The Meat Grinder, a 100 word story

"Seriously? You're going to take him out on the boat tomorrow?" The boat is a fishing trawler. This jackass needed to be fired.

"Did I say that? I did not say that."

John wasn't even a good employee. What did he do to get a day out when it isn't even fishing season? "I'm missing something. Explain it to me."

"You are not entitled to explanations"

I am not one to just walk away. "Right, whatever." Leaving the fishing docks feels uncomfortable tonight. Like I'm being followed, y'know, hunted.

"What the!? Who are you?" There was no answer. I heard the sound of the meat grinder we used to make chum.

"You never learned to stop. Like a dog worrying at a bone."

Reap What Ye Sow

Ye shall reap what ye sew
Deal in death and death shall dwell in ye

Woe to those who live that life
For their hearts and minds forever know only strife

Should there be any light witnessed within their eyes
Shall be only as warm and bright as the ashes after the fire dies

Thee hast fought and bled, making certain that thousands have died
Have done so for a crown or governor who lied

Yay, be ye warned, ye shall reap what ye sew
And for time eternal the iciness of the grave shall
Within thee flow

Hope, Longing, Dreams

Hope, longing, dreams
All are words without action
Hope brings hurt, hope is useless

Wishing, wanting, desire
Not one of which shall lift your station
Hope, longing, dreams not at all what it seems

In this crooked, cutting, cruel world is certain
Wasting your time by overextending scant resources
Hope brings hurt, hope is useless

Battles, wounds, scars
Mark those who endure
Hope, longing, dreams not at all what it seems

This life is nothing more than a death march
Wishing, wanting, desire all weaken the heart, the keystone in the arch
This road is long rough and so long I am so weary and grow so tired
No energy at all to waste upon wish, want, or desire

Rats, a 100 word story

That smells like shit! Where am I? A concrete tube? A sewer! I'm in a sewer! How did I get here?

"Help!" My voice echoes in the dark. The only reply is trickling water. Panic takes over and I can't breath.”Relax, breath deep and think … ow!" Something just bit my leg! It felt like when you catch yourself on a cheese grater.

There's cracklings in my ear, "You've met the rats now. "

"Rats?! Hey, get me out of here!" Nothing.

More rats have come and they're eating me! I can feel their teeth going into my flesh.

"HELP!!!!"

The Edges of Your Mind, a 100 word story

At the sanitarium the only peace and quiet you can get is by getting listed as violent. Then even the orderlies pretty much leave you alone.


Why am I here? I study H.H. Holmes.


I also astral travel and am learning to enter other people's minds.


Focusing on my body going to sleep and my mind staying awake there is a vibration throughout me. Walking like this is easy. Controlling a person's body is difficult You know, a creeping presence, an odd thought skirting the edges of your mind. Those twisted, alien thoughts that make you skin crawl? That's me.

Murder by Bears, a 100 word story

I've woken up with hangovers before, but this wasn't from anything I knowingly drank. What the hell was I doing in the woods and tied to a tree?

“Hello? Hello? Anybody?”

Crackling in my ear and then a voice. “There are piles of fruit there to draw the bears in. You won't hear them until they are right there.”

I am scared, my heart is racing, “What the ... Who are you?” I am almost shrieking. Did he say bears? Was that a branch cracking?

I hear grunting! Three bears? Not my legs first! “NOOOO!”

Crackling again, “Goodbye.”

“AAAHHHGHGHGGGG!”

the futility

the futility
is there really any reason
what is there to show for it all
why do we each keep doing these things and going on

does it matter
really, in the end we all die
and there is nothing more
we are done

the futility
is there for all to see
in time everyone will see
some poor saps are already done but not finished

does it matter
that they have to go on
with gaping wounds that do not bleed
while others go on chasing their greed

the futility
there is nothing else
just futility
why do we each keep doing these things and going on

Some Days, a 100 word story

Some days I really just want to scratch my skin off. Why? Sometimes it's like there are thousands of little bugs crawling on my skin. I can feel every single little bug foot as it pulls at my skin and hairs. It has got to stop! They have to stop! Why can't I stop them? They're on my back and legs!



The quiet room is supposed to be safe and not have bugs, but they're here! I know they are! I can feel them! Bugs! BUGS! BUGS!



And that's why I have a straight jacket … tee hee!!

