Rubbing his face, Matt slowly moved, his knee and hip joints feeling rusty, dull pain radiating around them. In his kind of work, the joints of the body took a continual, brutal beating. He padded over to his clean trousers and pulled them on. There was candlelight filtering through the fabric screen across the door, and he could see well enough. Wanting Dara to continue to sleep, he stared down at her, his heart still wide open. He’d never felt like he did toward her.
His fingers stilled over his bootlaces and he stared through the grayness at her. She slept on her side with that thick, golden hair of hers like a shining coverlet across her shoulders. One hand rested beneath her cheek, the other hand reaching out toward where he’d lain moments earlier. Reaching out for him? Somehow, on some deep, instinctual level, she sensed that he’d left her side and was missing him. Matt swallowed and tugged down his cammie trousers over the tops of his ankle boots, then stood. Running his fingers through his hair, he shaped his beard with his hands. The need to undress, slide down beside Dara, and take her nearly overwhelmed him.
Turning, he slipped out of the room.
Sorosh and Farhat were enjoying tea at the small table. Matt lifted his hand and in a low, quiet voice, engaged them. They invited him for tea and he nodded. Farhat stood and brought over a third chipped cup, pouring the dark brown tea into it. Matt took a wooden stool that sat near the griddle in the corner and brought it over. He urged Farhat to sit in the other chair. She was going to give it to him, but he refused it, asking her to please sit down. Matt knew that women were considered secondary, even in their own homes, and it was her duty to offer the guest the best that they had.
She blushed, nodded, and gave him a small smile of gratitude, sitting down.
Sorosh said, “Hadi is doing fine. I was just over visiting his family. His father asked if it might be possible for you to look at his ankle. The boy is in pain.”
“Of course,” Matt said. He sipped the tea, always enjoying Afghan hospitality. “As soon as I’m done with my tea, I’ll walk over there.”
“Thank you,” Sorosh said. “You’ve done our village a great service. You saved Hadi’s life. He was telling everyone who visited him that you are a great warrior, strong and of good heart.”
“My wife, Dr. McKinley, also helped save Hadi’s life,” Matt told them. “But Hadi was unconscious at that time. She is a children’s doctor and has a very kind way with them.”
Farhat sighed, clasping her hands to her breast. “All the women tell me that you are called Aslan. Hadi said that was your name?”
“Yes,” Matt said. “It’s Turkish for ‘lion.’ My mother gave me that as a middle name when I was born.” He knew women didn’t normally join in when two men were together, so the fact that Sorosh didn’t tell her to leave told him a great deal about the man as a leader. He was far more moderate a Muslim than many others he’d seen. And there was always a loving look in their eyes for one another.
Many times, Matt knew, little girls were given away in marriage at seven or eight years old. And they had no say in choosing the man they were to wed later on in their midteens. Love had nothing to do with it, but the bride’s dowry did. Many families would not eke out an existence without selling their young daughters off for money to buy food, seeds, or a donkey. It was a terrible life for women as far as Matt was concerned. But Sorosh clearly respected his wife as an equal, something rare in Afghan culture.
Sorosh pulled at his beard, looking thoughtful. “You speak Pashto like a native. My wife and I wondered if you might be part Afghani.”
“No,” Matt said, smiling a little. “I’m a combination of American, Greek, and Turkish. My mother has Turkish and Greek blood.”
Farhat beamed. “How farsighted of your wise mother to name you Aslan. You have the golden-brown hair of a lion, with its yellow eyes.” Then she blushed, hiding her mouth behind her hands, but her eyes danced with excitement.
Matt smiled fully. He liked her courage in joining their conversation. Other Afghani women never would. “I’m going to have to ask my mother why she named me after a lion,” he teased.
“Well,” Farhat whispered shyly, avoiding his gaze, “women know many things a man does not. She carried you for nine months, she knows you better than anyone.”
Her simple observation made Matt feel increased kindness toward and respect for Farhat. “Yes, that’s the truth,” he agreed. “But you have no lions in Afghanistan.”
“At one time,” Sorosh said, “we had fables of lions that walked our soil a long time ago.”
