His Duty to Protect

by Lindsay McKenna

  “A radio, dressings, antibiotic packs, needle, thread, aspirin,” she muttered. Pulling it all out, she picked up the radio. It was wet. “I hope this works. We need to call for help.”

  Heartened, Ty said, “Make the call.” Would it work even though it was waterlogged? His radio had been in his egress pack. Now, it was at the bottom of the Kabul River. Holding his breath, he watched as Rachel turned the small, round dial that would turn it on. When on, it would flash a small, green light on the front. Nothing happened.

  “Oh, damn,” Rachel muttered, twisting the dial again and again. “It’s not working.”

  Hamilton heard the low edge of fear in her voice. “It’s not designed to be dunked in water,” he said, trying to make her feel better. He saw the desperation in her face, her mouth working as she turned it on and off several times. “Maybe it needs to dry out, and we can try it later?”

  “We don’t have later, Ty.” Rachel had used his first name without even thinking about it. “We’ve got to get help. I know the Taliban will be looking for us.”

  No matter how many times she tried, the radio refused to work. Sitting there, the device in her hand, Rachel gave him a look of anxiety.

  “Look, we need to take evasive action,” he told her. “We didn’t have time to make a Mayday call to Bravo. No one is going to miss us until we don’t show up an hour from now.”

  “Did you call in our changed flight?” she asked.

  “No, I thought you did.”

  Staring at him, Rachel realized it had been her duty to do that. And she’d failed. “Oh, God,” she uttered. “I didn’t. Bravo will think we’re flying a straight line from Samarigam back to Camp Bravo.” That one mistake could well cost their lives.

  Hamilton felt grim. Shaking from the cold and trying to think through the blinding headache, he rasped, “There was a lot of distraction at the village.”

  Rachel had never expected him to say that. Blinking, she whispered, “I’m really sorry, Ty.”

  Hamilton gripped her hand, squeezed it once and released it. Right now, he felt raw, but he wanted to erase the fear he heard in her voice, the reality of their situation. “Let’s concentrate on evasion. We need a plan. And where we’re going.”

  Rachel knelt beside him. “We need to get this bleeding stopped.” She tore open a packet. “Open your mouth, I’m giving you the antibiotics and some aspirin.”

  Hamilton nodded, tipped his head back, and she dropped a large, white pill into his mouth. It was hell trying to choke it down, but he did.

  “I get to use all that first aid they taught us so long ago,” she joked. Freezing, Rachel was grateful it was August, the temperature at seventy and it was sunny. If they were lucky, their uniforms would dry in a couple of hours. At nightfall, it dropped to the forties or even to freezing in this high mountain environment.

  “Do what you have to do.”

  “That gash is long. I’m going to have to sew the edges together. God, I’ve never done anything like this before, Ty. But if I don’t, it’s going to keep on bleeding.…”

  Hearing the desperation in her voice, Ty murmured, “Take a deep breath, Rachel. It’s going to be okay.”

  She spread out the items, steadied by his voice and the fact that he called her by her first name. He’d never done that before, but right now, she was grateful. Her hands stopped shaking so much. It was fear, she knew, but Hamilton’s demeanor was one of quiet steadiness compared to how she felt inside. She marveled at his grace under pressure. “Okay, let me line up this stuff. Thank God I cram my flight pockets full of stuff.”

  “It’s always a good habit to get into,” Ty agreed. He closed his eyes. “Listen, can you do this when I’m lying down? I’m feeling dizzy.”

  “Sure, it will probably be easier.” Rachel slid her hand beneath his neck and helped him lie down. “You’re looking pale. What’s going on?”

  “Just exhausted,” Hamilton admitted, closing his eyes. He’d nearly died, and he knew he was in shock.

  Alarmed, Rachel realized she hadn’t checked him from head to toe for any other injuries. “Ty, are you hurting anywhere else?”

  “Yeah, my left, upper arm feels like it’s on fire.”

  Scooting back, Rachel leaned down. She saw the arm of the garment had been slashed open. Pulling it back, she gasped. Another piece of shrapnel had cut deeply into his upper arm. “You’ve got another slash wound,” she said.

