Landmark 2b. Moldova Closes Border
I can't remember ever seeing the Choir this down, Craigen thought. The Response Team members were morosely sipping from paper cups of coffee Craigen purchased from the Bonjour Café. But instead of sitting outside next to the quaint little kiosk located along Chişinău’s central park, the dismal weather forced the team to take their drinks inside the nearby hotel lobby to escape the cold and wet.
He knew they were all demoralized by the decision to abandon the Varniţa site. Leaving had been extremely difficult for everyone. They'd left the tents and meager relief supplies, and made arraignments with the Varniţa community leaders to continue supporting the growing numbers of refugees. But it was still jarring to look into the eyes of the pregnant women and children they were leaving. Many refugees openly wept when they realized the Americans were abandoning them. Some cursed America, others cursed the team members. It was impossible not to take it personally.
"Hey, listen up," Craigen did his best to sound confident. "I know how you all feel about leaving. Trust me, I feel the same way." Craigen tilted his head to make eye contact with Thibido and Kedzierski. "Right now, we've got to just focus on moving forward." They met his eyes, but then looked away.
No one had anything to add. Craigen considered this for a moment, and then decided that perhaps their silence was better than finding out what was really on their minds. He looked at his watch, "Oh! I've got to call the Chief before it's too late back there. Hang on a sec."
It was a little awkward, calling from the lobby. But there weren't many guests around this time of day. It wasn't like he really needed privacy to call in a report.
Craigen tried to keep his tone calm and patient, but the direction of the conversation made his shoulders hunch over, and he gripped the sat phone as though he were trying to wring a neck. "Look Chief, Chişinău’s a madhouse. There's an alphabet soup of relief agencies out here, and refugees are pouring in from everywhere."
He listened to some long explanation on the phone before countering, "I am trying to attend the Cluster meetings. But they don’t always publish the meeting times and places. Nobody knows who’s running the show over here. I know the PIRA donors want us to make an impact, but it’s not like I can just start setting up tents in the central park. We need one of these knuckleheads to step up and take charge!”
Craigen dropped his forehead into his hand and massaged his throbbing temples. Damn, I lost my temper. He'd tried hard not to. What followed was a stern lecture about how PIRA was counting on him to make those vital connections. If nobody else was stepping up, then he would have to. He was reminded that this was the nature of the job. It's what he signed up for.
“I got it, Chief.” He replied more curtly than he intended.
The expression of frustration earned him an additional lecture about the spiraling costs of the war, inflating the price of everything from food and fuel to medical aid.
“Yes, I understand.” Craigen bit his lip to keep from saying anything stupid, and nodded as if the person on the other end of the sat phone could see that he was in agreement. “I know you’re counting on us.” There was a pause. “Yeah, we’ll get creative. Fixing problems is what we do, right?” He tried in vain to make this last comment sound upbeat and optimistic, but Craigen didn’t think he was fooling anyone.
Finally, he put the phone back in his pocket and then just sat for a long moment, watching a traffic jam of cars and trucks inching along the busy streets, honking at pedestrians that seemed to be scrambling urgently in all directions. My team is just a tiny cog in this enormous wheel. We need a purpose, or we need to go home. Through televised news reports, they were learning about the many horrors the refugees were enduring. Massive bombardments of civilian populations, dodging patrols and indiscriminate killings, there were reports of sexual assaults, and now, what looked like the beginnings of starvation. And here we are sleeping in comfortable beds, with heated rooms, hot water, and plenty to eat.
“You OK, Rattle?” Kedzierski asked softly from behind him.
“Huh?” Her question broke Craigen free from his macabre reverie.
“Ah…” He sighed, rubbing his eyes and putting on his game face, “HQ says we need to do the best we can.” Then he eyed the stack of Styrofoam boxes she was carrying. “What do you got there?”
“Breakfast.” Kedzierski distributed the take-out boxes filled with two types of cheese dumplings, a local specialty.
The dumplings were delicious, but the team ate in muted silence. A pall of discouragement hung over them like the gloomy gray clouds that blanketed the Chişinău sky.
“This all makes perfect sense, Rattle," Kedzierski said at last.
To Craigen she appeared agitated, or even angry. We didn’t even thank her for finding us something to eat. “What does?”
“Why is Putin doing all this.” Kedzierski set her paper coffee cup down hard to emphasize the point. “That monster attacked Georgia in 2008 and met no resistance. Then he attacked Crimea in 2014 and met no resistance. So now, when he attacks Ukraine and gets his nose bloodied, he’s got to bomb all those innocent civilians. He's murdering people just to prove what a tough guy he is. It's pathetic!"
“That’s what everyone says, Curly.” Craigen put down his plastic fork and picked up his coffee. He observed that Kedzierski always talked about Putin, not the Russians. She blames him for all the suffering. To her this is personal. “Thanks for this, by the way.” He gestured towards the dumplings.
