Free Warriors (9781101621189) by Tom Young

And to look ahead to the greatest mission of his life. He decided to go ahead and brief the recruits.
    â€œWe will finish what we began years ago,” DuÅ¡ic said. “We will take this land—all of it—for our people.”
    The recruits looked puzzled, as DuÅ¡ic knew they would. One of them, Nikolas, said, “How can we do this with so few?”
    â€œA fine question,” DuÅ¡ic said. “We entice others to join us. Not just the most ardent patriots like yourselves, but all Serbs, even the armed forces of the Belgrade government. After your mission, Greater Serbia will rise up. And this time we will win. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have weakened the Americans. The British have made drastic cuts in their military. NATO will not stop us again.”
    DuÅ¡ic discussed how NATO and the Americans had imposed the Dayton Accords, which set up a tripartite Bosnian presidency: one Muslim, one Croat, one Serb. A mongrel state with a mongrel government. Hardly better than foreign occupation.
    â€œSo what is our mission?” Nikolas asked.
    â€œYou will light the spark,” DuÅ¡ic said. “Bear with me as I explain. At first, you may find your task disagreeable. But you will begin a chain of events that will rid us of the Turks forever.”
    DuÅ¡ic outlined his plan for a false-flag operation: a bombing that would appear the work of Muslim terrorists. The Serbian Orthodox Church’s Holy Assembly of Bishops met twice a year. The next meeting would take place just weeks from now in Belgrade, at the Patriarchate. If a car bomb killed some of the bishops and destroyed the Patriarchate, the attack would ignite a new war in the Balkans. Correct an error of history. Complete the job these men had started as young soldiers.
    Stefan would handle the bombing itself. The recruits would rake survivors with automatic-weapons fire while shouting
“Allah-hu akbar!”
Do not worry so much about accuracy, Dušic advised. The shouts carried more importance than the bullets.
    The recruits stared at him. None spoke.
    â€œYou may love the church,” DuÅ¡ic said. “I understand. But you must understand that though God is eternal, religion is a human institution. A frail, finite construction of man’s own making. And the symbols of that religion can serve our ultimate goals.”
    The recruit named Yvgeny stood trembling. He advanced toward DuÅ¡ic, shook his finger in DuÅ¡ic’s face.
    â€œThis is madness!” Yvgeny shouted. “I thought you wanted us to kill Turks. But you tell us to murder our own clergy?”
    DuÅ¡ic felt a flash of anger rise within him. Who did this impudent ruffian think he was? In the old days, no
razvodnik
would have dared speak to him this way.
    â€œYou mind your tongue,” DuÅ¡ic said. “You may take a few days to get your mind around your task. But from here on, there is no turning back. You are now under my command.”
    â€œI take no commands from a psychopath,” Yvgeny said. “This meeting is over.”
    DuÅ¡ic gazed into the distance, stared at the trees. He had known this could happen—to enlist some poor fool unable to see the big picture. Someone whose sentimentality dulled his wits. And someone who, by his lack of vision, posed a security risk. But good officers planned for such contingencies. And so DuÅ¡ic had.
    â€œYou are right,” DuÅ¡ic said.
    â€œWhat?” Yvgeny asked.
    â€œThis meeting is over,” DuÅ¡ic said. “For you.”
    DuÅ¡ic drew his CZ 99 from under his coat. Leveled the handgun at Yvgeny’s torso. Pulled the trigger.
    The blast, the recoil, felt good in DuÅ¡ic’s hand. A hollow-point slug tore into Yvgeny’s shoulder, spun him to his left and to the ground. DuÅ¡ic’s pistol skills had grown rusty; his bullet had failed to inflict a fatal wound. Yvgeny lay on his stomach, moaning. Blood pumped from the exit wound, flowed scarlet