by Kaylea Cross
Outside, the sun chased away the worst of the lingering chill inside her. At the sound of hushed voices, she turned to find a group of girls assembled around the periphery of the playground. Twenty two of them in total, the oldest not more than twelve or thirteen. They wore very conservative and modest tribal clothing and they all stared openly at her. Seeing them, knowing they were risking punishment from the Taliban for being here—maybe even risking their lives—made goose bumps break out across her skin. Their bravery humbled her.
Raising a hand in greeting, she smiled and repeated the only phrase she knew in their language. “Salam alekum.” The words were hoarse but they did the job. Most of the girls broke into grins, no doubt because of her terrible accent. However, their smiles faltered when Ray and Zaid walked up to join her. Khalia wondered if they were worried the men would report them to the Taliban.
“The students are very excited to be here today,” Zaid translated to Khalia and Ray for the headmistress. “She says many of the girls walked for hours this morning to reach the school on time. Some came with their parents, but others left before dawn for fear of reprisal from local religious leaders.”
Khalia smiled at them again, outraged that they should have to worry about repercussions for pursuing an education. How could girls so young possess that level of courage? It amazed her.
Zaid gestured toward the group. “They have prepared a special song for you both today, to thank you for building this school and giving them the opportunity to learn.”
It touched her more than she could say when the headmistress assembled the group and the girls began to sing. Their joined voices caused a rush of emotion that made her eyes sting. Wherever he was, she hoped her father could somehow see this. Beside her, Ray was beaming.
When the song ended she and Ray burst into applause then each said their prepared speech on behalf of Fair Start while Zaid translated.
“Well,” Ray said to her when he finished. “Shall we let everyone start their day?”
“Absolutely.” She wanted to give these girls the keys to the world, starting with an education.
The headmistress and her two other teachers called the students inside to begin classes. Khalia and Ray split up. She stopped in each classroom and lingered as the primary grades gathered into the smallest of the three rooms to begin their first lesson. This was so different from most of the primary classrooms she’d been in back home. Here the room had a hushed, almost reverent atmosphere. Ranging from about five through nine or so, each student sat at her desk watching the teacher intently as she began to write on the blackboard. Their rapt attention blew her away.
She spent most of the morning observing lessons and passing out simple supplies like colored pencils and notebooks. In the upper intermediate classroom she walked in on a long division lesson. During a lull, with Zaid’s help Khalia asked permission to assist, and when the teacher learned Khalia was a math teacher from America, her eyes lit up.
Khalia went around the room to help some of the students. After they overcame their initial shyness about Zaid speaking to them, they listened carefully to her instruction. Straightening at one girl’s desk, a sense of unreality hit her. Miss Patterson, teaching arithmetic in an outlawed school in the tribal region of the Swat Valley. Who would ever have thought that would happen?
By the time they broke for recess she felt much more relaxed. The small windows set into the cinderblock framed distant craggy peaks that towered over the valley. Hunter and the others were out there somewhere, keeping watch over them all. At least for today.
In the afternoon session she joined a primary class in their reading circle. When Khalia was invited to sit in the circle, one little girl around six years old came over and climbed into her lap. The trusting gesture completely melted her. When the student beside her took her turn reading aloud from the book, Khalia leaned over to look at the foreign script on the page. Noticing her interest, the girl paused and placed her finger on a certain word. She said it aloud, watching Khalia closely.
Knowing she was being tested Khalia did her best to repeat the word, but her efforts were met with a scattering of giggles around the circle. Grinning, she dutifully repeated more words her tutor gave her. More giggles. The girl in her lap finally reached up a tiny hand to place over Khalia’s mouth to stop her from butchering their language, and peals of laughter broke out. Feigning insult, Khalia pulled back and looked down at the little urchin with a mock scowl.
The girl smiled and ducked her head, snuggling into Khalia’s shoulder. She was enjoying the cuddle, basking in a sense of pride and gratitude when the radio beneath her robe suddenly chirped.
“Khalia, come in.” Hunter’s voice.
Ignoring the bolt of alarm that slammed through her, she gently moved the child off her lap and stood, careful not to let her fear show. When she was out in the hallway she retrieved the radio from her pants pocket. She’d just keyed it when Ray appeared in the hallway holding his own radio and met her gaze. His face was ashen.
Oh, God. Khalia’s fingers tightened around the plastic handset. “Go ahead.” Whatever Hunter was contacting her about, it couldn’t be good news.
“Evacuate the building.”
She sucked in a breath as a wave of terror broke over her. The children. She threw a worried glance at the primary classroom door. A threat? An outright attack? “What’s happening?” she demanded.
“Just do what I told you to do this morning,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’ll come for you when it’s safe.”
With that final chilling order reverberating in her skull she shoved the radio back in her pocket and re-entered the classroom. Everyone looked up at her. Schooling her features into a calm mask, she put on a smile infused with a confidence she didn’t feel. Zaid appeared at her side, face grim. “Tell them we have to do an emergency drill, for practice,” she said quietly. He translated and the teacher’s face froze in fear before she shot to her feet and urged the girls to follow. Khalia helped gather them into a line and was getting into place at the end of it when faint cracking sounds came from somewhere in the distance.
