by Ronie Kendig
And yet, he hadn’t.
The dull lights of the panel cast a strange glow, accenting the shape of his head and shoulders. He was a thick mass of contradictions and…strength.
A weight pressed against her hand, and she looked over to find Mitra and Sheevah asleep. A few more minutes and the teen was snoring softly.
“What is the plan?” Fekiria whispered.
“The plan?” Sergeant Brian glanced back at her, a little calmer now. “To stay alive.”
“Can you not give me a straight answer?”
He shook his head and snorted. “You gotta be kidding me! Seriously. The plan is to stay alive.”
Eagle gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. “We’ll drive for an hour, or until we can’t see in front of us,” he said, pointing to the flurries rushing into the windshield. “Hit the next village or town and try to find a place to hole up for the night. If we can, we’ll reestablish contact with our team.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to?”
“Long story,” Brian said.
“What is your problem?” Fekiria demanded, tired of his snippy answers and attitude.
“You! You are my problem!” He shook his head again. “Every time you’re around, I end up fighting for my life.”
Eagle swatted his shoulder again.
Sergeant Brian raised his hand sharply. “What? It’s true.”
“Go easy. It’s been a hard night for everyone.”
He looked out the window, roughing a hand over his head and neck. He might seem angry. He might be gruff and annoyed with her. But Sergeant Brian would fight to the death to protect them. So would Eagle.
One just might be nicer doing it than the other.
Fekiria rested her head against the back of the seat, watching him. Wondering what made him tick. What type of man he was outside of this war and her country. The monotonous motion of the vehicle and almost whiteout conditions of the storm lulled her to sleep. She felt safe. She was even beginning to warm up.
“Watch out!”
CHAPTER 32
South of Kabul, Afghanistan
23 February—1935 Hours
Pop!
Crack! Crunch!
Brian’s head rammed into the passenger window as the car whipped around. Using the vehicle’s support, he braced himself.
But flipping. Tossing. Banging. Crunching.
Pain streaked down his neck. A scream rent the air. He begged God to stop them. Twisting, crunching, flipping. Are we going to die?
Glass shattered.
Metal crunched. Whipped to the other side. Upside down.
Thud!
Violently, everything stopped. Silence. Deafening. He got his bearings—they were still upside down. Glass glittered on the fresh-fallen snow. An embankment or something had stopped them cold.
“Get out,” Eagle shouted. “It was a trap.”
Brian freed himself from the belt. Dropped to the roof of the car. The little girl was there, dangling unconscious from the seat belt. The woman was on the floor cradling the teen, who cried hard.
Where was Fekiria?
Brian’s gut clenched. His gaze shot to—missing door!
He scrambled out the opening, catching his weapon and ruck before leaving the vehicle. “Fekiria!” He clambered to his feet, using the car for balance against his dizziness. “Feki—”
Sparks flew against the belly of the car. Shots! Brian dropped to a crouch. Looked out over the snow-blanketed landscape. He waited for more, but none came. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe the spark was a gas leak or something.
But even that couldn’t be verified. As he got his bearings, he realized they’d crossed the road and landed upside down in a ditch. He crawled to the edge and strained to see into the darkening day and through the barrage of snow.
“Fekiria!” A sound carried on the voice of the wind, low and distinct. “Fekiria’s out there,” he said to Eagle. “Can’t tell where.”
The other three were crawling out of the overturned vehicle. Brian guided them to a safe spot, away from the upended sedan, and—if there was gunfire—away from stray bullets. He pointed to the ditch, which gave them cover and safety against the storm. “Stay.” He made motions with his hands but couldn’t tell if they understood. The older girl nodded, so he hoped she did.
“I’ll check across the road,” Eagle said.
“I’ll take the embankment.” Crouch-running along the ditch, he repeatedly called her name. She had to be in some serious pain after being thrown from a car like that. What if she hadn’t survived?
No, don’t go there. Stay positive.
