by Jack July
“You murdering bastard. We know all about you. Rape, torture, executions.”
Farid stood up. “You are wrong. We don’t do that. We are soldiers. We kill Serbs. We kill war criminals NATO won’t.”
“Bullshit,” she muttered.
Farid opened a medical kit. He was all professional now. “Let me see your wound.”
She took another swing at him. “Keep your fucking witch doctor away from me!”
Cody frowned. “Look, we can’t stay here long. We have to go. Farid went to Duke Medical School in North Carolina. He trained to be a Doctor and saved plenty of our lives. You let him treat you or we will hold you down.”
She stared at Cody, then leaned back as he began to cut off her pants. The wound was high on her thigh.
“Avert your eyes,” she yelled at the other men. Two of them took off their coats, holding them up to shield her. She let out a disbelieving chuckle. “At least you’re polite murdering bastards.” Cody grinned at her.
They loaded Officer Aziz onto a litter and carried her through the woods. Cody knew of a NATO refugee base about ten miles to the East; they would take her there. It was slow going. Cody used the time to speak softly to Aziz about what had happened at Potocari, who his men were and how he had become involved. She listened quietly. At last, she whispered, “Killing that Ambassador was a mistake. You signed your death warrants. They are hunting you down right now to kill you.”
“Not if I can help it,” said Cody.
About a half-mile away from the refugee camp, Juka came to Cody and told him about a truck with a trailer unloading a tractor just off the road that paralleled their route.
They were, he said, digging a hole. That only meant one thing.
Cody and Juka slipped down the side of a hill and watched with binoculars from about 500 yards. They saw the UN base that housed refugees surrounded by a Serbian Death squad they recognized as the Scorpions.
At the front gate, a skinny little soldier, maybe a woman, was arguing, waving a pistol and giving them all kinds of grief. The Commander of the Scorpions stood patiently. He appeared mildly amused for a while. But then his patience ran out. He pointed at the little soldier’s chest, making some sort of demands. Cody looked at Juka. “What do you think?”
“I think they’re here to kill Bosnians. Same as always.”
Cody nodded slowly. “Stay put. Watch. If something bad happens, let me know. I’ll be back.”
He slipped back up the hill to Officer Aziz “Hey Aziz, can you walk?”
“Maybe a little. Not far.”
“Okay,” said Cody, and explained it to her.
A few minutes later, Officer Aziz slipped as close as she could get to the front gate, then staggered over to the small soldier. It was, in fact, a woman, and an American. Aziz collapsed into her arms. The woman was stunned for a moment, then yelled, “Corpsman up!”
Aziz whispered in her ear, “Let the Serbs have the refugees, the Ghosts are in the woods. Tell the Bosnians when the shooting starts to jump in the hole.”
The woman, Chief Petty Officer Birdsong, looked shocked for a split second, then nodded the tiniest bit. A young corpsman appeared at her side, and she passed Aziz over to him. All the while, she continued to argue with the Serbs, giving way incrementally.
Meanwhile, Aziz staggered through the gate with the young corpsman, whispering into his ear what was going on. The message was passed to the Bosnian refugees.
Uphill, Cody and his men were setting up an ambush on the other side of the hole. They watched as twelve Serbian soldiers marched more than forty male refugees out of the camp.
Unsure, the commander of the Scorpions kept looking at the Bosnians--who did not look like men marching to their deaths. They were walking straight ahead, not whimpering or praying or begging. Some even smiled at the Serbs. “Great,” muttered Cody, “At least pretend like you’re going to die.” Apparently the reputation of the Ghosts had reached here.
At the UN camp, Birdsong yelled to the gunny, “Get your boys ready. The shit is gonna hit the fan.” Then she cornered the base commander, a Spaniard who had been too cowardly to confront the Scorpions with her. He had no interest in fighting. She told him the same thing.
“But you gave them the men. They will go now.” He looked confused and more than a little afraid.
