Comrades In Arms (In Love and War Anthology)

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Glad you think so, Captain, because I won’t stand for insubordination from you or your enlisted men. Are we clear on that?”

  “Don’t worry,” Dave said, “my men will treat you like a sister.”

  “I worry about your attitude, Captain.”

  Shrugging, Dave said in a low tone, “How I feel about you personally is never going to show out in the field, Ms. McCain. I can guarantee that.”

  “Good, then we should land at Tarin Kowt one big, happy family, right?”

  Grinning, Dave replied, “Absolutely. But I don’t think it will be too long before the village leaders realize you’re a woman, even if you are wearing men’s clothes.”

  Tara knew that when they landed in Afghanistan, everyone would shed their military uniforms for local garb, so that they blended in. If they stood out they were much more likely to be spotted and shot by the Taliban.

  “We’ll have to take it as it comes,” Tara growled back. “I don’t want to be targeted, either.”

  “How do you think the local leaders will react to you being a woman?”

  “Depends upon the leader. There’s all kinds of attitudes and biases for and against women over there. Some who follow Islam treat women as equals, but they are few and far between.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Dave murmured.

  “Let’s hope so,” she answered. “But I have my ways of getting through to people, Captain Johnson. If I need to, I’ll get the man’s attention and he will speak to me or else.”

  Dave could believe that. He saw the resolute look in her eyes, heard the determination in her voice. Minute by minute, he was being convinced that maybe, just maybe, this woman could handle herself. But she’d never seen combat, and that was a completely different situation.

  “Are you leaving loved ones behind?” he asked. Maybe he shouldn’t nose into her personal life, but it was eating at him. Did she have a significant other? Was she married? Dave knew little about her. He hadn’t had time to read her file due to the speed and urgency of this mission.

  “My parents live in New Hampshire. I was able to call them yesterday and tell them I was going undercover on a top secret mission, and that I’d contact them upon my return.”

  “I see… Any husband? Kids?”

  “None of the above, Captain Johnson.” Tara saw an emotion flicker across his face. Relief? No, that couldn’t be. Why a look of relief? That didn’t make sense to her. “What about you?” she challenged.

  “Me? I’m from Wyoming. My parents own a cattle ranch that butts up against the Grand Teton Mountains. Ever been in that state?” He saw her face thaw. Tara was very attractive when she wasn’t giving him that sour look. Of course, Dave realized, he was the one who’d put that expression on her face.

  “Yes, mountain climbing is a hobby of mine.” She held up her hands, showing him the calluses on her palms.

  “That explains why your nails are short and your hands strong,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Smart mouth. Plucky. He liked that. And he liked her a helluva lot more than he should. Scalded two years ago by a messy divorce, Dave had sworn off women in general. Rubbing his chest above his heart, he stated, “Well, where we’re going, there’s plenty of mountains.”

  “I hope your men are trained for them?”

  He swallowed another smile. Now she was challenging him. “We’ve done some work in mountains, Captain McCain. I think we’ll be able to keep up with you should we have to climb the face of one.”

  It was her turn to smile, and her grin was wolfish, as if to say, Gotcha! “Okay,” she drawled, “we’ll see, when and if the time comes.”

  “Is this show and tell time?” He held out his hands to her, palms up.

  Tara couldn’t help but laugh. His palms were covered with thick calluses denoting how much time he’d spent roughing it out in nature. It was obvious he’d done his own share of mountain climbing.

  Her laughter was like sweet, warm honey pouring into his heart. Surprised at the sensation, he caught himself smiling in return.

  “Maybe you aren’t going to be such a pain in the rear,” he murmured.

  “I was thinking the same thing about you, Captain Johnson.”

  Chapter 2

  Exhaustion pulled at Tara as she trotted through the hazy gold dusk of their first Afghanistan sunset. She was following on the heels of Dave Johnson, who was setting a helluva pace toward the village of Tarin Kowt. The CH-53 Sea Stallion had just disgorged them, and the billowing yellow dust churned up by the rotor blades as the aircraft took off practically choked them all. Dave had told Tara to tie her green bandana around her nose and mouth. Feeling a little stupid when she realized all the men on his team had done so already, she quickly covered her face and found relief from the suffocating dust.

