by Ronie Kendig
She could not live with their deaths on her conscience. But how could she convince him? He was a warrior. He felt she was his responsibility.
Her gaze again fell on the small, bloodied Bible. Dare she…?
God, if You are real…and true, show me how to convince him. And should he go, protect him. And us.
Was it selfish to ask for protection, too? She would be out there alone with two children. An image flickered in her mind. Of flying with Captain Ripley. Of flying over the Kush, over this very shanty. Then veering south. The airport!
Remembering that hardened her resolve. He wouldn’t go out to save his men, so she would make him.
25 February—0115 Hours
Shivering and trembling worked against his efforts to get just one phone up and running. Do that, and he could warn Raptor, assuming he could get a signal—no guarantees up here in the rugged terrain—but he had to warn General Burnett or anyone else he could raise on the phone. Knowing he could never leave the three in this shanty, he would work through the night trying to save his friends. Can’t give up. Couldn’t surrender to the gnawing words eating at his confidence: they’d all die here.
His hand twitched, hard. The piece cracked.
Brian cursed. Threw it aside. Stood. Stomped back and forth. Went out into the storm. Let the biting cold chew on his face. On his sorry carcass. Loser! Failure!
If he was just smarter…
Dad’s right.
He closed his eyes as the wind gripped his lapels and shook them hard. Then he looked to the heavens—or, rather, where they should be. Because only what seemed like a mile-thick cloud barricaded him into this nightmare. “God! Don’t do this—don’t let them die!”
He wasn’t sure whose life he was pleading for more—the team or the girls. If there’s a way…please… please, show me.
Light spilled out into the night, pulling him around. Fekiria stood there, huddled against the wind. In her gaze he saw the weight of the responsibility he bore to protect her and see them safely down the mountain. Even if it meant not saving the team. A piece of him died right there, in the snow, as he wrestled with the obvious choice.
Defeated, he trudged back and stepped into the surprising warmth that encircled him. Numb, he looked down into the tear-and dirt-stained face he’d come to love.
Heat spurted through his chest. No, he didn’t mean that. It was just a figure of speech.
“Sit down,” she said, pointing to the floor. “I warmed some broth. Eat. Rest. I can stand watch. You need to rest.”
“I…can’t.”
“You must, or you are no good to anyone.”
Though he took the cup of broth, he could not even think about resting. Not till they were all back safe and the team had captured that terrorist. Stopped Osiris. Whatever or whoever that was.
Fekiria sat next to him, placing a metal cup near his leg. “That’s a bit of tea I found.”
Brian didn’t want her near him. “Don’t try to change my mind.”
Sitting back against the wall, she leaned against his shoulder. “You think I’m that good?”
“No, just trying to stop you from wasting your breath.” He sipped the broth, savoring the warmth that tingled all the way down his esophagus. “When we get back, I’m drinking a gallon of hot coffee.”
Fekiria laughed softly.
He gave her a look. Why was she all submissive and stuff now? All domestic goddess… “What’re you up to?”
Those soul-probing eyes came to his, wide and startled. “Me?”
His suspicion grew.
She sighed and relaxed—did she realize she was pressed against him? He liked it. Liked having her close. Leaning on him. Not yelling and arguing with him. It was nice. Too nice.
Oh, who cared? He had no fight in him for small things. Not tonight. Not with Raptor out there like sitting ducks.
“When Zahrah started dating your captain,” Fekiria said, her voice quiet and soft, “I was so angry with her. Of all the good Afghan men in the country, why did she have to choose an American invader?”
Brian snorted.
“I could not see any good in her dating an American. Families were slaughtered for having any association with Westerners.” Her head rested against his shoulder.
Exhaustive weight pulled at his limbs. His mind. It felt so good to just sit. Listen to her talk. He liked her voice. Like the unique scent of her that—yeah, still made him hungry.
“We had an argument—I told her she had come to change my country, and I was angry. I wanted her to accept me and my people, who were hers, too.” Fekiria yawned.
