Luke rubbed his chin and gave her a respectful look. “You’ve been in the Navy for four years and you’re already an HM2? That means you’re pretty spectacular at what you do.”
Hearing his admiration, Megan felt heat move from her neck up into her face. “I love what I do,” she admitted in a soft voice. “I believe love heals all. And our actions as medics are based on compassion.”
Her depth resonated within him. There was grit in her eyes, a stubbornness that showed her strength despite her feminine softness. There was something unique to Megan that intrigued him. Tearing away from his thoughts, he asked, “So, why volunteer for this outback duty? Why not go with an NGO in some other foreign country where it’s a lot safer?”
“I’d read articles about Afghanistan. It angered me that women and little girls are overlooked in this culture and they suffer terribly without proper medical care. They aren’t animals.” Glancing toward the door, Megan saw a number of Humvees lining up with Marines getting ready to leave the massive compound. “I wanted to make a difference, Luke. I’m driven to help them....”
“Are those your Trayhern genes talking?” Luke asked.
She thought for a moment and moved the cup between her hands. “I guess, maybe a little. My family, even my uncle Morgan, was disappointed with my choice.” She saw curiosity in Luke’s face. The light and dark shadows gave his square face a sense of strength. She liked Luke’s insightful nature and figured he had a family waiting at home for him. Maybe that was for the best since she was still smarting from her poor relationship choices. “I just didn’t want to pick up a rifle and kill. At heart, I’m a pacifist.” She studied his expression carefully; pacifist was a dirty word in the military world. Luke’s brows dipped, but there was no censure in his eyes.
“I think that people like us who are corpsmen are basically pacifists,” Luke said, treading carefully. “We do carry weapons when we go out into the field. We have a duty to save lives, not take them, if possible.” He frowned. “But as I understand it, the women who volunteered for this one-year experiment were trained to shoot a weapon and defend themselves?”
Megan nodded. “That’s correct. It was easy for me to shoot at a lifeless target.” She smiled a little. “Out here, I’m hoping Captain Hall will acknowledge my medical status and allow me to forgo carrying a weapon.”
“That’s a tough one,” Luke replied. “I don’t know what Hall will decide.” He stood up. “Ready to go over to HQ and meet your new C.O.?”
Standing, Megan left the emptied cup on the table. “Yes, let’s get this over with. I’ve got a feeling he’s not going to be very happy to see a woman in his company....”
* * *
Luke walked with Megan across the dusty, busy yard within the compound. Two lines of Humvees had just left the fort. He pointed to another small mud house. “That’s our headquarters.”
“Couldn’t tell it,” Megan said. Since she was dressed in full combat gear, few Marines realized she was a woman until they saw her up close. And then their eyes would widen with momentary surprise. It made her feel alien. Would these Marines accept her or not? Megan had been warned in training to expect push-back by some who wouldn’t want a female in their midst.
As they walked across the powdery red earth, Megan noticed how the Hindu Kush Mountains literally surrounded the wide, long valley. They rose like lords over the desert. There was little green on the rock-strewn slopes and it looked dead to her. This was an inhospitable place of brutal harshness. Afghanistan’s economy was one of the weakest in the world, comparable to Somalia’s. Only the toughest survived in this mountainous country.
As they entered the busy command post, or C.P., Luke guided her toward the rear. She recognized Buck at a messy desk. There were a number of radios hanging on the wall and on the strategy board in the center of the area. The talk was nonstop.
“Sergeant Payne? Megan is coming here to meet Captain Hall. Is he available?”
The sergeant nodded. “Yep, go right in, Trayhern. He’s expectin’ you.”
Nodding, Megan moved around Luke, her orders in hand. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Luke, you’re to go in with her.”
“What?”
“Yeah, the cap’n wants to see both of you.”
“Okay,” Luke murmured, surprised by the odd request. “You sure?”
“Do I look like a bump on a log? Get your butt in there.”
Shrugging, Luke followed Megan to the rough wooden door.
