That pock-mark scarred face, those
rat-like eyes, his cheap cologne that, I swear to God he bathes in,
off the rack $2 suit coat that looked like it came with a free bowl
of soup. Yeah, I knew the guy, even though I couldn't clearly see
him. I knew Držislav Grubišić by that rotten cologne a mile away,
more if the wind was right. The only reason Nina wasn't fighting to
get away was the Makarov pistol hanging, almost dripping from his
right hand. That and the bloody lip she was sporting.
After what happened down in the alley
and running up through this old building I was trying to to catch my
breath and get ready for my next move, whatever that might be. Sweat
was starting to crawl down my back. In the dim room that was the
entire floor of the building there were few places to hide and the
three of us were in the center.
It was a large open floor, almost like
a warehouse. There were pillars spaced out at regular intervals
throughout the area that I could see. I figured they were nearly 25
feet apart and clearly were throughout the floor plan. The floor
itself was concrete and covered with dust, bits of concrete, and odd
pieces of litter. That was it, scarred pillars, dust, dirt, litter,
and us three.
How did I get here? How is it, on God's
green earth, did I wind up in a Mexican standoff on the tenth floor
of a prewar warehouse in the middle of Sarajevo?
To start, I'm a Field Operator. Simply
put, that means I operate in a field environment. What that really
means is that me, a partner, and an interpreter who, while not always
necessary and not always making my job easier, is a required part of
the team, patrol and maintain sources of information in an assigned
geographic area. The work week was just about over for the field
aspect and we were heading back to handle some resupply, relaxation,
and required briefings.
Just minutes ago I was driving through
Sarajevo. We also had to bring our interpreter in from the field for
her annual review. I was heading down Lozionicka towards Zmaja od
Bosna, morbidly known as Snipers Alley. During the war snipers had
regularly set themselves up in the old tower at the end of this road
in Old Sarajevo. From there, any decent sniper could hit any target
on Zmaja, the main road coming in and out. Picture a tennis racket.
There, you just mapped out the old district is the head of the
racket, and Zmaja the neck and grip. Zmaja, I chuckled to myself at
that name as I saw it on the road sign. It was very close to the word
for Dragon, which was Zmaj.
About two blocks up from making our
turn, traffic was stopped. Even though I knew the doors were locked,
I checked them again, you know, to try to settle that uneasy feeling
that something was about to go south fast.
What happened next it wasn't going
south, it was going east, and fast. My CUCV, think Chevy Blazer, got
slammed in the back right, almost t-boned. The impact spun us so that
the vehicle was facing into the alley. Match Stick and I were both
dazed, Nina's sudden screaming pierced my fog bank. When I saw her
she was being dragged down the alley, kicking and screaming.
The engine was still running. “These
damn CUCs are ugly as hell, but they do run.”
“What?” Match grumbled at me.
“Wahdda ya mean what?” I asked,
annoyed at the question. I accelerated down the narrow alley where I
had seen Nina being dragged. Trash cans, boxes, and bits of refuse
bounced up onto the windshield and over the top, obscurring my vision
in the process.
“Slow the hell down!” Match Stick
ordered.
I had to. The trash on the windshield
was blocking enough of my view that I might have run over Nina and
whoever was dragging her without even knowing it.
Fully regained his consciousness and
back into his seat while almost screaming at me. “What the hell are
you doing?!” Match Stick was as upset as I was.
The Army issued Blazer rolled easily
over the refuse in the alley. “Someone took Nina.”The reply was
so flat and cold that it would have even surprised me had I heard it.
Somehow, Eric, that was Match Stick's real name, caught that.
Finally stopping I stared up at the
wall with the exposed metal stairs. They went up for at least 20
flights. The entire thing looked rickety as hell.
Eric didn't look at me, he just stared
up at the sagging stepps. “Now what are you going to do, Michael?”
“You do have your MP5, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“And your 9mil?”
“That, too. With two extra mags for
the pistol.”
“Let me have one of those mags,
please.”
“You do realize that I'm the officer
here, Petty Officer Second Class.”
“Do NOT tell me that you are pulling
rank on me.” I paused, then added, “Sir.”
He shifted in his seat. “Yes. I am.”
I couldn't believe this. I thought I
knew Eric. We had been teamed up for several months now. Working,
training, working out, getting drunk, into and out of trouble
together. I mean, you think you know a guy, and then he goes and
pulls rank on you!