Good. She was getting tired. He looked at the phones. Once she fell asleep…he’d get back to work on them. He had a good brain, just had to tap the right neurons so he could figure out this tangled digital mess.
“But I realized I did not accept her. I wanted her to change.” She sighed. “And you…I wanted you to change, to go away.”
Brian felt a lazy smile tug up his lips. “You told me as much.” That day…after the funeral. She’d given him an earful about how the soldiers were causing too much trouble. How they were drawing the attention of the Taliban. How they needed to go home, stop ruining lives.
“Is this your way of saying you’re into me?” Brian had asked, flirting in a way that only made her angrier.
“You should leave our country. Leave us alone.”
“Because you can’t sleep at night without dreaming of me?” Getting a rise out of her had made him want to keep teasing her. She had fire in those green eyes, afire he liked.
“Is this a joke to you? Men and women are being murdered because of you stupid Americans.”
“The only thing that’s a joke is you thinking that’s true.” He hadn’t meant to get terse, but he didn’t deal well with people who spread lies like that. “Even if you tell me to leave—”
“I just did!”
“I’m not leaving until my mission’s done.”
Then she punched him.
“You can’t stay here. Save them.”
She shoved him backward, and he landed with a splash in a large puddle. The guys laughed, until he turned and pushed Falcon. The team daddy plopped right into the same puddle…which was now oatmeal.
Raptor roared at the sight.
But then he saw the Humvee get stuck in it, too. Then the dog was drowning in it.
Brian lunged with a shout.
His forehead rammed into something.
He blinked and found himself staring down the barrel of a silenced weapon.
CHAPTER 41
Above Tera Pass, Afghanistan
25 February—0640 Hours
Zăoshàng hăo.” A Chinese woman held a QSW-06 with a silencer to his temple. “What are you doing in this place?”
Hands out to show he wasn’t a threat—yet—Brian surreptitiously surveyed his situation. Searched for the girls. Were they hurt? Dead? Tied up? Why hadn’t they alerted to the threat?
“Well?”
“Shelter,” he said, noticing the blankets that covered the children were gone. “Just needed shelter from the storm.”
With the toe of her shiny boot, she kicked the phone pieces at him. “And this?” Young. But skilled. He didn’t doubt that for a second.
“Trying to get a radio working so I could call for help. Got lost on a hike.”
A man stood behind her, his AK-47 aimed at Brian.
Had they killed Fekiria and the girls? Brian’s heart squeezed at the thought. But he saw no blood on the floor. He’d have heard a shot—well, maybe not with that silencer.
“Nobody else with you?” Her tone shaded toward incredulous.
Nobody else. That meant this chick hadn’t found Fekiria. So where was she? And the girls? Brian lifted a shoulder. “Just me and my girlfriend.” He flicked a hand toward the room where Mitra lay. “She…didn’t make it.” Act sad, idiot. He lowered his gaze. Swallowed. “P–please, don’t kill me. I didn’t know who owned this place
. We just needed somewhere safe to stay through the night.”
“Why aren’t you on your American base?”
Brian lifted a shoulder. “Conscientious objector,” he lied.
“Are you stupid taking a hike during a blizzard?”
“Just trying to get to somewhere safe.”
“She is Afghan. You are American.”
Brian met her gaze—the only visible part of her face. She was bundled up so tight—but not so much that he’d think she wasn’t agile. He felt sure this chick could go all Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon on him given the chance or need. “That would be why we took to the mountains.” This lie had to be solid. “Her parents weren’t happy—”
“Get the laptop,” she ordered the man. Then she rattled something off in Chinese—and though Brian couldn’t be sure since he didn’t speak Mandarin, it seemed the two argued. The big man kept his rifle aimed at Brian. The woman stepped between them, blocking Brian’s view as her words flew fast and furious. They were distracted. That was the point.
