Black Flagged

by Konkoly, Steven; A. Sullivan, Felicia

  They walked through the dew covered fields down the road toward the simple concrete houses. Cool mountain valley air penetrated their thin uniforms, and most of the men still wore the black wool watch caps they had donned while shivering in the middle of the night. The caps would be ditched by mid-morning, as temperatures reached unbearable highs. The jeeps roared to life behind them, and soon met up with the soldier on foot.

  When they reached the first set of homes, Marko and Sava were detached to serve as pickets at the western edge of the village. They were tasked to observe the same road the armored personnel carriers used to hastily separate themselves from Marko’s paramilitary comrades, and report any incoming vehicles. They both quickly turned their attention to the road, as doors were forced open and the screaming started. He concentrated on the empty road, as the rest of the squad and the vehicles moved down the road, pushing hesitant villagers ahead of them. Neither of them wanted to look back and acknowledge what was happening.

  Marko’s thoughts shifted back into the present, as he tracked a crow flying through the air from the west. The large black bird landed on a crude wooden fence several yards back from the road, joining the several dozen already quietly arrayed along the fence. More crows were perched hidden among the nearby trees. They weren’t intimidated by the soldiers’ presence in Divjaka. They had as much right to be here as the flies, and they were here for same reason.

  “They know something we don’t,” remarked Sava, dragging on his cigarette.

  The man had smoked non-stop since they left a Belgrade primary school soccer field three days ago, and he suspected that the young northern Serb must be close to exhausting his supply of cigarettes. All of them must be running low. Marko carried a pack of cheap Serbian smokes to fit in, but he generally never indulged, unless offered. He had always despised the habit, but his trainers at The Ranch had made it clear that he would smoke. Everyone smoked in Serbia, at least casually. He’d grown accustomed to the taste, and no longer minded the acrid smell of tobacco smoke in cramped spaces. Still, the habit did nothing for him, except help him blend into his environment.

  Sava grinned nervously, and Marko wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t look, or sound too eager to head deeper into the village. He was young, and didn’t have the same brutal edge that was common among Hadzic’s veteran Panthers. This thought brought another concern back into focus. His platoon was comprised of too many newbies, several of which had been swapped into the platoon just after last night’s dinner. He was new to the Panther organization, and had only been deployed to the field, in a large scale operation, twice before, but this structure stuck him as odd.

  Hadzic’s field units typically overflowed with hardened paramilitary veterans of the Bosnia conflict, or former Yugoslav military. The process for integration of new recruits was brutal, and discouraged most naive youth. Still, they had no shortage of volunteers, and in times of war, the training camps swelled with eager recruits, pushed through to augment roles left behind by combat hungry veterans. This platoon brimmed with newbies, and that concerned him, though he had no idea why.

  His concentration was shattered by the sudden crack of automatic weapons fire, as hundreds of crows scattered, briefly drowning out the sound of the guns. Like the crows, Sava reacted instinctively, and threw himself onto the ground next to the slightly raised dirt road. He flinched, but stood impassively in the middle of the road, as the volume of gunfire diminished, finally ending with an occasional crackle. He hadn’t felt or heard the familiar snap or hiss of bullets passing near him, so he kept his composure. He knew exactly what had happened, and turned his head lazily toward the center of the village. Occasional, single pistol shots started to fill the air, and Sava rose to his feet to rejoin him on the road.

  He wore an expression that betrayed his true feelings, and Marko knew that the young Serb felt the same way that he did about the situation. They were both equally relieved to have been assigned to a deserted stretch of road, even if three hundred meters of separation didn’t provide them with any absolution for their presence in the valley. Sava’s radio crackled, and they’re respite from the madness was over. They had been recalled to the village center.

  He slicked his thick, matted brown hair back with his left hand, and wiped the sweat onto his camouflage pants. Sava looked terrified for the first time since they had piled into green, tarp covered trucks in Belgrade. He patted the kid on the back, and nodded.

  “Let’s get going.”

  The two of them started to jog down the road, careful not to twist an ankle in the shallow crater created by one of the mortar impacts. He spotted several AUZ jeeps in a clearing to the north of the village. All of the doors in the village had been left open, which gave the village a frightening aura. Almost like it had been abandoned. The first thing he heard was the crying, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He searched for the source, and saw a group of women and children huddled under a tree, guarded by a soldier. As the scene started to unfold in front of him, he sensed that Sava had stopped altogether.

  “Keep moving, or you’ll end up in one of those trenches,” said Marko, wondering if that was where they might end up anyway.

  They were blocked by a group of Panthers and told to leave their weapons stacked against one of the vehicles. He saw several assault rifles leaned against a mud covered chassis, and walked over to the jeep, scanning the area. He could see the pit over the hood of the jeep, just beyond a dozen or so Panthers who were staring down into it. A few of them shook their heads, while others spit at the earth. As he placed his sniper rifle against the jeep’s rear tire, Sava joined him.

  “Fucking burial duty. Wonderful,” said Sava.

  “It’s typical for new guys,” lied Marko.