The Hot, Searing Metal, 100 word story

I crack open one and them another. All but lifeless they fall onto the hot, searing metal. It is hissing against the hot, searing metal. There is popping and writhing and, finally, twitching against the steaming and sizzling. The empty shells are but tossed aside. Still, from the hardening matter upon the hot metal, some dying protest is hissed out.


I watch, and poke, and prod, and smile. The popping and twitching has all but ceased. And smile I do, as my task is nearly through. No one has died, I was watching my morning eggs get fried.

The rack, a 100 word story

The steel cuffs at my hands and feet tear my flesh deep. The iron, now as cold as death, is as unforgiving as the reaper's scythe. My limbs, once limber and lithe, are now rent asunder. All for but one minor blunder.

The chains clink, link by link. Another turn, another clank of the steel tooth holding the the tension which you so skillfully and calmly crank. For mercy, I beg, have mercy! Twas only said in jest, those words I did utter., now echos from these cold stone walls, Thou art surely killing me, Smalls!

The Attic a 100 word story

I never did like attics. This dark, cold space above the house and who knows what's really crawling around up here. Today, I have to clean out rat traps. We had been hearing loud scratching and running claws at night. Now there are dead creatures in the dark.

Oh my gosh! There are only scraps of bloody flesh and fur around the traps. What the heck is up here? Oh, no! The light went out, but the door is still open.

GAHHH!! It's got me … the door is still open … teeth biting at my neck … blackness ...

Why keep moving

Why keep moving?

Which way is forward?

Still, onward I keep trudging.

Standing still is to merely wait,

A task, a chore which I abhor

Onward I keep trudging

Choosing one direction over another

Even that simple task is a dreadful bother.

Why keep moving?

Something inside compels me, drives me onward

Without so much as a guiding star to look upon.

Yet, onward I keep trudging.

Without a star to look upon

My gaze is taken by the blood stained ground

No guiding light is found, nothing is worth proving.

So, why, indeed, do I keep moving?

from the inside out

tendencies to destroy do destroy
slowly and insidiously at first
then with increasing speed and veracity
from the inside out

things that weaken the bonds to others
weaken the bonds to my own mind
tearing myself down
from the inside out

tendencies to destroy do destroy
forcing people away
until there is no one to push but yourself
from the inside out

they scream and yell in shock and pain
they go away and say never again
they scream and yell and echo filling you
from the inside out

tendencies to destroy do destroy
leaving you in an empty space
as an an empty shell scraped
from the inside out

Thank you

My blog is nearing a milestone for me. I am nearly at 1,000 hits. The number of people reading my work is astounding to me. Thank you for reading these pieces, thank you for forwarding them. I really appreciate that so many people have put their time into reading these pieces.

Thank you

I wish you had listened

Mommy, I wish you had listened

Daddy, I wish you had heard

This sort of pain is so undeserved.

Years of anger, angst, and confusion

Could have been avoided

I wish you had listened

Self hatred, self loathing 

Are my constant companions

This sort of pain is so undeserved

At once there is awe and horror

At exactly what I am and am not

I wish you had listened

Tears have flowed and sharp edges have glistened

Choices were made, but no one listened

It may now be too late

But, now, how I wish, how you wish, that you had listened

The moment has passed

Each moment, each breath, is a significant passing of time

Just as each year, each life, so does each moment follow the same pattern.

Each moment begins with a growing hope

A hope for joy and fulfillment

Each breath lifts your chest, ascending with the exhilaration of life

Ascending with the innate knowledge of its own ending

Each moment, each day, each year the pattern is the same

A promise of hope, warmth, life, and love

A promise that, early on, seems possible to fulfill

It invites us to bask in the warmth, the height of its inhalation

We do, we go and try to forget the knowledge that the dark is coming, the dank and cold are growing

Each moment, each day, each year, each breath grows darker and colder as it nears its death

Each moment, as each year, so, too, passes

Each exhalation is that moments death.

A moment ago

Moments ago I could not see

The world now glaring at me

Betrayer I have been

Now all about me 

Traitors and betrayers are seen.