Brian lunged. Threw himself into the woman, who flew backward, clipping her knees on the man bent over the laptop. Before she could react, he coldcocked her. She went out like a light. He heard the man dragging himself free. Brian saw her weapon and dove toward it.
Crack!
Searing pain blazed down his leg. He rolled toward the chair, taking any cover he could find, flimsy as it was. He crouched, wincing and holding his leg. The same stupid leg he’d injured taking out that Talib. Swinging around, he took aim. The man had reacquired as well. Brian eased the trigger back. Once. Twice.
The man stumbled. Managed to fire a shot. The bullet went wild. Glass shattered behind Brian. And still the man fought. Struggling, the man waved the gun in Brian’s direction.
Brian fired another shot.
The man collapsed with a thud.
Hustling to the woman, Brian verified she was still out. Quickly, he confirmed Fekiria and the girls weren’t in the room…dead. Relief spread through him at seeing only Mitra’s body there. So how had these two gotten here?
When he heard the thwump of rotors, Brian started for the door. How had he not heard the rotors when these two landed? Adrenaline? Fear?
Wind curled in through the shattered window from the side, chilling him almost instantly. Frigid but no longer howling. That’s it. That’s my out.
But first…
At the man’s side, he removed the jacket and gloves, snagging the watch with a compass, too. He stuffed them on and ignored the bloodied areas. Laptop pressed to his abdomen, Brian heard something crinkle. He hesitated, glancing down at his tac shirt. Something stuck out of his pocket. He lifted it and unfolded it. A well-worn card with the 71st Psalm on it.
As if the snow melted and spring had rushed in, Brian felt himself bathed in a warmth. At that instant, he felt as if Granddad were there. His mind jumped to the verse Granddad had sent him. Felt ashamed he hadn’t thought of it before now. Life intervened, throwing him this way and that until he’d forgotten all about it. Eagle, who’d always been the zealot on Raptor, he seemed to be here, too—at least, in spirit. And it seemed God Himself stood there with him.
Where had the card come from?
He remembered Fekiria sitting at the table looking through Mitra’s Bible with scraps of paper in her hand. He glanced down at the stylized lettering. Had she put the card in his pocket?
She was the only one who could have.
But…why?
Sort it later. Get out now.
Brian zipped up the thick parka, grateful for the immediate warmth. He secured his tactical belt around the waist, also giving support to the laptop. He slung the man’s AK-47 over his shoulder and swung it onto his back, out of his way. With the QSW-06 in hand, he pushed to his feet. The prickling pain in his leg reminded him of the graze and cuts. He took a second to tie a length of fabric from his old jacket around it.
The woman moaned, pulling herself up.
Brian stepped back and rammed the butt of the weapon against her temple. Nothing to kill her. But he couldn’t have her alerting the chopper to his escape. As he hopped up onto the small sink in the corner and reached for the window, his gaze brushed the solitary room that had become a morgue for Mitra.
I’m sorry. And with that apology, he climbed out the window and promised himself he would not let the same thing happen to Fekiria and the girls. First thing—verify she wasn’t already captive on that chopper. He slunk along the back of the shanty in a couple feet of snow.
Fekiria was missing. Or had left on her own. To force him to save the team.
No. Brian hesitated at the corner of the shanty, rejecting the thought even as it took root in his heart. Yes, that was exactly what she’d done. Thought of the way Mitra’s body had been covered…and yet not as “puffy” as she’d been the night before. Her coat is gone. Fekiria had taken the woman’s coat. He’d told her he wouldn’t leave her.
So she left me.
First things first.
Brian lowered himself to the snow, the laptop beneath the parka pressing against his abdomen. Weapon at the ready, he eased around the corner. He whispered thanks to God for having the storm ease up.
A pilot. No copilot. But he had a gunner in the door.
Gauging the distance to the trees and the proximity of the chopper, he knew he’d have to get rid of the bird or he’d be cut down before he got ten feet. Running flat out in a field was one thing. Running in two feet of snow was like slogging through oatmeal. Just like in his dream.