  He hadn’t seen shovels among the men standing in front of the long pit. His stomach tensed, and he fought to remain calm. This would probably be his defining “critical point,” as the Black Flag psychologists termed it. They had prepared him for these moments, characterizing the different types and their significance. This one looked like a “terminal critical point.” He would either survive, and emerge as a trusted member of the Panthers, or he would die in the pit along with the rest of the villagers. No aspect of General Sanderson’s training program could truly prepare him for what would transpire in the next few moments, and he had to make a choice.

  If he lined up with the rest of the men, he would have to take his chances with a gamble he had taken a few weeks ago. A little insurance policy that might save his life. His other option was to put his training to work, and fight his way out of here. He might even be able to kill all of them. Half of the group was unarmed, standing like sheep in front of their own grave, all of their weapons stacked at his feet. Twelve remaining men? He had several loaded assault rifles sitting right in front of him. He could sling two of them over his shoulder, and start cutting down the armed Panthers with a third. The odds were in his favor, given his capabilities. It might even be blamed on KLA guerillas.

  He glanced up at one of the men that had ordered him put his weapon against the jeep. The man’s greasepaint camouflage had been recently reapplied, neutralizing his expression, but his eyes gave Marko pause. They were cold and alert. He would have to make his decision within the next fraction of a second. Taking his hand off the sniper rifle, he decided to gamble with his life. The payoff would secure his status among the Panthers, which was the ultimate purpose of his training as a Black Flag operative. He swallowed shallowly, and followed Sava around the jeep, never taking his eyes off the hardened soldier escorting them.

  As he approached the rest of the men, a buzzing sound hit his ears, causing him to stop.

  “Get with the rest of them,” someone barked from behind, and he continued forward.

  A few of the dirty soldiers ahead of him laughed and pointed down into the pit, which demonstrated exactly how clueless some of the new recruits were, when confronted with the obvious. He saw the guards from the eastern side
of town walk around the pit to join them. They had the same look on their faces as Sava when they glanced downward.

  Marko caught his first look into the shallow trench, and fought the urge to gag. He betrayed no emotion as the full scope of the atrocity appeared before him. He no longer wondered about the buzzing sound. Thousands of flies swarmed over the freshly slaughtered corpses; fighting to land in bright red pools of blood, drawn to the stench of involuntarily voided bowels. The smell started to overwhelm him, and he decided to stop and turn around.

  He faced members of the same firing squad that had put all of the village’s men into a hastily dug mass grave. The rest of the shooters mingled with him, some complaining about being put on burial duty, others bragging about the accurate shots they had fired into the “terrorists.” One of the loudest newbies called out to the platoon commander, who was talking into a radio headset.

  “Hey, Nenad! How about the guys with the easy jobs on the road bury this garbage?” he said, pointing toward Marko and Sava.

  “How about you shut the fuck up!” said a stocky Serb crouched near one of the jeeps.

  The man’s bravado disappeared, and he started to melt back into the dozen or so men standing around in front of the trench. Marko took in the scene. Nobody was pointing weapons in their direction, but he could see the looks passing surreptitiously back and forth. He located some shovels nearby, which were caked with dirt, and had probably been recently used by the slaughtered Kosovars to dig their own grave. Nobody else glanced at the shovels. This was not a work detail. This was either some kind of sick initiation that might involve the surviving women and children, or something entirely different. Either way, he wondered if he had made a mistake. His eyes found the nearest M-90 assault rifle, and he did the calculations, casually looking around. He could put a knife through the owner’s throat and get the rifle, but his chances beyond that were now non-existent.

  The sound of vehicles broke his concentration, and everyone’s heads turned to see two black Range Rovers speed down the road from the east, kicking up a storm of dust behind them. He saw the armed Panthers straighten themselves up, and some of them even attempted to brush off some of the dirt and mud in a futile effort. Nenad Sojic and his radio operator jogged to the road to meet the occupants. He recognized the SUVs, and suddenly it all made sense. He might survive the day, but only if Radovan Grahovac, Hadzic’s security chief, decided to indulge in his patented sadism for a few minutes, before putting them all into the ditch. He was optimistic. Radovan didn’t like to stray too far from Belgrade without the promise of some entertainment.

  From Steven Konkoly’s novel, The Jakarta Pandemic

  Published in 2010

  Saturday, December 1, 2013

  Alex tipped a cold bottle of pale ale into a pint glass, and stared at the golden beverage as the foam settled. He concentrated on the bubbles rising from various locations on the glass, temporarily mesmerized. His concentration was broken when Kate placed a steaming pot of spaghetti on the table in front of him. He smelled the olive oil tossed with the pasta and turned to look back into the kitchen, seeing Kate grab a large green ceramic bowl with oven mitts.

  Careful with the sauce.

  ���It smells awesome mom,��� said Ryan.

  ���Thank your dad for the sauce. There���s enough here for a couple days.��� She cautiously edged her way over to the table.