Birdsong was sick of this. Troops from the UN had proved themselves to be window dressing at best, no better than the Serbs themselves at worst. Often enough, they were drunkards, thieves, womanizers and bullies. She got in his face. “You fucking coward. You can stand here and die--I sure won’t stop you--or you can fight for your life. Get your men ready if you choose life.”
Commander Medvic heard machine gun fire in the distance, machine guns his men did not carry. He ordered another half dozen men down the road. Two minutes later he heard an explosion and more machine gun fire. “Get them on the radio!” he yelled at an aide. The man tried, shook his head.
“It a trap!” Enraged, he started to order an attack on the compound. Then he stopped as he realized what he was seeing. The compound was in a defensive posture. More weapons were pointed at the Scorpions than he had ever seen at a UN compound.
Suddenly bullets began to pock the ground behind them: they were taking fire from up the road. Commander Medvic shook his head. “We must retreat. There are too many.” He shook his fist at the compound. “I will be back!”
Inside the gate, Birdsong stood next to a pile of sandbags, a sneer on her face and her middle finger in the air. Aziz thanked Birdsong for her help, to which Birdsong replied, “I’m like the Godfather, someday I’ll come to you, and you cannot refuse.”
When the refugees returned from their little walk, they brought extras: Cody’s men had slipped into their ranks. Commander Medvic eventually made good on his threat to return. But by then, the UN aid station had been torn down and moved, and the refugees, Cody’s men among them, had relocated to various countries across Europe.
Cody, however, would stand out in any crowd. He required a different route. He, Farid and Tatiana commandeered an old Range Rover, driving cross-country to the Port of Neum. Cody bribed a Turkish ship’s captain for passage on an old freighter; the Turks weren’t too picky about their passengers. Aziz gave him her contact number, apologizing for not being more helpful. Cody freighter-hopped for a few months until he landed in the port of Darwin, Australia, in the Northern Territory. He saw the swamps and the crocodiles and fell in love. Here he could make a life for himself among the aborigines. He was happy.
Then T called.
CHAPTER 13
Nov 20th 9:30 A.M., West Memphis, AR.
Luke was not stingy with the gas pedal. Amy kept up with him while he raced down the winding country roads headed to his mom’s house when suddenly he slowed. Cars were lined up on each side of the road for at least a quarter mile. Looking out past a field, off in the distance, Amy saw a large white farmhouse. The closer she came to it, the bigger it got. The house was trimmed in green with a beautiful wraparound porch. Strangely, it was the house she had always imagined when she thought of having a family of her own. She followed Luke down a dirt road that took them around the back of the house next to a large barn. They pulled up next to it and parked.
Amy got out, looked over at Luke and asked, “Should I just go in the back door?”
“Tell you what, help me put this soda in the fridge and I’ll walk you in.”
“Sure,” Amy replied.
Amy held the case while Luke stacked them in the fridge. Over in the corner, under a cover, was a car. Amy looked it over for a moment and asked, “Is that Matt’s car?”
“Yep,” replied Luke.
“Can I see it?” Amy asked.
“Well, yeah, sure.”
They finished putting away the soda and Luke walked over and pulled the cover off the car. It wa
s just like Matt described it. A 1971 Midnight blue Z-28 with white stripes. Amy reached for the door handle, stopped, looked at Luke and said, “Can I…?”
Before she could finish, Luke said, “Sure, oh yeah, go ahead.”
She opened the door and as soon as she slid down into the black bucket seat, she smelled him. Goose bumps rose on her arms and the hair stood up on the back of her neck. It was like he was close, and yet she couldn’t touch him. She looked around inside the car and saw a can of Skoal up on the dash. Amy picked it up and with a surprised look said, “I didn’t know he dipped.”
Luke laughed and said, “Oh yeah, although, I don’t know if the SEALs let him do it or not. I think it was something he did while he was at home.” Luke thought for a moment and said with a little chuckle, “I bet you would have broke him of that.”
Amy shook her head and said, “No, I’d let him know I didn’t much care for it, but men have to do what men want to do.”
Shit, you ARE perfect, Luke thought to himself.
