by DiAnn Mills
He could almost feel Larson’s loneliness and the wall she’d erected around her heart. Once again he regretted kissing her. He’d taken advantage of her emotions from losing Rachel, because he too was alone and needed the touch of another human being. His actions hadn’t mirrored Jesus. Neither had they cured the ache inside him from unanswered prayer. Earlier he’d told Ben that when Rachel returned, he’d go back to flying missions for FTW. Paul didn’t feel any enthusiasm about his pilot’s job or anything else. His future looked more and more like a maze with no exit.
Right now getting to the attack scene and helping the best he could occupied his senses. Maybe simply doing was part of the answer—just living each day as though it were his last. He had read that in Og Mandino’s The Greatest Salesman in the World. Odd he remembered those words now.
“Have you decided to deter Nyok from joining?” Paul said.
Ben’s eyebrow rose sharply. Not many men could do this effectively, but the colonel had a way with gestures. He easily put fear into the hearts of the most robust of men. “Don’t ask the question if you don’t expect your jaw broken.”
Paul chuckled. “Never hurts to ask.”
“For some maybe, but not for you, Arab.”
Some things haven’t changed. Oh, Lord, again I ask You to spare this boy—now and in the future. Bring him to a realization of his worth in You. I have a difficult time believing You’d want him fighting as a child soldier. Lord, I don’t know what else to say.
“God must be with us,” the soldier driving the truck said. They’d just forded a low point in the road. “Normally, this is impassable.”
Ben said nothing. Paul agreed with the soldier. A moment later, Paul and the driver began a conversation about God’s blessings. It continued until Ben announced he’d heard enough. Paul laughed but complied.
Hours later in the darkness of night, they reached the Red Cross center. Several SPLA members stopped the truck at gunpoint, then briefed Ben on what little they’d accomplished since the helicopter attack.
Not able to stand the waiting any longer, Paul asked the driver to let him out. Although anxiety about Larson and Nyok ate at him, Paul wasn’t so sure he wanted to know the outcome.
“You can wait on me.” Ben’s voice rose over the night air. He swung his attention back to the soldier who was briefing him on the current situation. “What about Dr. Kerr and the boy from Warkou?”
“They’re fine, Colonel.”
Ben spit at Paul’s feet. “Farid, are you satisfied?”
Paul stared at him. His temper inched out of control. “Thank you, Colonel Alier. Your generosity is exceeded only by your compassion.”
In the shadows, a soldier stepped forward and swung a blow alongside Paul’s face. The slap of flesh against flesh stunned him. A fiery hot pain shot up his cheek. Dazed, he fell backward, his head spinning, mud sloshing between his fingers.
“Get up.” The soldier straddled Paul’s body, his fists hooked. “You speak to Colonel Alier with respect.”
Paul couldn’t move. The pain in his jaw raced up the side of his head. The soldier grabbed him by the shirt and started to yank him up.
“That’s enough.” Ben’s orders echoed across the night air. “Leave the Arab alone. This one is not the enemy.”
Paul bit back the angry words begging to surface. Ben could have stopped the soldier earlier. I have to maintain control.
Ben reached down and pulled him to his feet. “Stay out of my men’s way. The next time I might not be around to save your neck.”
Paul maintained his placid demeanor. The things he longed to say continued to march across his mind.
The soldier who’d hit Paul towered over him. He could feel the man’s hot breath.
“Easy,” Ben said. “I said leave him alone.”
The soldier said nothing. A tense moment followed before the man stepped backward.
Paul could taste the blood rolling over his lip and chin, yet he refused to swipe at it.
“I’ve got things to do,” Ben said. In the next instant he pushed past Paul and strode toward the lights ahead.
Taking a deep breath, Paul eyed the three soldiers standing by the truck.
“Get out of here,” one of them said. “We won’t be as kind as the colonel.”
Seeing where Ben had headed, Paul ambled after the colonel. Thirst mounted inside him, and he realized that he should probably wash the blood from his face. His mud-caked clothes stuck to him, but the throbbing streaking up his face left him dizzy. He reached up to touch it and felt slimy blood beneath his fingertips. His jaw didn’t feel broken. At least he hoped it wasn’t.
Someday he’d learn to stay out of the SPLA’s way.
