Cover Your Tracks

by Daco Auffenorde

  She and the baby were safe. This was all that mattered.

  Just as she was drifting off to sleep, he wrapped his arm around her body and snuggled in even closer. She opened her eyes but didn’t speak. But that wasn’t the biggest surprise. No. That came when he placed his arm around her belly, on her child. She wanted to jerk his hand away. She didn’t like strangers touching her, and she didn’t want him to touch her baby. But she didn’t dare make a move.

  CHAPTER 21

  Not until he joined the army did Nick realize he would be grateful to his father for something. His father had taught him to follow stupid, arbitrary rules and still get by, and in Nick’s years in the army, those awful lessons served him well. It didn’t take long for him to rise from Private to Sergeant First-Class, in charge of his own platoon. After the terrorist attacks on 9/11, he was shipped out to Afghanistan for his first actual combat. He took to it. The death of his comrades didn’t debilitate him but made him much hungrier to kill America’s enemies. He had a knack for that. So, he applied to become an elite Army Ranger and was accepted. As part of the 75th Ranger Regiment, he led a special operations combat group in night missions in the Kabul Province. He was awarded several medals for valor and bravery under fire.

  During one of his tours of duty, a female soldier, Specialist Andrea White, was attached to his unit. She was a Black Hawk helicopter pilot with combat experience. Among other things, she’d served in Kabul during the insurgency. She’d been part of quite a few special ops. Her military record was outstanding. She had an important and dangerous job—flying the soldiers safely in and out. The unit’s last pilot had taken a bullet to the forehead, and the copter had crashed, killing passengers and crew.

  On Specialist White’s first day, they raided a terrorist sanctuary that had been identified by satellite imaging. Someone had apparently tipped off the enemy about the attack, because the terrorists had lain in wait. The exchange of fire was intense. Specialist White earned the respect of the unit when she maneuvered the aircraft away from a ground-to-air strike that looked certain to hit its target. She took some shrapnel in that battle—only a flesh wound. She could fly the chopper and fire a weapon better than most men, and she never complained, even when in pain.

  Specialist White was easy to work with, partly because she was so competent and partly because she followed orders without question. About six weeks after she became attached to the unit, Nick went out to check on the progress of repairs to a chopper. She was there with the mechanic, working on the engine. Without looking up, she said, “Hey, Sergeant. What do you get when you cross a rooster with an owl?”

  The mechanic glanced at Nick with apprehension. It was well known in the unit that Nick didn’t appreciate cutups.

  “I have no idea,” Nick said.

  “A cock that stays up all night.” With her upturned nose and brown hair bundled with a red bandana in a tight bun on the top of her head, Specialist White looked innocent, childlike, as if she herself didn’t get the joke. Such a contrast to her cool efficiency while piloting a copter.

  The mechanic flinched. Everyone in the unit knew that that Sgt. Eliot disliked jokes in general, and he disliked raunchiness even more, especially from a woman.

  But Nick roared with laughter. He respected Specialist White because she stood her ground and didn’t put on a false act about who she was.

  That summer, Taliban forces launched a nighttime attack near Tora Bora, detonating explosives in a tunnel near a military compound that was surrounded by civilian houses. The insurgents had overrun dozens of security outposts, and in intense fighting, killed scores of Afghan military personnel.

  Nick, the mission’s team leader, walked into the barracks where his soldiers were just turning in for the night. “Let’s rock and roll. We’ve been called in for air and ground support.”

  By the time his squad members—consisting of fully equipped special ops and aircraft crewmembers—took their positions, Specialist White and her copilot had already powered up the chopper.

  “Are we a go, Specialist White?” Nick asked. He always addressed her by rank as a sign of respect—so that his men would respect her too.

  “Armed and ready, Sergeant,” she replied. “Sixteen Hellfires mounted, another sixteen at the ready. Coordinates set.” Then everyone else confirmed their positions.

  “Confirm headset communication,” Nick said. They all gave a ready, set.

  “Fly her in low,” Nick said. “Everyone, keep your eyes open and guns ready.”

