“If we could get a medevac helo in there right away, Tahira could be flown to Bagram and monitored. They could do a C-section on her, get the baby out of there immediately. That way, both mother and child would be saved.”
Rubbing his chin, Speed halted and looked down at his feet in thought. “And so Doc Trayhern is in a highly unstable medical event?”
“Completely. She can’t tell if or when Tahira’s placenta might rupture. The wrong movement could do it, never mind going into labor.”
“And she’ll know all this when she examines this woman?”
“No question,” Luke said with grim certainty. Megan would realize the danger to Tahira, her baby and herself.
“This is not good,” Mina whispered, shaken by the information. “When I visited Tahira, she was very pale and feeling very tired.”
“That’s because she’s been continually losing blood over several months,” Luke said. “She’s probably anemic, which isn’t good, either. Was Tahira very active? Walking around?”
“No, she does nothing but remain in her home surrounded by many pillows and blankets. Jabbar visits her all the time when he’s home. He’s very worried.”
Luke shook his head. “It’s good she’s immobile.”
Mina wrung her hands, tears running down her face. “This is terrible! I know Jabbar’s world revolves around his wife. If—if Megan can’t help her or if Tahira dies...oh, Allah, he’ll kill her.”
Shutting his eyes for a moment, Luke felt pulverizing grief. He heard the lieutenant curse. Opening his eyes, he asked, “Mina, could you go over there? Could you help us?”
Mina wiped her eyes. “I will do whatever I can. You want me to convince Jabbar to allow the helicopter to take Tahira to Bagram?”
“Exactly.” Luke looked over at the lieutenant, whose face was dark with worry. “Sir, could we allow a farmer from this village to carry a message over the mountain to Gholam from Mina?”
“Sure,” he muttered. “Do it now, because Doc Trayhern is in a lot of trouble.”
Luke said nothing, knowing just how dangerous the situation really was. He wanted to do something, but knew the messenger was the best idea for now. He couldn’t just fly into Jabbar’s village. The Taliban leader would blow the medevac out of the sky. No, the messenger was the only way....
* * *
As dawn rose, Megan clung to the horse as it stumbled along the narrow mountain path. She could see Gholam in the bare light, and everyone slowed their animals. They had stopped once to drink water and get off the horses. She couldn’t see anything but she could hear the low murmur of Taliban soldiers’ voices. A soldier was always near her, a rifle on his hip, making sure she didn’t escape.
Exhausted, her stomach clenched with hunger, Megan saw the path change. The horses grunted and scrambled and slipped up a steep, rocky hillside. As they rounded a corner on the slope, a small village of rock and mud came into view. It was tucked away within the maw of a huge limestone cavern. Bits of gray smoke came from some of the homes. Where was she? The wild mountains surrounded them at various elevations, all the peaks covered with snow.
The village had no wall, as many others she’d seen. There were about fifty homes. Dogs and small children were running around the wide, flat cave entrance. About a hundred goats were being herded by two older boys off the lip and down another thin trail. It looked like any other Afghan village.
The horses picked up their pace, no longer hanging their heads, but moving along as they neared the steep entrance to the mighty cavern. A number of older children, some older women, came out of their homes as the riders trotted across the flat ground toward the cave. Megan clung to the horse’s mane, her butt numb from the beating it had taken perched on top of the animal’s narrow back. Finally, they halted.
New fear worked its way up her spine as she saw Gholam leap off his sweaty, lathered stallion. A small boy ran up and took the reins of the animal and led it away toward a wooden corral to the left of the village.
“Get down!” Gholam snarled, waving his hand toward Megan.
Though her legs barely worked, Megan dismounted, her front hands tied, the ropes biting unrelentingly into her tender flesh. When her boots hit the ground, her knees started to crumple. Megan clung to the saddle to stop from collapsing onto the ground.
“Weak American infidel!” Gholam growled, halting and jamming his hands on his hips.