“I order you, Petty Officer, to take
these two extra 9mm magazines and go get our interpreter while I
radio for back up and stand guard over the classified material we
have here in the vehicle.”
I spun and looked at him in disbelief.
He held out the two mags. The smile happened and I didn't even know
it until I had the mags secured in my cargo pockets.
“Good luck,” Eric said as I jumped
out of the busted up Blazer.
Most of the time the stairs in these
old Soviet era buildings are almost exterior to the buildings
themselves. It's as if they were built on the outside as an
afterthought and then walled over to provide a minimum of weather
protection. Not this time. The rusted stairs complained every step I
took, and I took every step running. The idea of crashing through did
come to mind, but, if someone could make it up dragging Nina, then I
could, too.
Finally, the end of the line came. The
metal frame just dangled from the side of the brick wall. The door at
this point hung open unlike the others which were all closed. It had
been extremely shortsighted of me to just haul up but, here I was, at
the top, hoping that I was at the right one.
The room was one large open room; it
was the entire floor. The space was broken up mainly by pillars
spaced about the place, a few old desks, some chairs that had been
thrown about, what light there was came in through stained windows.
The daylight lit up the dust in the air, air that was heavy with a
musty smell.
I started to make my way around the
room to my right, keeping my back to the wall. My plan was to search
the room methodically and quickly. That is, until there was a thud
followed by a muffled groan. Quickly after that a woman yelped
sharply, in pain, I figured. It had to be Nina. Relief flooded my
mind. Up until that moment I could only hope that I had picked the
right floor to start searching. The noise came from the shadows near
the back of the floor where there were no windows. Made sense to me
to hide there and to head that way from a more lighted area, well ...
Walking towards that large shadow was
unnerving. There was no way to know who was there, how many there
might be, how well armed they were, or not. I just had to expect that
there was at least a squad, maybe a platoon and that I was walking
into a trap now. Still, running away would only be a sure way to get
shot in the back and leave Nina in the hands of who knew what. I had
to try, had to do something.
“Dat is close enough.” The accent
was thick and heavy. The voice was annoying and somewhere between
scratchy and squeaky. Then I caught a whiff of that God forsaken
chemical mixture that someone claimed was cologne … Grubišić? I
tried to reject the thought as soon as it entered my head. That slug
was as repugnant as they came. To think that he got the drop on me
and got his hands on Nina … eeeeewwww! The shudder was
completely involuntary, but as soon as he came out of the shadows
holding onto Nina, I couldn't help it.
That's how I came to be here, in the
shadowy, dusty, musty open floor looking at the scum of the earth
holding onto my terp, my friend. I was pissed. What I really wanted
to do was just blot over there and beat the little turd into a bloody
pulp and leave him for the cockroaches to carry away, but that
Makarov pistol dangling from his right hand made me think twice,
maybe even three times, about it.
“It vould seem ve have a problem,
Michael.” He laughed a little, as if just saying that was so funny.
I stepped forward easily as I
responded, “No, there's no problem, Držislav. I can have that old
CUCV down there written off and replaced. No one will miss it.”
Držislav must have squeezed Nina's arm, she whimpered a little, so I
stopped walking. “See? No problem.” Still, I was a few feet
closer. So long as I could keep the runt talking and inching my way
in I could figure a way out of this. If I went for my gun or twitched
too soon, Nina and I would both be dead.
“The problem, it seems, is that you
have gotten into my business just about everywhere, Michael.” He
must have figured out how much I hated being called Michael. Not even
my mother calls me that! I swear, I am going to stomp his teeth
out for that, I promised myself.
I knew what he was talking about. This
guy was into almost anything that could make money, but he was such
an idiot that he couldn't make enough profit to put two dimes
together, when he did he would drink them or snort it up his nose.
The thing that really burnt me up was that Držislav was into human
trafficking. He liked them young, too. He provided his girls for UN
police, politicians, and some other select customers. He provided
all sorts of women for dance halls and hotels all over the country.
Just last week there was a large
shipment of illicit cigarettes that had been stopped at the border
crossing near Split, Croatia on its way into Bosnia. Yes, I was there
for that. I had to be, my contacts got me the goods on it. I was so
thrilled when the truck was opened. The trailer was packed with
unstamped boxes of cigarettes. “Držislav,
cone on, man, it was just cigarettes. We both know that you've lost
more than that over a weekend of gambling or lumber smuggling.” I
shifted from one foot to the other to move in closer with each shift.