Secrets and conspiracies 

Planned, whispered,

Set into motion in the night

Are stripped bare by the morning light

There, before me, stands the ugliest beast

The beast I cannot fight

The beast I cannot defeat

Since we, that beast and me,

Share a singular heartbeat 

In the morning light I can clearly see

That the beast is me

There is No Peace

Sleep is restless, with dark dreams and empty scenes
We dream then find ourselves waking to an endless fight

Through the struggle that comes with the morning light
A fight, a journey, either way, no end in sight

There is always a shadow of palpable presence
Always there and never light

Restless sleep and daily horrors
In the day light from nightmare borrows

The faces, the screams, the smell of death
They linger, they dance, I still smell the stench of their breath

These are the ghosts that haunt my waking hours

To still feel their stares and their lingering glowers

These are the nightmares that cloud my waking hours
Those that visit at night are of a different fright

No, there is no peace, no rest
Not day or night

To this waking nightmare there is no end in sight
No peace, no solace, to this endless fright

A trap from which there is no flight
No rest by day or by night


(C) Copyright Marc Trepanier

My Thoughts on Love

I was asked what my thoughts were on love.
What thoughts on this "gift" from Heaven above?

Helen of Troy and
Heloise of Abelard are first in my thought

What more evidence need you to recognize the
pain, angst, anguish, and death this gift has wrought.

Oh, how the heart dances like a man on the end of a rope.
How it makes the heart writhe in pain.

Why Abel was killed by Cain?
It was the want of love that caused him such pain.

The lies told, tears from another's eyes
The depths of anguish and pain wrought by love is Hel itself.

Not the firey lakes and maggoty hell of fire
But the barren, dark, frozen Hel which the Vikings feared.

Abelard wrote to Heloise, and she to him, of their heart's desire.
An ancient Icelandic fisher who, once his love had come to be,
Himself was swallowed by the swollen, frozen sea.
My thoughts, you ask, on love are that, in love fulfilled our joy is killed.

Such is the "gift" of love.




(C) Copyright Marc Trepanier

Why I Bother I do not know

Why I bother I do not know
Things and people will always go
I simply no longer care

New friends and new bonds
In a mobile society
Why I bother I do not know

I'll always be there
The common promise
I simply no longer care

Empty words
Broken promises
Why I bother I do not know

Warmth and light retreat
At every friendly entreat
I simply no longer care

With everything so fleeting
Happiness, joy companionship
Why I bother I do not know
I simply no longer care



(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013

Sarajevo to Banja Luka (Part 2)

I walked off the Antonov with the rest of the passengers and over to the side door we were ushered to by armed guards. This route bypassed the customs desk and took us into the terminal where our bags were being brought.
There I was, in Sarajevo, not knowing where I had to go or how I had to get there. It was 2002, the war had ended seven years ago, but you wouldn't know it by looking around. The damage done to all the buildings still looked rather fresh. Based on the laundry hung out to dry, these shot up apartments were being lived in. I have been in some damnably cold places, but I could not imagine spending a winter in one of the buildings I was looking at. This had been Olympic City, I thought to myself, And look at her now. I was only seeing the very tip of it all.

“Hey, man!” I looked over my shoulder to see a fat Army Corporal walking towards me.
There was no name tape on his field jacket.
“You looking for a ride to Camp Butmir?” Butmir (the way they say it is Boot-meer), the base I was supposed to go to, yes, but a camp? I considered him and the area we were standing in, “Yeah, I am, Corporal.”

“Shit! No need to be so formal, we all friends here. I'm Benton, but most people just call me Benny.” He had an earnest smile. “You must be that new guy for AMIB.” In Italy I had been told not to mention that battalion.

This guy was an idiot. Trying to cover for the soldier, I picked up my bags and said, “Aircraft Maintenance and Integrity Battalion? No, I am going to the administrative center there. But, hell yeah, I'll take the ride.”

The drive to Butmir was not quiet. Military vehicles are notoriously noisy. Plus, Benny would not shut up. I was watching the streets and woods as they drove. We passed a building that had been blown up during the war. The central support wall was standing tall, clearly structurally sound enough. Each floor that was built onto that central support had collapsed. It made me laugh to see that there were trees growing in the rubble on the upper floors.

The cramped and shot up apartments gave way to wooded areas with houses. Some of the areas had one large house in a tract of cleared area with walls about 12 feet tall around the property. Other houses were unprotected and looked abandoned. Every so often there was military equipment. Some of it had been shot up, other pieces looked as though they had just been abandoned. No scavenging, no squatters, no houses or anything around these husks, just a chunk of rusted old equipment. Those areas showing no sign of disturbance or activity were probably mined. Land mines were used rather extensively by all three warring parties. Due to a number of reasons there was no such thing as a map to show what areas were mined how and by whom. It seems that some mine fields were never tracked while some engineers laid their mines over another entity's mine field.