“Fekiria!” he shouted again, listening into the howling wind.
“Here,” came a faint reply.
Brian rushed forward and found her pushing up onto all fours. He dropped at her side and nudged her into a sitting position. “Are you hurt?”
Hair disheveled and loose around her face, she shook her head. Then quickly held it with a groan.
“That good, huh?”
She scowled, and he saw a trickle of blood on her face.
“Well enough to still hate me.” He chuckled.
“I do not hate you.”
Brian hesitated a fraction. Mostly trying to figure out why that made him so happy. “Good to know.” Really good. “Come on. Let’s get back.” He hooked an arm around her waist and helped her up—but not all the way. “Stay low.” The tire spikes. He’d seen them but not in time. They’d been placed there by someone. And that someone could be taking a bead on them right now.
It surprised him how small she was, her waist thin and her frame light, considering the size of the fight in the woman. He helped her back to the others, and she dropped down. The little girl threw herself forward—not at Fekiria, but at Brian. He caught her, startled.
“Eagle,” Brian shouted as he shifted the small child to his other side. “Found her!”
“Copy,” came a pretty distant shout.
The visibility out here in the storm sucked and played tricks with sight and sound. He thought he saw Eagle coming up from the south, but the way the snow swirled and danced, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a shadow.
“We’ll have to walk,” he shouted to the girls over the howling wind, “to find shelter once Eagle returns.”
With a nod, Fekiria and the teen huddled together.
“Eagle, hurry up, man!” Brian squinted and strained but didn’t hear a thing. Or see a thing. In his arms, the little one went rigid. Let out a shriek.
A couple dozen feet down the road, a shadow coalesced into a form. Not just a form. A man. With an RPG tube. “Run!” He pushed around, the child in his arms. The women scrambling in front of him.
Seconds felt like an eternity. The snow some demon working against them. Clutching their feet. Slowing progress. They headed down the ditch, but lights swinging—flashlights!—shoved them up the embankment. Fekiria scrambled, grunting as she helped the girl climb.
“Go, go, go!”
Halfway up the incline, Brian heard the thunk of the grenade.
The powerful fist of the blast punched him into the snowy rock face. Shoving out his hands provided scant protection for the little girl clinging to him better than Velcro. He grunted but kept moving as white-hot fire behind them lit their path.
Ahead, Fekiria and the teen stared backward, eyes wide. The injured woman kept her head down.
“Move!” he shouted, quickly reaching them. “Take her.” He tried to extricate the child—whose arms and legs snapped tight around him again. Once Fekiria pulled the girl free, Brian knelt. Took aim.
He glanced up—saw Fekiria’s stricken expression as she stood over him, watching. “Go!” With a shove, he reacquired the targets.
Two men were running toward the ditch. Brian eased back the trigger once, twice. The men crumpled into the snow.
Brian pivoted, swung the weapon behind him—and froze.
Coming down the road, he spied at least a half-dozen sets
of headlights.
Eagle. Where’s Eagle? “Eagle! Pops!” He scanned the road but couldn’t see anything. He had to trust the guy knew protocol. Knew to get to safety then rendezvous later. Brian knew the same drill. And he had four innocents whose safety he’d have to ensure as well.
Brian scaled the embankment and nearly cursed when he realized it only afforded a small break—straight across a half-dozen feet and up again, or they’d be exposed once their attackers caught up with them. Go north or south and it was an open plain.
For a second, a crazy, idiotic second, he wondered if the men were still chasing them. That was, until snow poofed up at them. “Keep moving. Up!”
Fekiria frowned but started climbing.
Scaling backward wasn’t entirely 100 percent effective, but it provided cover fire. It also told Brian how high they were going. Not good, not good.
But away from the enemy was good. High ground best. And the hill would provide cover once they could clear the incline. They’d get away and find shelter somewhere. Maybe find another vehicle to get them back to the team.
