Texas Nights - Book 13 of the Damned of the 2/19th

Site Delta

Operation Shield Strike
Sarajevo, Bosnia (Contested Zone)
28 May, 1992
1100 Hours ZULU - Thursday

The city was smoky, shelling having taken its toll on the air quality. There was more than a few blown out cars on the streets that Donovan had to weave around as we moved through the suburbs. I noticed that the city was quickly starting to get the look that all modern cities got when they were under siege.

"Checkpoint up ahead!" Kidman called out from the ringmount at the same time that Donovan said it loud enough for me to hear. We were wearing the hot shit new headsets so Kidman's shout took me by surprise and I winced.

"Keep that weapon on safe, don't point it at anyone, Kidman," I said.

"Roger, Chief," he shouted. Probably had to do with the fact he had his head sticking out.

It was a rudimentary checkpoint. Cars and burn barrels pulled out in the street with four armed guards standing in front of it. They had weapons, AK-47's and pistols. They were wearing old Russian style forest BDU's.

"Christ, I half expect Stillwater to come waltzing out wearing that damn eyepatch," Donovan chuckled as he let off the gas. "Stop or blow through?"

"Stop, we go with the kid gloves right now," I told him. I waited until the vehicle slowed to a stop and rolled down the window.

"Who are you?" He asked in Russian.

"UN Forces, Task Force Seeker Seven," I half-lied. "Here to ensure aid flights to Sarajevo Airport."

"Where are you from?" He asked, wrapping his hand around the pistol grip.

"US forces under UN orders," I replied, lifting up my M-3 slightly so he could see it. "Let's not do anything we might regret."

He looked down at the M-3 and then at my face. I nodded at him slowly.

He'd seen combat, that was obvious from the way his body language shifted. He slowly took his hand off the pistol grip and I lowered my M-3.

"I need to get permission to let you through," he told me.

"It's a little time sensitive," I told him, smiling. "I know you don't want anything to do with a decision like that, sir, but I need to come through."

Other vehicles were stopping behind us. The Marines with the humvee and the 5-tons.

"Those are United States Marines, and you know how they can be," I told him.

That got a response. He paled, looking over the top of my truck. I knew he could see that the Marines were loaded up with fifty-cals and from the way he swallowed I knew the USMC reputation had preceded the Marines behind me.

"Go through, go through," he told me, waving his hand. He turned to the men in the cars. "Move aside, let them pass," He yelled out.

"What's going on up there, Lima-Romeo?" Gunnery Sergeant Malik asked me.

"They're letting us through, Foxtrot-Alpha. Checkpoint, that's all," I told him.

"Roger that, Lima-Romeo. Out," he said, then cleared the net.

We rolled by and I took a good look at the troops. While the guy who had questioned me seemed professional the men, he was in command of did not.

They reminded me more of the Arab troops I'd worked with. Undisciplined, unshaven, glaring as we passed. I saw two arguing with the guy who had let us go through, highly animated language. I was wondering what the language was right before we turned the corner.