  Ahead, Tara could see several men coming out to meet them from a large village of square mudhut homes. They all wore turbans and were dressed in colorful, voluminous long-sleeved shirts, with bandoliers of ammunition across their chests, and dark-colored pants with leather boots. Each of them had a rifle at the ready. Dave slowed a little, raising his hand and gesturing for her to move up to the front with him. Surging ahead, Tara followed him easily, until the rest of the team was spread out in a semicircle. Directly behind her was the radioman, Private Doug Seabert, of Tallahassee, Florida. He carried the most advanced communications gear in the world on his broad back and thick shoulders.

  Dave saw an older man wearing a cream-colored turban, his white beard neatly trimmed, standing in the middle of the awaiting party. He was probably the ruling war lord or chieftain of this village. Swallowing his fear, Dave wondered how these men would respond to Tara. In the deepening dusk, everyone’s face was hidden in shadows, so it would be difficult to identify her as a woman. She had a low, husky voice that reminded him of aged, mellow whiskey. Still, they weren’t trying to hide the fact that Tara was a woman, but they didn’t want to call attention to it.

  Glancing to his right, he saw her move with fluid ease at his side, her M–4 in her hands, just in case. He’d been told that the warlord of the village, Chieftain Khalid Zaher, was anti-Taliban, and that he was also one of the most forward-thinking of the men who ran the country. Dave hoped so. Would he accept Tara as an interpreter? That would be their first huge test on this mission.

  Pulling up, Dave raised his hand. His team automatically gathered in a circle around him as he halted a few feet from the group of Afghans. Seeing the suspicion in their eyes, he pinned his hopes on Chief Zaher, who was frowning directly at him.

  “McCain?” Dave ordered. “Talk to them.” He wouldn’t use her first name; it would be a dead giveaway. In the military, the practice of using last names was common, anyway.

  Swallowing, Tara stepped boldly forward. Dave noted that she was the same height as the thin, bearded leader, who stood with his arms crossed against his chest.

  “Salaam,” she said, and then touched her brow, lips and heart, a respectful greeting for a person of the Islamic faith. Even though she wasn’t a Muslim herself, the greeting would go far in setting the right tone.

  Tara feared the leader would not like the fact that she was a woman. However, her face was coated with yellow dust and the bandana across her lower face and nose effectively hid the rest of her features.

  “Ah, someone who speaks Pashto,” Zaher said, and returned the age-old greeting.

  Relief swept through Tara. Zaher seemed delighted, his chocolate-brown eyes dancing. “Chieftain Zaher, I’m the interpreter for this Special Forces A team. Our chief—” she motioned to Dave, who was standing at her shoulder, his M–4 pointed downward as a show of no hostility “—Captain Dave Johnson, has come to help you and your men make Tarin Kowt safe once more from the Taliban.”

  A booming laugh erupted from Khalid. The rest of his men joined in.

  “Indeed? Well, we have just routed them from our humble village once again. They know th
at I hate them and their ways. We have been fighting them almost daily for years, to keep them out of here. They believe that our women are not to be educated and are only broodmares to advance our race.” He turned his head and spat into the yellow dust at his feet.

  From behind the half-dozen Afghans, Tara saw another soldier appear. Blinking, she realized it was a young woman, very tall and thin. She was dressed exactly like the men.

  “Ah, here is my daughter.” Zahir held out his hand in her direction. “Come, Halima, come and let me introduce you to the men who are going to help us rout the Taliban once and for all….”

  Dave blinked twice. He saw Tara give him a look of surprise. He swallowed his own reaction. The woman was dressed exactly like the chieftain’s soldiers. She had bandoliers of ammunition crisscrossing her chest and the voluminous clothing she wore hid the fact that she was a woman. The only giveaway was her long, black hair, which flowed from beneath the white turban on her head.