“This isn't
about CIGARETTES!” he screamed back, spit sprayed from his mouth. I
had never seen him this mad. I really did not know what to expect
from him. “Radic! Zdravko!” With that two large guys came out of
the shadows behind Držislav and stood side by side and behind him
several feet. It was as if they didn't want to get close to his
cologne either. There was no mistaking what those two were there for,
and I didn't like it. Their presence made very clear what I had to
do.
My shoulders
dropped slightly, as if relaxing a bit. We all knew that the next few
moments were going to get tense. We also knew that not all of us
were going to walk out of there.
Radic
and Zdravko were just what you'd expect from a couple of thugs. Both
had close cropped hair leaving nothing to grab on to. Their necks
were thicker than their heads. Between the two of them you might be
able to count up 25 teeth and almost two full ears. Them and Grubišić
with that pistol and Nina facing me. That is a shit ton of weight to
bear on one man's shoulders. That empty, dust filled, sun streaked
room suddenly felt more like a dank, dark, dreary tomb than anything
else. The next few seconds passed so quickly but felt slow and
smooth, just like we practiced back at the house.
The two thugs
came toward me in a slightly staggered pattern. The closest one
reached to grab me with both hands. I stepped into him, twisted, and
swung my right elbow up hard under his chin. Adrenaline was pumping
through my system, the strike snapped his head back hard. As I was
also a few inches taller. His throat was exposed for a few vital
moments. The hard point of my elbow slammed down into the cartilage,
crushing his windpipe. The tracheal notch is also a pressure point
that can make someone sit down hard when pressed into with your
fingers. To say that he collapsed under the pressure would be an
understatement. I wasn't sure if the concrete floor cracked or if it
was his knee caps when he hit the floor.
The second guy
had me from behind now. He threw me hard against one of the concrete
pillars in the room. The first shots to my kidneys sent waves of
agony through me, stopping all thought. Somewhere in my mind, I knew
I had to move or this was going to be it. There was a rhythm to his
hits, left, right, left, right. I shifted as quickly as I could. It
worked. His huge fist slammed into the crumbling concrete. The damage
was immediate, he shouted as the bones in his hand crumbled.
I struggled to
keep my feet for a few moments to reorient myself, and shook my head
a little to clear the cobwebs. Yes, it really was dusty and dim in
here, that was not just how I was seeing things after having my
kidneys pummeled. Now my old Drill Instructor was coming back to yell
at me, “Stay light on your feet, Thompson! Keep moving! If you
stand still you're DEAD!” Just like then, I started to shuffle a
bit, to move around. Then, I smiled. Yeah, it was coming back. This
was fun now. I was moving, the pain was being shut off by my body and
I was mobile. This guy, he smiled back at me as we circled each
other.
I snapped a
quick jab and hit his hand. He grimaced. I stepped in with the
greatest right hook since Ali fought. His left fist somehow had
transformed into a frying pan, I swear to God it had, and it slammed
squarely into the front of my face. I was knocked flat on my back. I
knew my nose and mouth were bleeding now. My eyes were watering up.
Damn, that guy was fast with his hands! ... err, hand ...
I tried to wipe
my eyes clear to see where this behemoth was exactly, no good. He was
there. It was one of those things like when you know that you are
being watched, but, this time, I also knew
just where this guy was by gut feeling.
I stomp kicked out. I heard the crack rather than felt anything. What
I did feel was his weight collapsing on me as one of his legs
buckled. I had caught his knee, broke it instantly. Now, there he
was, clinging to my legs with one good arm, one hand shattered and a
busted knee. There I was, beneath this guy who was, as far as I knew,
still out to kill me. I started raining punches down onto the top of
his shaved head, bloodying it, until he finally rolled off of me.
Sobbing, he lay there in the dust and mildew on the floor, blood
puddling underneath him, with his shaking hands on the back of his
head. Clearly, he was surrendering. “Dajem otkaz,” was the only
thing he said. He repeated it several times.
“Nina,
I don't know what this guy is saying.” Nina didn't respond. My
heart skipped a beat. My breath hung tightly in my lungs as I looked
around expecting to see Nina dead on the floor. I jumped into a
fighting stance and looked about. It only took a moment to see that
they were gone. Grubišić hauled out during the fight. He couldn't
be more than a few seconds ahead.
In
the dark, shadowy corner where Grubišić had been with Radic and
Zdravko moments earlier, a sliver of light was now present near the
floor. Of course, a door. I looked over at the guy on the floor,
“Stay.” and then darted through the door. Aboove me, in the
concrete stairwell were the footsteps of Grubišić and Nina.