Megan knocked firmly.
“Enter,” a voice called from behind it.
Megan stepped into the cramped, tiny office. A number of radios and a GPS phone sat on the C.O.’s cluttered desk. Megan set the order on top of the mess and came to attention in front of the desk. “HM2 Megan Trayhern reporting as ordered, sir.”
Hall, who had his back to them and was sticking colored pins into a map behind his desk, muttered, “At ease, Trayhern.”
Megan relaxed into an at-ease position, as did Luke, who stood at her side. She was unsure why the sergeant had ordered him to join her. When Hall turned around, she saw the deep scowl on the Marine officer’s face, his stare intense. The man was around thirty, at least six feet tall, lean as a whippet and darkly tanned. It was his hard jaw and the line of his mouth that made her tense. He was not happy to see her.
Hall snapped a look at Luke. “Collier, you’re in charge of this medic. You take her with you when you go to the village.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hall glared at Megan. “And off the record, Trayhern, I’m not a fan of this little experiment. I know you’re trained, but unless they carry me out of here boots-first, you aren’t going on any missions with my men. You either stay here at the fort or you work at the village.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hall picked up her orders and perused them, the silence thickening in the stuffy office. “You’re an expert marksman,” he said.
Megan heard the astonishment in his voice. Expert meant she had shot accurately enough to be the best. Only sniper-quality shooting was above her ability. Few men or women qualified as expert. She saw his face moving into a surprised expression. “Yes, sir, I am.”
“You’re not carrying arms,” he said, dropping the papers on the desk. “You’re the Pentagon’s latest experiment, so when you are outside our compound, you will carry a weapon and you will use it. Got it?”
The intensity of his expression made her tense. “Yes, sir.” Megan wasn’t about to tell him she’d never kill another human being. Hall wouldn’t want to hear it.
Grabbing the papers again, he read down the list of her duty stations. “You were in Iraq for a year? Tell me about that.”
“I was stationed there after completing field medic school. I was assigned to Baghdad and I worked with the Lionesses group. The Lionesses were women in the military, usually military police, who had to pat down women in burkas who might be hiding weapons or explosives. Eventually, the Lionesses formed liaisons and positive connections with women in the areas where they were assigned.”
“Hmph. I see you also took a one-year immersion course in Pashto?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well,” he said, rubbing his jaw, “I just might steal you from Collier from time to time to do a little translating for me. The translators I got are Afghani and they don’t speak the dialect this village does. Maybe you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve seen combat, Trayhern?”
“Not directly, sir. We got mortared from time to time in the Green Zone, but that’s all.”
Hall snorted. “Collier, get her out of here. She’ll assist you. Trayhern, Collier is your boss. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give these papers to Sergeant Payne. Dismissed.”
Tu
rning on her boot heel, Megan was more than ready to run out of the hot, stuffy room. She clenched the orders in her hand. Buck Payne gave her a slight smile as she handed them to him.
“Cap’s in a foul mood this morning, but I guess you saw that,” he said, stamping the orders and placing them in a file folder. “Don’t worry, Trayhern, he’ll get over the fact that you’re a woman.” Grinning and showing the gap between his front teeth, Buck added, “I’m sure once he finds out you’re a translator, he’ll forgive you for being a female. We’ve been havin’ a hellacious time with getting someone who can accurately translate between us and the elders of the village. Here you go, here’s info you need to read.” He handed her a manual.
“Thanks, Sergeant.”
Buck looked at Luke.
“Okay, I’m headin’ into the village at 0900. Meet me and my convoy at the gate.”
“We’ll be there,” Luke promised.
“Go saddle up.”
Luke knew they had about fifteen minutes to get their medical gear together. He looked at Megan. Her face was unreadable, but he could tell she was disappointed in Hall. “Let’s go,” he told her.
Once outside and crossing the grinder, as they referred to the wide-open dirt area between the buildings, Megan said in a low voice, “Hall is absolutely pissed I’m here.”
