by Philip Bond
“Remember I made contact with amnesty international in Bonn; they gave me their liaison here Sabine Schmitt, we’ll make contact tomorrow.”
“Cool,” Matt pushes back into his chair… “And here’s me thinkin’ we’re just gonna sit in on briefin’s, maybe go out with the troops, ask questions, follow leads and shake some branches.”
“Smartarse marine,” she bubbles… “That’s the old Harry Reisner,” there’s a definite air of confidence in her voice… “This time I’m going to be calling the shots. So, sergeant,” the playful Harry emerges… “You like being in barracks with the guys instead of bed with me?”
“I’ll make concessions,” he’s not happy… “But only for nine more days.” Maybe a distraction to work will suffice… “How ’bout I find us a driver translator and be independent from military transport?”
She follows his lead to ask… “We have to know if Sanders is here and maybe get a photograph.”
“If he is here in Kosovo,” abstinence suddenly takes second place with Matt prophesising… “As Brigadegeneral König says, he’ll be with the American contingent at Camp Bondsteel. It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to go there just yet, no use putting him on his guard.”
“Are you volunteering, sergeant?”
“Babe, it’s what I do.”
Harry’s quick… “Used to Matt,” repeating with emphasis… “Used to.”
“Babe, I won’t stand out. Besides, might meet someone I know.” The marine sergeant returns… “I can pick up some useful intel.”
“A reconnaissance mission, sergeant?”
“You got it babe. Know anyone better suited?”
“No,” trepidation surfaces as she reaches across the table to touch his hand… “Matt, I love you.”
Stoically he offers… “We gotta put that on hold,” before reconsidering his options… “Unless, I can find a way into your room.”
“As Brigadegeneral Gerhard König tells it, you’re a brave gallant and resourceful marine,” and adds the invitation… “Prove it tonight.”
“A single room hey, now that’s a worthwhile mission.” Dashing, daring and resourceful, the marine accepts the mission… “Tonight it is.”
*
Helmut Sperling’s unimpressed… “Questions about flight movements from Bosnia into Germany. This I do not like or want.” Bringing discussion to a close… “An unfortunate accident she must have. See to this!”
Both hang up their telephones.
*
Although their billets are some distance separated, moving unseen at night for him is a walk in the park; the reward, the woman he loves.
Eagerly anticipating his arrival, she jumps at the soft knocking on her door… “Hello, sergeant.” Pulling him inside, closing the door to wrap her arms around his taut frame.
Words are superfluous as emotion unleashes.
Both experienced love previously yet never to the depth or consecutiveness as this. Just being with the other elevates the happiness factor; neither tires of the other’s company, something new for her.
Orgasmic delights this night are limited by the early morning start. There is always a tomorrow night.
*
“Guten Tag meine Damen und Herren!” Dressed in crisp camouflaged military fatigues, the officer is around 180 cm, blonde, blue eyed and physical fit… “As not everyone here is German, I speak English. My name is Hauptmann August Thiele and KFOR spokesperson I am for the next twenty-eight days.” Wearing thin rectangular green-framed grasses, he looks more like an investment analyst than a Bundeswehr officer… “I start greeting two newcomers Harrietta Reisner and Matt Leveaux from CNN’s Berlin bureau.” Harry, sitting in front of Matt, obscured by camera and tripod, nods an acknowledgement… “Ethnic violence carries through to a third day. KFOR command issues orders for all peacekeepers to invoke harsh measures against rioters. The civilian toll for this unrest is thirty-one dead and hundreds wounded along with sixty-one peacekeepers, three seriously.”
The DW Radio reporter jumps in… “What do you say to reports that Kommando Spezialkräfte soldiers conduct missions supporting the KLA, there by fuelling ethnic tensions?”
“Firstly,” the press liaison officer’s voice is decisively patronising… “The KLA voluntarily disbands two or so years ago. Secondly, I do not have any knowledge to support or deny those reports. Thirdly, if the KSK conducts missions here, nothing about those missions will become public.”
