Trinity: Military War Dog

by Ronie Kendig

  Ah. He knew what was happening here. Heath held up a hand. “Look, I’ve got an arsenal of docs back at BAMC—”

  Hogan laughed. “He’s a chiropractor.” She patted the table. “Face down.”

  “That’s handy”—how many chiropractors were there in this area?—“but no way.”

  Steel slammed into her expression. She stalked around him, around Trinity, and closed the door. “Listen, you do this or I’m going to Jibril.”

  “Nothing like taking hostages.”

  She sidled up next to him, her gaze imploring. “Heath, I talked to Mahmoud here, and we both think that maybe … just maybe … something might be out of line.”

  “Yeah.” He huffed. “You.”

  Hogan rolled her eyes. “Just … give it a try, will you?”

  Heath sized up Mahmoud. The Afghan pumped antibacterial cleanser into his palms, then rubbed them and the tops of his hands with enough friction to create a fire. “You have headache now?”

  Heath gave a curt nod.

  “Please. Remove your shirt.”

  “Look, I appreciate—”

  “What can hurt?”

  Heath sighed. Unbuttoned his shirt. Glared at her. “If this doesn’t work …”

  “Then I still win. You’ll have headaches, and I can report you to Jibril.”

  Somehow in that expression he saw a stunning truth. Hogan had his back. Despite her threats, she was looking out for him.

  After a brief exam with Mahmoud tracing his spine, kneading his shoulders—which about made a grown man cry—Heath face-planted himself on the table.

  Cold hands, a cold table, a cold chill in the marrow of his bones made for a chilling experience. After Mahmoud had him roll onto his back, he took Heath’s hands and held them perpendicular to his body, straight up.

  “See? Your fingers not even.”

  Heath did see—that his right hand rested about a half-inch shorter.

  He guided Heath’s left arm down and placed it along the side of the table, then took his right, lifted it straight up, then braced the shoulder and rotated the arm across Heath’s chest and—

  Pop!

  Pain shot through his back. And with it an immediate … What was it? He couldn’t quite discern. And while he was thinking, the doctor held his neck with both hands.

  Okay, not liking this.

  Holding a man’s neck like this … So easy to snap my neck. Kill me. He’s Afghan. But what reason would he have to kill me?

  I’m a dog handler.

  Heath tensed.

  The man applied pressure to the lower portion of his neck where it curved, then whipped Heath’s head to the left.

  Crack! Pop! Snap!

  White-hot fire speared Heath.

  “Augh!” His arms came up, defensive and ready to fight.

  Trinity snarled and lunged.

  In the split second that he realized Trinity was defending him, Heath also realized that a cool wash of freedom swam through his neck and shoulders. His heart rapid-fired, thinking of Trinity, his ever-faithful girl, attacking this doctor.

  “Trinity, out.” Heath swung around to find Hogan held the lead, restraining his seventy-pound dog. Trinity whimpered as her gaze hit his, then she wagged her tail.

  “You okay?” Hogan’s question held both expectation and concern.

  “I sounded like a cereal commercial.” He rubbed the back of his neck, amazed. And searching for the pain that had hounded him over the last week.

  “How’s your headache?”

  He rolled his shoulder. “Gone.” Wait. That couldn’t be right.

  Hogan propped her hip against the table grinning like a petulant brat sister. “It was my theory that when you took that hard hit in training, it might have knocked some things out of whack, besides your good sense.”

  Ya know, for a kid-sister-type, she wasn’t bad. “That was some theory.”

  “But you feel better, right?”

  “If you discount the second where I felt like someone drove metal through my skull again …”

  “You feel. Better. Right?”

  Heath grinned at her terse words. It was so easy to annoy her. “Yeah.”

  5 Miles from Geology Camp,

  Parwan Province, Afghanistan

  His body fell from the ledge.

  Inside Darci lay a box. One in which she kept all her precious thoughts and feelings. One where she hid what could be used against her by someone like Jianyu. It was there she tucked away the brutal reality that she had caused the death of yet another friend. Jaekus. The poor, gentle soul. A kind and generous person.