Matt was thinking of Alexander the Great, whose armies had stopped in this region. He was known to have lions, leopards, and other wildcats from Africa in his army. Perhaps that was where the lion stories had come from.
Matt wasn’t sure, but Sorosh seemed quite sure about it. Many times, the village chief was an educated man who knew how to read and write. He had gained an education, then returned to his village to lead it. And his wife often had the ability to read and write, too. Matt wondered about Farhat because clearly, there was keen intelligence in her brown eyes, which sparkled with excitement. He imagined they didn’t get too many foreigners in this small mountain village, not counting Taliban. Earlier Sorosh had made no bones about hating them and their kind; he had banned them years ago from their tribe’s land, forbidding them to cross through their territory.
Matt finished his tea and explained to the couple when they would leave. Sorosh said that the landing area was cleared and clean, and Matt thanked him profusely. Then, pulling out a wad of cash, he handed it over to Sorosh, telling him that the United States was grateful for his taking them in.
Sorosh looked shocked as he realized how much Matt had given him. He moved the crisp bills between his work-worn fingers. Farhat gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, stunned by the enormity of this gift.
Matt got up and quietly walked into the other room, picked up his ruck, grabbed his dirty, grimy parka, and shrugged it on. Lifting his hand in farewell, he stepped out into the night and pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, finding his way over to Hadi’s home.
Matt knew Sorosh was a wise, mature leader who loved his people and that one thousand dollars would go far in this village. It would lift his people out of abject poverty, and no child would starve now. There would be no rail ribs like he’d seen on Hadi’s small, slender body. Those days were over. Such money could buy a bull and several milk cows, providing milk, butter, and cheese to the villagers. It also meant meat on the table, besides goat meat. And Sorosh could buy farm implements to increase the yield of the village’s crops, staving off starvation. With one thousand dollars, this village could thrive forever. Sorosh was a good man. Matt knew he’d use the money wisely and his people would finally leave their days of being half-starved behind forever.
*
Dara slowly awoke. Her head felt fuzzy, as if she had been sleeping so deeply that she wasn’t yet fully conscious. Opening her eyes, she smelled hot tea in the air that made her mouth water. Sitting up, she realized Matt was gone.
Reaching out with her hand, she touched his side of the sleeping bag, finding it cool to her exploratory touch. Worry nagged at her, and she slowly got up and got dressed, keeping on Matt’s boxer shorts and T-shirt. They were clean in comparison to her outer clothing.
She dug for a rubber band and found it, quickly capturing her hair and pulling it into a ponytail between her shoulder blades.
Her knee was feeling better, probably because of the ibuprofen and the sleep she’d gotten. What wouldn’t Dara have done for a strong cup of coffee right now! She sat on the chair, pulling on her boots.
Matt entered the room and greeted her with the now-familiar “How are you?” He set the ruck down near the entrance.
“I’m still waking up,” she admitted thickly.
He walked over, leaned down, and kissed her hair, his hand caressing her shoulder. “You look sleepy.” He smiled into her shadowed, hooded eyes. “I wonder, do you ever wake
up alert in the morning?”
Dara groaned. “Not even. You don’t want to talk to me until I’ve had one or two cups of coffee.”
“Duly warned,” he said, meeting her small smile. He could see worry in her eyes. “I was just on the sat phone with Bagram.” Matt crouched down, his hands resting above her knees. “The drone is up looking for Callie and Beau. So far, they’ve not sighted them.” He saw the hope that had sprung to her eyes die. He slid his large hands slowly up and down her thighs. “It’s early in the game, Dara. There’s any number of ways Beau could escape and get them back to Bagram, so don’t lose hope yet.”
“Can the drone cover all five grid areas tonight?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “That’s a lot of square miles. The camera on board the drone can take in only so much land at one time as it flies over it. They’ve initiated a grid search pattern, and that’s as good as it gets. So let’s try to keep our hopes up.”
Dara battled her emotions, her worry for Callie and Beau. “C-could they find them by the time they fly us safely back to Bagram?”
He reached out, stroking her cheek. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“You must be sick with worry for Beau.”