“Yeah, I heard from Buck a week ago that he called General Stevenson personally to complain.”
Megan sucked in a breath. “He did?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I got to meet General Maya Stevenson at Camp Pendleton a year ago. She’s a force, let me tell you. A one-woman army at the Pentagon. Her track record on proving women do just as well as men in combat is unquestioned.”
“Which is probably why the Pentagon approved this experiment,” Luke concluded, stepping into their sleeping quarters. He gathered his medic bag and other needed supplies.
“I hope I can prove myself to be an asset and not a pain in the ass,” she said with a chuckle, sliding the strap of her medic bag over her shoulder. Whether she liked it or not, she picked up her rifle, as well.
“Hall’s not a bad sort. He just wants to bring his men home on two feet and not in body bags.” He stood at the door and watched her place items into her large medical pack. Her fingers were long, her movements graceful. Her curvy hips gave away her gender. The Kevlar that would protect her upper body from a bullet fully hid her breasts. Overall, he liked what he saw. Luke tempered his pleasure, reminding himself a romance had no place in a combat situation.
“Ready,” Megan said, meeting him at the door. “Let’s go.”
Nodding, Luke led her to the left of their sleeping quarters. There were four Humvees mounting up with Marines. Other missions were already out and clearing the dirt road of IEDs going into the village of Lar Sholtan. A truck at the front held instruments and a television camera to keep an eye for suspicious dirt. Those areas could house recently buried IEDs. The last truck in the convoy contained a machine gun. The slopes of the mountains always hid Taliban insurgents who watched the company through binoculars. Often enough, they fired into the compound. There was no safe place.
Luke led Megan to the Humvee behind the IED truck. He opened the rear door for her. “Climb in.”
Megan was familiar with Humvees from her Iraq duty. She placed her medic bag in back and squeezed in.
“Hey,” the driver called, raising his hand. “I’m Shorty. You the gal assigned to us?”
Settling in, Megan said, “Yes. HM2 Trayhern. Nice to meet you, Shorty.”
Luke climbed in and shut the door. There wasn’t a lot of room between him and Megan in the tight quarters. “Hey, Shorty, Megan is a field medic.”
Shorty grinned. “Good news. Now if we hit an IED we have two medics to save our sorry asses, instead of just you, Doc.”
Chortling, Luke could see Hall approaching the Humvee. “Two for one,” he agreed with the private. With a tilt of his head, he warned Megan that the C.O. was striding up to the vehicle.
Once Hall settled into the front seat of the Humvee, he radioed the column to move out. Megan sat behind him, glad that the officer couldn’t see her. He hadn’t acknowledged them, either. That was fine with her.
The vehicle growled and jerked forward. The five miles to the village were done at a crawl. The IED truck determined the speed along the dirt road, which was deeply rutted. It gave Megan a chance to look around and study the desert terrain. From time to time, Luke pointed out certain areas. Massive black and gray boulders piled up together usually meant a hiding place for a Taliban spotter. It was from these points that grenade launchers were lobbed into the Marine enclosure.
“How often do you get attacked?” Megan asked.
“Maybe once or twice a month. Most of the Taliban in this area are another tribe from the other side of this mountain.” He pointed to a fourteen-thousand-foot peak to the east of them. “Lar Sholtan is a major choke point for the U.S. to stop al-Qaeda insurgents from coming through this area.”
Megan nodded, knowing how Taliban soldiers often fought other tribes in the area. The U.S. military tried to help one tribe, and if the other took offense, it attacked. Al-Qaeda soldiers were different. They came out of Pakistan and other Middle Eastern countries to fight in Afghanistan for a strict Muslim way of life for all Afghans. Sometimes, the Taliban and al-Qaeda joined forces, as they did in this border area.
“What does the chief of the village feel about us being here?” she asked. Did the elders respect the Marines, and vice versa? Did Captain Hall play fair with the villagers?