The
doors here opened into the rooms. The one on the nest floor was just
swinging into a half open position. Slamming through it I found
myself in a similar room as the one below. The exception being this
one was full of desks and people. The occupants were men and women,
most of whom were busy running out through the door on the other
side. Papers were strewn everywhere, some were still falling to the
floor. Grubišić stood in the middle of the room behind Nina. He
started shooting at me.
I
dove to the left in hopes of finding cover and concealment behind the
ancient metal desks from the old Stalinist are that outfitted the
room. Now, if I can wind my way up toward this nut job and
keep him shooting, maybe he will run out of ammo … and MAYBE I
won't get shot … too badly in the process.
I thought to myself. With that intent solidified, I launched myself
over the desk and between the next two desks up and over to the
right. Grubišić was still there and he fired again. I heard a
metallic sound as his clip hit the floor. In my mind I could see him
going through the motions of reloading. This would be an ideal time
to return fire, to take advantage of the moment, but with Nina held
in front of him, I might hit her.
“I'll get … “ I started to shout out to Nina something
encouraging, but was interrupted by Grubišić suddenly gasping,
swearing sharply, and then Nina yelping a little. She took the moment
to hurt the grub. I laughed in spite of everything. “Where'd you
get him, Nina?”
“Elbow to the nose,” she called back quickly. Her voice was
silenced with another quick gasp. I peeked around the desk enough to
see the Grubišić had her tight by the hair and had his gun up under
her chin. I could also see that his nose was bleeding. I was so proud
of her. Grubišić was backing toward the door now.
I rolled quickly toward the wall near the door. Their footsteps were
definitely going up again. Up to the next floor I went, too.
At
the next floor I knelt down near the door and eased it open a crack.
The room was fill of cages. So far as I could see, each cage had one
woman or girl in it. This was part of Grubišić's human trafficking
operation. With all of these ladies in here I wanted no shooting, but
knew that Grubišić and his lunk heads would likely not be so
cooperative. I holstered my Beretta and dropped my hand to the grip
of the Smith and Wesson knife that a good friend, a sniper I had
worked with, had given me. The day he gave it to me, he said, “Don't
ever get caught in a
foreign country without a good knife.” As I slid that sharp piece
of hardened steel quietly from its sheath I crept into the shadowy
room of cells.
The first attack came from behind me. The guy grabbed me around the
neck with an arm that felt like an elephant's trunk. The floor
disappeared from under my feet. I switched the knife into my left
hand so that I could reach the brachial artery under the arm around
my neck. I stabbed and sliced until artery, muscle, and sinew were so
damaged that holding onto me was impossible. Looking around, I
watched this guy falling down, blood gushing from his masticated arm.
“Nice knowing you, pal,” I said, and moved on.
It
occurred to me that, if I did not find Nina quickly she was going to
wind up in one of these cages somewhere. There were times for
pussyfooting around and there were times for walking loud. “Grubišić!
You know I don't stop!” The chatter from the ladies in the cages
stopped. “C'mon old boy! Speak out!” I walked out into the area
where the caged ladies were, most of them were newly acquired and
young. They were frightened, beaten, starved, and many of them worse.
The older ones just looked on coldly, vacantly as I walked by. There
must have been 150 women on this floor. Right then I hoped that there
weren't any more. “Grubišić. I know that you can hear me. This
was not about getting my interpreter, was it?” I paused for a few
moments. “No, of course not. She is lovely and petite. You really
are, Nina, believe me, you are.” I turned around and kept looking
to keep every angle in view, as if that were really possible for one
man to do. “Nah! Grubišić, you wanted to get one of the SFOR guys
alone. You wanted to get me alone. That's why you smashed up my
vehicle.” Then, I waited.
“Yes, you are the target.” Grubišić came out into the lighted
area with Nina and stood in front of me. “You have been in Banja
Luka for such a short time, but have caused such big problem for so
many people.” He shook his head and smiled in a mocking way. “Such
a pity to see young man come to end so early in his career.”
I looked around the area. “What? You talking about me? Hey! I'm
just doing my job, it's nothing personal.” I was repositioning
myself so I could get my hand to my gun without getting his attention
as well. I was also hoping I could figure out a way to make some
space happen between him and Nina at the same time. “I am the
target and you're telling me that I've made a lot of people angry in
a short time. Powerful people, I'm guessing, huh?”