  Thirty minutes into the flight, Private Reed, the radar tech, said, “Sergeant, I’m picking up activity. Looks like the insurgents have ground troops of fifty or more. Are we free to engage, Sergeant?”

  “Not our orders,” Nick said. “Hold fire. Continue toward our target.”

  A moment later, flashes of light illuminated the sky.

  “Incoming fire!” Reed cried. “Do we have permission to engage?”

  “Take her up and out of range, Specialist White,” Nick said. “I’ll radio in the request to engage.”

  Bullets continued to pepper the chopper, though only with rifle fire and not something more deadly. The chopper had been built to withstand this type of strike. White piloted the helicopter upward as Nick made the call.

  Command center responded, “Continue toward your target.”

  “Everyone hear that?” Nick asked. “Keep her moving, Specialist White.”

  A moment later, there was a huge explosion and a flash of light.

  “We’ve been hit,” Specialist White said in an even voice. The helicopter had been struck by a surface-to-air rocket. “We’ve lost engine power.”

  “Can you get the engines restarted?” Nick asked. Beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck, and his breath accelerated. Keep calm, he told himself. Show your soldiers what it takes to survive. Weakness means sure death.

  “That’s a negative,” Specialist White replied.

  “Rotators still attached?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. I’m taking her into autorotation to maneuver us down. Everyone hold on. It’ll be bumpy.”

  Nick looked at the faces of his crew. They were a good group, an elite fighting force. Fear was natural, but with these soldiers, as with him, fear fueled strength. “Any chance we can make it over to Jalalabad Airport?”

  “That’s a no-go, Sergeant,” Specialist White said. “Engines won’t start and autorotation isn’t designed for flight. We have to set her down.”

  Nick got command back on the radio. “We’re under attack, north-northeast of Jalalabad.” He gave them the coordinates. “We’re hit and going down. Need immediate assistance. Insurgents number fifty or more.”

  “We just got intel that insurgents are targeting the airport,” command responded. “Do what you can, rescue is thirty minutes out. Keep in communication. Good luck.”

  The helicopter shook violently. Over the horrible sputtering of the dying engine, Nick shouted, “When we land, stay together. Reed, take whatever communication equipment you can carry. We’ve got to find cover before the insurgents reach us. I’m calculating an ETA of twenty minutes before we’re met by enemy forces. We’ll head up and to the northeast. Try to find cover in a cave.”

  “Everyone hold on,” Specialist White said.

  They descended as if attached to a parachute. The chopper swayed back and forth like a child’s swing. Yet not for one moment did Nick think they’d crash—he had that much faith in Andrea White.

  “How we doing, White?” Nick asked.

  “We’re close to landing. Pulling up on the collective right now. Should give us enough upward thrust to make the landing.”

  “Everyone check your headset,” Nick said and waited for his crew to confirm.

  Specialist White set the chopper down in the sand with little more than a hard bump. No one was injured. One of the men pulled the door open, and everyone rushed out. Nick led the unit up a rocky foothill to what looked like the entrance to a cave. There
was a crack of gunfire, and two soldiers went down. Nick estimated that the shooter was two hundred yards away.

  “Snipers!” Ranger Anderson shouted. Too loud. “I’m—”

  “Anderson?” Nick asked.

  Anderson didn’t respond.

  The rest of the soldiers hit the ground and crawled uphill, searching for cover. In those sandy hills, the only place to hide was behind mounds of sand and dirt, which provided little protection from bullets. If only they could reach the caves. When more gunfire rained down upon them, the Rangers had no choice but to hug the ground.

  “Where are they?” Nick asked.

  “I’m seeing movement below,” one of the men said. “They’re coming in our direction.”

  “Disperse and flank,” Nick ordered. The men broke up into pre-designated groups. Seven men headed up and toward the east. Nick led the others up and toward the south in the direction of the cave.

  There was a large explosion, followed by the sound of fire from automatic weapons.

  “Head count!” Nick said. Two soldiers who had headed east failed to respond—which meant they’d been killed or wounded.

  “Keep moving,” Nick commanded.

