by Laura Acton
Parsons nodded and said, “Good point,” as he pushed the door open.
The three men slipped out and melted into the night. Two believed they left a dead fellow soldier and one knew he was only unconscious but would throw off any pursuers when they found him, giving them a chance to escape. Josh hoped Broderick’s real death involved painful torture to settle the debt for the broken nose and scratch which would likely leave him with a scar.
Outside Village Home – 0330 Hours
Rifat Qasim took a break from the latest bomb he was building for Surat Hakimov. He enjoyed his freelance work, making intricate explosives for the highest bidder, in between his other pleasure. He twirled a long needle in and around his fingers, wishing Mousa had another plaything for him to torture for information.
At a sound, Qasim shifted his gaze and spotted three soldiers exiting a home. Quietly he opened his door and whispered to his cousin Hamra to grab a satellite phone and follow them. Surat and or Mousa would pay well for them. He picked up his cell and decided Surat was closer so dialed him to report what he witnessed and provided Hamra’s number. With a skip in his step, Qasim returned to his work.
Surat Hakimov’s Home – 0330 Hours
A wicked grin played on Surat’s face after he hung up the phone. “You may not die today after all. You have a chance to settle your debt. My men will take you to the three who escaped. You will gain their confidence and get them to lead you to the Humvees.”
As Surat cut the tight ropes from his wrists and neck, Pletcher rubbed his hands to return the feeling to them. The pins and needles tingling hurt so did his face after the beating he received when the armored vehicles didn’t arrive last night. “Okay. I can do that.” He stood and wobbled, lightheaded from lack of food and water. Gaining his balance, Pletcher gazed at Surat with his one open eye, the other swollen shut.
Holding his ten-inch knife, Surat approached Pletcher and pointed it at his chest. A fan of history, his studies at university focused on ancient history. He recalled what today was and found it quite fitting.
With slow movements, he rounded behind the traitorous man. Surat distrusted Pletcher, any man who would sell out his countrymen for money was unworthy, but in this case useful. Stopping behind Pletcher, he pressed the tip of his blade to the spy’s back.
“Do you recall Roman history?”
As the sharp point pricked his skin, Pletcher said, “What part?”
“What day of the year did they used as a deadline for settling debts?”
Pletcher swallowed hard as the blade pushed in a little further. “Not sure.”
“Well, let me tell you then. The ides of March, which is March fifteenth. It is why the Liberatores selected that day to assassinate Julius Caesar. Now, if you don’t want to meet Caesar’s fate today, you will not fail.”
“I won’t.” Pletcher would deliver the vehicles then he would exact revenge on Plouffe for screwing things up.
“Excellent.” He withdrew his knife, but as he moved to the front, he sliced Pletcher’s right bicep. “An example of what to expect if you are unsuccessful. I’ll enjoy slicing you bit by bit as you die a slow, agonizing death.”
Jorge grabbed his bleeding arm. The cut was not deep, but it stung badly. He was pushed from the room and into an old sedan. He breathed in deep realizing how close to death he came. Plouffe will pay for this.
One Good Turn Deserves Another
40
Six Years and Ten Months Ago – March 15
Inside Village Home – 0345 Hours
Consciousness gradually returned along with the mother of all headaches and dull throbbing all over his body. Fuzzy, unsure where he was, Dan clawed his way up from dark depths, his eyes opening only a slit as a sense of danger pervaded his mind. Whatever he expected, it was not the tiny heart-shaped face of a little girl inches from him, softly patting his cheek.
Her eyes pleaded with him, and when she scooted back, he found two younger girls on their knees, both shaking his shoulders. One appeared to be a toddler and the other a year or so older.
The first girl, about six-years-old, spoke to him in Uzbek, “Bad men coming. Mother says upstairs to hide. Please. Now. Hurry.”
Dan blinked as his foggy mind translated and he croaked out through a sore throat, “Upstairs? Hide? Now?”
Nodding vigorously, she tugged on his arm. “Come. Hurry.”
Rolling over, Dan groaned as he got to his knees. He caught sight of his Timberwolf and the reason for his aching back came back to him. At least my pack provided some cushioning. He gripped his weapon and used it as leverage to push himself upright. When his weight shifted to his right foot, he staggered, and a moan escaped. How did I injure my foot running?
