Read Online Braco by Lesleyanne Ryan - Free Book Online Page B

jogged ahead of the vehicle. Then they slowed down; thousands of people were cramming the road from Tango. People who had taken refuge there but were now rushing towards them.
    â€œThey must have heard the carrier,” Maarten said.
    Jac looked at the vehicle and then the crowd. The mob would swamp the main road before the vehicle could pass the intersection.
    â€œWhat do we do?” Maarten asked.
    Jac motioned to the carrier to speed up, but wave after wave of refugees poured onto the road ahead of the carrier. The vehicle stopped and they swarmed it like ants, crawling up the sides and fighting for space on top. The peacekeepers worked to pull down people who were capable of walking, but for every person they removed two more scrambled on top of the vehicle.
    â€œThis is useless,” Maarten shouted to the sergeant.
    The refugees sat two and three deep on the carrier when the sergeant gave up. He waved to Jac who propped himself up on a track next to the sergeant’s hatch.
    â€œSergeant?”
    He rubbed the sweat from his forehead. Speckles of blood remained. “Don’t waste your time. We’re going. Just keep them away from me, okay?”
    â€œYeah. No problem, Sergeant.”
    Jac dropped to the road and surveyed the scene. People trying to crawl on top of the carrier were pushed back or pulled down by others trying to scramble up the side of the vehicle. Others gave up and walked ahead. A woman shrieked.
    He turned around just as two young men dumped an old woman out of a wheelbarrow. They shoved her husband to the ground and picked up stereo equipment and piled it in the wheelbarrow. Wires hung over the edge.
    â€œJesus,” Jac said. He stepped in front of the men and dropped a heavy hand on the wheelbarrow. “What are you’re doing?”
    The young men stared at Jac. One shrugged.
    â€œHow the hell are we supposed to help you if you don’t help yourselves?”
    They tried to move forward, but Jac kept his grip on the wheelbarrow. And then he seized a speaker and threw it into the ditch. When he grabbed the other speaker, one of the men tried to take it away from him.
    â€œFuck you, Blue Helmet.”
    A pair of hands appeared and tore the speaker from both of them. Karel tossed the speaker into the ditch then laid his hand on his Uzi.
    â€œGet lost.”
    The men backed away, crouched to pick up the rest of their equipment and melted into the crowd.
    â€œWhy do you bother, Jac?” Karel asked.
    Jac ignored him and picked up the wheelbarrow, rolling it back to its owner. As he placed the woman inside, she kissed his hand and arm. The man tried to kiss him as well, but Jac stepped back and pointed.
    â€œTo Potocari.”
    â€œ Danke, danke .” He wheeled his wife away.
    â€œChrist, Jac,” Karel said from behind. “If they want to kill each other, let them. It’s not our problem.”
    Jac turned his back on Karel and walked away. The carrier roared to life and he shooed people away from the tracks.
    They began their slow march to Potocari.

WEDNESDAY: MICHAEL SAKIC
    MIKE LEANED AGAINST a truck, listening to a Pakistani captain argue with a Serb soldier through a translator. Beyond them, Serb soldiers loitered around their checkpoint. The barrier was down and a row of anti-tank mines were strung across the road. A large guard shack sat on the edge of the forest. Beside it, a group of soldiers encircled a fire, drinking and singing.
    They look like boy scouts. Mike glanced at his watch. Almost midnight.
    After he had heard enough, he turned and walked the length of the convoy. He passed a Dutch armoured vehicle, a Pakistani tanker, a Norwegian ambulance, and three UN transports full of humanitarian aid. His truck, which hadn’t moved in three hours, was second from last. With the obvious breakdown in negotiations, the convoy would likely spend the night on the mountainside. He climbed into the driver’s seat.
    â€œI was getting