At any rate, the drive to Butmir was interesting. Near the airport the apartment buildings and houses all looked like they had just been shot up within the last few weeks. As we got further out the houses were less touched by war. The houses were larger and with high walls around them. The trees along the road and on empty lots were huge and serene looking. It was a warm, sunny afternoon in spite of it still being winter. The forested areas looked so serene. They also looked like fantastic places to set in an ambush. With that thought the disarming sense of serenity and peace flushed away. Instinctively my hand went for my pistol, my empty pistol. Benny chuckled. "We in a safe area, man." He was grinning from ear to ear. "Ain't nobody stupid enough to do anything in Com SFOR's backyard." I had to smile, too. Somehow, that reassurance wasn't convincing me.

"I suppose that would be unbelievably stupid." Even though I said it, the reality was that desperate people will do desperate things. That included attacking SFOR here. What better way to say "You don't frighten me"?

Up ahead there was a gathering of shipping containers and small huts. There were a few local girls at each of the buildings, for lack of a better term. There was a mass of off duty military milling about and going into or coming out of the buildings.

"That, up there, is CD Alley. you can get almost any CD you want there real cheap." I didn't respond, I was just looking at the scene. "Oh, you looking at the women. Yeah, they hot, but don't touch." His tone changed drastically with that. he was no longer smiling anywhere in his being. "You'll get all sorts of VD from them or you will get caught and in trouble for human trafficking and soliciting." I wasn't too clear on the human trafficking aspect in the region at that moment, but in the coming weeks and months I was going to learn more than I could have ever imagined. "Command here takes that shit real serious." Benny looked at me, “real fucking serious. Human trafficking ain't no joke here.”

In a few more minutes we were through the gate. Benny took a hard left into the parking lot of a two story building with sort of a gate going into a courtyard. “Check this out, man, The dude on watch has called to let your CO know that you're here. His name is Olsvik, or something like that. He's Norwegian. I'm told that he is on his way back here from personnel.”

"Thank you very much for the ride, Benny." I looked for the name tape on his uniform again, there was none. "You go inside and check in with the guard and I'll put your gear over to the side here." I wondered about the lack of his name tape. Being out of uniform like that was unacceptable everywhere I had served prior to this. As I headed to the guard station that Benny indicated I called back over my shoulder, “Thanks, again, Benny.”

“No sweat!” Benny was smiling that huge smile of his as he climbed back into his truck. “You want to know more about the area, where to go for what, you find me over at the motor pool.”

Benny was a decent fellow. He knew more about where I was supposed to be than I did, and that did not make me feel too comfortable. Not after the way he blurted out AMIB at the airport. I appreciated the fact that he was sent to gather me up. Benny got into his Army issue pickup truck and drove away. I looked at the three large duffel bags that carried my military gear and the blue one with my personal gear. It bothered me, not knowing who was coming to check me in. I looked up and around me at the mountains. They were peaceful. I got lost in the view. How long I stood there looking around I couldn't tell you. I could tell you that the beauty was shadowed somewhat by the knowledge that there were people out there watching us, SFOR. Some of them could be watching me.

Some time after Benny was left two Chevy Blazers pulled up The soldiers that stepped out were not at all what I was expecting. Six very tall men stepped from the two Blazers. Their reddish hair was unkempt, their skin pale, but their eyes. Their eyes were piercing. Norwegians. "So that's what Vikings looked like." I said to no one in particular. I was standing in the smoking pavilion, trying to look like I knew what was doing. I laughed at myself, any idiot knows how to stand and smoke a cigarette.

One of the Norwegians, a man of almost 7 feet tall, saw me watching them. When the group had gotten close enough he lunged at me and yelled, “Lock up the women and children! The Vikings have arrived! Yaarrrrgh!” I jumped back into a defensive stance, in spite of my trying to remain collected. The men with him laughed. The one who had lunged smiled broadly and extended his huge hand. “Hello. I am Major Ulvgard Kvinge.” I smiled and laughed with him. “Umm, Petty Officer Second Class Mark Decker." I preferred Sergeant, but  it didn't really matter then.

It isn't that I am unusually tall, but these guys made me feel short. Short wasn't the right word, small was more like it. 

