ISAF headquarters had been attacked several months back. The images shown during an NGA briefing flashed through her mind. A suicide bomber had detonated his vehicle at a checkpoint, less than a thousand feet from the ISAF gate. The carnage was massive—mangled steel, charred blast marks everywhere, chunks of concrete ripped by debris spewed at a high velocity, and blood stains on the nearby pavement where shrapnel had cut down victims. The people closest to the bomb had been incinerated.
Kabul’s ripe with targets and full of checkpoints.
“You look worried.”
“Just processing the changes.”
“As of two hours ago, the position hasn’t been filled, but we need an answer fast. I’m going to step out of the room to grab a coffee. Want anything?”
“No, thank you.”
“You’ve done an excellent job in training. Help us out, and I’m sure we can assist you with a select post once you return.” He paused at the door. “Oh, and it’s a ten-month tour instead of four. I need your answer when I return.”
The door creaked shut. As the sound of his footsteps faded, she sunk into the chair and threw her head back, contemplating her choices. NGA had a shortage of experienced military candidates with extensive national-level backgrounds and expertise in geospatial applications and analysis. Civilians with joint CIA and NSA operations were pushed hard to deploy. Besides those qualifications, Ali’s work on Special Forces projects put her in the crosshairs of agency recruiters.
Be honest. I also need the extra pay they’re waving in front of my nose.
The door opened. He sat on the edge of the desk, one leg dangled and the other planted on the floor, and looked down at her. “So, what’s your answer?”
“I’ll take it.”
Chapter 2
April 2008 – Al Udeid Air Base, Qatar
After the crazy connections of three separate commercial flights, every muscle in Ali’s body ached. She was grimy, and a whiff of her unpleasant body odor reminded her that she had been up and traveling for over twenty-four hours. She jerked her roller bag along. One wheel had broken and wobbled, making an irritating scrapping noise.
“Alaina!”
She twisted. A tall man held a sign with her name and waved. The company logo on his bright blue button-down shirt identified him as the logistics contractor.
“Hi. I’m Joel. Welcome to Qatar. I’ll make your transition as smooth as possible.” He reached for her bag. “Please, let me help. You have another exhausting route ahead.”
“Thank you. Do you need to see my papers?”
“No. We’ve got your bio and picture on file, and look around.” He grinned. “Not many women with reddish-brown hair in western clothes.” He handed her a small brown bag. “Hope you like a turkey club on wheat and lemonade.”
“Oh my, you’re my savior. And please call me Ali.”
An hour later, they entered the American side of Al Udeid Military Air Base.
“This tent sleeps thirty.” He handed her a paper. “That’s your assigned bunk. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon.”
Inside, the cool air was like heaven. Yes, the bottom bunk. She flopped down and closed her eyes. Just for a little nap…
A noise jolted her upright. She bumped her head on the bunk above, then squinted at her luminous watch. I slept nearly nine hours! Rolling out, her feet hit the floor with a thud. She grabbed her toiletries, showered, then set out to explore.
“Ah, food.” The smell of her favorite meal cheered her. Minutes later, she was savoring a spinach and cheese omelet and fresh kiwi, pineapple, and strawberries.
“There you are.” The guy with the bright blue shirt plopped down. Potatoes and bacon were piled high on top of an omelet and a waffle.
“The schedule has been moved up.”
Ali swallowed down her juice. “Okay.”
She barely caught half of what he said as he explained the details with his mouth full of food. A few minutes later, she still had food left after he had emptied his plate.
“Shall we get going? We’ll swing by and pick up your personal belongings, then meet the others at the gear hangar.”
“Yep. All ready.” Her insides didn’t feel as confident as her words.
After a short drive in his truck, they pulled up to the equipment hangar. The lighting was poor inside, and the stench of sweat and a musty odor hung in the air. After adjusting to the light, she saw gear haphazardly crammed on shelves. This private firm wasn’t as tidy as the military, but her agency required all government employees to go through them.
