“Do you believe in magic?” Sarah asked.
“I don't know if I would call it magic, but I believe in miracles.”
“What is the difference?”
“You ask a good question,” Ron answered. “My guess is that magic attempts to influence the world with rituals, symbols, and gestures that may be supernatural.”
“And miracles? What are they?”
“Something that cannot be attributed to human power or the laws of nature. They're considered to be supernatural, something divine, from God.”
Sarah thought for a moment. “I see no difference.”
“Are you sure you have everything you need?”
“Yes, I'm sure—are you?”
“Yep. Let's get that rope ladder down and get out of here.”
“What is the big hurry?”
“Huh? You had something else in mind?”
“Yes, one thing. We might separate before we get to Golbahar, or maybe after we get there.”
“Maybe so, I don't know. So…”
“So, let's dance.”
“Huh?”
“You and me.” Sarah reached both of her hands towards his. “Come—you dance.”
“Umm, not really.”
“Come on,” she pleaded with her hands outstretched. “I will show you how.”
Ron took her hands, which she placed around her waist while holding the other.
“Follow me. Easy.”
She moved to her left, then took a couple steps back, move to her right, and then forward, completing a small circle. The movement seemed simple enough so he followed.
“This is called, the pas de Basque. I'm sorry there is no music but I can sing.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Together they swayed and Sarah hummed. Then she turned to look at Ron while still holding his hand. Ron looked back into her eyes.
Ron pulled Sarah closer towards him. Then he moved his face towards hers.
Chattering voices broke the silence! Motionless, both listened. The voices were men speaking Pashto, and they were just below the cliff wall.
Ron held his finger to his mouth. Sarah's beautiful eyes widened with fright!
16
Sunday, October 28, 2001
Ron and Sarah lowered themselves to the ground just above the cliff, listening to the voices below them. He looked at his watch and noted the time: 0136. What were these people doing out here this time of the morning? Ron wondered. His M4 was next to him on the ground, his knife strapped to his leg. Both laid very still.
An excitable conversation in Pashto ensued below them. Sarah listened closely, then, placing one hand on Ron's arm, she raised four fingers with her other hand. Ron was glad he had not yet thrown the rope over the ledge. Sarah's request to dance was perfect timing.
The talking stopped below them and faded into the distance.
Sarah whispered, “There were four of them. Daoud's men. One insisted he heard a girl and wanted to come up the cliff. The others talked him out of it and told him it was impossible for anybody to be up there. The first man said he would come back during daylight with more men, weapons and rope.”
“How do you know they were Daoud's men?”
“Because the one who said he was coming back is his brother.”
“We don't have much time then.”
“I'm glad you made us get packed before now.”
“And I'm glad you asked me to dance with you.”
Turning towards the cave, Sarah gave it one more look as if she were saying farewell to an old home. “God, go with us.”
“Under his wings,” Ron added.
After both reached the ground, Ron gathered as much rope as he could and flung it skyward with a great heave. The rope hit the top wall and bounced back, flapping against the wall.
Sarah looked at him and then glanced towards the direction where Daoud's men headed. “Hurry please.”
Ron had already retrieved the dangling ladder and repeated his previous actions with more of an angle. Hearing a plop above them, they waited a few seconds before being convinced that it would not return.
“Let's go. I'll follow you.”
Sarah nodded her head and departed towards the east. Ron looked up at the stars and knew what they were getting into by walking at the edge of the majestic and rugged Hindu Kush mountain range until it would merge into the Samangan Mountains.
Ron and Sarah paralleled the main trail twenty-five meters higher and to the south of the path, remaining on the southern end of the ridge from Shibar. The air was brisk and the wind blew hard, keeping them off balance. Sarah wrapped a thick brown scarf around her face and head, leaving her eyes exposed.
Through the night, they continued to walk and before the sun ascended they kept a steady pace up the mountainside, Sarah still leading the way—with a slight limp.
During their preparations to leave, Ron took note of her bandaged-wrapped foot. He also watched when she strapped a Makarov pistol to her waist, beneath her brown leather jacket.
Having already demonstrated her knowledge of weapons on the first day, Ron was glad that she would have his “six.”
Ron had his .9-mm strapped to his thigh, a tactical FK standard survival knife in its case, strapped and taped to his calf near his boot, and his M4 carbine in his hand.
They continued walking uphill for two hours before beginning their decent. Then they continued for another four hours with a couple of breaks before the sky turned into a pinkish-purple hue from the eastern horizon.
Staying along the tree line for concealment, they avoided any abandoned shacks or open trails. Their perilous walk had taken them along sharp, rocky ground and steep slopes. As they came around a rocky bend, Sarah winced before stumbling to the ground.
Ron was at her side immediately. “Are you alright Sarah?”
“I am fine,” she answered half pushing herself up with Ron's assistance.
“Like I told you before, I will carry you off this mountain if I have too.”