“I vill call you Mark and you vill call me Ulvgard. And you will not be using your last name. You must use a cover name.” At a distance this man was intimidating, up close he was down right frightening. Well, he was certainly unnerving.He had deep set, ice-blue, piercing eyes, a jagged smile of yellow and brown stained teeth, and a wild beard. He wasn't a movie viking with huge muscles. Ulvgard was wiry. He was a professional soldier, a lifer, and he would be in uniform likely for the rest of his life. The rest of the soldiers with him varied in height and build, but they all had a similar set to their eyes. There was no problem imagining a boat load of people like this coming out of their long boats. You read about or see movies with Vikings or the types of people ancient legends talk about and find it impressive. Standing here in the midst of the people who gave birth to those legends and myths was pretty awesome.

Ulvgard went on to introduce me to the rest of his group. He motioned with his hand to each man as he introduced us. There was Asseus Simensen, who was called Simon, Agneton Haldel, Kevin Juell, Hartvik Helgeland, Vellek Sorland, and Thrond Skage. The names sounded to me like something from the old myths. Maybe these were cover names. There was no way to really tell.

We stood there, smoking and joking for a while when I noticed another man was walking towards us.

He was wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and a tweed blazer. Kevin was the first of the Norwegians to see the approaching gent. He jabbed Ulvgard and nodded in the man's direction. Ulvgard stood to his full height. He then saluted the approaching man who responded by waving the salute away and spoke in Norwegian, “Gut tag, Ulvgard. Hvordan går det?” The first part sounded like he had said "good dog" to Ulvgard. I assumed that it meant "good day">

Ulvgard spoke in English, “Colonel Norris Olsvik, I am pleased to introduce you to our American friend, Mark.” I didn't salute, the gent was in civilian clothes, “Colonel, it's a pleasure to meet you.” He moved easily, but with strength. You know, this was the kind of person who would walk into a bar and people would take notice. They would also generally leave him alone.

“Mark,“ Norris said stepping into the smoking circle, “I will be your commanding officer. I am taking over Operations here. This will happen while you are in school here. You all have lots to learn over the next several weeks. While you are here you can use ranks or similar military courtesies,but there is not much call for it once you leave for your assignment." He paused for a moment to dig out a cigarette. "There is someone coming to get you checked in shortly. In the mean time, I will take my men and get them settled in.”

“Thank you, Norris. I am looking forward to this assignment.” Norris and Ulvgard each shook my hand. I considered each man. Norris was clearly a gentleman and a bruiser, if indeed on man could be both. Ulvgard could easily scare the crap out of most anyone just by glaring at them. Vikings, looking like him, but with the hunger of being in a long boat for weeks must have been among the most terrifying things that people had seen all those centuries ago.

The colonel leaned in a bit and looked sternly at Dickson, “What do you know about this assignment?”
I suppose a well prepared professional would have a solid answer to this question, an answer that showed a level of professionalism and confidence would have been preferable to what came out of my mouth. “Not a damn thing, Norris, but I enjoy leaping before looking.” I smiled mischievously. " And I'm pretty damn good at it, too." I hadnt learned much more about this gig since leaving my unit's office, more like nothing. I'd learned nothing about it. The funny thing was that I really didn't mind not knowing what was happening and what was going to happen. Maybe I would have thought differently about that if I knew then the what I had learned there and in the years to follow.

Norris left with his men to get them checked in. By now it was getting on in the day and afternoon was giving way to the evening. The shadows from the mountains quickly blanketed Camp Butmir in cold and a deepening darkness. I imagined, not for the last time, what it must have been like to have lived in this place years before the latest war.
Living under Tito, a cold and calculating dictator. I thought about how the weather and the terrain had to breed a tough and resilient people. From everywhere I had been prior to this, it was clear what the environment did to the people living there. Harsh climates, severe terrains made for severe people. They had to be, it was a matter of life and death at some point.

It wasn't much longer before First Class Petty Officer, PO1, Benny Perez came along to show me around. "Hey, Mark. I am so sorry that it took me all afternoon to get here. It is just crazy right now." From where I had been waiting there was no massive amount of traffic, no helicopters coming in and out, nothing. There was no sign of the to-do that Benny Perez was referring to. Not wanting to call him a liar before getting to my room I simply shrugged. "It gets that way everywhere, man." Another 'Benny,' I thought to myself. Maybe it was a cover name or some stupid crap like that. 

He didn't have a vehicle. At least he picked up one of my bags for me. I threw the other two large green duffel bags on, one on my chest and the other on my back. My personal bag rolled along easily behind me.