“Actually, the Russians fear the encroachment of NATO on their borders,” offered Bolanger. “America has been pushing this for decades. A confrontation was inevitable.” Bolanger was originally from Quebec, and she was younger than most of the team members, so her opinions tended to be less favorable of US interventions in other nations.
Thibido held up his cell phone, wagging the headline from some news agency. The way he interrupted made Craigen suspect he was trying to de-escalate a potential conflict between the two women. "Well, talking about Russia's reasons for attacking Ukraine, here's another one… Looks like they've found a bunch of bioweapons labs over there. Accordin’ to this, the US government was funding ‘em, too.”
“Where does it say that?” Kedzierski wanted to know. Thibido handed her his phone.
“Of course,” Bolanger nodded her head smugly, “the US has been interfering in this region for decades. Look at Trump’s impeachment.”
“Trump’s impeachment?” Thibido exclaimed in astonishment. If he’d wanted to diffuse the situation, he failed miserably. Instead, the normally laconic Cajun seemed to switch into feud mode. “The way I recall it, that was a big ‘ole hoax. The real criminal was Biden’s boy, Hunter!”
Bolanger sniffed dismissively, “Whatever. The Russian government knows the Ukrainian government is corrupt to the core and that Zelenskyy is totally compromised. Funding the bioweapons labs proves that.”
“Is that why Putin is bombing maternity wards?” Kedzierski threw the phone back to Thibido; she was too apoplectic to read any more. "Is he using firebombs and cluster bombs on women and kids so he can protect himself from the bioweapons labs that Obama paid for?”
How had this conversation gone sideways so fast? Craigen watched in disbelief as his team disintegrated before his eyes. He had to jump in immediately to put an end to it. “That’s enough, all of you!” He spread his arms across the table like a boxing referee breaking us a clinch. “We all volunteered to come over here to help, and this isn’t helping!”
The next meeting of the Response Team took place late in the afternoon. "All right, I got us a new job.”
He’d finally discovered the time and location of the Cluster meetings. “They’ve assigned us to crowd management at the refugee center they’ve assembled at the Moldexpo on Vasile Lupu Street.” Moldexpo was the name of the Moldovan International Exposition Center
“Crowd management?” Thibido’s tone was incredulous. “What do you mean by crowd management?”
"They've got a ton of people all milling about over there. They're setting up those short metal barriers like you see at concerts. We'll be directing people to the entrance and exit points, vehicle parking, and restrooms."
"Aw, Rattle!" Thibido objected. "You mean to tell me the only job they got for us to do is to be greeters at the refugee center? You've got to be kidding me!"
“There are no small parts, just small players. You know that, Scooter.” Craigen quipped back. He’d known this would be a hard sell. “Besides, almost all the work they have going on over there is administrative; checking peoples identification, assisting them with travel arraignments, and contacting loved ones. Last I checked, none of us speak any of the languages around here. So what do you want them to do with us?"
The PIRA team spent the next half hour going over the details of the assignment. Long faces looked resignedly at notepads as salient details were dutifully recorded. The usual bantering cross-talk was absent. Craigen wished for the millionth time that they’d stayed back in Varniţa.
~
"OK, that about wraps this up," Craigen announced when the short meeting was finally over. "But before you go back to your rooms, we need to talk about what happened this morning." Craigen's eyes locked first with Thibido, then Bolanger, and finally Kedzierski.
“What do you mean, Rattle?” Asked Kedzierski.
Don’t give me that, Curly. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Craigen's eyes narrowed to slits, and he suppressed a grimace. "Well, let me put it this way,” he said after a pause, “I think you’ve all had too much time to watch TV since we came back from Varniţa.”
“So what?” Thibido raised both hands. It was a challenge.
“So what?” Craigen met the challenge with a feral intensity. “I’ll tell you so what. I’m not going to have you guys hauling your political baggage around on my deployment and dumping it all over each other. Especially in a public place!” Craigen spit these last words through gritted teeth. Again had to suppress himself, because they were still in a public place.
Thibido backed down, mostly. Looking down and away, he mumbled, “I can’t help it if the tail is waggin’ the dog to keep everybody’s mind off the wrecked economy back home.”
Craigen shot his finger across the table, "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Scooter. It's got to stop."
Bolanger opened her mouth to speak, but Craigen cut her off. “Not now, Dee.”
She crossed her arms, face flushing. But she didn’t speak. Uh oh, now I’ve offended her. Craigen had been married enough times before to recognize the look. But he couldn't let it go. "Look, Dee, Even though this is your first time as a duet lead on a deployment, you're a peer now, and we respect your opinion. But you've got to remember that not all of us share your worldview. When you bag on America, don't be surprised when your teammates get cranky."