“Where?” Fekiria gulped air as she waited around a small outcropping. She moved again, stumbling. Caught and righted herself then continued…stumbling yet again. With the extra load of the girl, she was tiring quickly.
“Just go. Keep moving.” He caught up and lifted the girl from her arms. He tucked her into his jacket, felt her body trembling against his tactical vest. They’d need to find a way to better insulate her against the cold since she wasn’t walking, which kept the rest of them warm and their blood circulating. First, they had to get away from trouble and bullets.
As he wrapped his arm around the little girl, he tugged up his sleeve and checked the GPS. But since the whiteout made it impossible for him to verify visually what the GPS said, he’d have to use blind trust. “That way.” It wasn’t as steep and would keep them from ascending. “But—”
“No talking. Conserve.” He pulled himself along the rocky terrain. With a quick glance to the child in his arms, he verified she was okay still.
“There’s a snowstorm,” Fekiria shouted, her rebellion once again obvious.
“Really?” He hauled himself up using jagged clefts for leverage. “Hadn’t noticed.”
“But we’re heading into the mountains.”
“Want to go down? Explain to the guys shooting at us that we can’t climb up because the mountains are up there?” Navigating the rocky terrain with the girl in his arms proved not only tricky, but downright dangerous. His hands weren’t free to break his fall.
Brian tugged his sat phone free and glanced at it. Froze for a second. Glanced at his leg pocket, stunned. A hole in the material told of the bullet that had seared its edges. And the cracked screen and curled-inward frame had surrendered the bullet that had bent it, but the damage was done. Still, he pressed the Power button, praying—begging—that this wasn’t happening. They had to make contact with Raptor. Had to find a way out.
He mashed the Power button.
Nothing. No faded blue screen. No vibration. No nothing.
He cursed. Slammed the phone against a jagged rock thrusting upward out of the ground. He grabbed the sim card from it but tossed the rest.
“Don’t we need that?” Fekiria demanded.
“If it worked, yeah.”
Shock riddled her features. She blinked. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.
“Let’s go.” Brian nudged her onward, but she shook her head.
“How will we get out of here?”
“We fight our way out.” He gave her a mean look. “Now, move!”
The three older females formed a straight line, huddling close to block out the wind and push through the elements with courage, walking fast, heads down. Each step, each placement of their feet, risked injury. The blanket of snow was deceptively even, with only subtle rises and depressions to indicate a possible wrenched-ankle trap. Or a crevasse that could cause all sorts of chaos in their escape plan.
Behind them, he heard the pop of weapon’s fire answered by rat-tat-tats. He could only pray that Eagle was okay. That somehow Raptor had caught up with him.
Pray. Yeah. That. Brian had grown up with a grandmother who delivered him to church every Sunday morning and Wednesday night. He went because the girls in the junior high and youth groups were cute. Because it gave him a chance to get away from his dad and the eventual disgrace. But then it caught up with them. Kids found out. Taunted him.
But Granddad had been resolute. Told Brian he’d prayed for him every day. That God was never more than a whisper away, that He was waiting for us to call on Him. “A gentleman never forces his way…”
A strangled cry snapped Brian’s attention to the women.
Fekiria was standing over Mitra, arm still hooked. The teen girl waved frantically at him, calling for help. A red stain blossomed on the snow.
Brian swung his weapon around, sighting as he knelt and aimed at the pursuers who’d shot the woman.
23 February—1945 Hours
“Mitra!” Fekiria gasped, clutching her friend.
With a pained expression, Mitra climbed to her feet. “It’s okay. Only a scratch.” Running for the shelter of a large rock, she held her arm close. Together they dove for the protective cover. Up against the cold, wet rock, Mitra checked her side.
It didn’t look bad. But it was bleeding. That could cause a lot of problems for her friend but also for them. A trail for whoever wanted to catch them. Fekiria tugged free her hijab, which was mostly around her neck now, and wrapped it around Mitra’s arm. “We’ll look at it as soon as we get to a safe place.”