  “Halima Zaher. Freedom fighter for the true Afghanistan,” Khalid proudly announced. “My eldest daughter fights at my side and risks her life so that the women of our village remain free to be educated, and not hidden in their houses as if in prison. Halima, meet McCain and Captain Johnson.”

  Halima bowed respectfully, grasping the old rifle in her long, thin fingers. “We welcome you to our land,” she murmured.

  Tara grinned, but no one could see it beneath her bandana. If the chieftain allowed his daughter to fight, he wasn’t going to have a problem with her being a woman, either. Pulling off the bandana, she held Khalid’s limpid gaze. “Just as your daughter fights for the true Afghanistan, the U.S. Army also allows me, Captain Tara McCain, to come and help your efforts, as well.”

  Chuckling, Khalid looked down at his daughter, who stood proudly at his side. “Ah, this is good! I have told Halima that the USA military has women in it. She did not believe me! Now she must.”

  Tara rapidly translated all that had been said. Relief was clearly etched in Dave’s eyes.

  “Ask the chieftain if we may come into his village,” he told her. “We’ll need accommodations. Ask him if my men can stay in his people’s homes. Tell him we want to get out of our U.S. military gear and we’ll need Afghan clothing. We’ll pay for everything.”

  Tara translated all that to Zaher, who nodded.

  “Yes, yes. Come, it is nearing darkness. You must be tired and hungry. We have little, but what we have, we share with you.” He turned and gave rapid orders to his soldiers, who in turn went to Dave’s men and gestured for them to follow.

  Tara said, “Khalid will have each of his men take one of our team to a different house, to be fed, given space to sleep, and provided with Afghan clothing.”

  “Great. Where are we going?”

  Tara turned back to the chieftain. “My chief would like to speak with you at length tonight. Will that be possible? There is much to discuss, honored Zaher.”

  “Of course,” Khalid said. “Come, you two will share our humble house and food.” He turned to Halima. “I will allow you, my daughter, to find suitable men’s clothing for Captain McCain.”

  “Yes, my father, I would be more than honored to do so.”

  Dave felt exhaustion pulling at him. Khalid’s home was a bit larger than most, but then, he was a warlord, and very rich by most Afghan standards. There was one extra room available and it housed his weapons. They had dined on dates, goat’s milk cheese, dried fruit and fragrantly spiced rice with lamb. Tara had remained at Dave’s side at all times. The chieftain had his entire family, children included, sit around them in a semicircle in the carpeted living room, resting on large, colorful silk pillows with gold tassels. Huge silver platters of food had been set on the burgundy Oriental carpet. The servants who attended were quick, silent and respectful as one course after another was presented. Tara had whispered to Dave that if he didn’t eat well, Khalid would be offended.

  Rubbing his stomach because he’d overeaten, Dave finally saw the chieftain raise his hand. Everyone in Khalid’s family, including his wife, Fazila, left them. Silence fell in the room after they had left. Khalid lit a pipe and smoked it for several minutes.

  “Chief Johnson does not smoke?” he inquired, when Dave declined the pipe Khalid offered him.

  Tara shook her head. “No, he doesn’t, my lord.”

  “Pity. A good smoke after a good meal is like rain to the parched land.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And was your leader satisfied with my humble meal?”

  Tara grimaced inwardly. She turned to Dave and said, “Burp.”

  “What?” Dave replied with a frown.

  “I said burp. You know, belch?”

  He gave her a strange look. “Why?”

  “Because in their culture, it’s considered a sign that you liked the meal if you belch. Now, fake it if you have to, but do it. He’s asking if you enjoyed his hospitality.”

  Dave kept his face carefully neutral. He placed his hand over his stomach and forced out a big belch. Instantly, Khalid smiled, making his dark, lined face look much younger than before.

  “Excellent, excellent,” the chieftain murmured. He put the pipe down on a silver tray and then drew himself up.

  Tara forced a belch as well. Khalid nodded deferentially to her, a pleased look on his face.

  “May we talk of why we’re here?” she asked the chieftain.

  “Yes, talk is welcome now, Captain McCain.”