  A heavy gust of wind buffeted the house and Alex���s mind drifted back to the windows as he took a long swig of beer. He was nervous about nightfall. The sun would set a few minutes after four, and there would be ample light outside for at least another half hour, even under overcast skies. He wasn���t sure that sitting in the dining room together was a good idea at all, and his second beer in twenty minutes wasn���t helping to ease his anxiety.

  He had expected to hear from the Mansons earlier in the afternoon, but as the afternoon grew longer, and the sky darker, he���d come to the uncomfortable conclusion that the Mansons wouldn���t tip their hand so quickly. He took another oversized swig of beer.

  ���No wine with your sauce?��� Kate asked as she placed the bowl of sauce on one of the red placemats in the center of the table.

  ���No, it makes me too sleepy. Might be a long night.���

  Kate got up to retrieve the bottle of red wine from the counter. Alex scanned the open windows again and swallowed hard.

  I have a bad feeling. I would go for it right now before it gets completely dark.

  ���You alright?��� Kate asked and placed the bottle on the table with a serious look.

  ���I guess so���I just don���t know about this light. Something������

  ���There���s still plenty of light, right?��� she asked, and took an unusually long sip of wine.

  Alex looked at the kids, who appeared oblivious to their concerns, as they slurped down their pasta. A pile of peas, broccoli and olives grows on the corner of each of their plates.

  ���Eat the veggies too, guys,��� he urged.

  Ryan made a weak gesture with his fork toward the veggies. Emily ignored the request altogether. Alex looked back up at Kate, smiling thinly.

  ���The whole neighborhood is starving, and my kids are picking at their food,��� he said.

  ���They���ll polish it off, don���t worry.���

  ���Anyway, the light���s fine, but we were always cautious when the sun set. Your eyes have to constantly adjust to the changing light, and they���re easily tricked. I always felt more comfortable when the dark completely settled.���

  ���They���ll have the same problem,��� Kate said.

  Alex saw that Ryan was listening to their conversation and nodded.

  ���What? It���s not like you���re in a private forum,��� Ryan said defensively.

  ���We didn���t say anything,��� said Kate.

  ���So are we alright having dinner now?��� asked Ryan.

  Now Emily focused on the conversation.

  Great.

  Kate raised her eyebrows and gently blew air out of her mouth, which was her patented non-verbal ���here we go.���

  ���Now that we���re all part of the conversation���let���s just finish eating and get upstairs. Everyone���s in our room tonight. All night,��� said Alex.

  ���What?! Come on, I don���t want to sit around your room all night watching her stupid shows. Why can���t we sit on the third floor? She can watch TV on the other side,��� complained Ryan.

  ���Then all I���ll hear is your stupid machine gun games,��� Emily whined back.

  ���I���ll use headphones,��� he said.

  ���Is anyone still playing online?��� asked Kate.

  ���Earlier in the month it slowed down a lot, but it���s starting to pick back up again. A bunch of my friends are on, and they���re fine,��� he told her.

  ���Good, let���s finish eating, so we can close up down here and…���

  Alex���s sentence was interrupted by a hard knock on the mudroom door. ���Everyone upstairs immediately. Let���s go,��� he barked as he slammed down the half empty pint glass.

  He shot up from the table and moved over toward the refrigerator, ensuring his pistol was in his hip holster and grabbing the assault rifle leaned up against the kitchen desk. He pulled the bolt handle back and let it slide forward, chambering a round. He checked the safety and slung it over his back, edging over to the doorway and peeking through the mudroom at the door. He met Manson���s lifeless eyes.

  ���I thought we were done here,��� yelled Alex.

  ���You gonna open the door and talk to me civilized?��� the man said, again never blinking.

  ���No. You n
eed to move along,��� Alex said, as a powerful burst of wind filled the mudroom stoop and buffeted the man standing there.

  ���There hasn���t been a lot of help for us around here. Fucking rude ass people mostly������

  ���I hear it���s a lot friendlier up north.���

  He stepped into full view of the man. Alex noticed a slight change in the man���s eyes as he registered both the hip holster and the rifle.

  ���Who is it, Alex?��� Kate yelled from the kitchen.

  ���Nobody we know. Just some drifters. You should head upstairs,��� he said firmly, but calmly, feeling composed and in control of the situation. Openly carrying these two weapons reminded him of an era filled with supreme confidence. Only body armor, a helmet and immediate access to a dozen similarly equipped Marines could boost him up higher.

  ���Don���t you think that���s a little overkill?��� the man yelled, nodding toward Alex.

  ���Not in my experience,��� he replied.

  The man momentarily laughed under his breath.

  ���And what experience might that be?��� he demanded.

  ���Enough to know that your arrival here is bad news. You guys aren���t planning on shooting out all of the streetlights are you?���

  The man snickered at the comment.

  ���Look, I know you���re holding out on me. Your good friend Todd told us you have a ton of food stored away in there and that you���ve been handing it out to some of the neighbors.���

  He glanced over his shoulder at another man who suddenly appeared on the sidewalk in front of Alex���s house, near the driveway.