Both were cold despite their fast-paced movement. She looked around to gain her bearings. “Over there. We can go there,” she said pointing to a clump of bushes about thirty-feet to their right side. Ron watched Sarah placed her foot on the ground causing her to grimace. “Are we going to those bushed you were pointing at just now?”
“Yes…”
Before she could say anything else, Ron swooped her off the ground and carried her straddle-style to the bushed, watching his steps.
“Right here,” she said pointing ahead.
Ron set her down.
Pushing the bushes aside, Sarah revealed a small five-foot-high opening between some rocks. The area's depth narrowed back seven feet.
A few snow flurries whirled around with the wind. He looked across the valley at the peaks stacking upon peaks, some, shrouded in white with wisps of clouds trailing and streaking against the fluorescent orange sky.
“We can stay here during daylight,” Sarah said. “This place will keep us safe until we move out again at nightfall.”
Ron peered into the small opening. “I like your thinking. I'm amazed how you came to this location without a compass.”
“I have made this trek many times so that is why.”
“I'm still amazed.”
“This is the safest place between where we are and the town.”
Ron considered it for a moment as he walked around, looking up at the trees. Surrounded by acacia and poplar trees, he paused to listen for any unusual sounds.
“I like it. How far are we from town?”
Sarah hobbled up next to him, unfolded the map and pointed with her index finger. “Wow, we covered quite a bit of ground! No wonder your foot is bothering you.”
“I'm okay.”
“May I take a look please?”
“Okay. As you wish.”
Ron and Sarah removed all the gear from their backs and shoulders and placed it toward the small rock opening. Sitting on a flo
or mat that she placed back into the crevasse, she patted the spot next to her. “Sit, here please.”
Ron knelt in front of her instead, to look at her foot. Sarah removed the loose-fitting boot, which Ron deduced belonged to Mohaqeq, based on its size. She had placed the boot over the layers of bandages, securing it with boot strings and tape. Wincing in the process, Sarah unraveled the wrapped bandage.
Ron used his penlight for a close inspection of the sutured area, despite the dull daylight. He saw they were still holding together but her foot had swollen some since he saw it last. “Are you sure you feel okay?'
“Of course! Like I told you. I am fine.”
“I think even if you were hurting, you would not admit it, would you? You are too strong and proud to admit it.”
“How do you know what I feel? Believe me, I've been through worse.”
“Okay, Wonder Woman, I believe you.”
“And you do not need to wonder about me anymore. I will tell you everything.”
“I meant the person Wonder Woman. She is a mythical superhero character, like Superman.”
“Oh, I do not know her. However, if you want me to be her, I will. And you can be the Superman.”
Ron chuckled. “I'm Hawkman, remember? Be sure to let your foot air-dry today while we rest. I will rewrap it before we set out again.”
“As you wish.”
Ron sensed that something was bothering her. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“It doesn't seem that way. What's the matter?”
“Why won't you sit here with me now?”
“No reason—I will.” Ron looked into her pleading eyes as he sat down on the mat next to her.
“Now you can keep me warm.”
“I was going to sit here anyway, but I had to look at your foot first.”
Sarah looked at him, wanting to respond but bit her lip.
“You forgot to take the blanket off of your back. Can I have it please?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
Ron untied it from his chest and let it roll off his back onto the ground. After picking it up, he unrolled it and draped it over Sarah's shoulders. Grabbing it with both hands, she opened her arms wide.
“Well, come! Share the warmth with me. We will stay close together.”
Ron moved closer to snuggle up against her left side. Taking the corner from her left hand, he draped it around his shoulders. “Now this is the life, huddled together back in a warm crevasse, away from the wind, bushes in front of us, a wool blanket…”
When Ron was young, his father took him camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He reflected on his dad's fire-pit cooking, the smell, the talks…
“I should start a fire.” Ron said.
Sarah beamed and nodded in agreement.
“You know, with your knowledge of languages in addition to your medical skills, you would be a great success in America.”
“That is such a faraway dream. Plus, I have no formal education.”
“You could receive scholarships there and go to any college you wanted. In fact, I believe you could do almost anything you wanted to do. Besides, your dream can become a reality.”
“Going to America. How?”
“Let me worry about that.”
Sarah rested her head on Ron's shoulder and he placed his arm around her.
The howling wind whistled as Ron laid back, Sarah's head on his chest. “I hear your heart beating.”
“What is it saying?”
“Thump-thump, thump-thump.”
They both chuckled. “When my heart beats, it talks. Right now, it is saying, I-beat, for-you; I-beat, for-you.”
Sarah lifted her head, placed her hand on his face and closed her eyes.
Around two in the afternoon, Ron woke up and rekindled a fire. Because he could not get back to sleep, he drew something in his notepad. Thirty minutes later, Sarah sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“I couldn't sleep anymore.” Ron volunteered.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing—drawing.”
“Writing or drawing?”
“Both.”
“Can I see?”
“Not yet. I'm not finished.”
“You will show me later?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I did not know you could draw. You are an artist?”