“C’mon, let’s go in the house, Ma is waitin’ on ya,” said Luke.
Amy got out of the car and shut the door. She glanced at Luke and looked away then said, “I’m nervous. This is not how I thought I would meet his family.”
Luke nodded his head and replied, “Understood. Just remember, this isn’t how the family thought they would be meeting you either. You’re the closest thing to him Ma has left.”
Amy took a deep breath as they headed to the house. Luke carried her things as they made their way through the groups of people standing around the house, quietly talking. They entered a large kitchen where Amy stopped to look around. A large woman, 5’8” or so, about 250 lbs. stood and stared at her with Matt’s eyes. “Amy?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Amy replied.
She smiled and covered the distance across the kitchen quickly. “My name is Addie. I’m Matt’s mother.”
Addie stepped forward to hug Amy. While backing away, Amy said, “I’m sorry, sore ribs.”
Addie smiled and said, “Yeah, I bet they are,” and gave her a gentle hug.
What does she mean by that? Amy thought to herself.
Addie backed away a bit, then with reverence reached up and brushed her hand across Amy’s cheek. “Yep, as pretty as your picture,” she said.
“Picture?” Amy replied curiously.
“Follow me,” said Addie while reaching for Amy’s hand and walking her through the house.
Above the fireplace was a framed 11x14 picture of Matt and Amy taken at the Marine Corps Birthday Ball. She hadn’t seen a picture of him since he died. The blast of pain through her chest was white hot and she had to remind herself to breathe. After looking at it a while longer Amy said softly, “Those people sure look happy.”
“I know that boy was,” said Addie with a little smile.
People kept trying to talk to them and Addie kept shooing them away. “I need to show you something,” said Addie while walking her down the hall. They went into the master bedroom and Addie shut the door and locked it. Amy sat down on the bench at the end of the bed while Addie reached in the closet and pulled out a shoebox, took off the lid, and sat it on her lap. “Matt was a momma’s boy. He wrote me four or five times a month to tell me he was fine. He couldn’t tell me much else. All these letters, all about him, and I kept ‘em all”. Her finger slid across the pile of neatly organized letters until she stopped about two inches from the end. “Until here. Then it was all about you. That’s when I knew he was serious.”
Amy cracked a little smile then Addie bluntly asked, “You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”
Amy looked away, not quite sure how to respond. Addie continued, “I’m sorry, honey, I guess that’s personal. I’m his momma, I loved him no matter what he did, but the boy had the morals of an alley cat. He went through women like no man I’d ever seen. When he was in high school, I prayed everyday he wouldn’t make me a thirty-something year old Grandma.” Amy and Addie both laughed a little.
“No,” Amy said, “No, I never did.”
“Good,” replied Addie. “Now I know that at least once in his life he knew what loving a woman was, what it really meant. Thank you for that.”
There was a knock on the door. Addie’s husband called through the door, “Momma, ’bout time we got ready to go,”
“Let ’em wait,” she hollered back, “they ain’t startin’ without us.”
“I need to know one more thing.” Addie said seriously. “Did he suffer?”
It was a classified mission. It was not to be discussed. Then Amy thought to herself, “How does she know I was there?
Addie caught Amy’s reluctance to answer. “Honey, I haven’t always been a simple farm girl; I know a few people. I know you were the only survivor of the crash. Please, I need to know, did he suffer?”
Amy didn’t speak, but she locked eyes with Addie and slowly shook her head no.
“Thank you for that, then. Thank you.” She hugged Amy for what seemed like a long time, and then she stood up and said, “Okay, your stuff is in the bedroom across the hall. I guess we should get ready. You’re ridin’ with us. You stay close to me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Amy.
November 6th 9:00 A.M. Alta Lucero, Mexico.
Montezuma’s revenge was the bane of many travelers to Mexico and South America. To adults, it was an uncomfortable digestive tract cleansing, an inconvenience. To children left untreated, it could be fatal. Kristy Ann Wilson was sick, very sick. The girls who were locked away with her tried to help but there was no toilet paper, no towels, no running water to keep her clean. Fecal matter caked her bottom, causing a burning rash. Her stomach cramped and her head pounded from dehydration. Her skin became pale and clammy, and dark circles formed under her eyes. She sat against the wall, knees pulled up, arms hugging her stomach.