Benny said nothing ekse until we got to my dormitory room. The lodging was not too different from some of the older college dorms. Two bunk beds per room and communal bathroom and shower areas.

"Tomorrow all you have to do is go to the personnel building, that's 538 and you'll find it near the barber shop." He was talking like he expected me to know w.here these places were and what he was talking about. 

"Hold on, shipmate." I was getting an attitude now. Shipmate had more of a tone to it that said "fuck you" than I wanted it to. It had been a long day and I was hungry, grimy, and was more tired than I wanted to admit. "First time here, partner. I don't even know where the D-Fac is."

D-Fac, dining facility, that's what it was called in the Army. Yes, I suppose I was getting my NCO attitude geared up to knock this guy on his ass. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Mark." He stepped back a little and put his hands up slightly. "I can show you around quickly after we eat." He backed out of my room as I flung my bags onto a lower bunk. I was feeling froggy.

On the way to the D, err, chow hall, kitchen whatever you want to call it I noticed some folks hanging out and smoking and, even though I couldn't understand what they were saying, joking around. They were standing in the darker shadows of several tall pine trees. Those trees were lovely. 

They reminded me of the pine barrens in New Jersey. I always had loved it there. Maybe it was the memory of those old pines, but I started heading over towards the trees and the now obviously Italian troops when Perez suddenly grabbed my arm. It snapped me out of my thoughts and back to the present. I spun to face Benny. Before I could say anything he spoke firmly, "I don't care where you are in this country, do NOT step off of the paved areas." The puzzled look on my face was all I could muster after being spun like that. "Land mines are everywhere in this country. they also have a way of showing up in places that they weren't before."
It seemed a little cryptic right then, but I accepted the heartfelt warning.

Much to my surprise, and bliss, the dining hall was run by the Brits. Granted, their cuisine is not as much of a dare as Scottish cooking, but it still left much to be desired.

"Don't sweat this crap, Mark, there are plenty of other places to get a free meal here. Tomorrow we'll head over to the Italian's mess hall and have wine with lunch."

Wine with Italian fare for lunch, now that sounded good. "That would make up for the steak and kidney pie," I chuckled.

"After this let's go to the SAMS Club and I'll get you a beer while I tell you what ya gotta do and where ya gotta be tomorrow." I looked at him like his hair was starting to dance. "Right, you're new. The SAMS club is for US forces only. We can bring a guest, but it isn't done often. SAMS means Sailors Airmen Marines Soldiers." 

I could do with a beer, "Since I don't have any other plans tonight, what the hell."

It turns out that I didn't have much to do over the next few days. Once I got all checked in and oriented to the camp there was noting for me to do for a few days. A few days, right, it turned out to be almost twi weeks. Going to the gym, using the hand to hand combat instructors, some Marines and Soldiers as kick boxing partners filled part of each day for the next 12 days. I also spent a good amount of time at the US Morale Welfare and Recreation building, there were darts and pool tables there. These were good ways to get other service members to talk about their tours and what they had seen. It would help me to get better oriented, so I thought.

I also busied myself with learning more of the language. Somewhere along the line it was told to me that, if I ever wanted to understand how a people thought, it would go a long way to learn how they speak. I took that to heart and made the most of my time and the locals who were working in all the pubs, clubs, and other places on the camp.

Walking around and getting lost is the best way to learn your way around a place, so that's what I did. It was Friday and it was warm and sunny. 50 degrees for a Balkan winter was down right hot. I was walking along the fence line, my plan was to walk the entire perimeter. Connex boxes, something like a shipping container you would see on a big rig hauling down the highway, were used for all sorts of things here. Bars, stores, lounges, a barber shop, you name it. I was enjoying the walk when, just outside the fence line, automatic gunfire split the air. Reflexively, I ducked and rolled for cover. I looked around to see where the casualties were. Everyone was walking along just going about their business as if nothing had happened.

“Mark.” I knew that voice. I stood up from between the barrels where I landed. It was Ulvgard. “The Muslims do that every Friday at about this time.”

“So, I have to get used to AK rifle fire going off … every Friday afternoon ... in the middle of town”

“Yes, Mark.” Ulvgard was not even trying to hide his amusement. "I take it you have been here before?” I asked him while I stood up and dusted myself off.

“Oh, yes, a few times.” Ulvgard was now smiling his huge almost frightful smile.