“No, because I know how good he is at what he does, Dara. What you don’t understand is that we have so many missions go sideways, and we adapt. We’re flexible, and we’re trained to the highest level. We figure out another way to do what we’re tasked with doing. That’s why I feel strongly that Beau has Callie safe and he’s in stealth mode to get her back to Bagram.”
“I wish we could know for sure …”
Frustrated, Matt understood her need to know. She was looking for assurance that Callie was all right, and he couldn’t outright give it to her. Smoothing his hands down her arms, he rasped, “Thirty-five miles under Delta conditions is a night’s walk in the park. But Callie’s not physically up to that kind of hard push. It would take at least two nights, I would think. Maybe three. It also depends on whether the Taliban is following them or not. If Beau has to play hide-and-seek with them, backtracking on his trail, that all takes time.” He saw the confusion in Dara’s expression. “My money is on Beau to bring her home to you, Dara. That’s all I can say. I wish I could give you more, but I can’t.”
She slid her fingers across his bearded cheek. “I know I’m a pain in the ass. I-I just can’t lose her, Matt. She’s a part of me … I don’t know how I’d survive without her.” Her voice broke and she looked away, swallowing and fighting tears.
“Listen, your parents are going through hell, too,” he reminded her. “Bagram has already informed your mom and dad in Butte that you are safe and will be picked up shortly.” He smiled a little into her glistening eyes. “That will make them feel a lot better than they did before.”
“God,” she muttered, rubbing her face, “I can’t imagine how they’re feeling. First, two daughters missing. Then one found but the other still missing. It’s so hard on them, Matt, so hard …”
He knew it better than most. “Come on, you’ve got time for a cup of hot tea with Sorosh and Farhat before we leave for the LZ, landing zone.”
*
Dara was touched to tears when Hadi and his family came out to the cold, dark LZ to tell them good-bye. They all hugged and thanked her while Matt translated from Pashto so she’d know what they were saying. By the time they heard the Black Hawk coming over the mountain with its Apache escort, the whole village was there. Matt shook hands and was slapped on the back and thanked. The women of the village huddled around Dara, hugging her, thanking her.
Matt turned his body away from the landing Black Hawk, whose rotors were throwing up debris at over a hundred miles an hour. He kept his arm around Dara’s waist, her back against his front, protecting her from the pummeling gusts of air from the blades. Above them, moving in a slow, wide circle outside the mountain village, the Apache wolves prowled the dark skies with their body-heat-seeking instruments, looking for Taliban.
The crew chief slid open the door on the landed helo. Matt turned, keeping Dara in his grip, the wind battering them. The Black Hawk would idle at eighty-five miles an hour, takeoff speed, in case an RPG or other attack came out of nowhere.
Dara had thrown her hands up to her face, protecting her eyes, and limped beneath Matt’s arm as he moved her to the lip of the aircraft. The crew chief, wearing a helmet, grabbed her other arm, helping her into the cabin. As Matt leaped in, he saw a combat medic come forward, place a helmet on Dara’s head, and then guide her to a litter attached to the bulkhead of the helicopter.
Matt grabbed another helmet and put it on, not wanting the earsplitting noise of the twin jet engines above the ceiling to ruin his hearing. As he walked over to Dara’s litter, near her head, he plugged the cord from her helmet into the ICS, intercommunication system, panel so she could hear everyone speak. He then plugged his in as the air crewman came over and placed a blanket over her and began to ask her a series of medical questions. Matt remained with his hand on Dara’s shoulder to let her know he was nearby but stayed out of the way to allow the highly trained combat medic to do his job.
The Black Hawk lifted off, the g-forces pushing Matt downward. He spread his feet to keep his balance and heard Dara answering the man’s questions. He’d even gotten her to laugh once. Matt held all combat medics in high regard. Looking around, he could see directly into the cockpit, where the two pilots sat before a low-lit console. He could see stars out of the side window of the helo as the Black Hawk surged upward, well over five thousand feet above the mountain they’d just crossed. The bird shook and quivered around him and beneath his feet.