  Tara launched into the game plan Dave had gone over with her on the C-141 as they flew long, endless hours from the U.S. to Afghanistan. She roughly sketched out what the team was here to do: locate Taliban and either capture them, which was their preference, or kill them. Most of all, the team wanted to learn where the regional leaders were hiding. She explained that Dave would need the close support, guidance and help of the chief and his men to accomplish all these things.

  Dave enjoyed the low, mellow sounds of Pashto spilling effortlessly from Tara’s lips. In the flickering light of the oil lamp, he could see she was tired. From where he sat, he could see dark circles beginning to appear beneath her glorious blue eyes. Every minute, his respect for her was mounting. She had taken off her beret before dinner, and her smooth cap of dark brown hair outlined her skull. Halima had come over earlier, before the meal, to touch and inspect Tara’s short hair. The young woman had looked sad, and Tara had smiled and said something to her in Pashto. Then Halima had taken off her turban and allowed her long, black hair, to flow over her shoulders, to below her small breasts.

  Shifting his attention back to Khalid now, Dave watched the older man’s wrinkled, thin face as he devoted his full attention to what Tara was saying. Dave thought he saw delight, anger and then a look that could only be interpreted as desire for revenge in the man’s narrowed, dark eyes as she finished.

  “You tell Captain Johnson that we will work together, as one force, to hunt down the leaders of the Taliban. They are in the neighboring village of Deh Rawod, which is twenty miles from here.”

  Tara turned to Dave, whose gaze was fixed on her. Skin prickling pleasantly beneath his hooded inspection, she managed a slight smile. “Good news,” she told him, and repeated the chief’s words in English.

  “Ask him if we can turn in and sleep, okay? Tell him we’ll start doing serious planning tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course…”

  Tara felt uncomfortable. The room she was in was large, but most of it served as a weapons cache. There was a strip left, seven feet by four feet, for them to sleep within. They lay side by side on pallets, surrounded by many boxes of ammunition, grenades and other paraphernalia of war. This was the only room available. The darkness was almost complete. The window was open, allowing sporadic gusts of fresh air into the space. The huge wooden door, which hung on leather straps, was closed.

  Sighing, Tara turned onto her back, resting her hands beneath her head. Dave was barely two feet from her elbow. She was still in her unifo
rm, but had taken off her boots, as had he.

  “Can’t you sleep?” she asked, when she heard him shift restlessly.

  He smiled a little and rolled over on his side, facing her. “No. Too excited. Hyperalert. I don’t trust the Taliban, who are probably no more than twenty miles away, not to attack us here tonight.”

  Tara nodded. Dave’s closeness made her feel safer than she probably should. Still, his strong presence, his quiet charisma, which had immediately won Khalid’s respect, was a comfort. “Do you think they will?”

  “I don’t know.” Dave caught himself wanting to reach out and brush a strand of hair off her forehead. There was just enough moonlight spilling through the window for him to see her features. Outside, he could hear the bleat of goats and sheep in nearby corrals.

  “I’m so tired I could die,” Tara whispered, closing her eyes. “I feel stretched like a wire.”

  “Jet lag combined with the stress of living under the threat of combat,” he murmured.

  “You feel the same?” Tara opened her eyes and looked over at him. It was a mistake. Dave’s eyes were hooded, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say that was tenderness burning in them. Swallowing hard, she felt her heart take off at a gallop. Quickly lowering her gaze, she tried to ignore his nearness, his quiet, powerful masculinity.

  “Maybe if we talk about home, it will help bring us down,” Dave offered. He saw desire in Tara’s eyes when their gazes locked for a moment. Desire? That was unexpected. Had she seen his wistful feelings toward her in his eyes? Hoping not, Dave scowled. He shouldn’t be drawn to her at all. Not now, under these conditions.

  “Does that do the trick?” she asked, chuckling softly.

  “Yeah, usually does. I’ll go first….”

  Tara closed her eyes and pulled her hands from behind her head, settling them across her stomach. “Okay…you first,” she murmured. Tiredness lapped at her. How desperately she wanted to sleep! And how she had to fight the urge to simply turn toward Dave, inch forward and snuggle in his arms.