“First try on a vest.” Joel pointed to various piles. “Then grab a groin plate, and throat and shoulder protectors.” The others easily found body armor, but everything hung big on Ali. “Here, this one fits most women.”
He tossed out small boxes onto the table. “The First Aid kit has QuikClot and all the essentials. Carry it when going outside the wire.”
The prickly sensation climbed up Ali’s spine. From pre-deployment class, she knew QuikClot was used to stop hemorrhaging wounds.
“Okay folks, now for the fun part: Guns.” He led them to the armory.
Her breathing stilled as she held the cold metal grip of the Beretta semiautomatic combat pistol, then shoved it in the holster and strapped it on. One week of weapons training. Nuts. Good thing I have a friend who’s a cop. I owe you, Ashley.
“Load up your clips with ammo. You’ll keep everything in your gear bag on the plane.”
Lots of questions popped into Ali’s mind along the way to the military terminal, but she never said a word. As the only woman in the group, she didn’t want to appear weak. The other guys stuck to themselves and were heading in a different direction.
“Okay folks. Hope you enjoyed your last bit of civilization. Call if your flight’s been canceled.” Joel waved and took off.
She passed several available seats in the crowded lounge and settled in an empty corner on the hard floor for privacy, turned on her music, and studied the others. God, they’re so young.
The waiting room door burst open, and a female Air Force officer entered and stopped to scan the room. The officer was tall, compared to Ali’s short stature, with an athletic physique. Short, sandy-blonde hair framed a tanned face. Androgynous, yet feminine. Oh, some women are so sexy in uniform. And she certainly has an air of authority.
The officer’s gaze stopped on Ali, then she headed straight for her. Ali leaned over and fiddled with her music. God, I hope she didn’t notice me checking her out. Although civilians couldn’t be fired for being gay, the military was under the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” policy. Even false accusations could ruin someone’s career.
The footsteps grew louder.
Thump.
Ali’s eyes moved upwards from the duffel bag now at her feet, and into the lightest blue eyes she had ever seen.
“Ma’am.” She pulled her earbuds out and stood.
“Hi. You must be Ms. Alaina Clairmont. I’m Major Lynn Stewart. NSA suggested one of us travel with you. I drew the lucky straw.”
Ali’s breath caught in her throat, and a slight tremor rose up her spine. Out of all the freaking women, and you had to ogle your new supervisor! “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Major Stewart. My nickname is Ali.” The major’s grip was firm but not crushing.
“The pleasure is mutual. You made some of the highest training scores on record, and your ability to adapt on the fly was impressive. I know it’s your first deployment, but I think you’ll do well as part of the team.”
“Thanks.” As Ali’s mind raced for more words, an announcement on their flight status blared over the speakers.
“Luckily, we snagged a C-17 instead of a C-130.”
“I’ve never flown in a military plane.”
“A C-17 is like a Mercedes Benz compared to a C-130. Real seats rather than cargo netting, and the best of all, no honey bucket.”
“Honey bucket?” Ali’s eyebrows knitted together.
“
It’s a large bucket with nothing but a curtain.” Lynn’s grin was enormous. “I find it hard to hold the curtain closed while squatting over the bucket and doing my business on a moving aircraft. Thankfully, the C-17 has a regular restroom with a door, flushable toilet, and sink.”
“Oh.” Ali rocked back and forth on her toes. “Glad to miss that.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“New challenges are usually exciting, but deploying is a whole new animal. I’m nervous.” Ali stuck her hands in her pockets and scrunched her shoulders. “Almost everyone in this lounge is in their twenties, and they all look like bodybuilder competitors. It’s overwhelming.”
Lynn chuckled. “We need brains as well as brawn. And don’t worry, you’re in good hands. Everyone on the team has deployed once or twice. This is my third. It seems they like people who run toward the fire.”
“I’ll be celebrating my birthday while deployed, but never expected to stay past Christmas.” Why the hell did I say that? I sound like I’m whining. “Uh…They initially had me scheduled for a shorter deployment…I’m sorry. I know the military has it much worse with longer tours than civilians.” That’s it. Dig your hole deeper. Ali could feel the blush creep up her neck until her face was on fire.