  “Bleeding bad?” he asked.

  “No, not a lot. It’s just very, very deep.”

  The concern in her husky voice flowed over him. He felt pretty light-headed. “Listen, do what you have to do. I’m feeling faint.…”

  Rachel watched as he lost consciousness. Stunned for a moment, she realized that there was no better time to sew up both wounds, because he wouldn’t feel the pain. She grabbed a packet, ripped it open and applied the white powder of antibiotic across his scalp wound. She carefully folded up the packet and set it aside. The other half would go into his arm wound. Tearing open the next packet that said Lidocaine, she dripped part of it across his scalp. This medicine would numb the site so she could stitch it closed. Hands shaking, the hardest part was getting the thread through the needle.

  Rachel was constantly dividing her attention between stitching up the two wounds and listening for enemy approach. Although they still wore their protective Kevlar vests, and each had a pistol strapped across their chest, it wasn’t enough firepower against the Taliban.

  The roar of the river hid other sounds. Rachel worked in silent terror as she did her best to bind Hamilton’s wounds. She had used the small set of scissors to cut away some of the upper sleeve of his uniform to reach to the gash. To her relief, the scalp wound stopped bleeding once she’d stitched it closed. More than anything, Rachel was worried about infection setting in. If it did, he’d become feverish and unable to walk. And she knew they’d be doing a lot of walking very shortly.

  It took an hour for her to finish. Hamilton’s lashes fluttered a few times just as she got done wrapping his arm with a dressing and tying it off. When he looked toward her, she smiled.

  “Welcome back to the world of the living. I just got done fixing you up. How do you feel?”

  Closing his eyes, he whispered, “A little better.”

  “How’s your head?”

  Ty opened his eyes, turned his head and looked up at her. Her dark brown hair was drying around her beautiful face. Her gold eyes were dark with concealed fear. He managed a crooked, one-cornered smile of his own. “The pain has turned down ten notches. I almost feel human again, thanks.”

  “And your arm?” Rachel asked, relieved.

  “I can’t feel my hand,” he said.

  “Maybe that shrapnel sliced into a nerve?” she wondered. She saw him move his fingers.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it will go away in time,” he uttered.

  Sitting at his side, her hip near his left hand, she said, “An hour’s gone by. I haven’t heard or seen the Taliban yet.”

  Thirsty, Hamilton sat up with her help. As he scanned the area, he saw that she’d picked the perfect place to hide them. They were ringed with thick, tall bushes on the bank. “Did you hear a helo?” he asked.

  “No…” Rachel said frowning.

  Hamilton wiped his mouth. “I need to take stock of what I have. Let me dig into my flight pockets and find out.”

  Rachel got up and knelt nearby. “What are you thinking? Peshuwar is down farther on the other side of the river.”

  Ty pushed himself into a sitting position. He opened up both his Velcro flight pockets on his legs and placed his items beside Rachel’s stash. “There’s no way we can walk into Peshuwar. It’s a den of thieves. The Taliban has a strong presence there. They see us in our uniforms, we’re dead on the spot.”

  “You said there was an imam in Peshuwar who was pro-American. Maybe we could find him?”

  “How?”

  “I see your point.”

  Ty st
udied their cache. “Okay, we have ten protein bars between us. Antibiotics. Waterproof matches. A pair of scissors, a small penknife, one wet radio, two silver packs, which act as thermal blankets to keep our heat in, a compass and a map.” Ty picked up the map. It had been coated, so it was waterproof. He opened it and spread it out between them.

  “We’re here,” he said, putting his index finger down on the river, north of Peshuwar. Brow wrinkling, he squinted his eyes. “There’s a very small village here, on the slope of the mountains we just flew over.”

  Rachel knelt, studied the area, and saw where he was pointing. “That’s a good fifteen miles inland, away from this river.”

  Ty looked up into her worried gaze. “There’s a stream coming down off the mountains, through that village, and it flows right here into the river. We’re going to need water.”

  “What’s your ultimate goal here?” she asked.

  “Survival,” he said solemnly, “and reach Samarigam on the other side of that mountain range.” He saw her eyes widen. “It’s our only hope, Rachel. We’re dead if we walk into Peshuwar asking for help. We know Samarigam is pro-American.”

