Deployed

by Mel Odom

  “You are a fool, American. I am giving you a chance to save your comrades.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Moving in a crouch, sliding her feet from side to side so she didn’t cross over and trip herself, Bekah took four more steps to the side and brought Haroun into view. He was crouched behind the jeep. The boy lay on the ground, held in place by one of the al-Shabaab. Haroun held a remote control device in his right hand.

  “Then you are a greater fool. This is the only chance you will have.”

  “Surrender. That’s the only chance you have.”

  Another shadow crept in from the right. Bekah recognized Daud crawling forward on his belly and knew the man was moving blindly, making his way by feel, closing in on the sound of Haroun’s voice.

  A surge of fear filled Bekah. She stared at Haroun, and her thoughts were of the boy. If she did not have the position, if she did not have this shot, she thought the boy might die. The Marines above and the Marines below in this tunnel might die. The chance to eliminate Haroun and further destroy the grip the al-Shabaab had on Mogadishu might not exist.

  For an instant, the fear held her. Then she remembered the verse her granny had taught her so long ago. We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

  Had God brought her here, to this moment, to this job, halfway around the world? Was this part of the work God had planned for her? Could eliminating a man—even an evil man—be considered a good work?

  Those conversations with Matthew Cline, with Heath Bridger, and with her granny came tumbling back through her head. Anyone else could have been here. Anyone else could have made the shot she knew she needed to make.

  But she was the one who was here, and she knew she could do the job before her. It was what she had trained to do.

  In this moment, she had more clarity about her place in life than she’d ever known. She’d been torn between family and duty, called to serve her country, but this calling was higher than that. She remembered that small prayer she’d allowed herself when she’d helped Varisha bury her son, and she thought about how Matthew Cline believed so strongly that God had a plan for everyone who wished to make a difference in this world.

  That plan—that moment—now stretched before her, and she knew it. God, if this is what you have in mind for me today, let it be done. In Jesus’ name, please let me shoot straight.

  She centered her aim at Haroun’s right shoulder. In training, she’d been told about the brachial nerve, which controlled the arm. Hostage rescuers were trained to make that shot, and if it was successful, the wound would cause the arm to go dead.

  God, please, if this is part of the plan you have for me, then be with me now. Bekah felt the warmth and confidence surround her, banishing her fear and uplifting her courage. Her finger slid over the trigger and she squeezed.

  The rifle banged against Bekah’s shoulder, and she lost sight of Haroun in the sudden onslaught of light from the muzzle flash. Then, when her vision cleared and she caught sight of the Muslim leader again, she saw that he had fallen back with a look of surprise.

  The detonator lay on the ground near the boy.

  Desperate, Haroun tried to reach for the detonator with his other hand. Bekah shot him in the face twice, and his body flopped back. Tracking on, she shifted her aim to the man holding the boy to the ground and put a three-round burst into the man’s chest.

  By that time, the Marines were up and taking advantage of the darkness and the NVGs. Two more al-Shabaab went down before the rest threw away their rifles, lay flat on the ground, and begged for their lives.

  “Kufow!” Daud sounded fearful.

  “I am here.”

  “Thank God.” Daud pushed himself to his feet and fumbled through the darkness to the boy’s side.

  Bekah reached the boy first and reached out for the detonator. She took it apart quickly and removed the battery. By then, Daud had the boy in his arms and was weeping.

  “Bekah?” The comm connection to Heath sounded clearer and stronger.

  “We’re here.” Bekah took a ragged breath. “Haroun is down. I’ve secured the remote detonator.” Standing on shaky legs, she looked over the battlefield and gave silent thanks, not just for their survival, but for the peace she felt.