  The groups scrambled farther uphill. Five soldiers, including Nick and Specialist White, continued south toward a small pile of rocks. There was only room enough for two soldiers to take cover. Nick ordered the better marksmen to hold their positions behind the rocks. He motioned for the other man and Specialist White to continue down the ridge with him. The cave was still another fifty yards away.

  “Hold your fire so we don’t give away our position,” Nick ordered.

  The other group leader spoke through the headset. “Sergeant, it’s Reed.” His voice was strained. “They’re coming at us. There’s no cover.”

  “Everyone, all units, bury yourself under the sand, we’re going blackout,” Nick said. The soldier with him buried himself as fast as a sand crab. Specialist White, a pilot, not a special-forces soldier, was slower. Only her legs were buried by the time the other ranger had covered himself. Then Nick noticed a crevice that might be the opening to another cave. He kicked the sand off his body and gestured for Specialist White, who was still burying herself, to crawl with him.

  Specialist White motioned that they should continue burying themselves, but Nick shook his head and pointed two fingers to his eyes and back out toward the insurgents. He motioned for her to keep moving and took the lead.

  Gunfire continued. His troops were sitting ducks if the insurgents discovered their whereabouts. Nick hoped that the others were now deep under sand surrounded by air pockets—what they’d been trained to create—and not suffocating. Nick had seen more than his share of soldiers die attempting this maneuver despite the rigorous training.

  He crawled to the cave’s opening, the gunfire withering. The Taliban insurgents were getting closer. He and Andrea White were pinned down.

  Nick reached for Specialist White’s arm to signal her to stay back. She was shaking like a leaf in tornadic wind. He understood. He wanted to shake like a leaf himself, but he controlled himself—always could. If their whereabouts were discovered, they both knew that they were as good as dead—or worse, prisoners who would be tortured, beheaded, and used for terrorist-recruiting propaganda. He drew her into his arms and tried to comfort her.

  The gunfire continued sporadically, the shooters hoping to get lucky and hit the Americans’ hiding spots. Where were the coalition reinforcements? They should have been there by now.

  Specialist White finally said, “I don’t want to die like this. Not a coward holed up in a cave, hiding. I won’t let them capture me. I know what they do to women prisoners.”

  “No. We’re not going to die, and they won’t capture us. And you’re no coward, Andie. Why did you join up?”

  “Excuse me, Sergeant?”

  “It’s Nick. You and me, Andie and Nick. Tell me why you joined up.”

  She flinched at a round of enemy gunfire that kicked up dirt and sand near the entrance to the cave.

  “Tell me why you joined up, Andie,” Nick said. “That’s an order.”

  She looked at him as if he were demented but answered. “I … I know I’m supposed to say it’s because I wanted to serve my country, but really, I like to fly. My grades in school weren’t good enough to get me into the Air Force Academy, so after I graduated from high school, I enlisted. I grew up in Nebraska, part of a farm family, and believe it or not, I learned to fly a crop duster when I was fifteen. Too young legally, but no one stopped me, because I was good. Besides, I’d been driving tractors since I was twelve. Repairing them too.” She went on to tell him how she was an only child. Her mother had left when she was an infant, and then her father dropped her off with his parents and split himself. She never saw him and didn’t care. Because she’d had to work on the farm, she’d had little time for socializing. Only a couple of boyfriends. High school relationships—nothing serious. And then she joined the military.

  “What did you raise on the farm? Corn, I’ll bet.”

  When a loud explosion shook the cave, she moved closer, which hadn’t seemed humanly possible until she pressed harder against him. He hadn’t taken his arm from around her since he’d placed it there to protect and comfort her.

  “Corn, yeah. But also sorghum. Insurance against the gluten-free fanatics.”

  “No roosters?”

  “Maybe one. Some chickens and livestock too. How about you, Sergeant? Why did you join?”

  “To get away from my parents,” he said. “My father was a mean son of a bitch and made no bones about it. My mother was just as mean but tried to hide it. They never wanted me. Or maybe they wanted me but discovered I was an inconvenience. They were clueless. I raised myself. I did want to serve my country, to make a difference. To rid the world of enemies. And make no mistake, Andie—you are serving your country. Doing great. You’re going to do great for years to come.”