  Hands cuffed behind her, she stood a few feet from where he had fallen. The bitter wind whipped and tore at her thin jacket and pants, biting into her—but it was nothing compared to the immense sense of failure that chomped into her heart at not protecting an innocent. Would God hold her accountable for that? She certainly did.

  Her hair, once wet with snow, now hung stiffly and needled her face.

  “See, Meixiang, what you cost those around you?”

  Wooden and cold-chapped, her legs at least held her upright. Jianyu had pushed them up the pass and higher into the mountain, higher into the gaping maw of a pending blizzard. “Your idiocy is again showing,” she said in Mandarin. “Taking us into the blizzard—we should be moving away. Nobody is dressed for this, not you, not your men. You’re a fool!”

  “Jia,” Toque hissed from the side.

  Jianyu’s gaze flicked to the last remaining member of her team.

  One pawn left.

  And if he didn’t shut up …

  Darci whirled and shoved her booted heel into Toque’s face. The impact sent him flying backward. The momentum tilted her world. Her legs tangled over each other. She stumbled. Landed on her knees. To the side though, she saw Toque. He’d landed strangely quiet in a bed of freshly fallen snow with a soft thump. Unconscious.

  Maybe they’d leave him there. Then Toque would rouse—hopefully before his body had frozen through—and get to safety.

  Two Yanjingshe fighters hauled her upright. She shuffled to a stable footing.

  “Pick him up.” Jianyu stalked to her. His eyes, which she once thought held power and beauty, darted over her face.

  She had never feared him. Not for her own safety. But today …

  He shoved a hand forward—right into her side.

  “Augh!” Darci swooned and flopped into the elite guard. Tears squeezed past the agony and escaped her resolution not to be weak. Head hanging, cold, wet hair in her face, she gathered the shattered pieces of her courage. He’d always taken pride in his skills as a fighter. He’d never used them on her though. Times had changed.

  “Shoot him.”

  She jerked her head up before she realized the mistake.

  “Wait.”

  Darci closed her eyes.

  “He means something to her. Bring him. He may be useful.”

  She snorted. “The only thing he’s useful for is annoying me.”

  Jianyu’s breath plumed in her face. “Then it appears we have something in common.” He inched forward, then grabbed the back of her neck and jerked her closer. “But I told you once I do not share what is mine.”

  Twenty-One

  Sir, she is injured and slowing us down. We should leave her.”

  Jianyu turned and raised his weapon, aiming at Lieutenant Colonel Tao. “You would question my authority?”

  The man’s chin drew up as he swallowed his objections. “Of course not, Colonel.”

  Lowering the weapon, Jianyu looked at Meixiang. So beautiful. Her skin like the pale blossom of a lotus flower. Her lips not the rouge color he’d tasted more than once, but blue. And trembling. She would die unless they could find shelter.

  She had destroyed his plans by showing up.

  Yet created the perfect storm by showing up. He’d need to make a marginal change to his plans, but through her, he could show his father what true power looked like. Not just to his f
ather, but many more. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Millions.

  “She will die, Colonel. It’s hypothermia.”

  Jianyu jerked to the side. “Huang.”

  The captain snapped to the front and stood stiff as a reed with a salute. “We need shelter. And a doctor.”

  After a curt bow, the man trotted down the path that wound up the mountain.

  “We cannot go farther up. The meeting—”

  “Will wait.”

  The lieutenant colonel’s disapproval shone through. If he could not master his feelings, Tao would prove not to be as useful as Jianyu hoped.

  “The storm is our delay,” Jianyu muttered, so his men would cease their grumblings and accusations, the very ones they thought he could not hear, the ones they whispered when they thought the wind would swallow them.

  But they would see … they would all see soon enough.

  Bagram AFB, Afghanistan

  “We leave first thing in the morning.”