Believing the time’s right to make her presence felt, Harry fires a broadside… “I have victims’ statements claiming to be kidnapped and flown to Germany as sex slaves. Can you offer a comment?”
“Again, all I can say to that is,” the officer stonewalls… “I have no knowledge to support or deny those allegations.”
A different place, different people and different circumstances, she might be less unforgiving. Today isn’t one of those… “Thank you for your welcome and yes, I arrive here yesterday, and this is my first briefing. As an observation, as the NATO spokesperson, it’s a waste for you to come before us here, clearly denied either by dictate or choice, full operational information just so you can answer in clear conscience, you have no knowledge of sensitive situations. To save time, can I suggest, you just print what you’ve been given and circulate it as daily flyers.” Everyone, including Matt, remains in stunned silence.
Seconds tick by until… “You live up to what I hear about you, Harry.” The officer counters… “Frontal assaults, fire for effect and ambushes, you are strategically competent as the best NATO military tacticians. You should wear this uniform.” Dripping with patronisation, the officer attempts subterfuge… “Maybe, Harry, we talk later one on one?”
“Delighted.” With two objectives now satisfied, the remaining briefing session is bland by comparison as Harry has another venue to air her questions.
*
Once the briefing finishes, every other journalist in the room wants to talk with the newcomer, however, Harry first huddles with Matt… “Let me go one on one with this guy. He may be intimidated with you next to me.”
“Cool,” he sees the merit… “I’ll go sniff out a driver translator.”
In full view of those remaining in the room, she pecks him on the lips, establishing to all their relationship… “Thanks Matt,” and heads off in the wake of the Hauptmann’s hasty exit.
The room’s only large enough for a desk positioned below the only window, four, five draw filing cabinets and two chairs. On the only available wall is a large Kosovo map centred on Prizren… “Please Harry, sit.”
Closing the door… “You certainly establish your credentials to journalistic colleagues.”
She glides into a chair across the desk… “Obviously Hauptmann Thiele, not with you.”
“It does not worry me,” placing himself the other of the desk… “No one should deny a truth. I join the military to be a soldier, not spin doctor.”
Through the window, soldiers are provisioning a TPz Fuchs armoured vehicle.
“Interesting,” quipping… “A press liaison officer who does not spin.”
As soldiers pack in ammunition canisters, others do weapons checks.
“I am the anachronism and yes,” as if confessing to a priest… “I deliberately do not see certain reports, so I cannot lie.”
Two soldiers recheck the manoeuvrability of the roof mounted shielded gun.
“So where does that leave me?” Emphasising indignation, for effect… “I have questions and you have no answers, Hauptmann Thiele.” Eulogising… “There are injustices happening here that need correcting, exposing.”
Two other soldiers stick their heads in behind each of the six wheels checking anti-mine protection in the wheel cases.
He goes on the back foot… “This conflict kills ten thousand civilians; killing continues, fuelled by revenge. Peacekeeping is a misnomer given each nation providing military personal to the region have different agenda. It is like the tug of war on
a rope of many ends.”
Another TPz vehicle fresh from the refuelling depot trundles in beside the first.
“One thing at a time,” believing she’s his measure… “Let’s start with the human injustice of sex slavery. Find for me all information about flights from Geilenkirchen, Germany.” Pausing for effect before coyly asking… “Will you do that for me?”
A second group of soldiers descend to duplicate the tasks of the first.
Defensively … “And if I do?”
The first group of soldiers assemble at the rear of the first armoured vehicle.
“We can be friends.” Surprisingly, the officer becomes cocky… “Good friends?”
The reprovisioning pace quicken as rain begins falling.
She’s a wake-up to the ruse… “Friends, Hauptmann Thiele, just friends.”
The soldiers pack into the armoured vehicles sheltering from the downpour.
He digs in… “Then I give you no guarantee.”