“Am I the only one who’s expected to keep my mouth shut around here?” Defiance flashed dangerously in her eyes as she glared at Kedzierski and Thibido. “Maybe their worldviews make me cranky?”
“Fair enough.” If possible, Thibido seemed to hang his head even lower.
Kedzierski also wore an expression of remorse. "I'm sorry too, Dee." Her hand trembled as she pushed back a graying lock of her unruly hair behind one ear. "But I keep thinking of that little girl, the one in Varniţa with all the burns…” Tears began to stream down her eyes. Her whole body trembled as she hoarsely choked out the words. “…She looked just like my granddaughter. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Bolanger caught Kedzierski’s hand in her own, and then the two women embraced.
Craigen allowed some time to pass so Kedzierski could compose herself before asking gently, “You all right, Curly?” They were all familiar with PTSD; there was a lot of it in this line of work. I’ll have to keep my eye on her.
She nodded stiffly and sniffed. “I’m good, Rattle. Not my first rodeo. But it’s about time the international community did something. This madness has got to stop.” Kedzierski directed this last comment at Bolanger.
To Craigen, it was clear that Bolanger received the wisdom contained in Kedzierski’s meaningful gaze. The younger woman demurred. Apparently we’ve got a truce.
He leaned forward. "Look, we all know the international community has come together to drop the hammer on Putin with sanctions and everything else. It sounds like Russia's economy is collapsing, but maybe they're prepared for that. I don't know." Craigen gripped the edge of the table with both hands. His brow furrowed deeply, and the muscles of his jaws rippled as he gritted his teeth. He stared downward as if he was addressing the tabletop and kept his voice to a low growl so that he could not be easily overheard.
“Maybe the sanctions will work, or maybe that will just make that maniac feel like he’s been backed into a corner to the point where he does something really insane. Again, I don’t know.” Then he looked up fiercely at Bolanger. “I get it, Dee. Maybe they’re dirty. They’re probably all dirty, the Russians, the Ukrainians…” he swallowed, “yeah, probably the Americans too.”
Then he looked at the rest of the team and said, "The one thing I do know," the table shuddered as he released his grip. He pointed a meaty finger towards the window in the direction of the Moldexpo, "is that as long as we've got people out there in trouble, I'm gonna stay here and help them. I don't care if that means crowd management, scrubbing toilets, or whatever it takes. That's what we do, right?"
Chastened, the Response Team nodded their silent agreement. Craigen took a deep breath and relaxed. I’ve got my team back.
The bonding moment would prove to be short-lived, however. A concierge approached the group. “Are you Mr. Craigen? I have a message for you.”
Tense moments passed as he read the note. “What’s it say, Rattle?”
“It says Moldova has closed their border. I’ve got to contact HQ immediately.”
“I got your message about the closure of the Moldovan border. How bad is it?”
The Operation Officer’s voice was thin and mechanical over the sat phone as the news was confirmed. “We are just now getting reports that NATO forces are establishing a No-Fly Zone over Eastern and Southern Ukraine. We’re also hearing that there may be Tomahawk cruise missile strikes on some key Russian emplacements.”
Craigen was stunned. “It’s gotten that bad? Have the Russians made that much progress?"
“The Ukrainian resistance has exceeded everyone’s expectations," the Chief elaborated on what Craigen already knew, "and now Zelenskyy is on the air making statements about repulsing the Russian assault on Kyiv. But that may be only temporary.”
"I don't get it, Chief," Craigen confessed. "It sounds like the Ukrainians are winning. Why are they closing the Moldovan border?”
"The Moldovans are closing the border because they believe Putin is coming for them next. Is that clear enough?" the Operations Officer snapped. "The fighting's been fierce on both sides. But from our perspective, the real problem is the Russian economy."
"What?" Craigen was struggling to keep up with the shifting currents of this conversation. "Why the economy?"
"They've been cut out of the SWIFT international financial telecommunications system. The ruble is in free-fall, and they are beginning to default on their debts. Putin's getting desperate, he could do anything."
Craigen massaged his temples. No more international finance stuff! Nearly choking with frustration, Craigen made the request. “Just tell me what you want us to do, Chief.”
You are the Chief of the PIRA Operations Center. You make the call:
Chose Option 1: The closure of the Moldovan border seems out of line with the situation on the ground because the Russians have so far failed to even take Kyiv. However, with the border closed, it's clear your team's no longer needed in Chişinău. It's time to come home. Start making arraignments to return to the United States.
Choose Option 2: The closure of the Moldovan border indicates extreme danger. The sanctions are working, but we fear they are putting Putin’s back against a wall. He’s made it crystal clear that he will escalate the level of violence if he believes he’s facing an existential crisis. We believe the situation in Ukraine has reached that threshold. You are ordered to get out of Moldova immediately. Drop everything you're doing and find a way to evacuate back to the US by any means, before it’s too late!