  Heath rose from the chair. “What—how?” Did Jibril really expect him to leave at a time like this? When Jia was out there, maybe bleeding out, dying?

  Calm and confident, Jibril lifted a shoulder. “It is time.” “We had one more week here.”

  “And now we do not. With the storm and the conditions here,” Jibril said as if talking about cookies someone had eaten. “Ghost, it is time for us to go home.”

  “No!” Everything in Heath writhed. Coiled. Poised, ready to strike. He turned a circle, looking … for what, he didn’t know. Something to hit? Someone to yell at? Something to change this outcome!

  When he looked up, Jibril had closed the distance. “There is a great torment in you, my friend.” Somber green eyes held his. “I am concerned.”

  Heath swallowed. “I know.” Shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I know. Since I came back here, I’ve been … rigged.” Ready to blow. He dropped into the chair hard. “I was so sure that coming back would solve everything. I mean, I was scared, sure, but a part of me was convinced I’d find what I’d lost here, or that they’d somehow realize how wrong they were in putting me out.”

  Jibril eased into the seat beside him. “And now?”

  Heath straightened, elbows on the arms of the chair as he stared at his feet, at Trinity’s snout that stretched over his boot. “Just more questions. More confusion. More doubt. More—” He bit off the word, but it hovered and careened against his yearning for wholeness: failure.

  “So, you would say that this trip has been a waste, a failure?”

  “No.” I’m the failure. “I’ve enjoyed this, enjoyed the times I got to share my story, encourage those who are still here fighting, feeling forgotten, alone.” Heath shoved a hand through his hair as the extra time spent with Jia sped through his mind like a F-16. “I’ve met some great people.”

  “The girl …”

  Heath looked into a knowing gaze. He smirked, never able to keep a secret from him. “Jia.”

  Jibril nodded, his longer-than-normal hair dipping into his eyes. “Chinese.”

  “Yeah.” He reclined and stretched out a leg. “But …”

  “But?”

  With a shrug, Heath sighed. “She was into me, I could tell, but she wasn’t willing to go the mile.” He sat up. “We had lunch, hung out, but there was still a huge emotional mile stretching between us. And now she’s up there in the moun … tains.” Was she even alive?

  She needs me.

  Which was the stupidest thought he’d ever had, because he couldn’t even hold it together during one intense situation. “I guess … I just need to know she’s okay.” He stood and paced to the other wall five feet away. They’d been detained per orders of the base commander as soon as they’d stepped onto the base. “It’s stupid.”

  Jibril smirked. “Why?”

  Heath shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I don’t even know her.” Scratching the scar on the back of his head, he tried to make sense of it. “I mean, we spent like two days together. That’s it.” He grunted and returned to his seat. He probably looked like a loon, pacing. “Besides, she told me it wouldn’t work. Gave me a fake e-mail address.”

  “I think,” Jibril said as he folded his arms over his chest, “she did not want you pining over her when there was no realistic reason you would ever see each other again.”

  Heath laughed. Hard and short. “Thanks. With friends like you …”

  “But you are a warrior, Heath.”

  Slouched down till his head rested against the back of the chair, he eyeballed his friend.

  “You have been trained, and it has been ingrained in you to fight for what you believe is right.” Jibril smiled. “Every soldier is taught to hold his ground.”

  What was he saying? The trap was set, Heath could feel it. And he wasn’t about to step into it.

  Trinity sat up and glanced at Heath, her eyebrows bobbing. As if saying, “Ask him what he means. I want to know. This sounds good.”

  “Traitor.” Her ears were soft and soothing between his fingers. “Well, go on.” He looked to Jibril. “Spit it out before you bust a gut laughing at me.”

  Laughter spilled through the room. “When was the last time you took interest—like this—in a woman?”

  “Jibril, didn’t you hear? She cut the tether.”

  “I think, like you, she is afraid of what could be.”

  Morose—no, morbid thoughts trapped Heath’s mind. “We aren’t even sure … she might be dead.”

  “Then why is your heart still fighting?”