Roof openings close as the downpours reduces visibility.
A less than gentle reminder of events in the briefing earlier… “As I give you no guarantee not to cut you up in a future briefing session.” And to emphasise control… “Oh, can you tell me where I can find Sabine Schmitt?”
The two armoured vehicles begin moving as three light infantry vehicles join the patrol.
“Amnesty International, hmm,” he’s submissive… “She will be useful to research this subject.”
The downpour reduces to light rain.
“Yes,” no longer a request, this time her tone’s demanding… “So where can I find her?”
“Simple, she is outside in the briefing just now.” The officer reclaims his military stature… “No doubt, on hearing your interest she remains close hoping to meet with you.”
“Thanks Hauptmann Thiele,” dismissing the officer… “We’ll catch up later.”
*
He studies the briefing notes once more… “So, this today’s IFOR briefing in Mostar?”
“Yes sir.”
“The German sector, right?”
"Yes, sir.’
“Fuck; her again!”
*
“Frau Reisner?” The officer’s right, a woman in her fifties retaining the stunning good looks from her earlier years, albeit with a terribly serious expression and greying hair strands waiting.
“Yes,”
“Sabine Schmitt,” declaring… “I hear your remarks in the briefing, I have to meet with you. Promoting this issue for much time I do. Endemic is sex slavery.” She speaks with urgency… “Go into the villages, surrounding military bases here in Prizren, also the American, Italy, British and French sectors.” Sabine cuts an imposing figure albeit thickening around the middle… “There are hundreds of bars and brothels in these places servicing the military male. Many prostitutes in Germany, France, England and Holland learn their trade in Kosovo. The youngest and prettiest are sent to European brothels.”
It’s time for attribution… “Do you know who is behind this?”
“Criminals masquerading as Albanian freedom fighters, they move into a district or village intimidate the locals into surrendering their girl children, some not yet teenagers and take them away.” A hint of a tear forms in her eyes… “Sometimes they give money to the family for their silence. Mostly these villagers are too ashamed to talk.”
“Any names?”
Sabine cuts an imposing figure… “Zef Gashi is a name I hear.”
“Do you know this man, where he is or anything about him?”
No rings, no bracelets, jewellery is noticeably absent, although there’s a hint of a tattoo on her upper left neck… “No, recently these people change tactics terrorising refugees in camps in Albania.”
“How recent?”
“Just these months.” She dresses simply yet with style. A warm jacket hides what might be an attractive figure.
The coincidence is too much to discount… “Have you heard the names Sanders or Tallboy?”
“No.” Matching gloves, a scarf and holding a musquash fur hat, Sabine is definitely stylish.
Still no tie in, however, Harry remains determined… “Sabine, will you take me to these refugee camps?”
Sabine launches into jubilation… “Of course!” Delighted someone finally shows interest in this blight on humanity, she bubbles… “Tomorrow I go there.”
“And my colleague also?”
“Your black cameraman,” Sabine’s eyes visibly light up… “But of course,” she looks around… “Where is he?”
Her interest in Matt isn’t lost on Harry… “Finding a driver,” thankfully.
“Be careful travelling alone, surprises the unprepared, this country.”
“For example?”
“You would attract a healthy ransom. Besides, you are attractive, and rape is common.”
Ignoring the commentary… “Tomorrow then?”
“First light, we leave.”
“We’ll be ready.” Great, why’s everything military so early in the morning?
*
Although the time is after listed sunrise, the day is both grey and wet. Not the weather to go in search of sex slavers.
Harry has no time to waste, besides is with her lover, journalistic colleague and world’s best bodyguard. He, however, has concerns… “I’d be much happier with a six-man squad and three extraction helio’s on standby.”
“I do not think Birgit will extend our budget to cover the cost.”
“Yeah, this terrain’s ambush heaven.”
Despite Matt’s concerns, it seems the weather dissuades potential antagonists also.