  Her eyes glistened, visible even in the dark. He tightened his arms around her. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  To his surprise, he kissed her hard, and she kissed him back. The strangest of places on earth, the strangest of times, but the purest of emotions. Together, they stayed hidden, holding each other.

  A short time later came the wonderful sound of Blackhawk helicopters; the American forces had pushed the insurgents back. The rest of the unit rendezvoused back at the downed chopper. Five of the fifteen on the helicopter had suffered fatal wounds—five more to fuel Nick’s anger against the enemy. None of the dead were left behind.

  And fortunately, Andie had survived.

  They never mentioned the incident in the cave afterward, although there was a palpable connection between them. They couldn’t have a romantic relationship—it was unprofessional, a serious violation of the rules. Two months later, Nick’s unit returned stateside, and Andie was reassigned to another unit and stayed on in Afghanistan—skilled pilots were in high demand. For Nick, the memory of that night in the cave remained buried. He assumed he’d never see her again. He’d get through it. He’d grown accustomed to being alone, to treating every encounter with another person as temporary. As to matters of the heart, the military had been Nick Eliot’s only mistress. Until now.

  CHAPTER 22

  Margo woke at dawn, rested but sore. The fire from the previous night had died down, providing little warmth. Nick was already up and moving around at the other end of the shed. One step ahead, he was collecting objects, maybe to make another one of his makeshift tools. She pushed her weight upright to a seated position and waited for him to return, carrying scraps of wood.

  “I didn’t hear you get up,” she said.

  “Early prep pays off. Learned that early in life, developed the habit while in the military. As a doctor, I’m sure you do the same.”

  “My father would agree with you. Can’t tell you how often I heard my father say ‘She who hesitates is lost.’ A byproduct of his time in the navy. Us Fletche
rs, we lived on one hell of a regimented schedule.”

  Nick stopped and looked at her, awaiting an explanation.

  “Right,” she said. “Family dinners were always served promptly at six-thirty—hands washed, napkins in the lap. Once the table was cleared, there was nothing to eat until the next meal. There was no such thing as a late dinner or even a snack. He would say, ‘You stay on a schedule to learn responsibility.’” She’d said enough and didn’t need to go into how he’d held her and her sisters and her mother accountable for any infraction of his rules. The problem was that her father’s rules weren’t always that clear until they’d been violated.

  Nick nodded and continued toward the fire.

  She drew in a deep breath, expecting to fill her lungs with pure mountain air. Instead, she inhaled smoke and started coughing. “Never understood why anyone smoked cigarettes.” She coughed a little more, thought of the effects on her lungs, and her worry about the baby returned. Then turning a one-eighty, the urge to laugh came out of nowhere—a little smoke was the least of their worries.

  Nick placed another log on the fire. More smoke filled the air but was soon replaced by a robust fire, but she had another coughing fit.

  “Move back some,” he said.

  She stood and stepped away from the flame, while he kneeled beside the fire and poked at it.

  “I’ve always hated campfires,” she said.

  “Never heard anyone say that before.”

  “I know there’s no empirical evidence of this, but it seems to me that people who love campfires so often become smokers. Not my parents. And we weren’t around many campfires. My mother hates them too. My father is still the ultimate health nut, and was before it became a fad in the late seventies. He’s in his sixties, and my sister says he still runs daily, lifts weights, and plays racquetball three times a week. That’s when he isn’t cross-country skiing. He says he learned to appreciate the value of physical fitness in the service. I’ve never disagreed with his philosophy of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Maybe that’s the only thing he and I agree on. If my father hadn’t insisted that I join the Girl Scouts to learn what it was like to be a part of a troop—his way of inserting his military background into my life—I would never have been around a campfire. I hated the smell of those Girl Scout campfires. Once we’d eaten s’mores, I was done. But I loved everything else about being outside in nature.” Why was she babbling about fires and smoking? Had the smoke gone to her head?