“You have no idea, Michael. No idea how powerful. Family that was
here before the war even ended.”
That narrowed it down some. I wanted to get more out of this moron.
“This bounty, then is it a dead or alive thing?” Sometimes I am
really good at asking the wrong thing. Then there are times that I
excel at asking things I wish I could take back. Grubišić answered
by cocking his pistol.
The ladies in the cages heard the pistol cock and started cheering,
hooting, and whistling. Looking at Grubišić and women around us, I
put my pistol back into its holster and secured it there. He smiled a
sick a twisted smile. “How touching, Michael. You care for the
safety even of these.” He held his pistol at arms length in my
direction and fired. There was screaming behind me. Christ, this guy
just shot one of them!
“Držislav, there is no need for that!”
“No, Michael! There is every need for that!” Now his pistol was
aimed straight at me.
I dove forward and to the side, rolling and coming up to my feet with
a pillar between him and me. Two shots rang out. The chaos that
erupted was unbelievable. From where I was I could not see if anyone
else had been shot. That included Nina. A sick feeling exploded in my
stomach and my skin prickled. For the first time since starting up
the stairs I found myself wishing that Eric was with me. Still, I
knew what I had to do in order to save Nina, put an end to this
situation, and get back to headquarters to file the hours long
reports, if I was to be that lucky.
“A bounty, huh?” There was no answer. “How much am I worth?”
Držislav did not reply. I stepped out from behind the pillar and
there he was, Nina in front of him. He held her with his arms around
her neck ready to choke her but with the gun still in his hand.
“Of course you are worth more alive. The gentleman wants to feed
you to his pets.”
That was it. That was all I needed to know who was paying the bounty.
It was Blazević. It made perfect sense, too. The man owned the Hotel
Sherwood outside of Prijedor. His family, father to be precise, had
been involved in the war as a mercenary running his own private unit.
They were a bloody unit, too. They called themselves the Tigers.
Everywhere they went they left a trail of blood, bodies, and
destruction. They did everything short of salting the earth so
nothing would grow.
Crimes of all sorts take place at that hotel. Everything from human
trafficking to murders. Human trafficking is where Grubišić fits.
This warehouse was more than enough evidence of that. From what I
could see of the faces and women in the cages around me, there were
dozens that were in their teens and just being brought into this
nightmarish life. Most of the others were older and already part of
the horror show that had become their lives.
Now, standing in cages, screaming in different languages, a couple of
lunatics in front of them, their world could not have been turned
more inside out and upside down.
Nina tried to fight out of Grubišić's hold. He instantly tightened
down on her. I knew that she was going to black out in seconds. I did
not know if he was going to hold on long enough to kill her, which
would only take a few seconds longer. I rushed in.
Nina was clawing at Grubišić's arm as her mouth opened like a
fish's once pulled out of water. Like the fish, there was nothing
going through to provide any breath. The muscles around her throat
were tightening in spasmodic reflex to the pressure, her mind was
spinning in panic as the blood had been stopped. Her eyes filled with
fear. I could see it all over her face, help me. She was begging for
help. One hand, one delicate hand reached out towards me while I
sprinted in. That hand, and the arm, fell limp at her side .
Grubišić was just letting go of Nina's limp body as I slammed my
fist, with the full speed and weight of my running body behind it,
into his face. His nose popped like a ripe watermelon. His head
snapped back, his body following uncontrollably. He and Nina both
collapsed in a heap.
Quickly, I pulled Nina away from Grubišić to check for signs of
life. Before checking for a pulse I looked at her chest. Her delicate
frame moved rhythmically, her breast rose and fell. Thank, God! She
was still breathing. My moment of relief was interrupted by a sharp
impact to my face. Someone kicked me.
The kick knocked me over and I rolled with it to get some distance
and regain my feet. I came up into a low fighting stance. The
pounding and throbbing on the side of my face was enough to tell me
that I was busted open. Grubišić stood there, his pistol pointed
right at my face. I had to move several inches to the side in the
same amount of time that he had to move his finger one quarter of an
inch. I was screwed if I thought too much about it.
Dropping and ducking to the left I was able to move enough out of the
way that, when the gun fired, the bullet just grazed my head. He
repositioned his arm and swore. The gun slide had locked back. He was
empty! I laughed and lunged forward into him. Wrapping my arms around
his legs and pulling against the back of his knees, I pressed against
him with my shoulder and he collapsed.