Not wanting to use the rifle as a crutch but not having any other choice he set the sturdy stock on the floor and gripped the thick barrel of his suppressor. As he took a step, three sets of little hands pulled him towards the staircase, jabbering for him to hurry. Reaching the wall, he leaned on it to steady himself as he clumsily ascended the steps. At the top, he noted the hole in the landing and recalled his fight with Nicholls. Only then did he realize the unit left him. Shit, now what am I going to do?
The youngsters continued to tug on him. The oldest slipped her hand in his, and her brown eyes begged him to move faster as they kept flicking to the front door. He did his best to comply, limping to the bedroom, he rested against the doorjamb as his vision swam. He spotted the woman, Naaifa, panting through a contraction. I’m out of my league here. What the hell should I do?
Naaifa stared at the kind soldier. She didn’t comprehend their language, but she clearly understood his actions. He saved her and her daughters. She wanted to safeguard him too and was glad he woke up. The shouting outside from Hakimov’s men, as they went house to house searching for the soldiers, came closer with every passing minute.
“Go under the bed. The men are almost here. This is a woman’s room. They will not come in here since I am birthing. You will be safe here,” Naaifa told him. She motioned to her bed as she groaned with another contraction.
In no condition to defend himself, Dan accepted the offer of help and hobbled over. Using his weapon-crutch, he knelt beside the short bed. It burned to speak, but he rasped out, “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you and the children at risk.”
“Yes.” Naaifa smiled. Allah sent us a protector tonight.
Dan did as instructed. He shrugged off his pack, pushing it and his rifle under before laying his back flat on the floor and using his elbows and butt to slither like an overgrown lizard into the hiding spot. His hand moved above his helmet and found a pistol. His fingers ghosted over the grip, and he discovered the tiny nick. They hid my SIG too.
A mixture of little feet obliterated his tracks before a blanket draped over the edge, shielding him from view just as the door below burst open and many male voices filled the family’s abode. Within moments a man stood at the threshold of Naaifa’s room. Dan couldn’t distinguish most of his words over Naaifa’s screams. She shrieked more and spoke a few garbled words, making so much noise she gave the impression she was dying. Dan almost laughed when she cursed all men for her state. The lady is an excellent actress.
When questioned about her husband, Naaifa answered she sent her son to retrieve him from his brother’s home. The man asked for the brother’s name she responded, “Ali Radwan.” Satisfied no coalition soldiers were present, they left the house as Naaifa carried on her high-pitched bawling.
She continued for several minutes before quieting and collapsing on the mattress, exhausted by her real labor and her feigned, exaggerated efforts. Once she gathered herself, Naaifa whispered, “Indira, make sure we are alone and bring me water, please.”
Dan listened to tiny feet scampering out of the room, before becoming woozy, his vision fading as the jackhammering in his head increased, and he succumbed to darkness.
Two Klicks the Hidden Humvees – 0515 Hours
Parsons ha
lted putting a hand up to signal the others. He pointed to his ear and then to the left. A sound made his adrenaline pump yet again. A seasoned soldier, Parsons had traipsed through the night many times before and was attuned to the slightest noise which might indicate terrorists waiting to attack … or some nocturnal animal. He made a circling motion and Nicholls moved left as Levasseur went right to encircle their quarry.
Lying in wait, Pletcher hoped these three were not trigger happy. It had taken time and stealth to position himself. Instead of just killing these men, he needed to gain their confidence to find out what happened to the fourth soldier. If the search of Hakimov’s village had netted the missing soldier, he could’ve followed these guys to the hidden Humvees and simply eliminated them, but Surat wanted the remaining one found to tie up loose ends. So here he was, acting as bait while the men with him hid about half a mile away.
Nicholls crouched and spotted a slow-moving body on all fours. In the green glow of his night vision he recognized the man didn’t wear the typical garb of the locals, he dressed in pants and a t-shirt and appeared injured the way he moved. He aimed his rifle anyway, ready to kill.