“No worries. I wasn’t offended. When’s your birthday?” Lynn leaned in, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”
God, she even smells good—spicy and warm with a touch of cinnamon. “June 29th. I’ll be thirty-six.”
“I turn thirty-five on September 21st.”
“Wow. The same date as Stephen King.”
“Wish I could write like him.”
A sergeant with a booming voice hollered, “Listen up folks. The Bagram flight has been delayed by at least three hours.”
Are you kidding me? Ali’s stomach growled loudly.
“Sounds like you could use something to eat.” Lynn dug into her backpack and handed Ali an apple and an energy bar.
The sergeant walked up to Lynn. “Ma’am, I can show you to the officer’s lounge when you’re ready.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” A quick twitch in his face and a few seconds of silence suggested his discomfort, but he nodded and left.
“Don’t you want to go? I’m sure the officer’s lounge is more comfortable.”
Lynn waved her hand in the air. “I get enough hobnobbing with the top brass. I can be more relaxed out here and give you some company.”
“Attention,” someone yelled from across the room. “Please assemble for the Kandahar flight.” More than half the room stood and filed out.
“See. We’ve got plenty of room now.” Lynn clapped and rubbed her hands. “Let’s relax and talk about hobbies. What’s your number-one Stephen King book?”
As they talked, Ali’s anxiety drifted away. When another delay was announced, her jaw hung open.
Lynn tapped her on the arm. “Let’s go grab some chow and take a walk.”
“Fresh air sounds good to me.”
Once they returned, Ali was yawning.
“Why don’t you take a nap?”
Ali waved her hand. “I’m okay. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” She had barely spoken the words when it was announced the new estimated boarding time was 2100.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Eight hours of delays!” Ali turned to Lynn. Heat rushed up her face. “Uh, sorry for the language, ma’am. That was completely uncalled for.”
Lynn’s lip curled a smidgen. “Nothing I haven’t heard before. Foul language comes with the territory. Maybe you should reconsider that nap.”
“Guess, you’re right.”
“I’ll wake you in an hour or if something changes.”
Ali scrunched down in the chair, propped her feet up on her bag, put in her earbuds, and closed her eyes.
Lynn tried to read but found the newest member of JETT distracting. She tucked the novel in her backpack and studied the woman. Ali’s long, thick, auburn hair, now freed from the ponytail, hung down in waves. Gorgeous. And highly impractical for a war zone. I bet she cuts it by the end of the month.
Lynn recalled the earlier handshake. Firm. But Ali’s skin was soft and delicate. The constant hand washing and tons of antiseptic sanitizer in the field will roughen them up.
As she slept in the lounge chair, Ali’s mouth hung slightly open. Earlier, her mouth had turned up in a nervous, yet welcoming smile. Her skin crinkled around her eyes, accentuating their rich brown hue. It’s a pity that the sun will temporarily mar your light creamy skin. I hope reality doesn’t dull your smile. You’re beautiful, but how will you adjust to the constant threat of bodily harm? I hope you’re stronger than you look. I don’t have time to babysit.
Chapter 3
April 2008 – Qatar to Afghanistan
Stepping into the gleaming interior of the plane with its thin-cushioned seats lining the sides, Ali blinked several times. A pallet marked “blood products” was strapped down to the center aisle. A queasy feeling settled in her stomach. She redirected her attention to stowing her belongings and settled in. The heavy-duty shoulder and lap straps were another reminder this was no ordinary plane.
When the C-17’s four massive turbojets roared to life, she sucked in a couple of deep breaths. Her pulse quickened with the rumble and rapid acceleration. Her fingers dug into her thighs, and her eyes pressed shut as her stomach flipped. She released her grip when the plane leveled itself in the air.
“Want to play or do you want more rest?” Lynn waved a tablet.
“I’ll pass on the sleeping.” Several soldiers lay on the metal plank floor. Their rolled-up jackets transformed into makeshift pillows.
