Braco by Lesleyanne Ryan

Atif. He backed up under the bus as far as possible. The Serb crouched, reached his hand under the bus, snagged Atif’s ankle, and pulled. The twins grabbed Tihana and turned away, crying. Atif yelled and kicked; the hand released him.
    It didn’t return.
    Where is it?
    Atif wrapped his arms around the driveshaft and waited for the claws to reappear. A second pair of combat boots appeared instead.
    Dutch boots.
    A familiar voice.
    â€œWhat’s going on here?”

WEDNESDAY: JAC LARUE
    JAC SUBMERGED HIS head into a sink filled with cold water and kept it there until he ran out of breath. He straightened up, letting the water roll down his neck and drench his shirt. He soaked his towel and slung it around his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the only cold he was likely to feel for the rest of the day.
    â€œGet any sleep?”
    Jac looked behind him. Bram Vogel, a tank driver, was squeezing the last of his toothpaste onto a brush.
    â€œFive hours.”
    â€œYou’re joking?”
    â€œSergeant kept me up until eight this morning but promised me five hours of uninterrupted sleep if I stayed on sentry.”
    â€œAnd he delivered?”
    â€œYeah.” Jac pulled out a razor and began dry-shaving his face. “What about you?”
    â€œI sat outside the fence with your friend Karel,” Bram said, spitting into the sink.
    â€œHe’s not my friend.”
    â€œWell, he was pretty pissed.” Bram gathered up his shaving kit and moved towards the exit. “He went to bed after you guys got back last night, but Janssen woke him up around three.”
    Jac kept his smile inside. He dunked his head, rubbing the loose whiskers from his face. When he surfaced, Maarten’s reflection was beside his in the mirror. He flinched.
    â€œJesus. Where did you come from?”
    â€œMy mother. So I’m told.” Maarten grinned. “Ready?”
    â€œAlmost,” Jac replied, shaving his neck. “What’s going on anyway?”
    â€œSerbs are here. Major said he doesn’t want them beyond the barricade. Though I’m not sure I’d call a piece of tape a barricade.”
    â€œA piece of tape?”
    â€œYeah. Does anyone really think that’s going to stop them?”
    â€œNo, but enough of us might.”
    â€œSeriously, Jac? Do you think we possess any semblance of authority over these bastards? I mean, after everything we’ve seen?”
    â€œWhat do you suggest? That we hide in here and let them do what they want to the refugees?”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean.”
    â€œI know.” Jac nicked his neck. “Damn.”
    He cleaned it with the wet towel and then threw the dulled razor in the garbage. He sealed his flak vest around his chest, picked up his Uzi, and slung it over his shoulder.
    â€œLet’s go.”
    Outside, Jac drew in a lung full of super-heated air.
    I should have worn my shorts.
    He and Maarten walked through the main gate and turned left towards the refugees. Vehicles lined the road. Serb soldiers were massed near the tape. Some wore green camouflage, but many were Rambo types; they wore mismatched uniforms with bandannas on their heads and had bandoliers crisscrossing their chests. A Serb civilian was directing a camera crew shooting video of soldiers throwing candy to the children.
    Jac spotted one of their local translators walking away from a group of Serb soldiers. The young man was taking quick strides and glancing over his shoulder. He bumped into Maarten and started to walk around him.
    â€œAmir,” Jac said.
    The translator hesitated.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing.” The man rubbed his thumb over the UN identification card in his palm. “It’s just….”
    â€œIt’s okay, Amir,” Jac said. “They can’t hurt you. What’s going on?”
    Amir’s eyes darted towards Jac. “Are you sure about that? Do you think