The heat in the Humvee rose. She was glad Shorty turned on the air-conditioning. They couldn’t open the windows because if they hit an IED, the shrapnel could fly in and kill them.
Rolling his eyes, Luke said, “Timor Khan, the leader, is about fifty, with a gray beard and blue eyes. He was a Mujahadeen fighting the Russian soldiers early in his life. He’s got tribal Taliban friction, but nothing like the al-Qaeda soldiers who threaten to kill his people if they work with us. He’s cagey, from what I understand. The other C.O., who just left with his company, did not create strong, trusting ties with the Marines. It’s up to Captain Hall to change things. Timor could tell us where certain villagers of his who are Taliban sympathizers are planting these IEDs, but he won’t. He fears reprisal by al-Qaeda operatives.”
“It was like that in Iraq,” Megan said. “You had to read between the lines with the leaders over in Iraq, too.”
“Same here,” Luke said. “I don’t blame the people. Khan’s the leader and he’s responsible for protecting his village. In my time in Helmand Province, we did people-building and got the trust of a number of villages. They’d tell us where the IEDs had been planted the night before.” He frowned. “It’s not like that here, and Captain Hall is working hard to get Timor’s trust. I come into the village twice a week to hold medical clinics. The people really appreciate it and Timor seems to be softening his attitude toward us. But we have a long way to go.”
“I don’t care what country you come from, or who you are,” Megan said, “you want to be treated with fairness and respect.”
“No disagreement. At least our C.O. is on top of the situation.” He smiled. “That’s where you can really help us make a difference, Megan. You can talk to Khan’s wife, Mina, and find out how you can help the women and children.”
“How long has Lima been here?”
“Just a month.”
Nodding, Megan gazed out the dusty window. The landscape reminded her of the moon: barren and unlivable. Yet, as the road rose over a small hill, she noticed a verdant area down below them. Lar Sholtan was beautiful with its fields of corn and wheat growing in large, rectangular patches. Three-foot-high rock fences cordoned off each rectangular field. “Do they grow poppy crop here?”
“No. Only
in south and central Afghanistan where it’s warmer. Here in this area, it’s colder and the growing season is barely ninety days. These poor people have one shot at growing grains, fruit and vegetables or they die of starvation.”
“It’s so dry and dead-looking,” Megan remarked.
Despite this difficult new assignment, she started to relax. Was it because of Luke? She liked the alert look in his hazel eyes. He didn’t seem to miss much. Megan felt safe sitting with him. It was silly, because no one was safe out in Dodge City, the slang term for this country.
“What can tip the balance in our favor is getting a well dug for the village,” Luke said. “Like I said, I was born in Phoenix, Arizona. The pioneer coming into this state built concrete dikes to bring water from the Colorado River.” He gestured out the window. “The last Marine company C.O. stationed here ignored Timor Khan’s request for a well. Captain Hall is trying to get the Pentagon to let go of enough money to sink a well for this village. If he can get approval, it would go a long way in building trust. Water is always a problem in Afghanistan.”
“Can’t you scrounge up a drilling rig to sink a well?”
A crooked grin worked its way across his mouth. “I’m a fine scrounger, but that’s way beyond my pay grade. I was thinking that nongovernment organizations would be the route to take, if Captain Hall can’t get Pentagon money.”
“Let me think on this, Luke. I might have some connections to a charity.”
Brightening, Luke leaned over and whispered, “If you could do that, the captain would worship the ground you walk on. He’s not getting positive signals from the Pentagon, and he’s frustrated.”
Megan thrilled at his unexpected closeness. The moisture of his breath grazed her neck. A ribbon of pleasure wound through her. “Oh, I don’t think he’s going to see me as a positive force in this company. I need time to talk with Mina Khan and see what she feels her people need first,” she said, keeping her voice low.
The Humvee lurched forward. They were speeding along at ten miles per hour. Megan became excited as they finally pulled into the walled village. “How many people here?”
Beyond Valor Page 3