Glancing toward the angry leader, Megan noticed he wore a dark brown turban to match the obsidian color of his small, close-set eyes. His black beard fell to his chest. The long black vest hung to his knees, his rough woven cotton shirt and baggy trousers the same color as his turban. She chilled beneath the scorching look of disgust he gave her.
“Stand up!” he ordered angrily in Pashto.
Megan pushed up and locked her knees. Turning, she saw her medic pack being pulled off the back of the saddle by another soldier.
“Come!” Jabbar ordered, hooking his finger and pointing toward the village.
The soldier hurled the heavy medic pack at Megan. She caught it and moved her arms through the straps. The hatred in the eyes of the soldier made her stomach knot. She followed the leader, who walked with a noticeable limp.
Megan breathed hard as they hurried toward the cluster of huts. They were probably at ten thousand feet; the air thin. More people poured out of their hovels, staring as they approached. There was surprise in the villagers’ eyes. Gholam charged like a bull, head down, limping quickly between the homes and down what seemed to be a narrow street.
A soldier ran ahead to a door painted red. He opened it and quickly stepped aside.
Jabbar turned and snarled to Megan, “Get in there. Stand just inside the door and do not move.”
Nodding, Megan ducked because the door entrance was barely five and a half feet high. As she entered, she was surprised. The room contained a rare cast-iron-bellied stove. The hard-packed dirt floor was covered with Persian rugs. Light came in both windows, taking away the gloom. Standing to one side, Jabbar entered and shut the door. They were alone.
Jabbar looked up at her. “Get out of your medic pack. You’re here to see my wife, Tahira. She needs medical help and you are going to fix her.”
His black gaze drilled into Megan. The room was coolish for summer, but the cave sat near the ten-thousand-foot level on the mountain. Nodding, Megan said nothing and shed her pack, letting it drop to her feet. “I’m thirsty. I need some water first.”
Jabbar reached over to a round clay pot with a stopper. “Get water out of there. Hurry!”
A chipped mug sat beside the pitcher on the spindly wooden table in the corner. She felt stiff and sore from the nonstop riding. She poured water and drank three glasses.
Jabbar was impatient, moving like a feral fox around the perimeter of the large room.
Megan picked up her pack and hefted it over her shoulder. Jabbar pointed to a closed door. She walked up to it, meeting him.
“You understand me?” he demanded, glaring.
Nodding, Megan decided it wouldn’t be wise to pretend she didn’t know Pashto. If his wife was sick, she’d have to speak to her in her language and Gholam would know, anyway. “Yes, I understand.”
Gholam’s thick black brows rose in surprise. “So, you speak Pashto very well.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “What are you? A woman SEAL?”
Megan’s mouth twitched but she kept from smiling. The curved knife in his belt and a pistol on the other side kept her straight-faced. “I’m part of a group of military women who are here to help villagers wherever assigned.” She saw his eyes change to one of curiosity.
“And so you are a skilled doctor?”
Megan held up her hand. “No. I’m not a doctor. I’m a trained paramedic.” She doubted he knew the difference. And judging from the confusion
in his eyes, she was right.
“No matter!” he snapped. “My wife, Tahira, is in the next room. She is very frail and sick. You are to help her. Go!”
Megan watched the door open. Jabbar shoved her and she lurched into the hall. The door shut. Standing in the coolish hall, Megan heard nothing. Was this why Jabbar kidnapped her? To provide medical services? Some of her fear abated as she slowly walked down the rug-covered corridor. Exhausted from no sleep and hungry, Megan forced herself to concentrate on locating Tahira.
At the first door on the right, she saw a very small woman with black hair and dark brown eyes lying propped up on thick pillows. There were many blankets beneath her black robes. Across her hair, she wore a gold scarf, emphasizing her wan features. Megan halted and tried to smile.
“Hi, I’m Megan. Your husband sent me to see if I could help you. Are you Tahira?”
The woman sighed and managed a weak smile. “You’ve come.... Allah be praised. Yes, yes, come in. Mina talked so much about you. Thank you for coming. I know I am dying and you must help me...please....”