  Matthew Cline and the other doctor worked on the wounded Marines and the injuries Daud’s bandits had sustained, but they also checked the boy, Kufow. Bekah stood nearby watching. Although the uneasy truce had been negotiated between Heath and Daud, the tension between the Marines and Daud’s men still continued—no one relaxed. They were all displaced, all in enemy territory. If the two sides hadn’t been so evenly matched, so cut off from support, if they hadn’t just walked away from one battle and weren’t now mourning their dead from that confrontation, Bekah suspected neither Heath nor Daud would have agreed to the cease-fire.

  But continuing that fight would have left so many more people dead. No one could afford any more losses. And as Heath pointed out, Haroun had been a much bigger fish than Daud was. HQ would be happy with what they’d gotten. Daud would be a battle to fight another day.

  Daud stayed with the boy, never leaving his side, just as the big man who accompanied the bandit leader never left him.

  Driven by her own maternal feelings, Bekah approached Daud. “What are you going to do with him?”

  Daud looked at her in surprise. “I am going to protect him and care for him. I did not come all this way just to leave him to the vagaries of fate. This place is too hostile for that.”

  Bekah hesitated for a moment, then thought of what her granny would say and spoke softly, with compassion. “No.”

  “No?” Daud’s eyes tightened in anger, and the giant at his side stepped forward.

  Pike stepped forward too, though Bekah hadn’t until that moment realized the Marine was there.

  Daud waved the big man down, eliciting a curse.

  Bekah spoke tersely and with unflinching resolve. “You are a fugitive, Daud. Once we’re gone from this place, once this is over, you’re going to be hunted. I know Lieutenant Bridger has given you a pass on getting out of here, but come tomorrow morning he’s going to be hunting you again. The Marine Corps will be hunting you again. I will be hunting you again. And the al-Shabaab will kill you on sight.”

  “I have lived a long time under such threats.”

  Bekah nodded. “You have. You’re obviously good at what you do. You’re a bad man in my book, but you’ve also got a love for this boy. You need to look at that and think about the life you’re going to drag him into. He’s already nearly been killed twice in as many days. He’s just a boy. How long do you think he can survive under circumstances like that?”

  Daud had no answer.

  “I know you lost your son. I can only guess what that feels like. But I’ve got a son too, and I know I would not expose him to the kind of danger you’re going to be facing. Someday, somewhere, someone is going to catch up with you. And when they do, you’re going to die. Do you want this boy to die with you? Do you want him to see you die?”

  For a moment Daud stood there gazing at Kufow, who watched him quietly. Then, without a word, he walked over and kissed the child on the forehead. The boy reached for him and held him tightly, crying plaintively as he lay on a makeshift bed in the back of a Humvee.

  “No.” The boy spoke in a ragged whisper. “Do not go. Please.”

  Daud pulled away, kissed the boy on the forehead one more time, and looked at him with tears in his eyes. “I must. You need a life, Kufow. I trust this woman. What she says is the truth. I have no home, no life to give you except hardship and death. Know that I love you. Grow up straight and tall.”

  Kufow cried helplessly and wrapped his arms around himself. “Please.”

  Daud forced himself to turn away from the boy. “Promise me that you will see to his welfare.”

  Bekah nodded and extended her hand. “I give you my word.�
�

  Daud took her hand, shook it briefly, then turned and walked away. The big man and the rest of the bandits silently followed him to the collection of pickups and jeeps. They took the vehicles and drove away, disappearing through the gate.

  Pike stepped up beside Bekah as the child wept. Tears ran down Bekah’s cheeks as well. “I know that wasn’t easy, and I know it hurt, but what you did, Bekah, that was stand-up.”

  Bekah nodded and went to Kufow so he wouldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t look at her, but she hoped that one day he might understand.

  Pike stood beside Heath and watched Daud and his men pull out of the area.

  One of the medics, a young Marine from Iowa, approached the lieutenant. “Do you really think letting Daud go is the best decision, Lieutenant Bridger?” the medic blurted out.

  Heath glanced at the man. “After everything we’ve been through, do you really think getting into another firefight is something we should do?”