Hoping to not make a fool of myself again I asked, “So, you wanna tell me what else might go on that could make me jump?”

“You're funny.” Ulvgard looked around before handing me a cigarette. “You are going to be lots of fun.”

“Screw you, Ulvgard,” I was laughing now, too. I had so much experience and so much to learn about which end was up in this country. Alright, I was time in Kosovo and I should have known better, due to the Muslim population in Sarajevo, but it had slipped my mind. I got lost in the scenery and in my own thoughts when the 12 o'clock gunfire went off.

"By the by, Mark. Norris wants to see you at his office Monday morning. It is upstair in the building you were at the other day." Looking at him with one eyebrow raised I was about to ask for more details when Ulvgard filled in more of the blanks for me. "His office is around to ze left corner on the second floor. He wants to talk vis each of us on ze team." His heavy accent made it hard to understand Ulvgard, but I still liked the sound of it.

"Sure, can be there 0800 Monday morning. Thank you."

"No. You vil be zere at 0600." I don't know how he did it, but when I turned to look at him he was gone. Not a trace of that tall bastard anywhere. I had to laugh in spite of myself.

Monday morning came early, very early. The heater in Norris' office, a small plug in radiator, had only just been turned on. The unit was clicking slightly as the fluid inside warmed up. The air was frigid yet, our words came out in icy clouds. "Good morning, Mark. I am glad to have this time to talk with you." I considered the small, dimly lit office, the steam from the coffee cups, and the man sitting behind the desk in front of me.

"What can I do for you, Sir." It was more of a reflexive comment than a planned question. Still, I was earnestly listening for the answer.

"Once your training here is completed, in four more weeks, you are going to be operating from Banja Luka Metal Factory. I do not know precisely where you will be working, but I wanted to give you some time to look over these files." Norris pushed a fat manilla envelope across the desk to me. There were pictures of mass graves, mutilated bodies, torture victims, dying people, you name it. "The people, men and women, who have perpetrated the crimes that you are looking at now, are listed as Persons Indicted for War Crimes, PIFWCs."

I continued to look through the pictures and reports for a few minutes before asking, "Who are the class acts that were in charge of these?" Honestly, I was at a loss for words and could not find anything to adequately describe the depth of depravity of those who committed the crimes.

"One of them," pointing at a picture of an officer, "was General Ante Gotovina." I looked at the shot of the General, Norris continued, "He is a veteran of the French Foreign Legion and has also been trained by both Soviets and Americans." That caught my attention. He had training from Americans? Well, not too surprising, actually. We have a habit of training despots and dictators who later become our enemies. "Your President Clinton provided monetary and material support for the planning, training, and conducting of Operation Storm."

Operation Storm was one of the few travesties from Bosnia that I had heard about prior to getting there. What the US knew about the plan I had no idea, but how it turned out was deeply sickening. When Operation Storm was executed it turned out to be the Croatian military rolling through every Serbian enclave they could find along the Bosnian/Croatian border at strategic points. There were mass killings of civilians, villages decimated, men, women and children slaughtered. There were also reports of selected soldiers going into areas prior to Storm. The orders of those on the ground were to increase ethnic tensions. This was done by slaughtering a family and staging it to look like it was done by another ethnic group.

Norris was quiet for several minutes. When he spoke again, his tone had changed, it was very severe. I looked up to watch him as he spoke. "You are not a PIFWC hunter; however, if you catch wind of these bastards and others like them, I expect you to do everything in your power to bring them down. It is imperative that you find the people responsible. The Hague will put them in prison for a few years. If they find you first, they will likely kill you. Your government has only given you a 9mm pistol. Be very careful and clever in your work. Just be cautious as to how you word things in your reports."

Things were making sense now, the early morning private meeting, the pile of pictures and pieces of reports, I understood what he was and was not saying.Do whatever I had to in order to find the perpetrators of these crimes, but do not get caught either by the criminals or by the good guys.

The class which Norris had mentioned was little more than a four week class on how to write the reports we would send back up the chain. It was no big thing getting through the course work, just a walk in the park. Finally, the orders came in. Our class was being sent in groups to four different areas. Some were staying put at Butmir to run the show for those of us who were going down range. I was being sent to Banja Luka, as the Colonel had said a month earlier. The camp was established on the grounds and in the building of a metal factory.


Copyrighted Marc Trepanier 2013