  Nodding, she bit her lower lip and studied the map some more. “What kind of miles do we have to walk?”

  “At least sixty miles, including the distance to this village on the map.” Ty watched her face crumple. “Twenty miles a day. We can do it in three days. We’ll have the brush and trees along that creek that leads up to this first village. We can travel in daylight.”

  “We’ll never be able to travel at night in these mountains,” she said. “And if we get to that village, there’s no guarantee it isn’t a Taliban stronghold, too.”

  “I don’t think it is,” Ty said, searching his memory. “The old CO of the last squadron told me that they’d flown in food and medicine to that village. Maybe they won’t shoot us on sight.”

  Turning, Rachel straightened. She heard a dog barking across the river. She held up her hand. “Stay here. I’m going to see what or who is nearby.”

  Chapter 10

  Rachel pulled her .45 pistol from the holster strapped across her Kevlar vest. Getting down on her belly, she moved through the thick brush to see about the barking dog. It sounded far away, as if on the other side of the wide, deep Kabul River. She prayed that was so and tucked her head down. She closed her eyes and pushed forward through the scratchy thickets.

  Eventually, through the foliage from her hiding place, Rachel saw the dog. Her heart began a slow pound. There were five Taliban soldiers, all armed with AK-47s, standing on the other side of the river. A mangy, black mongrel dog, about fifty pounds, barked constantly. They were walking slowly along the other bank. Licking her lips, Rachel lay and followed them with her gaze. Were they the same group that had fired the artillery rounds at them? She didn’t know. Her hand closed firmly over her .45.

  It was obvious to her they were looking for something. Maybe signs of their footprints, showing that they survived the crash into the river? Eyes narrowing, Rachel watched as the group slowly moved upstream. They would bend down, look at the dirt and then straighten and move on. Yes, they were looking for signs they’d left the river and escaped.

  She wriggled slowly backward through the thickets and finally got to the other side. She pushed up on her knees and looked toward Hamilton. He was sitting up, face pale, but alert. In his hand, he had his weapon, a .38. Getting up, she walked over and knelt at his side.

  “There are five Taliban and a dog on the other side,” she said in a low voice. “They were walking the bank of the river trying to find our tracks.” Motioning toward the river, she added, “They just disappeared around the curve. Right now, we’re safe.”

  Ty raised his brows even though it hurt. “They’re going to try and make sure we’re dead. The moment they know we survived, they’ll bring every Taliban in the area down on our necks.”

  Rachel nodded, pushing the pistol back into the nylon holster across her chest. “Agreed.” She gazed into his murky blue eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “The aspirin is taking hold,” he told her in a roughened tone. “My head has finally stopped hurting so damn much.”

  “So,” she teased, “you can think now?”

  Just Rachel’s partial smile lifted Ty’s spirits. He managed a twisted grin back up at her. “Yeah, but we have a lot to think about.”

  Rachel sat down, drawing her knees up. “You’re right, we can’t go to Peshuwar. And it makes sense to follow that creek up to that tiny village on the top of the mountain. I just don’t know if they will kill us or help us.”

  “Food and medicine has been dropped there before. We have to take a chance.”

  “I like the fact we can move up that stream under cover of the trees and bushes. We’re less likely to be seen, and we can travel during daylight hours.”

  “This isn’t going to be easy. When I move my head, I get dizzy. I don’t even know if I can stand up and walk a straight line.” Frustration settled in him over his condition. He was the helpless one. Rachel had survived the crash and was physically sound. He was not.

  Reaching out, Rachel gripped his hand for a moment and gave it a squeeze. “I don’t think help is coming to rescue us. Everyone at Ops will think we’re on a beeline between Samarigam and Bravo. They’ll be looking for us in the wrong area. And if you have to lean on me as we make it to that village, I don’t mind.”

  The warmth of her fingers flooded his cold, chilled body. Ty continued to tremble from the cold flight suit against his goose-pimpled flesh. He saw the sincerity in her gold-and-brown eyes, and his heart opened. For one crazy moment, Hamilton wondered what it would be like to kiss Rachel. To feel the softness of her lips against his. Somehow, Ty knew she would be an incredible kisser. And then, shocked where his thoughts had gone, he sternly gave himself an internal shake. The crash must be making him think really stupid thoughts.