Once more he swept the terrain, searching for a sign of Fekiria and the girls. Where had they gone? Which direction? The rotor wash blew the snow around, burying any tracks.
There was no way to know which way she went. That meant he’d have to focus on getting to a position where he could radio for help. Aim toward the base northwest of the mountains. Brian glanced at the compass.
Yep. Time to make the chopper move.
On a knee, he holstered the silenced handgun then drew the AK-47 around. He took a bead on the gunner. And eased the trigger back.
Sparks flew.
The gunner dropped back.
A whine of engines and roar of the rotors yanked the bird up and away.
Brian sprinted—well, as much as he could with two feet of snow and a gimpy leg impeding his progress. But he moved. Threw himself. The whole thing was nightmarish. The roar of the bird as it circled. The knowing it would come back. The not knowing if he actually killed the gunner or just wounded him. The knowledge that Fekiria was out there, somewhere. Without protection. Without him.
Ten feet from the tree line, Brian heard the padded thwat of bullets hitting the trees and snow. With a huge thrust, he threw himself toward the natural cover. Almost immediately, it was easier to limp-run—the snow wasn’t as deep, thanks to the protection of the trees and pine branches. Trees he was allergic to, but this time, he embraced their sinus-inflaming branches.
He reached for a tree to take cover.
Fire exploded through his shoulder. Pitched him forward. “Augh!” Brian grabbed a trunk to break his fall. Had to keep moving. Holding the slick warmth of his bloodied shoulder, he jogged up the slight incline. Going the wrong way.
No. He might not be on the right compass heading, but putting distance between himself and a gunner was right every day of the year. He heard the almost-silent swish of branches overhead as he moved.
The chopper would set back down. Verify their people were still alive. That’d buy him some time to get on the right course heading. For now, he’d run. And keep running till his legs fell off.
CHAPTER 42
Above Tera Pass, Afghanistan
25 February—0715 Hours
My feet hurt,” Aadela cried, arms dangling at her sides as she stood with her head tilted toward the sky.
Heart tangled in the little one’s pain and her own—even with Mitra’s gloves on, she couldn’t feel her fingers again. It wasn’t snowing, but it wasn
’t any warmer. The sun still hid behind the clouds, as if ashamed of Fekiria for leaving Brian.
They’d set out while it was dark, and she’d used the moon to guide them away from Brian’s protection. Away from the guilt of knowing he’d never leave them to protect his American brothers. So she’d added chamomile tea she’d found in a canister to the broth and lulled him to sleep with long stories. It hadn’t taken but a few minutes before he was snoring.
“Everything hurts,” Sheevah muttered. “And nothing hurts because I can’t feel my body!”
“I know, I know.” Hours into their hike, she questioned the wisdom of what she’d done. “But we must keep moving. There is an airport just over the next rise.” At least, Fekiria hoped that’s where it was. She had learned land navigation, but right now, she wasn’t even sure where they were.
And she felt alone, more alone than she’d felt in her life. Was leaving Brian like that the right thing? It’s too late to wonder that.
“Why did we leave Sergeant Brian?” Sheevah asked as she hoisted Aadela up to place her on her back.
“No, she must walk,” Fekiria said. “Put her down. We all must walk so our circulation continues through our feet.”
“But they hurt,” Aadela sobbed.
Had a knife been stabbed through her heart, Fekiria could not feel worse.
“I want to go back to Sergeant Brian,” Aadela whined as she collapsed against the snow.
Fekiria lifted the girl to her feet. “You must be brave, Aadela. You want to see Sergeant Brian again, yes?” Aadela’s watery brown eyes held hers. She nodded.
“And I do, too. But we have to get to the airstrip so we can get help for him.” It wasn’t a whole truth. Brian would probably reach his base before they made it to the airstrip, but if it would feed the children’s courage, then it was worth the deception. “Can you do that? For him? I think he would be very glad for your help.”