“Which game? Scrabble or Monopoly? Sorry, I’m not a big video gamer. We can talk as we play.”
“Monopoly.”
Ali enjoyed the time with Lynn, and the flight flew by quickly.
“Battle rattle time, folks! We’re twenty minutes out. Civilian!” The flight crewman pointed at Ali. “You can be stopped at any time. Have your paperwork and firearm’s license handy.”
She turned to Lynn. “Why are we suiting up? Isn’t Bagram safe?”
“Your body armor will protect you if we take fire. Also, it’s a lot easier and faster to deplane if you wear it.” Lynn put her hand on Ali’s shoulder. “Don’t be alarmed if the pilot does a combat landing.”
“What’s that?”
“The pilot drops the plane into a sudden, steep descend and banks sharply once or twice before touching down. It’s precautionary in case the enemy fires a missile at us.”
Holy crap.
Ali’s pulse raced until they had landed and were safely on their way to the housing office. It was nearly 0300 by the time billeting was assigned. Lynn went one way while a guy in a baseball cap and baggy jeans led Ali in another direction. He leaned against the side of an old, beat-up pickup truck, arms crossed. Ali jerked on the truck’s tailgate handle several times. It wouldn’t budge.
“It’s broken,” he mumbled.
Asshole. Ali heaved her gear over the gate and into the bed.
She scrunched down in the truck seat. Unable to fight off the exhaustion, her eyes fluttered shut. When the truck lurched to a halt, she bolted upright. She rubbed her eyes and peered into the darkness. A tent, enormous like one at a fairground, loomed ahead.
“I’m supposed to be in a CHU. What’s this?”
“Keep your voice down. Don’t want to wake your bed and breakfast buddies. There should be at least four empty cots. Use your flashlight.”
“There’s a separate compound for my agency.” She didn’t move an inch.
“Sorry, hon. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“How many does this tent hold?”
“Two hundred. Now get moving.” He thumbed toward the back.
As he drove off, Ali mentally gave him the finger.
She piled on everything to make one trip and stepped inside. The dim glow of her flashlight revealed a c
haotic scene. Cots full of sleeping lumps were jam-packed into every space with belongings scattered in no particular order. What in the world?
Weaving in and out as delicately as possible, she found an empty cot in the back. The rock-hard cloth surface had no padding. Gee, I bet these are left over from World War I. She rolled out her sleeping bag and stowed her gear underneath. Wait, I didn’t see anywhere to secure my gun. Dammit. Collapsing onto the cot, she shoved her weapon between the cot and sleeping bag and fell asleep.
Grrrakka kkakkakk!
“Damn, it can’t be morning.” Ali scrunched down into the sleeping bag. What little sleep she got last night wasn’t enough.
Grrrakka kkakkakk! Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The unmistakable sound of a jackhammer and truck backup beeper filled her ears. Rolling over, she groaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She was facing the tent wall. Sunlight streamed through the window flap, highlighting fine dust particles drifting through the air. She could even smell the dust.
Female voices talked in hushed tones. What language is that? No, it can’t be. Ali rolled to the other side. Several women waved and said hello in a thick accent before resuming their conversation. Fuck, they’re speaking Russian.
Ali sprung up from the cot. She tried to strap on the weapon as if everything was natural. She collected her towel and change of clothes. Other than hello or good morning, she didn’t hear a word of English as she rushed through the tent.
Upon returning from the showers, a man dressed in the standard civilian garb—khaki tactical pants and a drab, green polo shirt—stood near the door.
“Hi. They said you were at the Cadillac.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I’m Ben Williams, NGA Logistics. I dropped by to take you to chow before going to the agency compound.”
“Okay. Food sounds fantastic, but what is a Cadillac, besides a car company?”
“Sorry, slang for luxury bathrooms. You know…flushable toilets, shower stalls with a curtain, and a changing room. You’ll have them at headquarters, but on the FOBs, you’ll be lucky to have a porta potty.”
Beyond the Checkpoint Page 2
