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

Something to Remember Them By

Log Base Delta (Former Site)
Sarajevo International Airport (UN Site 62)
Sarajevo, Bosnia (Contested Zone)
22 June, 1992
1700 Hours Local - Wednesday

Operation Shield Strike - Day 24 (Ended)

CW2 Cromwell, Heather - 15th FSB, Task Force Hatchet

The jets were idling on the Sarajevo airport tarmac, getting ready to pull us out of the former site of Log Base Delta. The warring factions in Sarajevo had all demanded that the UN Forces be withdrawn. While I didn't like it, and personally felt that none of these Eastern European monkeys should be able to tell us jack or shit, I also knew that my emotions were too engaged for clear decisions. My burning desire to stay in Bosnia and force these idiots to behave using the same methods the Soviet Union had was not a valid reason for a military deployment.

The constant harassing fire and indirect fire had taken its toll. While we we hadn't had a bad day like we had the day Stillwater had returned, the amount of wounded was slowly climbing. We weren't permitted reinforcements and more and more people were considered 'walking wounded' because they'd been peppered with shrapnel or just caught a sniper round in the vest. That had negatively effected morale once the Marines had been told they could no longer sweep and clear the area around us. It had ground down on everyone, made it so that people didn't even really flinch when a shot rang out.

Then the order had come in this morning: Pack up, board the planes, and fly back to Fort Hood. There the Marines would board a different plane and return to 29 Palms.

It was over.

Major Cribb had taken over the Battalion after Colonel Krait had been moved to the USS Saratoga and then to Walter Reed. To be honest, nobody was sure if he was coming back or not. A hip wound was nasty and was one of those wounds where you could neither sit nor stand without stressing the (former) wound.

It had the possibility of being a career ender.

My thoughts were yanked back to the present as several people ran by me, carrying their gear. Captain Misty Jane moved up next to me, reaching out and thumping her little fist on my shoulder.

"Penny for your thoughts, Chief," she smiled.

I looked around, shaking my head.

"This is going to get horrible," I predicted.

Little-Bit had taken Stillwater's little pocket camera, that he had used to take photographic evidence of mass graves and one set of shots of live ethnic cleansing, shook her head sadly, and told him, face to face, that no ethnic cleansing was taking place in the area.

Little-Bit had left.

Stillwater was still here.

Approaching us with a grim look to be exact.

"What makes you say that, Chief?" She asked. She blew air. "Man, it's hot."

I shrugged. "It's just that feeling, you know? They aren't even trying to minimize civilian casualties. If anything, it seems like they deliberately targeting them."

"Up until a few decades ago, punishing the civilians for supporting the war effort and the government engaged in the war was a normal part of warfare," Misty said, pushing her Kevlar helmet back far enough she could mop her sweaty brow.

"This feels different. I can't explain it," I told her.

"Can't explain what?" Stillwater asked, thumping up next to us. He showed no signs of his injuries aside from his new, somehow even heavier, leg brace.

"Chief here feels like it's going to get worse here," Misty said, unsnapping her canteen cover.

Stillwater nodded. "She ain't wrong," he said. He sounded empty, used up, like he was just too exhausted to do anything much more than what was directly asked of him.