Mitra nodded.
Like a giant blur, Sergeant Brian rushed toward them and dropped to his knees. His green-eyed gaze hit them both.
“We’re okay.” Fekiria nodded to her friend’s arm. “A graze.”
“Can’t stop,” he said. “They’re down, but I doubt they’re alone or the last. And now, we have a trail.” Raising his chin, he searched their surroundings.
“What are you thinking?” Fekiria lifted herself off the snow, the cold digging past her winter clothes and outerwear.
“Need to change course. Take a less obvious route.”
“That would mean a less accessible route.” She nodded at the snow-ridden landscape. “We are nearing the Tera Pass. It’s not heavily populated, but there’s a reason for that.”
His gaze rammed into hers. “Then that’s where we need to go.”
“Have you lost what little brains you have?”
“Yeah.” Terse and unyielding, he shifted in his crouch. “Pretty sure they were tossed out of the vehicle when we flipped.”
What did that mean? Was he mocking her since she’d been thrown out of the car?
Again, he was searching their surroundings, looking for options. “Nobody in his right mind would be out here.” He met her gaze again. “But then, we weren’t given a choice. We can’t stop moving. Night is coming. So is the storm.”
“I think it’s already here.” Mitra raised her eyebrows to the swirling snow.
“Don’t kid yourself. This is just the beginning. In an hour or two, we won’t be able to see two feet in front of us.” He pushed off his knees. Motioned between Fekiria and the teen. “Rest time’s over.”
A little ebony head twisted around, seeming to search for Fekiria.
She hunched next to Sergeant Brian and smiled down into the pouch-like space he’d created for the small girl. “How are you, Aadela?”
“Scared,” she whispered.
“You are in the safest place.” Fekiria said the words as much to reassure herself as the child.
On their feet, they trudged now in an easterly direction. At least, she thought that’s where they were headed. The snow and heavy cloud cover made it too hard to tell. Sergeant Brian was leading. They entrusted him with their lives.
“Do you believe that?” Mitra asked about thirty minutes into their trek.
“Believe what?” Fekiria glanced back to Sheevah, who was slowing.
“That Aadela is safest with him?”
Surprise teased the edges of Fekiria’s awareness. “It was a figure of speech.” She swallowed hard. “I did not mean in particular with him. Just that he’s a soldier. He knows what he’s doing.”
“But you watch him,” Mitra said in their native tongue.
“Of course, I do! It will not help to get lost.” She trudged a little faster, each step soaking her pants. Legs leaden and needles of pain pricking her nerves, she tried to put a little more space between Mitra and her. She didn’t want to answer questions about something she didn’t understand herself. Something that left her confused. Angry. It made no sense. She barely knew him. And he was American.
Like a flash, she recalled their argument in the car before the crash. The way Sergeant Brian had been about to yell at her, but he stopped. Turned back around.
He made a promise… never to tell. And even though her secret was out now, he kept his word. In that small gesture, the man with hulking shoulders, a thick neck, and fierce eyes had shown more honor than some Afghan men she knew.
With a hop forward, she closed the gap between them. “Thank you,” she said, but the wind ate her words. Fekiria shuffled forward again, though the act of putting one foot in front of the other grew harder with each step.
Sergeant Brian snapped a look in her direction.
“Thank you,” she said a little louder.
Scowling, he considered her. “We’re not out of this yet.” He indicated ahead of them. “Still plenty of terrain to die in.”
Time lost meaning and power here in the mountains. And that’s exactly where they were headed—higher, deeper—despite their best efforts. Wind and snow dominated. Demanded submission. Held victory over those who dared tempt its hand. Walking hurt. Or didn’t hurt. That’s what scared her. Not being able to feel her feet. In her pockets, she worked her fingers into fists. Straight. Into fists. Kept walking. Flexing. Had to keep the circulation going.