A few of the girls stilled and whipped their heads toward the windows. Then more cracks, these ones sounding closer, and Khalia finally realized what they were.
Gunfire.
Oh shit, oh, shit, they’re coming.
“Tell them it’s okay,” she whispered urgently to Zaid as fear threaded up her spine. This wasn’t okay, it was straight out of her nightmares. “Everyone has to stay calm, and the girls need to see that we’ve got it under control. Ray’s in the hallway with the other class and the headmistress is leading the third. Now let’s go, quick.” Her heart was already thundering in her chest. An unknown number of evil militants were about to attack the school, and only eight armed men stood between them and these innocent children.
They moved fast to evacuate. The girls were clearly frightened despite the adults’ efforts to keep them calm. They knew what gunfire meant better than anyone. Some were crying by the time they reached the exit and stepped outside into the afternoon air. The sun was already descending in the sky, leaving shadows crawling across the valley floor.
Not daring to look behind her, Khalia’s eyes fixed on her target, the emergency bunker. Across the expanse of lush green grass before her, the beckoning hillside seemed impossibly far away. A warning prickle began at her nape, as if someone had her in their sights and was taking aim at her. More shots erupted from the hills behind them. The lead group broke into run. The long line of students stretched out before her, racing after Ray as he led them across the thick green grass.
The volume of fire suddenly increased. It rang out from the surrounding hills, echoing in the tense stillness. A few girls cried out in panic and confusion, whirled around to see what was happening. Khalia’s heart twisted at the raw fear she read in their faces.
The six year old she’d been cuddling earlier tripped on the hem of her robe and fell headlong on the ground while
her classmates raced past her. She scrambled to her knees, whimpering in terror. Khalia ran over and scooped her up, holding her tight against her body. The little girl clung to her in desperation, crying against the side of her neck in muffled sobs.
Anger and terror warred inside her that these radical assholes could terrorize helpless children this way. Whispering reassurances to the girl and hoping her tone would help despite the language barrier, Khalia ran behind the others. Hunter and the rest of the team were still out there. Were they okay?
Rushing toward their only protection until the gun battle was over, she sent up a silent prayer that Hunter and the team would reach them before the Taliban did.
Chapter Eight
Through his high-powered binoculars, Hunter tracked the students’ steady progress across the grassy plain. Khalia was bringing up the rear, carrying a little girl. When she at last reached the emergency bunker and disappeared inside it, some of the tension in his shoulders eased. Good girl.
“They’re secure,” he said in a low voice to Gage over the squad radio. “Let’s move.” Grabbing his rifle, he climbed to his feet and prepared to make the fifty yard run across the open space to a clump of bushes he’d chosen for his next cover.
Currently making their way down the hillsides on two sides of the valley wall, the Taliban fighters seemed to be converging. So far Hunter’s team had spotted fourteen in total. That didn’t account for any others hidden from view or possible reinforcements coming in from other areas.
Charging over the grass to his new position, he dropped to one knee and took another look around. “I’m in position. Dunphy, give me status.”
The spotter’s steady voice came through the earpiece. “Four tangos moving down a trail to your ten o’clock.”
Hunter’s gaze immediately swung over there. Through the binos he could make out the shapes of the enemy approaching, thin men dressed in long black tunics, baggy pants and turbans. They were still too far away for him to get a clear shot. “I see them. Gage?”
Six security team members now formed a protective perimeter around the school, with Ellis and Dunphy concealed in their sniper hide on the far hillside to keep an eye on the enemy’s movements.
“Heads up, we’ve got company inbound. The cavalry has arrived,” Dunphy said dryly.
The sound of a vehicle’s engine reached him seconds later, then a Pakistani military truck rumbled over a distant hill, no doubt alerted by the gunfire. “That didn’t take long,” Hunter muttered.
“So, why am I not happy to see them?” Gage remarked.
“Because they can never make up their minds which side they’re fighting for?” suggested Braithwaite, the other team leader.
“What he said,” Hunter agreed. “Okay, those assholes up there are way too far away to hit anything, but it looks like they’re not going to take their ball and go home anytime soon. Gage, you and I’ll link up with the Paks and give them the SITREP.”
“Roger that.”
“Ellis, you and Dunphy keep an eye out and let us know if things are about to get hot.”
“Roger,” the sniper replied.
Keeping his weapon at the ready in front of his body, muzzle down, Hunter rose to a crouch and hustled south to link up with Gage. From the left distant hillside, the Taliban let loose with a flurry of useless shots.
Gage was waiting for him at the RV point. “They have my permission to keep wasting ammo like that all day long,” his second-in-command said in approval.
“Hell yeah.”
The Pakistani truck was a short jog away. Together they approached the six soldiers climbing out of the back. Gage’s Urdu wasn’t quite fluent, but it was a hell of a lot better than Hunter’s and it sure came in handy at times like this. All the soldiers had their fingers on their trigger guards and wore resentful expressions, as though they blamed Hunter and his crew for this latest incident.