  The man paused for a moment, then shook his head and walked away.

  Standing nearby, Pike took a deep breath. Before he knew it, he was speaking. “Sir, it’s the right thing to do. Avoiding a firefight isn’t the only reason, though.”

  “What’s another?”

  Staring at the disappearing figure, Pike Morgan knew what was really going on with Daud. “That man’s had his world rocked. He’s lost his family.” He thought of Petey in that moment, and he knew some of the loss that Daud was going through. “He’s a bad man, but he’s not evil. There’s a difference.”

  “Daud killed civilians and medical people.”

  “Yeah. He did what he thought he had to do to survive. Given the right time and circumstances, Lieutenant, you might be surprised at how much you’d have in common with a man like that.”

  Heath stared at Pike for a moment, then let whatever question he had in mind go unasked.

  Pike figured it was probably better for both of them that way.

  “Coffee, Marine?”

  Hearing the familiar voice, Bekah turned and found Matthew Cline standing behind her. He looked worn and weary, dirt smudging his face, but she knew she didn’t look any better.

  “Sure.” She accepted the cup of coffee he offered and took a sip.

  “I want to look at the wound on your head. Make sure the stitches are intact.”

  “I’m standing perimeter guard.”

  Matthew smiled at her. “I know. I had to ask where you were. I can look at your wound while you stand guard.”

  “All right.” Bekah stood still while he checked the wound.

  “I’ll want to dress that again later. When you have the chance.”

  “I’ll make sure to stop off when I can.”

  “Do that.” Matthew regarded her with those startling blue eyes. Then his smile got even bigger. “Don’t get me wrong, we all look like a mess, but you look more at peace than I’ve ever seen you.”

  Smiling even though she tried to keep a straight face, Bekah nodded. “I feel pretty good.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. “I found something out there that I wasn’t expecting.”

  Matthew nodded. “That’s the way it usually works.”

  Epilogue

  “MS. SHAW, are you certain your attorney knows the court date is today?”

  Seated at the defendant’s table, Bekah was filled with nervous anxiety. It was early December, and she’d gotten back from Mogadishu only six days ago. She was fervently hoping she wasn’t going to be in jail for the holidays. She wanted to spend Christmas with Travis and her granny.

  They sat in the courtroom and watched her, smiling when she looked in their direction.

  Judge Warren Harrelson sat quietly at the bench, awaiting an answer.

  Bekah glanced at her watch. Her attorney was already ten minutes late. She didn’t know what would happen to her if the attorney didn’t show up. She supposed it was possible she’d be remanded to the jail, and she didn’t want to be separated from Travis.

  “Your Honor, I talked with him a couple days ago. He assured me he would be here.”

  The prosecuting attorney, an officious little man who had a reputation for going for the throat when he had a case that appeared to be a slam dunk, stood and sighed theatrically. “Your Honor, if it please the court, we’ve already granted a considerable extension to the defendant in this matter. The county would like to see justice done sometime in the near future. If Ms. Shaw’s attorney—”

  “Not Ms. Shaw.” A familiar voice rang out strongly over the courtroom. “She is Corporal Shaw of the United States Marine Corps. I’d appreciate it, Your Honor, if the prosecuting attorney referred to my client correctly if he’s going to speak of her.”

  Bekah turned around and saw Heath striding toward the front of the court. He looked immaculate in his Marine dress uniform, complete with white gloves and his cover tucked neatly under his arm.

  The judge lifted an amused eyebrow. “And who might you be?”

  “Lieutenant Heath Bridger of the United States Marine Corps. I’ll be representing Corporal Shaw in this matter. I apologize for my lateness, but I’ve never been here before and the GPS isn’t quite accurate.”

  “That’s the way it is in some of these small towns.” Judge Harrelson waved Heath forward. “Welcome, Lieutenant. Have a seat.”

  Heath placed his briefcase on top of the table where Bekah sat and shot her a wink. “Thank you, Judge.”

