Free Braco by Lesleyanne Ryan

ready to send out a search-and-rescue mission,” Brendan said. “What were you doing for the last two hours?”
    â€œYour work, of course.” Mike fished out two Aspirin from a bottle in the glove compartment and chased them down with a Coke. “I just found my newest, bestest friend.”
    â€œWho?”
    Mike glanced at Robert. The cameraman had folded the back seat down and made a bed out of the bags and equipment. He lay on his stomach with his head between the front seats and his hands propped under his chin like a first-grader waiting for story time.
    â€œThe Pakistani captain. I know the translator, a guy named Jure, and between the two of them, I got a few juicy details.”
    â€œYeah?” Brendan raised an eyebrow. “Either one up for an interview?”
    â€œNot if they want to keep their jobs.”
    â€œThen that information is pretty well useless to me.”
    â€œWell, it may be second and maybe even third-hand, but it’s a starting point for a few questions in Tuzla, don’t you think?”
    Brendan’s mouth opened and then closed shut.
    â€œThought so.”
    â€œSo, what did your newest, bestest friend tell you?”
    Mike chuckled and flipped back a few pages of his notepad.
    â€œWell, according to them, all this started when the Serbs came up from Skelani on Thursday and attacked the Dutch OPs down there.”
    â€œOPs?” Robert asked.
    Mike looked back at the cameraman.
    â€œHe’s still a virgin when it comes to military terminology,” Brendan said. “Among other things.”
    Robert slapped Brendan’s shoulder. “Hey!”
    â€œDid you know last night was the first time he saw The A-Team ?”
    â€œIt was in Greek,” Robert said.
    â€œIt could have been in English and it would have still been Greek to you.” Brendan looked at Mike. “His parents were pacifist hippies. They didn’t own a television.”
    Mike eyed Robert. “And you grew up to be a television cameraman?”
    â€œIronic, isn’t it?” he replied. He had arrived in the country two days before, replacing Brendan’s regular cameraman whose wife had gone into early labour. When he first saw him, Mike thought Robert was no more than eighteen, but his passport proved he was twenty-two.
    â€œWell, an OP is an observation post,” Mike said. “The Dutch have their main base in Potocari. There’s a smaller camp in Srebrenica called Bravo. The OPs are basically bunkers manned by about a half dozen guys. There are a bunch of them stationed on the edge of the enclave to keep an eye on things.”
    â€œOh. Okay.”
    â€œAnyway, after the Serbs attacked the OPs, the Dutch called for air strikes several times, but nothing happened. The guys on top had a variety of excuses: no evidence of the peacekeepers being directly targeted and so on and so forth. Probably the most important thing to happen over the weekend was that a group of Muslims stopped a Dutch crew who were retreating from one of the southern OPs. They demanded the Dutch go back to stop the Serbs, but the Dutch refused. So, one of the Muslims threw a grenade and killed one of the peacekeepers.”
    â€œI heard something about that,” Robert said.
    â€œYeah.” Mike took a swig of his Coke. “That made the news, but what’s important is when the other crews were forced to leave their OPs, the Serbs gave them a choice between going back to Potocari or staying with them. Of course, those crews knew what happened when the first OP crew tried to go through the Muslim lines, so they opted to stay with the Serbs.”
    â€œInstant hostages,” Brendan said through a whistle.
    â€œPrecisely,” Mike replied, pointing his pen at Brendan. “So the Serbs kept advancing and the Muslims kept withdrawing until they got close to the town where the defenders were dug in pretty good.” He flipped forward a page.