chosen to lead this mission. You’re a good leader, you’re strong.”
“I appreciate that Otto, but don’t get me wrong.” warned Reed. “I do have a heart, somewhere.”
Otto Laughed.
Reed was surprised by what he saw next; Angelo, Florentine and Marcielli in the distance, all walking toward them.
Otto then asked the question both he and Reed were wondering. “Where are Marko and Kat?”
“We’ll have to find out from the guys.” Reed said as he looked up and down the street for anyone who might be watching them.
As the three approached the van, Reed noticed that Florentine was holding the left side of his ribs as though he was injured. Otto slid the van door open. Marcielli got in first, then Angelo and then Florentine. Otto extended his hand to assist Florentine in. Florentine cringed as he reached for it.
Marcielli smiled, “Flo took one for the team, but he’ll be fine. He’s just overreacting a little. It’s good to see you guys.”
“Have some sympathy for me.” pleaded Florentine. “The man’s foot was at least a size thirteen or fourteen.” Florentine tried to laugh at his own joke, but he ended up groaning instead.
Reed was happy to have the whole team back together again. It was the first time they had been separated in almost a month.
“We’re happy that you’re all okay. Things could have been much worse. Do the police know anything?” Reed hesitated but he had to ask.
Marcielli nodded his head, no. “After we failed to convince the police that we came from the games, no one said a word.”
Angelo chimed in, “We couldn’t even give them our name rank and serial number.”
Marcielli started back up, “They became really frustrated with us. We were all sitting in a room. Flo was sitting closest to the door when an Officer kicked him in the ribs. And then we knew the ‘real interrogation’ had begun. And that’s when Marko and Kat walked in.”
Angelo followed up with, “All they said was that we were with them and then they went into another room and we were released.”
It bothered Reed, wondering what they must have talked about. Another ten minutes passed before Marko and Kat came walking down the street. Reed had to trust Marko, that he hadn’t shared too much information with the police. And he respected Marko enough not to ask him about it.
Marko hopped back in the driver seat and Kat in the passenger. “You were released on one condition.” Marko advised, “And that is that you leave Skopje before the day is over. I told them it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Kat understood that men are always hungry. That’s why she became very popular when she proposed pizza. Marko pulled into the parking lot of Gusto Pizza I Vino. Three pizzas disappeared fairly quickly. However, there was some mutual criticism of the fact that ketchup was used to substitute real pizza sauce. Marko and Kat didn’t know the difference.
The seven of them sat and hashed out the day's events while also acquainting themselves with one another. Kat seemed to be the most talkative out of the bunch, while the others just seemed to enjoy giving her the attention. Marko was more serious than he looked. Although he offered some dry humor, he appeared hasty to get to work, never letting the conversation drift far from the cause of his vexation. Reed respected that and he could tell the others did too.
The atrocities that they had recently learned of, Marko and Kat had been living most of their lives. To Marko, this wasn’t a social event or a chance to meet some foreigners. It was a title he aspired to, as a liberator of the country he loved. It was a possibility for change. It was energy for the second round in the struggle for life and peace. Life and peace, both of which had been unjustly exiled for the past one thousand years and had seemed almost nonexistent. Yugoslavia couldn’t possibly have any more blood to give. Marko wanted to be there to wipe away the last drop. This undertaking was a grasp at hope; one that he prayed was within reach.
Marko lit a cigarette, “We'll take you to Kumanovo. There, you can get your weapons and the rest of Otto's gear. My brother is waiting for my phone call. He has everything waiting for you in an old abandoned church in the northern part of the city. That's if he hasn't already sold it to the underground resistance.” Marko blew a mouthful of smoke. “The resistance would kill for that kind of technology and equipment.”
Otto raised a brow to Marko to get reassurance that he was joking, but Marko didn't reciprocate, he just kept talking.
“The weapons are American, but if you were wise, you trained with local weapons in Belgium. If for some reason you must part with yours to keep your identity, then you must know how to use any weapons you find along the way.”
Reed realized that Marko, a guerilla resistance fighter, wasn't much different than any other soldier in the U.S. military. He understood the concept of knowing your enemy, the importance of adapting to a new environment quickly and making it your own. He was skilled in the art of war. He had the scars. He just didn't have the uniform. The whole thing made him think of the French resistance during WWII, what it must have felt like to aid the civilian fighters in Normandy who were preparing for the massive invasion, or in Poland, arming the Poles who led the Great Warsaw Uprising.
Marko went on, “When you’re ready to venture out on your own, I’ll direct you to an Albanian Officer who attended the trial of a Serbian Lieutenant, acquitted for genocide. This officer can share Intel with you and direct you to things you might be interested in; villages turned to ash, refugee camps, mass graves . . . things like that, things the United Nations would like to see.”
Angelo interrupted Marko, “Marko, you must remember, we’re not with the United Nations or N.A.T.O. for that matter. We're here for personal reasons, on our own time and at our own expense. As much as we value your assistance, you must understand this.”
Angelo glanced over at Reed just in time to catch his nod of approval. Marko nodded his head, almost embarrassed that he was speaking so loosely.
Kat felt a need to fill a short break in the conversation. “Marko, first things first, we’re going to the bazaar. We have to go shopping. These clothes got them into the country okay, but they don't need the extra attention. Now that we know we weren't followed, they should look like they belong. They should blend in. The bazaar will have plenty of fake leather jackets, cheap parkas, argyle socks and used dress shoes. With a little work,” Kat looked each of them up and down, “they can look like the average Eastern European.” Kat was smiling ear to ear.
Marko cracked the slightest grin, “The others might blend in, but good luck on the American. I would more likely believe he was an elephant rather than an Eastern European.”
Florentine laughed out loud, “Yeah, let’s get rid of the American. He's going to slow us down. I say we trade him to the resistance to get Otto's gear back.” This encourage laughter from all.
Reed couldn't put a finger on exactly what features were different, but the differences were profound. A different body shape, maybe. Reed seemed to have a longer torso than the Europeans. His face was square and the back of his head was round, while the Europeans seemed to have round faces with the back of their heads square. His skin was less pale, his nose smaller and his ears maybe bigger. His demeanor and the way he carried himself appeared to be different. Whatever the diversity, Reed accepted the fact that he would have to try harder than the rest of the team to tame outside curiosity and suspicion.
In the bazaar, the group received a fair amount of attention. Reed felt most of it was directed at him. While shopping, he found it amusing that Europeans had almost no comfort zone. They would hold conversations with only inches between themselves. Reed felt himself constantly backing up, while obliging those who practiced their broken English on him. They also seemed to raise their voices for no particular reason.
When the shopping adjourned, Reed was able to retain his white t-shirt and jeans. But he did spend a few moments saying