Levasseur caught sight of the same man, but from a different angle. In a rash move, he called out, “Halt!” He kept his assault rifle pointed at the crawling man as he inched closer.
Parsons and Nicholls both groaned at the rookie. His dumbass action might end up getting them all killed. They remained hidden and silent, each thinking he would willingly leave the idiot to his fate.
Calling out in a faked hoarse voice after stopping, Pletcher said, “Don’t shoot. Please, don’t kill me.”
In another incautious move, Levasseur rushed forward, giving his position away and flicked on his penlight as he said, “Who are you?”
Pletcher peered up with his one open eye. Thank goodness for halfwits. “I’m glad you came. I’m Jorge Pletcher. They slaughtered my escort. I didn’t think our signal was received.”
Levasseur moved closer as the man dropped to the ground and rolled over. He glimpsed the bloody arm and beat up face. “Why are you out here?”
“Meeting a contact. Do you have water and food? Please.” His request was not all feigned he was thirsty and hungry.
Parsons moved in with his gun pointed at Pletcher’s head. He recognized the name as the agent who supplied the details for this mission. “No. Nothing to share with the likes of you. Your crappy intel got my men killed.”
Putting his hands out in front of him in submission, Pletcher said, “My contact played me. I was set up. He tried to kill me. I barely got away.”
Nicholls moved in. “Don’t believe him. I say we kill him and go.”
“No. Wait!” Pletcher pleaded and launched into a harrowing tale of how Plouffe sent him out to check on things when their unit didn’t return as planned with Surat. He told him Blain’s unit had been slaughtered by a massive force which showed up where he was supposed to meet his contact. He ended by asking, “Where are the other three of you?”
In awe of the detail, Nicholls was now inclined to believe Pletcher. He smiled realizing he could set the stage for their story. “Broderick is a coward. He deserted his post leaving us hanging when the shit hit the fan. Got Kirk and Riley killed.” Then he embellished more, “Perhaps he is a traitor, and that is the reason he left us high and dry.” He handed Pletcher a bottle of water.
Pletcher keyed in on the disdain as he sipped water. “Broderick left you?”
“Yeah, the gaywad ran off like a chicken,” Levasseur chimed in.
Playing his part, Parsons groused, “Never would’ve believed it of the general’s son if I didn’t witness it myself. Traitor or not, he deserves to be caught and killed by the bastards. And if he ever shows his face again, I’ll ensure he is brought up on charges of desertion in the face of an enemy resulting in the deaths of two soldiers.”
Even if he didn’t already know what happened at Surat’s place, how many men were mowed down by the JTF2 sniper as the others ran away, Pletcher would never in a million years believe a Broderick would run from a fight. They were not built with the mentality to be disloyal or cowardly.
He studied the men, noting the gouge on Nicholls’ cheek and a busted nose. Putting two and two together, he deduced somewhere between Surat’s home and the village, Nicholls fought Broderick, why he was not sure, but either Broderick was dead, or they left him to die. Pletcher kept his thoughts to himself as he allowed a slight waver to enter his tone to maintain his persona of a scared man as he said, “How are we going to get out of here?”
Helping Pletcher to rise, Parsons said, “Our vehicles are hidden about two klicks from here. Let’s go before it becomes too light.”
The four set off at a slower pace since Pletcher did not possess night vision. After an hour of walking, they arrived at the Humvees. Pletcher sighed and said, “Give me a minute to relieve myself.” He headed for the bushes, knowing Surat’s men tailed them.
Nicholls leaned on the driver’s door and smiled. Broderick is undoubtedly dead by now. A sound in the direction Pletcher took didn’t alert him as it should’ve. A hail of bullets riddled three soldiers, their bodies jerking with each impact, all dead before they hit the ground.
Pletcher stepped out of cover and went to the passenger side. “Debt settled. The fourth soldier is probably dead, but he is your problem. Drop me off at my car.” He took a seat and closed his eyes as the others climbed in.
Inside Village Home – 0930 Hours
When Dan roused the second time, the same young girl peered at him as she lay on the floor near the bed. He now saw her lovely face as the room shone with light. She smiled before she said, “Mommy, he wakes.”
