Twenty Three years earlier
Lieutenant Michael Brown led his squad on a routine patrol in a deserted town in Bosnian Herzegovinian town that was ravaged by civil war. Even though the sun was in the middle of the sky a cold wind ripped through his fatigues. The ceramic breast plate weighed down the ballistic vest that he was issued and it scratched his neck. The rifle had seen better days, but Michael led by example and never complained about the tools Uncle Sam had issued to him on Peace keeping mission in a Country that looked nothing like his home in Cudjoe Hill.
He could see the pain, anguish and desperation on the faces of the women that clutched their young starving children. Begging for food in a language Michael did not know, but understand perfectly. Their piercing blue eyes seemed to stare into his soul and each time he have them a chocolate and ordered his men to give half their MRE pouches.