  “Bridger, you say?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Heath stood at parade rest.

  “I know an attorney named Lionel Bridger.”

  “My father, Your Honor.”

  Bekah didn’t know anything about Lionel Bridger, but the prosecuting attorney suddenly looked like he’d swallowed a toad.

  “I see.” The judge leaned back in his seat and steepled his hands together in front of him. “Well then, this should be interesting.”

  Heath smiled confidently. “To the best of my ability, Your Honor.” He sat and looked at Bekah. “Relax, Corporal. You’re in good hands.”

  Bekah smiled helplessly. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Afterward, Bekah wasn’t sure exactly what had taken place, but the trial was over a lot more quickly than she’d expected. Heath had somehow harassed the prosecuting attorney at every turn, challenged facts and witness testimony, and torn Deputy Trimble to pieces on the stand.

  When everything was said and done, she was free and a warrant had been issued for Buck Miller’s arrest.

  Granny invited Heath back to the farm for a late lunch. Bekah wasn’t pleased with the idea of Heath coming to their home when he was so obviously accustomed to wealth, but she didn’t want to just watch him leave as quickly as he’d come.

  She’d gotten to know him, and herself, in Mogadishu, and she’d hated parting ways only a tad bit less than she had looked forward to seeing Travis.

  Heath received a phone call and momentarily excused himself. As Bekah set the table, she tried not to overhear his conversation, but she picked up on the fact that Heath wasn’t happy. He returned to the table a few minutes later.

  Bekah looked at him, noticing the glow of the earlier win was missing. “Bad news?”

  “Another case isn’t going exactly the way I’d hoped, but the jury’s not out, so to speak. I’ll make it happen.” Heath sipped his tea and lunch was served.

  “Do you know how to throw a football?” Travis looked at Heath while holding a spoonful of macaroni and cheese.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Heath smiled, and some of the bleakness brought by the phone call lifted from him.

  “He does.” Granny nodded. “Lieutenant Bridger was one of the best quarterbacks Oklahoma State University ever turned out.”

  Heath grinned self-consciously. “Do you follow college ball?”

  Granny nodded as she cut another slice of cherry pie and put it on Heath’s plate. “Bekah never got interested in watching football. Not much of a sports fan at all, but
she’d watch a little baseball with her granddaddy now and again.”

  Bekah felt embarrassed.

  “Momma can’t throw a football.” Travis ate his spoonful of macaroni and cheese. “Can you show me how?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now? Or do you have to keep your clothes clean?”

  “Actually, I think I can keep my clothes clean and teach you to throw a football.”

  Afterward, Bekah stood at the large window and stared out into the yard as Heath taught her son the basics of holding the football. Travis’s puppy chased around them, barking and whining.

  Granny stood beside Bekah and watched. “He’s a good teacher. Gentle and patient.”

  “Yeah.”

  Granny looked at her and smiled. “Quite an interesting man, this lieutenant of yours.”

  Embarrassment singed Bekah’s cheeks. “He’s not my lieutenant. The next time I get deployed, I’ll probably be assigned to someone else.”

  “We’ll see. You know, he must think highly of you to have come all this way to represent you in that case this morning.”

  Bekah shrugged. “That’s just how the Marines are.”

  “Maybe, but you never know what God has planned.”

  For the first time in her life, Bekah totally believed that.

  About the Author

  MEL ODOM is the author of the Alex Award–winning novel The Rover and the Christy Award runner-up Apocalypse Dawn. Odom has been inducted into the Oklahoma Professional Writers Hall of Fame (at the age of 37—otherwise mentioning such an award makes him sound very old and retired). He lives in Moore, Oklahoma, where he coached Little League for years, and teaches professional writing classes at the University of Oklahoma. Since first being published in 1988, Mel has written more than 160 books in various fields, which he blames on his ADHD, desperation (five children), and opportunity.