Free Braco by Lesleyanne Ryan Page B

the truck.
    A soldier walked up to Mike and held out his hand. “Passport. Press cards. Travel papers.”
    Mike collected the documents and passed them to the Serb. The soldier took his time examining the paperwork. His flashlight moved from each document to the corresponding face and settled on Mike’s. The Serb shone the light back down at the passport and then up into Mike’s face again.
    â€œYou are Michael Sakic?” he asked in English.
    â€œMike Sakic. Yes.”
    â€œCome with me,” the soldier said.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Brendan asked.
    â€œIt’s fine,” Mike said. “This isn’t the first time.”
    â€œFirst time for what?”
    â€œIt’s fine.” Mike walked away with the soldier.
    Brendan and Robert followed. The soldier led them to a corporal and handed over the documents. The corporal examined them and the two soldiers began speaking in their own language.
    â€œI’m not Croat,” Mike said to them in the same language.
    The soldiers stared at him.
    â€œI’m not Croat. I’m Canadian.”
    â€œSakic,” the corporal said, holding up Mike’s passport. “You’re Croat.”
    Mike shook his head and pointed to his passport.
    â€œNo. I am Canadian. Look. I was born in Winnipeg. It’s in Canada.”
    â€œYou speak the language very well for a Canadian.”
    â€œMy grandparents taught me. They were Croat. I’m Canadian.”
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Brendan asked, elbowing Mike.
    Mike explained the situation to him.
    â€œDoes he speak English?”
    â€œI do,” the corporal replied.
    Brendan took the Serb corporal aside and they spoke in whispers.
    â€œWhat are they talking about?” Robert asked.
    â€œNo idea,” Mike replied then sighed. “But I can guess.”
    The corporal laughed and patted Brendan on the shoulder. Brendan glanced at Mike and then passed something to the Serb. The soldier gave the documents to Brendan and he walked back to the truck. The soldiers returned to the checkpoint, leaving the luggage and equipment on the ground.
    â€œSo,” Mike said, leaning on the driver’s door and checking his documents. “How much of my fee did that cost me?”
    Brendan poked his wallet away and smiled.

TUESDAY: JAC LARUE
    EXHAUSTION .
    Jac rubbed his face hard with the towel and drew in a long breath. Nothing could give him his second wind.
    Or was it his fifth wind? He had lost count.
    The carrier trudged along beside him and the moon brightened as it rose. It lit the road so well, the carrier could move without headlights. Jac never imagined he would, as a soldier, be so grateful for a full moon. Headlights and flashlights usually attracted the wrong kind of attention.
    Ahead, a boy latched onto the grate holding a fuel can. He slipped sideways, a foot bouncing against the rotating track. Jac sidestepped a woman and dove towards the boy, pulling him off the side of the carrier.
    â€œNo,” Jac said. He slapped the side of the carrier. “Dangerous. You have to walk.”
    The boy ran, disappearing into the moonlit crowd. When Jac turned around, two young men were trying to untie the fuel can. Their eyes met and the men raised their palms and backed away.
    â€œThey’re empty,” he yelled after them.
    A mortar whooshed overhead and struck the woods behind them.
    That was too damned close.
    Jac stopped. Screams erupted in the distance. A man broke through the crowd carrying a little girl, her face full of blood. Jac drew her hair back. A shard of metal protruded from the flesh above her ear.
    â€œAh, God.” Jac looked at the carrier. People sat two and three deep on top. Even if there was room, she’d get pushed off. He turned back to the man. “I don’t think the shrapnel is in too far. Can you carry her? To Potocari? See doctor in Potocari?”
    A woman spoke to the man in Bosnian and he