The officer in charge, a kid who looked like he was in his early twenties, called out to them and Gage started talking. The look on the Pakistani officer’s face was priceless. His eyes widened and his expression went blank with surprise while he digested the fact that a redheaded westerner was speaking to him in his own language.
With the translation it took a few minutes to inform them of what was going on and establish jurisdictions. The Paks agreed to engage the Taliban if they attacked and Hunter was authorized to protect the school and its grounds, including everyone hidden away in the bunker.
“Got movement at your two o’clock.”
At Dunphy’s announcement Hunter instinctively glanced over his shoulder at the foothills. Those ballsy bastards were coming closer, edging down the trails that led to the valley floor. He turned back to Gage. “Tell him I’ve got a sniper and spotter in position and does he want them to take a shot if they have one.”
Gage translated and the man said something else, brows lowered in a disapproving frown. Gage made a frustrated sound before turning back to Hunter. “Goddamn ROEs,” he muttered. “He says not unless we’re under direct attack.” As he spoke more sporadic firing broke out behind them.
The guy seriously wanted to argue about rules of engagement when the lives of twenty two children were at stake? What was this, Article 17 peace keeping? “I guess those are just friendly warning shots then?” he said angrily, leveling a glare at the officer.
“Must be,” Gage muttered. He tried again, saying something else to the man but was met with an emphatic shake of the head that was recognizable in any language.
Hunter didn’t look away from the man’s gaze, not about to be told what to do by this little shit who may or may not be an ally in this fight. “Tell him I will order my men to engage the enemy if I see fit.”
Gage translated while Hunter kept up with the staring contest. Yeah, chew on that, asshole.
Apparently tired of the negotiations, the officer waved them away impatiently and began issuing orders to his men. “Guess we’re done here,” Gage said with a smile in his voice.
“‘Bout fucking time.” Walking away, Hunter got on the squad radio and informed everyone of the new rules of engagement, stressing that they should return fire if they felt it necessary to defend themselves. “We clear?” They all checked in with an affirmative. “Ellis, Dunphy, stay where you are. Everybody else fall back into defensive perimeter around the school.”
He could hear the Pak soldiers talking on the radio behind them, no doubt calling for reinforcements. Just as well, since they only had a few hours of daylight left until the sun sank behind the mountains. Hunter doubted the Taliban would stay and fight through the darkness but he couldn’t rule out the possibility.
“Looks like they’re planning to make things interesting over there,” Dunphy said. “Both groups are converging in the center now. Might be getting ready to attack.”
So much for hoping the added military muscle would scare them away. Or maybe they assumed the army would help them fight against him and the rest of the American infidels desecrating the valley with their presence. “Get into position,” Hunter ordered everyone.
There was no adequate cover now except the school itself and they made good use of it. The entire group took up positions around the building, facing out toward the enemy coming at them from two sides.
“Dunphy, what are we up against?” Hunter prompted.
“AKs and a few RPGs.”
Great, RPGs. “Any new players?”
“Negative. Still fourteen. Gonna lose sight of them in a minute when they move behind that butte.”
“Copy that.” He raised his binos to check on the Pak soldiers, only to find they were still by their truck, apparently not moving until reinforcements arrived. Meaning, ROEs or not, Hunter and his men were on their own for the time being.
Tense minutes ticked past as the enemy approached, unseen behind the screen of hills. Hunter and the others remained in position, keeping watch on the far hills. Then it came. An eerie wail, increasing in volume and strength, o
ne Hunter had heard many times before.
Bring it, you bastards.
“Three groups now,” Dunphy reported. “Coming at you from three different directions. Ellis and I have a clear shot on the group at the far right.”
“Copy that,” he answered. “Fire at will.”
“Roger.”
Lying flat on his belly next to the east wall of the school, Hunter raised his rifle and took aim in the direction of the coming attack. His heart rate slowed as it always did in a firefight, his body calm and his finger on the trigger of his M4. The fighters in the center group suddenly burst out of a gap at the valley’s mouth, closely followed by the one on the left, then the right. “Hold your positions,” Hunter ordered. “No one gets past us.” They all knew what was at stake if they didn’t hold their ground. Dozens of innocent lives depended on them repelling the attack. Including Khalia’s.
As an image of her face formed in his mind, he forced it away and sighted down the barrel of his weapon.
The enemy bore down on them in a suicidal rush, yelling their war cry. They began shooting in that weird haphazard way they had, from the hip, spraying rounds all over the place in the hopes of hitting something. A few rounds plowed into the cinderblock wall at the front of the school, sending up tiny sprays of white. He stayed off the radio, letting his men do their jobs. They’d gone over this plan before and each man knew what to do.
His finger tightened on the trigger. Another ounce of pressure was all he needed to fire. His gaze locked on the man at the front of the center column. He was running flat out toward the school, mouth wide open in his bearded face as he hollered, his AK spewing rounds. Some of the shots thudded into the ground yards ahead of where Hunter lay.