“No, I just like drawing.”
“What do you write about?”
“Just things, you know—life.”
“Like a journal?”
“Sort of. I keep notes about my thoughts.”
“You will share them with me too?”
“Yes, of course.”
17
A distant chopping sound interrupted them as it moved closer to their position.
“Helicopter!”
“This is good?”
“No! We would not have one here…I don't think.” Ron covered the fire pit area, gathered the blankets, and pulled Sarah back further into the crevasse.
The rotor sound grew louder until the chopper came within view, flying low, just clearing the ridge. It was hovering over the valley as if searching for something below. Ron was able to get a visual with his binoculars.
“I can't believe it! The Taliban can fly a Russian Mi-8?”
“No, they never fly helicopters.”
The sound faded into the distant valley. “Do you think we will be safe here in this spot? I mean, whoever was in that helicopter was searching for something—maybe us.”
“Did you say that was a Russian helicopter?”
“Yes, it was. You know something?”
Sarah frowned, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “We should be safe. We must remain here and leave at twilight.”
Ron casted a wary eye on her but nodded his head in agreement. “Alright. We'll leave at twilight.”
In an effort to try to get Sarah's mind off any concerns she might have, Ron asked, “Would you like to read a section of my journal?”
Sarah's eyes lit up. “Yes, of course!”
He grabbed the small brown leather book and turned to a particular page. “Here, read this entry.”
Sarah looked at him and then took the journal and read. The entry began with the date: September 13, 1998.
I found myself wasting a lot of time walking in circles on a lone hilltop. Searching everywhere for a two-foot white marker, my time was running short. A small, knee-high metal stake would provide me the proof that I found my assigned point and lead me to the next. Land Navigation was fun—but challenging in the darkness.
“What is land navigation?” Sarah asked looking up at Ron.
“Like what we did earlier, looking at a map and finding our route.”
“Oh.” She continued to read.
Based on my calculations and terrain features, I knew I had to be in the right spot, but where was that dang stake? After too many minutes of trudging along the crunchy forest floor, I dropped my rucksack, and plopped down on the soft, damp forest ground and rested against a tree. I was very frustrated and angry with myself being a woodsman from the hills of Tennessee. This should have been easy.
The surrounding trees rustle against the evening's cool wind. The night sky was clear, the stars sparkling like diamonds.
Sarah looked up at Ron after reading that segment.
“What? Ron wondered.
“I just read the part of the stars. It reminded me of the night we danced under the stars.” She giggled. “Remember?”
“How could I forget—you taught me to dance when we almost got discovered by the bad guys?”
Sarah continued to read.
Despite the low, fifty-degree-and-dropping temperature, I still wiped sweat from my brow. The soothing calm around me engulfed my spirit. I reached for my canteen; took a swig of the iodine-laced water, and allowed the droplets spill down my chin.
I was all alone—yet somehow felt a presence. The silhouetted stick figures were just th
at, tree branches and limbs protruding from the ground, some of which were swaying back and forth. There was nobody else but me…and God. I continued to enjoy the rare tranquil moment but knew time would run out on me if I did not do something.
The coal-colored sky provided a backdrop of light…light that sparkled like those diamonds against clear endless space. The constellation struck me as pure, intangible, and idyllic.
Sarah looked up at him. “Idy—idy lly…”
“Idyllic. Like peaceful and calm.”
“Oh. Why did you just not say peaceful—or calm?”
“I don't know.”
She went back to reading.
I felt like a part of the created cosmos, a small speck in the mass, twinkling, and infinite universe. I pondered the moment, calm and mysterious, something to take in depth and gradual.
My confidence about being at the right location factored on a lone hilltop surrounded by flatland, slopes, and draws. I prayed from Proverbs 3:5 and 6, verses I memorized before my first jump from a plane. The verses concerned trusting in God, acknowledging the creator in everything. This seemed like as good a time as any.
After finishing with my prayer, I noticed something I had not seen before. Among the curved and twisted protruding silhouetted branches and small trees, a small rigid limb without any bends stood straight toward the heavens.
With my eyes fixated on this peculiar object, I crawled over to find with much delight the metal post with the key data that I needed. Once I obtained all the information I needed, I hefted the rucksack over my back and adjusted the straps.
When I stood to look at the post, I could not see it because it blended into the black ground. When I viewed my situation from a complete different perspective (ground up), looking out into the starry sky, could I have seen the marker.
Sarah closed the book and looked at Ron. “You write very well, Ron Hawkins.”
“Thank you.”
When he reached over to take it from her, she pulled it back.
“I want to read more.”
“Okay, I will let you…later.”
She gave it back to him and he put it back into his cargo pocket.
As the sun sank behind the mountain range, they gathered their gear and moved across the ridge. Below them, the fading sunlight reflected orange and silver on the flowing river. Scattering pockets of glowing campfires emerged throughout the distant hills surrounding them.
Love In The House Of War Page 7