Chapter 15
Megan focused on Tahira. She doubted the woman was more than twenty years old. They married young in Afghanistan. “I’m an American Navy field medic,” she told the woman in Pashto. She decided to leave out the fact that Jabbar had kidnapped her because Tahira appeared frail. Megan had no wish to upset her. “Do I have permission to touch you? I need to listen to your heart.” She pointed to the woman’s swollen belly. “And carefully examine you and your baby.”
Lifting her long, graceful hand, Tahira sat back weakly on the pillows. “Thank you so much for coming. I am so grateful. Yes, yes, please...we have no one in our village any longer who can help me. I need a midwife.”
Unzipping the medical bag, Megan quickly pulled the stethoscope across her neck and grabbed the blood pressure cuff. She donned her latex gloves. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Tahira? Why do you think you’re dying?” Megan gently wrapped the blood pressure cuff around the woman’s left upper arm.
Closing her eyes, Tahira whispered, “I am constantly bleeding from below. Our old midwife, Afsana, died two months ago. She had given me herbs that slowed the bleeding. Now I have no herbs and the bleeding is constant.”
Alarm swept through Megan as she read Tahira’s blood pressure. It was 70/50, far below the normal 120/80. Blood loss could precipitate such a reading. Nodding, she removed the cuff and set it aside. There was no sense in scaring Tahira. “How long have you been bleeding?”
Tahira sighed and pulled up her robe as Megan gently examined her belly. “For two months.”
“And how many months along are you?”
“Eight months.” She managed a partial smile on her full lips. “I think it is a girl. A very strong, big girl.” She reached out and touched her exposed belly. “My silly husband thinks it’s a third boy, but he’s wrong.” She laughed softly.
Megan nodded and carefully moved her hands across the woman’s abdomen. She didn’t like what she felt. The pad of cloths beneath her were spotted with blood. Easing Tahira’s robes down and drawing a blanket up to her waist, Megan said, “Are you feeling weak?”
“Oh, always. I can no longer cook for Jabbar. I cannot take care of my two sons.” Her voice turned tearful. “If not for the other women, my sons wouldn’t be fed, either.” Tahira held Megan’s gaze. “Please, can you tell me what is wrong? Am I dying?” She reached out and gripped Megan’s hand.
Megan squeezed the woman’s elegant hand. It was work-worn but beautiful. “Has your baby been active? Have you felt her move around a lot?”
“Oh, yes! She is most active!” Tahira took her hands and smoothed them across her swollen belly. “I know this is a girl because she is so different from carrying my two sons.” Tahira smiled broadly up at Megan. “I think she is like you, Megan. You are a strong woman, too, or you would not be in the military.”
Megan returned her smile. “Is it possible for you to be flown from your village to Bagram Air Base in Kabul? Because the help you need is there.” She saw Tahira’s face grow worried.
“Move? Fly? Why must that happen? Jabbar said he was going to ask a woman medical doctor to come and stay with me until I birthed my baby.”
Keeping her voice gentle, Megan reached over and touched Tahira’s shoulder. She was terribly thin, almost starving. Was there enough food in Jabbar’s village? Tahira’s pregnancy could have been harmed by lack of nutrition alone. “Listen, I must talk to your husband about all of this. May I come back and visit you later?”
“Of course. Jabbar said you would be in the room across the hall from me.”
Megan wondered what other lies Jabbar had told his wife, but she remained mute. Getting to her feet, the stethoscope around her neck, she said, “I’ll be back soon.” Megan knew the man ruled his wife and children. She had to argue her case in front of the Taliban leader.
Outside the door, a soldier in the hall watched her. She walked toward him and told him to take her to Jabbar. He turned, went through the door and led her into another part of the house.
Jabbar was eating at the table when she entered.
“Get in here,” he snapped, pointing to where she should stand.
The soldier pushed Megan forward.
The leader had a loaf of fresh bread and a bowl of thick soup with vegetables and meat in it. The hatred in his eyes scared her. Standing, her hands clasped in front of her, she knew her presentation had to be pitch-perfect.
