Seeds of the Bitter Harvest. John Sheppard

darting about the room; as if he were afraid his shadow would jump-up and scare him. Owl explained ‘Hangman’ was proficient at making the hangman’s noose. They had captured a five man enemy patrol. ‘Hangman’ did just that to two of the patrol, without warning, and the rest freely gave the resistance all the information they needed. Jeremy could feel chills running up and down his spine.

      The resistance fighters suggested that his team rest in the bedrooms until night fall. They argued that to travel to their next position in daylight was dangerous. The resistance had lookouts deployed well into the woods, and could give plenty of warning about any enemy patrols in the area.

      Exhaustion was written all over the faces of Jeremy’s team. He knew a brief rest would give them the boost they needed to carry on, but a full six-eight hours of sleep certainly wouldn’t hurt. The order was given, and Owl’s team led Jeremy’s to some bedrooms in the back of the house.

      “Major, you need your rest too, but first, come walk with me,” Owl entreated.”Your men are safe, and the village has been under our control for the last couple of weeks”.

      Jeremy wearily nodded his head in agreement, and followed Owl outside. The sun was just now coming up, and most of the fishing village could be clearly seen. A collection of maybe fifty or so, mostly whitewashed frame homes, a store or two, a couple of warehouses and some docks. Everywhere was evidence of people who left in a hurry. Abandoned vehicles, some with household goods crammed in the trunks, and passenger compartments. Stacks of clothing and furniture waited on the porches of homes for their owners to return and pick them up.

      With the exception of a few overturned wooden dinghies on the beach, there were no boats of any kind to be seen. The docks looked as if they had been picked clean.

      Sensing Jeremy’s thoughts Owl spoke up; “The fishermen loaded their families and some of those from the surrounding area on their boats and headed to safe harbors elsewhere. The Enemy never entered the village; they got within just a few miles of here, and then made an abrupt turn towards the west and the airport, which is about fifteen miles away.

      “We’ll hike there tonight, and hook you up with others who can help you with your recon mission around the Capital. What do your men know?”

      “Not much. They know it’s a recon, but don’t know the ‘why’. We’ve spent the last three weeks in training. We were taken to a warehouse on the docks, in the Port City, wearing civilian clothes, boarded a freighter two days ago, and now we’re here. What do you know about the Enemy forces?”

      “Been real strange”, replied Owl, shrugging his shoulders.”It was hell-on-earth for about two months. The stories coming out of the Capital, and what some of the men have seen, tells us that there was no restraint to the brutality towards the general population. Then, other Enemy units came in, and they seemed to be more disciplined. They weren’t good guys, but at least they acted as if they were trying to reign in the first batch of thugs.

      Since then, we know firefights have broken out between them. It’s reported by the underground up north that whole regiments are pouring back to their border. Weird, eh?”

      Jeremy knew he couldn’t tell Owl or anyone else of the military’s plans, to retake the Capital. If the reports were true, and his mission should show the Enemy greatly weakened, it was possible the Capital could be back under his government’s control once again. Rather than reply to Owl’s comment, he only said, “Yeah, weird”.

      This village was a beautiful spot. Could he allow himself to believe someday the villagers would be safe to return? Could he be part of that plan? For now, he’d return to the house and get some shut-eye; it was going to be a long mission.

      CHAPTER 7

      He could sense the presence of death. It was strong and pervasive here. Jeremy felt it to the core of his being. He remembered the first time he was aware of feeling it; it had come when he was a young child at his grandfather’s funeral many, many years ago. At the time he couldn’t put what he was feeling into words, and wasn’t sure he could now. He just knew death was here.

      Cold, unwelcome, maybe even sinister; it was here like he had never felt it before. Yes, he had been in several major campaigns since the start of the war, but this was pure evil. Perhaps he felt it so strongly because he knew the recent history of where he was. He, his team, and the resistance fighters were at the outskirts of the International Airport, the sight of what was arguably one of the most horrific atrocities of a war filled with atrocities.

      At the beginning of the year, the Enemy forces started marching down the coastline. Panic within the Capital rose with every mile gained by their foe. Evacuations began at a fever pitch in April, and by May the International Airport was booking flights out of the country as fast as they could get flights in, loaded, and back in the air.

      At first it looked as if the Enemy was going to head for the Port City, and bypass the Capital altogether. Suddenly their forces turned west and lay siege to the airport without warning. There were only a token number of defenders, and they were quickly overwhelmed. The tarmac and terminal were at capacity. Thousands of lives were taken, without mercy.

      The event taught Jeremy a lesson about geopolitics. His homeland didn’t matter to the international community. Russia blocked any attempts by the UN Security Council to save this little country because the Enemy had once been a communist state aligned with the former USSR. While Russia’s move didn’t surprise the Major, lack of support from the world’s democracies was appalling. France, England, even the United States, turned away.

      Granted, there were about a dozen wars currently taking place. Several civil wars raged in Africa, some of those had been going on for decades. Muslim extremist were trying to overthrow the governments in a couple of non-Muslim countries. Pakistan and India was sword rattling again.

      The war here was different. It was an unprovoked attack against a tiny nation. It was dictatorship versus a freely elected government, and there was no aid or protection coming from America, or any other land which claimed to value freedom. Jeremy was bitter and disillusioned.

      The band of resistance fighters and Jeremy’s team were finishing their hike from the fishing village to the airport just before dawn. He had placed his trust in these strangers to guide the team, even though there were questions in his mind about the wisdom of making the trek at night. While he knew it was supposed to keep the Enemy from seeing them, the reverse was also true; they couldn’t be certain where the Enemy was.

      The airport had lacked electricity since the Enemy’s conquest, at least so Jeremy thought. Only the stars and the full moon illuminated the facility this cold winter’s night. The area was reduced to shadows in varying hues of light grey to black. Some metal objects reflected back the soft natural light. Jeremy could make out the shape of the airport terminal, and assorted support buildings.

      He could also distinguish the profiles of broken aircraft. Some had been hit while preparing for take-off, others on the concourses. Here and there, only tail sections were visible, or a lone wing pointing towards the sky. There was also a rotten smell. He knew what that was, but said nothing. At least it was winter; the odor had to be so much worse in the heat of summer.