“You may come out now,” Naaifa said.
“Are they gone?” Dan managed to ask as his hand touched his tender neck, wondering how long he had been out.
“Yes. They left six hours ago.”
Question answered before he asked, Dan couldn’t believe he slept or had been unconscious for so long. Awkwardly, he shimmied out, pulling his things with him. After moving to a sitting position, he holstered his gun and scanned the room, realizing sunlight, not lamplight illuminated the space.
He ached all over, was thirsty, and in deep shit, but at least his head didn’t pound quite as much as before, and his eyesight did not blur. How the hell am I going to return to base? No water, little food and ammo, a messed-up foot I can’t put weight on, and all alone in insurgent-held territory.
When a cup of water appeared before him, Dan flashed a brief lopsided grin as he accepted the offering from a tiny girl. Could be worse. I saved them. My sorry life for their innocent ones is a fair trade. He sipped and found it difficult to swallow, realizing Nicholls’ choking caused swelling.
He peered at Naaifa as he consumed the tepid water. She moaned as her labor progressed, but nothing like the show she put on for the searching men. Thirst partially sated, speaking became a little easier, but his voice came out raspy as he spoke Uzbek, “I owe you my life. Thank you.”
“You saved five lives. May Allah bless you.” Naaifa curled up as a stronger contraction seized her thin body. When it stopped, she demurely smiled. “You are injured. Stay and rest today. Hakimov’s men will not return. My husband will not be home until tomorrow or the next day. You are safe here, and you can leave tonight.”
Dan thanked her and began removing his boot. He needed to wrap his foot to enable him to hike back to base. Once finished, Dan cinched his laces tighter to add support, then pulled out his map. He determined where he was and realized it would take him a minimum of two days if he made it at all. He put the map and negative thoughts away. Scrutinizing Naaifa, he wished he knew what to do to help her. Quietly he asked, “Is there anything I can do?”
She smiled sweetly and asked if he would prepare food for her children. They had not eaten dinner last night because she was in labor and they were hungry. Dan nodded and rose cautiously testing his injured foot. It still pained
him, but he at least he was able to bear a slight weight. Using his rifle as a crutch again, he went downstairs with the three girls in tow.
Not a cook, Dan searched and found some almonds, raisins, and fresh fruit. He cut up apples and pomegranates for them, adding the pieces to plates with nuts, dried grapes, and a stem of juicy green grapes. Dan also discovered some goat’s milk and poured each girl a bit. He had no clue if women ate or drank when giving birth, but Dan cut some fruit for Naaifa too. After locating another ceramic cup and filling it with water, he balanced it on the plate.
He gazed the grapes with craving but refrained from consuming any for two reasons. Swallowing hurt too much, and this family possessed meager supplies, he refused to take something which would fill the bellies of the children. He would manage without for a while longer. Dan sat with them as they ate, and when they finished, he cleaned up, happy to find the house possessed an indoor pump. Dan decided to refill his three bottles before leaving tonight, and if he rationed carefully, the water would last until he reached the base.
His return trip up the stairs was slow and solo as the girls started playing with some wooden toys. Dan eyed the gaping hole in the landing as he passed by again and wished he and Nicholls had not damaged this kind woman’s home. The opening presented a hazard for the little ones, which bothered him greatly.
Entering Naaifa’s room, he held up the cup and plate showing her what he brought for her as he limped across the room.
Naaifa reached out a hand. “Water, please. You eat.”
Dan gave Naaifa the vessel and set the fruit plate down on the bed. He wouldn’t tell her he couldn’t and wouldn’t eat their food. Instead, with a hoarse voice, he inquired, “Do you need anything else? If not, I’m going to try to find something to cover the hole I made, so your girls don’t fall through.”
“I am fine for now. Labor takes a long time. You do not need to repair.” Pointing to his throat, she said, “You are hurt. You must rest.”
Only grinning in answer, Dan shuffled out. He went into the other room and opened the storage chest, but didn’t find anything useful, only children’s clothing. Making his way down the steps, he sat on the last one and put his cheek in the palm of his hand as his elbow rested on his thigh, wondering how to patch-up the gap.