By the time they arrived at Bagram, Matt’s ears had popped several times. The medic had placed a removable splint around Dara’s knee to give it some support, which was a good idea. Then, after the bird landed in a yellow-painted reflective circle outside the Bagram hospital, the crewman helped Dara sit up. Matt thanked him, took off the helmet, and set it down on the deck.
Right now, his focus was on caring for Dara and calling his CO to see if they had anything new on the search for Beau and Callie.
A gurney was brought to the Black Hawk and Dara was placed on it, covered, and then strapped in. Two orderlies quickly moved the gurney on tires away from the buffeting of the blades. Matt leaped off the lip, turned, and shook the hands of the medic and crew chief. These men saved lives.
He caught up quickly with Dara, his hand always on her shoulder, letting her know he was with her. The bright lights of the emergency room blinded him briefly, and they were met by a stern-looking older nurse in her fifties who told the orderlies to take Dara to cubicle C along the left wall. Matt followed, daring the nurse to say no to his tagging along. He knew how to give a look you didn’t want to challenge.
The nurse tossed him a sour gaze but said nothing.
Dara was unstrapped after the board bearing her was lifted and placed on an examination table. Matt saw she was tired but also saw the relief in her eyes. She was safe here. After she sat up and hung her legs over the table, a young red-haired nurse came in, smiled, and pulled the heavy green curtains around the cubicle.
“Dr. Stacy Farnsworth will be in here to see you shortly, Dr. McKinley.”
“Thanks,” Dara murmured.
The nurse came over and gave Matt a look. “Are you family, sir?”
Dara was about to open her mouth when he said, “We’re engaged.”
“Oh … I see. Well, that’s fine.” She gave Dara a smile. “Congratulations, doctor.”
“Er … thanks.” Dara gave him a shocked look after the nurse left.
Matt shrugged. “If I’m family, they’ll let me stay with you,” he explained.
“Oh,” Dara said, still stunned. She saw his lips twitch, deviltry in his eyes, and said in a serious voice, “I don’t want you to leave me, Matt.”
“I never will,” he promised, seeing in her wide blue eyes that she was falling in love with him.
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The doctor, a petite, black-haired woman with hazel eyes, entered the cubicle. She introduced herself and then set to work removing the dressing on Dara’s injured knee. Poking and prodding around, she nodded her approval.
“Who did the stitching?” Dr. Farnsworth asked.
“I did,” Matt said.
“Nice job.” She looked to Dara. “It’s clean, no infection, just some swelling, and I’d say your little hike over the mountain didn’t help at all. But I think rest and sleep will help it continue to heal. There are no ligaments involved, so that’s good news. I’ll wrap it in an waterproof bandage and it should give you support and make it feel more stable. I’ll also write you a script for ibuprofen. How long will you be here at Bagram?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Farnsworth.” Dara gave a Matt a desperate look. “My sister is missing. We don’t know where she is.”
Matt stepped forward, his hand on Dara’s arm. “Doctor? Right now Callie McKinley is somewhere outside the wire of Bagram. She’s with a Delta Force operator, but he hasn’t checked in by sat phone. My CO thinks the sat phone is dead and that’s why.”
“Oh,” Dr. Farnsworth replied, frowning. “Well, at least she’s with one your operators. That’s the good news.” She looked at Dara. “I’ll just put down your B-hut number then. And if you’re here in three days, I need to you to make an appointment so I can examine your knee. Okay?” She took a bandage from a nearby shelf and quickly wrapped Dara’s knee for her.
“Okay,” Dara said. “Can I go?”
“Sure can.”
Dara waited for the nurse to pull the curtains aside. She held out her hand to Matt and then slid carefully off the table. Wrinkling her nose, she kept her hand in his. “Can we go to the Eagle’s Nest? I’d love to take a long, hot shower and get my hair washed.”
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he said, sliding his arm around her, giving her a gentle hug. Releasing her, Matt said, “I’ve got a Humvee waiting for us out front. I’ll drop you off at the Nest, and then I’m going to ride over to our HQ and find out the latest on Beau and Callie. I’ll be back to the Nest as soon as I can.”
Forged in Fire (Delos Series Book 3) Page 24