“Lord Gholam, I’ve just examined your wife, Tahira. She’s in great danger of bleeding to death. Her baby is turned.” Megan used her hands to show him. “It’s a breech birth, which means her baby is feetfirst to come out, instead of headfirst.”
“So,” he growled, ripping off another piece of the bread, “fix it.”
“I can’t,” Megan returned with the same growl. “Your wife has been bleeding for over two months. The sac that contains your baby is pulling away from the wall of her womb. It’s causing bleeding.”
“Then fix it!”
“I can’t!”
Jabbar glared at her. “Then you die. I will not allow an American infidel helicopter over here!” He sneered. “Do you think me stupid, woman? You could be telling me nothing but lies! It’s a ruse to allow infidels into my village and then they will kill everyone.”
“I’m a medic. I’m trying to save lives, not take them!”
“One more word out of you and I will punch your face in so you can never speak again!” Jabbar made a sharp, angry gesture toward the soldier standing with his rifle drawn. “Get her out of here!”
Jerked by the soldier, Megan was escorted unceremoniously back to the hall. The guard pushed her savagely and she nearly fell. Catching herself, she heard the door shut behind her. As she breathed hard, Megan forced herself get hold of her escaping emotions. She couldn’t go back to Tahira shaken and scared. The worst thing she could do would be to upset Tahira. Megan moved quietly down the hall and knocked softly on Tahira’s door.
“Come in....”
Megan entered and smiled. Tahira looked a bit better. She saw a tray with food and a pottery urn filled with water. “I’m back,” she said, closing the door. “It must be lunch.”
“Yes, it is time to eat.” Tahira gestured and said, “Come, there is food here for you. And water. You must eat to keep up your strength.”
Megan came and sat down, her legs crossed. “Have you eaten?”
“Oh, I do not feel like eating.” She gave Megan a weary smile. “I know I should. Afsana was always chiding me and saying I had to eat to keep up my strength and drink much water to replace the blood loss.”
“She was right,” Megan said, picking up the vessel and pouring water in both cups. “Your midwife was very wise. I would tell you to do the same thing.” Megan was
touched by the woman’s smile as she handed her the cup. “So, drink?”
Taking the cup with both hands, Tahira wrinkled her nose. “I’m not thirsty.”
“It doesn’t matter, Tahira. Look at it this way. You’re drinking to keep your little girl alive inside you. Any food you eat, you are feeding her, too.”
“Really?” Her arched brows rose. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Megan answered, drinking the water from her own cup. Her stomach grumbled because she was starving. There were bowls of steaming couscous and fragrant-smelling lamb on another platter. “The more you eat, the more strength you give your body to repair itself.” She took the cup from Tahira after she finished drinking from it. Handing her the bowl of rice after placing some vegetables and meat across it, she added, “Eat and feed your baby.”
Heartened, Tahira took the bowl and the wooden spoon. “You are wise like Afsana was.”
Megan sat there eating beside the woman. She tried not to gulp the food. “Afsana was a very wise woman.”
“She took care of my husband’s village for forty years.” Tears came to her dark eyes. “I miss her so much....”
“Midwives out here on the frontier would be worth their weight in gold,” Megan agreed. She reached out and touched Tahira’s drooping shoulder. “Honor her by eating a lot and drinking at least one cup of water an hour?”
Tahira nodded and obediently began to eat. The silence cloaked them. Megan could hear nothing outside the thick rock and adobe walls of her small bedroom. Her mind revolved around her dilemma. Without quick medical intervention, Tahira could suddenly bleed out and die. And if she died, Gholam would gladly kill her.
“It was so kind of you to come and help me,” Tahira said after she finished eating. Handing Megan the bowl, she smiled up at her. “I told my husband that Mina loved you and that you were the right woman to come and help me. I so appreciate you agreeing to come and be with me.”
“Mina is a good person,” Megan agreed. She finished off the rest of the food that Tahira didn’t want to eat. “Did Mina suggest I come here to help you?”
Beyond Valor Page 20