  “If only your radio would dry out and work. That signal is set for the rescue channel on the radio at Ops.…” Ty said.

  “It’s our only real hope,” Rachel agreed, picking up the radio that she’d laid on a flat rock. “And it’s only got so much battery left in it. I think we should keep it off and try it near sunset.” Looking at her watch, she saw that it was 2:00 p.m. “I’m going to go reconnoiter the area. According to our map, that stream intersects the river about a quarter of a mile south of us. I want to make sure we can get there without being spotted.”

  “Good idea.” Ty watched as she slowly rose and pulled out her .45. He managed a slight grin. “Why are you carrying that dinosaur of a pistol?” he wondered.

  Looking down at him, Rachel said, “Because my father taught me if you want to stop a man in one shot, a .45 has the power to do it. I know the Army has other pistols that they prefer me to carry, but I want a big stick.”

  “Right now,” Ty said, appreciating her logic, “that’s exactly what is needed.

  “Your .38 won’t stop a man,” she pointed out. “You’ll have to fire three or four shots to stop him from charging toward you. That’s a waste of bullets. We only have so many with us, and each one is going to count if we get into a firefight.” Rachel pushed the drying hair off her brow. “One shot. One kill.”

  “Sniper speak,” he said.

  “My uncle Morgan was a sniper at one time when he was a Marine. When I graduated from flight school, he gave me this weapon as a gift.” Rachel lifted the dull black pistol and gave it a fond look. “He knows his weapons. And carrying this pistol is like having him with me all the time. I love him very much.…”

  Hamilton could see it in the softened expression of her face and how her voice dropped and became suddenly husky with unseen tears. “Get going,” he told her. “I’ll stay here, lay down and try to rest.”

  “Good idea.” She lifted her hand and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.…”

  The pine trees were interspersed with leaf-bearing trees. Rachel walked silently in and around the
m. The good news was that the thickets ran almost solidly parallel to the bank of the green river. She would halt, hide behind a huge tree trunk and look around. Then Rachel would key her hearing to see if she picked up any sounds that meant a human being was near. When she could hear and see nothing, she would continue another hundred yards and do the same thing. It wouldn’t get her to their objective fast, but she had no idea who or what inhabited this beautiful, green area.

  Knowing that goat and sheep herders were everywhere and that they would use this river to water their herd, Rachel stayed especially watchful. Young boys were sent out to tend these herds. And she would not know if they were friend or foe. She didn’t want to take a chance and remained guarded, her movements conservative. Overhead, puffy, white clouds came and went. To the north, in the mountain range, she could see dark, angry thunderclouds. Here on the flat of the valley, which was all desert except for the green ribbon of life on either side of the Kabul river, it appeared uninhabited. So far.

  Rachel knew the Taliban was actively seeking proof of their death. They would be waiting for the bodies of two airmen to wash up on either side of the bank of this river. The Afghans were great trackers. As she moved silently down toward her objective, Rachel looked for brush on her way back and wiped out her tracks. There was no reason to think the Taliban wouldn’t have men on this side of the river who were actively hunting for footprints right now.

  Her heart never settled down as she held the gun up and ready as she walked. Every once in a while, as she stood with her back pressed to a trunk, Rachel would think about Hamilton. She’d saved his life, which struck her as ironic. He’d tried to end her career earlier in her life. And here she was saving his butt. Still, Rachel would have done the same thing all over again. Hamilton was a fellow aviator, U.S. Army and, therefore, a buddy. She would never have thought to let him drown when he was knocked unconscious.

  Locating the stream, she knelt down by a pine tree and looked up. The creek was wider than she first thought. It was a good four feet wide and running strong with glacier water from high above. Rachel could see glimpses of the stream moving up the rocky slope toward the sharp peaks at least twenty miles away. Smiling a little, she closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them and slowly stood up. She broke off a pine branch and began to use it to destroy her tracks as she retraced her way back.