At some point during a fight, a person's perspective changes. For me,
it's gone to one of three different views. One, has been
surrealistically slow motion. In this view I can see my opponent
clearly, but the world around us is blurry. He and I are moving in
slow motion, although I can easily see every move that he is making.
The second view has always been rather unnerving. I black out and go
into auto-pilot. In this mode, the fight typically is very bloody and
ugly for everyone involved, but it's also the one in which I know,
going into it, that I am going to be the one standing when it's done.
The third is nothing, no change in perspective. Everything maintains
its sense of reality and you generally feel every hit and kick even
though your body won't react to the pain of the impact until later.
This time, this fight, as Grubišić collapsed under me, nothing
changed for me.
We hit the ground and, as quickly as possibly, I scrambled up on top
of him; ground and pound had begun. His nose was already bloody and
his face hegan to match. Something smashed into the side of my head,
knocking me off to the side. As I hit the ground it occurred to me
that he still had that empty pistol in his hand.
We were both scrambling to our feet now. He was just ahead of me and
moving slower than he should be. I could see every movement he was
making. I heard nothing, no sound now, I was completely focused on
him. Everything was surrealistically slow.
The kick hit me in the gut hard, but didn't do anything. He was
smaller than me. It looked as if the force of his kick had moved him
back a little. The next one came in from the side, a roundhouse kick,
as I stepped in and took it on the shoulder. I also was able to slam
a fist into him somewhere in his lower abdomen. Throwing his kicking
leg up straight over him I figured I could dump Grubišić on his
head. Turns out he's quite acrobatic. The handspring he did landed
him on his feet, but with me following up like a charging bull.
With my back foot pushing against the ground and my front foot still
in the air I landed a solid punch squarely into the tip of his jaw.
Grubišić stumbled back into a heap. Standing there, catching my
breath, the world and its noises began to come back into focus. The
women in the cages around me, screaming, became louder and filled my
head again. Everything came up to normal speed.
I walked around Držislav, sonofabitch was still conscious! He looked
at me crookedly and smiled another sick smile, this one covered with
blood and missing a few teeth. “Don't ever call me 'Michael'
again.” I kicked him hard across the jaw. His head snapped to one
side. He went limp, but I think he was still breathing.
Nina, I had to check on Nina. I knew that she was breathing when this
all had started. There was something else in the cacophony now, boots
stomping, running. I looked up just in time to see several men in
dark blue fatigues rushing in around me, weapons leveled. I was being
grabbed and jerked down onto my knees, guns pressed against my head.
“I am SFOR!” I shouted. “I work for for the Stabilization
Forces! I am SFOR. Check my ID!” Over and over I repeated SFOR.
Finally, I heard Nina's voice behind me. She was talking with someone
in Italian. These guys were Caribinary, the Italian shock troops. Hot
damn, I said to myself and smiled. Someone came over and spoke to me.
All I could understand was something about identification. That and
the guns pulling back was enough for me. I showed him the SFOR badges
and he smiled. He was thickly built swaggering guy. Taking my hand he
pulled me to my feet and gestured towards the door. A couple of his
men escorted Nina and me down to the vehicles in the alley.
I emptied a bottle of water over my face and head to wash the sweat
and blood off. It felt good. Everything hurt. I dug into my left
shirt pocket for my cigarettes only to pull out a crushed and
crumpled pack. Opening it I saw that every last cigarette was
crushed, bent, and mutilated. There was nothing there but loose
tobacco, filters, and scraps of paper. Eric stood there and laughed
at me.
“You are damned lucky, Mike.” He tossed me a fresh pack of
smokes.
Putting on an overly dramatic face of feigned innocence, I replied,
“Whaaat? Whaddya mean?” I even spread my arms as if to indicate
that there was nothing going on around me that was at all out of the
ordinary and then lit up, first aid could wait another few minutes.
“You are damned lucky that you had signed out a CUCV rather than a
Land Cruiser. You know how the Boss is about those!”
Even though I was still smiling a cocky-assed grin, I knew that he
was right. In spite of everything else, the Boss would have had a
cow, and then had my hide stretched and tanned, if one of his Land
Cruisers had been damaged.
More than likely, there was a reprimand coming from the boss for
this, destruction of US property and the like. If it had been his
predecessor the loss of a CUCV would not have been an issue as it was
going to be replaced with a Land Cruiser; however, this CO was not so
understanding. All I could be certain of was that tonight I was going
to be good and drunk by the time I finished the report on this
incident.
(C) Marc Trepanier