She heard the door open and saw a man walk through. His face contorted in disgust at the smell. He walked over to her, grabbed her chin, and looked her over. Angrily he shook his head, turned and walked out the door. That’s when Kristy heard the screaming in Spanish.
Geraldo Reyes, in charge of human trafficking for the Rosas Cartel, slapped Aida hard to the floor, then kicked her down the hall screaming, “Estúpida, estúpida perra, te mataré”! “YOU STUPID, STUPID BITCH, I WILL KILL YOU!!”
He stopped kicking her, then grabbed her by the hair and said, “you had one job, one. Take care of the little white girl. SHE’S HALF DEAD!!” He hit her again while screaming, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!”
Geraldo paced back and forth trying to get himself together. He thought, if something happens to her, I am dead. “CLEAN HER UP,” he screamed. “Bathe her and give her new clothes. I am sending the doctor. Tell him she is your American niece that is visiting. Tell him it is for Rosa.” He started toward the front door, stopped, then turned and said, “Si ella muere, se muere.” If she dies, you die.
Blood dripped from Aida’s nose as she bent over to pick up Kristy. She carried her to the bathroom where she took Kristy’s clothes off and sat her in the warm tub. Normally Kristy would have tried to cover her nudity: she had reached that age where she would no longer even allow her father to see her nude, but she had no energy, she just didn’t care. Using soap and a washcloth, Aida cleaned Kristy who let out a squeal because the soap burned. Then her bowels erupted again, forcing Aida to drain and clean the tub, then try again. This happened more than once before the doctor arrived. He gave her IV fluids, a shot of antibiotics, medicine for her stomach and rash cream. He gave Aida a list of things she could eat and drink, and then told her she should be better in 48 hours.
Two hours later, Kristy sat on a couch under a blanket, sipping Gatorade and watching Mexican TV. She was slowly feeling better. The doors were locked so there was no escape. However, she had hope. She believed with all of her heart that at any
moment, her daddy would walk through the door to save her. What she didn’t know was that her illness had bought her safety and much better living conditions.
CHAPTER 14
November 20th 11:30 P.M., West Memphis, AR
The front two rows of the church were filled with family, politicians, and dignitaries. When it came time to be seated, there was no room for Amy. Addie looked at the Lieutenant Governor and said, “Excuse me, but you’re gonna have to move.” He balked at the request, more out of confusion than poor manners. All Addie knew was that he was not moving fast enough. She leaned down to him and whispered, “This is the woman he loved. You can get up on your own or I can help ya.” He politely moved. Amy took her seat; she noticed she could almost reach out and touch the casket. Matt’s death had been like a bad dream, but had suddenly become very real. The emotions she feared, the ones she had kept locked away for most of her life were coming like a freight train. She could let loose the rage, but always bottled up the sorrow.
Abigail, Matt Oliver’s 13-year-old cousin, sang Amazing Grace. By the time she was finished, a chorus of sobs echoed through the auditorium-sized sanctuary. Matt’s oldest brother Aaron, who was the Pastor of the church, gave the eulogy. He lifted the spirits of the mourners, and brought forth much laughter with stories of his wild little brother. By the time he was finished, Amy wondered if she really knew him at all. Then again, she would have gladly spent her lifetime learning.
The procession was both stately and personal. Matt’s flag draped casket was placed on a black polished cart and pulled by his barrel racing niece’s chestnut mare. She led the horse the full two miles through town. Over 200 veterans led the procession on Harley Davidsons, followed by his high school’s color guard and a bagpipe and drum regiment. The streets were lined by local citizens, most holding American flags. Men removed their hats and placed them over their hearts while women brushed away tears. Two fire trucks with extended ladders hoisted a large American flag that spanned the roadway. It was patriotism the American way.
