Concealed

4

4

Golfito, 2003.

The small harbor at the Pacific side of southern Costa Rica was preparing for another incredibly warm day. During the glory days of the banana companies, it had been quite a busy town. But these days were long gone. Now the village was explored by tourists. Mostly fishermen hiring the small fishing boats to enjoy big game fishing along the beautiful Costa Rican shoreline.

A group of fifteen men arrived by bus. Young men in their early twenties, some even younger. Dressed as civilians, but every local knew they were American soldiers. Every two weeks a group of ‘Americanos’ would pass the border of Panama, only a few miles from Golfito, to spend their official leave in the little village.

“Whoa, Casey!” Matthew Kerr yelled excited. “There’s the ocean. Ready to catch some fish?”

“Finally,” Casey Deyoung answered his buddy Matthew. Nineteen year old private Kerr was the youngest of his squad. Even of his platoon. Casey Deyoung, being one of the older soldiers, felt responsible for the rookie.

“What, finally?” said Matthew. “You’ve been sleeping most of the journey.”

“I’ve been thinking Kerr. Not sleeping.”

“Yeah, right. And my mum is the queen of England.”

“Oh, I thought she was a MILF,” said Ken Lazaro. “Did I tell you she’s lovely? Just like her pretty little boy Matthew. I can do her, you know.”

“Lazaro shut your big mouth or I will use you as bait to catch some sharks,” said Casey.

“That’s enough guys!” said Rudd Baldwin. “We are on leave, but we’re still soldiers. You all behave or I will have to report you.”

Lazaro started whistling to tease his sergeant. Baldwin didn’t react. “Listen up,” said Rudd Baldwin to all of his men. “The bus driver says we will be at the hotel within ten minutes. You all check in and bring your stuff to your room. From there on you are free to go and do as you please.”

“I’m gonna do some of those Tica’s tonight,” Lazaro shouted, referring to the nickname for Costa Rican girls. “And maybe I will see your mummy there too Kerr,” he said to Matthew meanwhile making obscene gestures by moving his tongue between two fingers.

“Lazaro!” Baldwin warned the obnoxious soldier. “Knock it off. I will not tolerate this behavior in my squad!”

Lazaro stopped provoking the young soldier. But the look on his face was contemptuous. He would never like his sergeant. Not even respect him. And he would not let any opportunity pass by to let Baldwin know. But for now, he was too excited about his three day leave. They had been in the jungle of Panama for almost sixty days. The Greenhouse, as they called their camp, had become a prison. A f*****g hot prison. And Lazaro regretted the moment he had volunteered to get in.

The bus stopped in front of a hotel named ‘Miramar’. Its wooden walls, once painted powder blue, were touched by the weather and the salt water of the nearby sea. ‘El Barco’, the small bar on the left was still closed at this time of the day. On the terrace of ‘Big Ben’, the larger bar and restaurant at the other side of the hotel, a tall man with red dreadlocks was cleaning tables upon the rhythm of some Bob Marley music.

“Seems we don’t have to walk much tonight,” Lazaro yelled when he moved upfront in the bus. “You won’t see me much.”

“We never do,” said Dwight Axelrod who was fed up with Lazaro’s behavior.

“Don’t be afraid Axelrod, those lovely chica’s will not steal your little d**k,” Ken Lazaro laughed.

Dwight Axelrod grabbed his bag, just like everybody did now they had reached their destination. No need to answer he said to himself. He left the bus and waited for his friends. Thom Brown, Stevie Mason, Nick Reeson and Dwight Axelrod had been together since their first day in the army. Rough and tough, the type of men the army always was looking for. As for most of the soldiers in The Greenhouse, this was their first assignment abroad. And even though conditions in the jungle were hard, they did not complain. They had joined the army to fulfill a job and that’s what they did. Later this afternoon they would go for the small harbor to arrange a fishing trip for tomorrow. Just like Casey Deyoung, Matthew Kerr, Michael Visione and Rick Bravia.

Michael and Casey were a little older than the rest of the squad. Michael had also found himself a younger protégé: Rick Bravia, hardly six months older than Matthew Kerr. Two very young, enthusiastic soldiers with only little experience in real life. Casey and Michael not only had experienced enough to compensate the lack of knowledge and skills of the two rookies; they also knew each other since childhood. Aged 25, they felt a quarter century of life experience was making them a bit superior to the other members of the squad. Even though they had never been on a real mission either.

Ken Lazaro had found himself some big mouthed friends in Jon Budweiser and Walter Payton. The three of them grew up in the suburbs of New York where they had met each other occasionally. Had a few fights, a few good laughs, argued about girls and had a few drinks together. Usually a few drinks too many. They never became friends until fate had brought them altogether in The Greenhouse. Except for the money, they didn’t care for the army. To them it was a job. Just a job and nothing else. Walter Payton never seemed to have his own opinion; he just walked along with his two friends. Whatever they would do he would do too. And although Lazaro had the biggest mouth, Jon Budweiser was the worst of the three. He had managed to survive the ghetto life the hard way. Kill or be killed. A harsh but simple life philosophy. He was no racist at heart. Among his ghetto friends, every nationality was present. But from the day the Twin Towers had collapsed, he had sworn he would never be friends with any muslim. That is why Sergeant Baldwin kept an eye on him and one of his finest men, Ibrahim Yavuzyitoglu. A muslim who, like all Turkish people born abroad, had two nationalities. He had a Turkish passport based on his origin and an American passport based on his American citizenship. As hardly anyone could pronounce Ibrahim’s last name, not even remember it correctly, everybody called him ‘Abe’.

Abe had found two companions in the squad: Rob Seegers, a brave open minded youngster from a small town close to the Canadian border, and Shaun Mackelvey, son of a Washington based politician. An intellectual threesome.

Only two weeks ago Rudd Baldwin had been assigned to this squad as staff sergeant. His first assignment. Even though they were not stationed in a battle zone, the secrecy around The Greenhouse and the mixed group he had to lead were giving him heartaches. Over the past two weeks Baldwin tried to train the men and make them work as a homogenous team. The members of his squad had been in camp for almost two months. They had become teams within a team. The differences were keeping them apart. United by disturbance.

The behavior of some of his men in the bus was best described as alarming. As far as Sergeant Baldwin was concerned, the three days leave at Golfito had come too early. Yet he was in charge. He had to deal with it.

Just before his men were going to check into the hotel ‘Miramar’, a Jeep stopped next to them. Five men stepped out.

“Hey!” Lazaro yelled when he recognized the men from The Greenhouse. “You’ve come to join our party?”

Rudd Baldwin was surprised to encounter his colleague, staff sergeant Heckenrath, and four of his men here. It was very unusual to give two squads of the same platoon a leave at the same time. He wondered if he should inform CO Sleighton. On the other hand the CO had to be aware of this situation. After all he was the one who had to give his men permission for a leave.

Baldwin looked at the two men he had learned to appreciate the most during his first two weeks of command. Not without a reason Casey Deyoung and Michael Visione were also looking at their staff sergeant. Their worried faces confirmed Baldwin’s suspicion. Once again his instinct was right.