Towards the latter part of the morning, with the snow covered Gjallica behind them, their vehicle rolls into the refugee camp near Kukës, Albania. Water-logged ground and mud puddles separate the tents. Almost everyone remains undercover as rain joins the puddles forming mini streams in turn feeding the fast-moving torrent in the depression below. Clouds form over the Vikut Mountains threatening further deluges later in the day.
The sealed road leading into the camp seems to be the only dry ground.
On their drive, they pass many bombed or burnt structures, mosques, churches, municipal building and many destroyed houses, evidence of a still simmering conflict. Those who once lived worked and prayed within those structures now shelter from the rain here under tents. Their vehicle stops at what once might have been a palatial villa.
A vehicle with uniformed men rumbles towards the newcomers… “Albanian militia,” Sabine announce… “I hope you have money for bribes.”
Thinking back to Birgit… “Do they give receipts?” she nervously quips.
The militia stop immediately in front of the journalists dismounting to inspect their vehicle… “Who you?”
Sabine assumes authority… “Amnesty International me,” and to journalists… “These, television news, CNN.”
The youngest of the militia squad announces… “Ah, CNN good.” He smartens up… “Picture, take me.” The soldier striking a pose is not joking.
Knowing the alternative, Matt grabs his camera to oblige… “You all,” gesturing to the others… “Together.” One soldier, the officer, holds back. Matt waves to him… “Join, together.”
Panning the camera towards the camera-shy man, the soldier pulls his sidearm aiming the weapon with a straight arm at Matt’s head, less than two metres away. The soldier’s ready to squeeze the trigger.
Adrenaline ignites… “Albanian mothers,” Harry shouts… “Lie in their beds each night crying for their stolen daughters.” And moves a half step closer… “We come here to find out why and who does this.” The soldier turns the weapon towards Harry. Adrenaline pumps strongly, she isn’t about to allow him fear… “We are not the enemy. It is those who steal your children and send them to European brothels.” Another half step towards him… “Point your weapon to these criminals, not us.”
The soldier’s arm wavers before droppi
ng to his side… “Many daughters go.” His eyes begin to water… “Like vultures, circle all camps, waiting right time, come, steal girl children, mostly mothers and grandmothers here now. Criminals know where we are not, strike then.”
With sound, Matt’s camera continues recording.
“Who are they?” Harry can’t disguise emotion.
“Serbs,” the word ignites emotion, the militia officer straightens… “If we find Serb, we kill them.”
Fearing he may descend into vitriol, Harry redirects thinking… “You say they know your movements, are you saying they have spies, shielding them from discovery?”
“Reconnaissance drones in sky. American these aircraft. Our country not rich,” he laments… “We powerless, stop happening this.”
Sabine jumps in… “I know reports go to KFOR yet nothing happens. Maybe there is high-level protection for these criminals.”
The journalists look at each other… “Same scenario as in Australia.”
“Standard operating procedure.” Matt injects… “Establish your mission elements, cover them with layered protection. The answers are in Camp Bondsteel.”
With the job before them, Harry takes command… “Let’s get on camera the refugee stories from here.” To the militia officer… “Help me identify these criminals, tell us on camera what you know, and this becomes evidence to convict these criminals.”
“Trials, judges, lawyers,” the militia officer’s a simpler solution… “Bullet be quickest.”
“Not everyone can be seen,” Matt speaks from experience… “Some stand in shadows.”
“Everyone breaks cover eventually.” The hunter also speaks from experience… “Then they are target.”
*
On the setting sun, Harry, Matt and Sabine consider the day, complying individual tragedies; prejudice and intolerance fuels ethnic hatred as outright genocide morphs into genocide by stealth. Removal of a female generation reverses population growth. Sabine sits quietly, satisfied she achieves her primary objective. Matt suggests the next… “I’ll get a ride up to Camp Bondsteel and shoot some vision.”
Everything here’s an unknown… “Be careful, sergeant,” voicing concern.