  A door squeaked open, and a guard thrust Hogan into the room. “Hey!” She scowled and drew her arms back.

  Trinity and Heath lunged—Heath to Hogan, to catch her before she did something stupid. And Trinity to protect him.

  “Got it,” Heath said to the specialist who’d manhandled her.

  The guy’s face flushed. “Sorry, sir. We asked her … she wouldn’t—”

  “Understood.” Heath nodded. “We’ll keep her safe here.” When the door closed, Heath turned. “You said a bio break! What was that about?”

  “Fact finding.”

  “You mean snooping.”

  “You spell it your way, I’ll spell it my way.” Unrepentant and rebellious, she sauntered to a soda machine. Kicked it. She spun toward them. “I was this”—she pinched her fingers till they were millimeters apart—“close to finding out what was going on.”

  All pretense of civility drained from Jibril. “Timbrel, you must stop this.” He went to her. “This organization cannot gain a bad name because you won’t cooperate.”

  She held up her hands and looked the most repentant Heath had ever seen her. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just …” She hunched her shoulders. “Something is going on out there. There’s more brass here than on the knuckles in LA—and trust me, I know. I’ve lived there.”

  Heath couldn’t help but grin. “I bet Christmas presents under the tree killed you.”

  She blew her bangs out of her face. “Why? I already knew what they were.”

  Heath groaned. “You’re hopeless.”

  “Shut up.” The snarl in her words yanked the humor from the conversation.

  “Never mind,” Jibril said. “We want to be welcome to come back, so we must all”—he even looked at Heath—“be our best.”

  “Yeah, Ghost.” Hogan’s eyes flamed.

  He’d said something that shifted their worlds. Whatever it was, he regretted it. Heath closed the instance. “Hey,” he said in a low voice so the others couldn’t hear. “What just happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  He placed a light touch to her shoulder. “You put my nose to the fire earlier over my headaches. I’m putting yours to the fire now.”

  “Just …” Her narrowed eyes snapped to his. “Don’t call me hopeless.” She shrugged away and circled the room. “Where’s Aspen?”

  “We don’t know. Two MPs came and asked her to go with them.”

  “Th
is is stupid!” Hogan sat cross-legged on the floor, petting Trinity. “It’s like lining up to see the principal. What’d we do?”

  “Nothing, as far as we know. Unless your little bathroom diversion created trouble.”

  “It gave me information.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like all the brass I saw—”

  “Hey, genius. This is a military base. What’d you expect?”

  “Two four-star generals, a few three-stars, and you’re going to tell me that’s normal at a place like this where supposedly all’s well?” Her expression seethed. “Then what about the Chinese man in handcuffs, ferried into a building the brass just entered?”

  “Chinese?” Heath asked.

  “I overhead an MP say the Chinese guy is the personal aide to China’s minister of defense.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “And the little girl that the Alice chick had with her? She went into absolute hysterics when she saw the Chinese dude.” Vehemence tightened her lips. “So, Hot Snot—am I useless and hopeless?”

  “I didn’t call you useless.”

  She waved and turned. “Whatever.”

  Along with Hogan’s attitude, they had a wad of trouble on the base. Though he hadn’t seen anything that set it off, Heath had sensed an electric hum in the air for a while. Something really big was about to blow wide open.

  Twenty-Two

  Sitting in a comfortable chair with a Dr Pepper in hand, Alice Ward looked like any high school sweetheart one of the thousands of specialists at Bagram had left at home. But this girl knew something.

  “Miss Ward?”

  Licking her lips, she straightened. “I need to speak to General Burnett.”

  With a soft snort, he lowered himself to the edge of the table in front of her. He tugged on his name patch. “Right here, Miss Ward.”

  She deflated. “Finally.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I …” She tucked her chin and sniffled. “I … was so scared … but she …” Alice shook her head. “I can’t …”

  “It’s okay. Just take your time.” He slurped his Dr Pepper, determined not to be undone by tears. Give him a tough nut like Darci any day of the week.