Paul stumbled over a rut and nearly fell. Glancing up, he made out a few lanterns and makeshift cots surrounded by crates. A dark-haired white woman sat in a folding canvas chair and stared out into the night.
“Are you all right?”
He recognized the voice behind him. “Larson, it’s Paul.”
“Have you been hurt?”
Paul held his breath while the pain thundered through his head. “A little.”
“I’ll bet it’s little. Step into the light.”
Paul moved toward the lanterns, hoping he looked better than he felt.
Larson gasped. “What happened? Did the GOS do this?”
“I got roughed up.”
“I’m so sorry. Did Ben get hurt too?” She took his arm and led him to a small workstation neatly organized with a bucket of water, a basin, and an assortment of bandages and other supplies.
“He’s fine.” Paul leaned on the table and took a few deep breaths. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the area smelled of death.
“This is my friend Marty,” Larson said. She picked up a roll of paper towels and tore off two of them. “Marty, this is the pilot I told you about.”
Marty waved her hand but didn’t budge. From the tired lines etched around her face and eyes, it was obvious that the woman teetered between exhaustion and passing out. “Pleased to meet you. I’m not trying to be rude here. I can’t muster enough strength to move.”
“I understand.” He lowered his shaky body into a canvas chair beside her. “You two have been through quite an ordeal. What can I do to help?”
Marty smiled. “Take care of yourself first. You don’t look so good.”
Larson peered into his face and dabbed at the blood. “This just happened. Why do I have this strange feeling that Ben looks pretty good right now?”
“I fell.” Paul winced when she touched his jaw.
“Liar.”
He had missed her sense of humor. “There’s a rut out there by the truck.”
“Probably with knuckle prints.” She placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t need stitches, thank goodness. What about your stomach? Ribs?”
“Fine, I’m fine. Some sleep will cure me.” Paul’s gaze sought out Larson’s. She looked more rested than Marty. “Rachel was not in Khartoum. No one had seen her either.”
Larson stiffened. “I believe we established that would be good.”
“Yes, and we’ll keep looking.”
“I know.” She saturated a cotton ball with antiseptic and patted it over his cuts. “You remind me of a dog I used to have.”
“Ouch, that stuff stings. Is this another one of your stories from the heart of Ohio’s farmland?” He groaned. “And it’s supposed to keep my mind off what you’re doing?”
She continued to dab the wounds. “Hush and listen. We had this old hunting dog named Prince, one of those long-eared, slobbery kinds. He didn’t bark, just howled. Well, my grandmother hated this old dog, but Prince loved her. He dug up her flowers, sang to the moon outside her bedroom window, jumped on her with kisses. I mean, the dog was just a big ol’ overgrown, friendly puppy. One day Prince dug up her prize rosebushes. Grandma piled him into the truck and drove twenty miles to the middle of nowhere and ordered the dog out. Told Prince never to
come back. A week later, Grandma stepped out of the house, and there was Prince, wagging his tail and wanting to give her kisses.”
Paul attempted a chuckle, but it hurt too much. “And how do I remind you of Prince?” For a moment, he wondered if she had learned the truth about him.
“Oh, it’s simple. No matter what happens, you come back for more. Your commitment to Sudan is bigger than your fear of those who don’t like you.” She captured his gaze and lowered her voice. “Be careful, and I want to know everything, start to finish.”
He started to suggest she ask Ben, but he heard the colonel heading their way.
* * *
“There you are,” Ben said, crossing his arms over his ample chest. “Glad you’re all right. The director just filled me in on what’s been going on.”
Larson finished tending to Paul’s cuts. “It wasn’t a picnic. Nyok has been a big help.”
“When do you think you’ll head back to Warkou?”
Still ignoring Ben, she capped the antiseptic bottle. “Tomorrow or the next day. Depends on my patients.” She pointed to Paul. “He sure took a bad fall by the truck. I didn’t realize there were so many ruts and brush there.”
Ben nodded. “He’s clumsy. Not sure how he tripped.” He glanced around, then peered at those lying wounded on cots. “Where’s Nyok?”
“He’s with a group of soldiers on the other side of the plane,” Larson said.
“No, he’s not,” Ben said. “I was just there.”
“He told me he’d be back here soon. Why not sit for a few minutes. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”
Ben eased onto a folding chair and studied the Arab sitting alone. A lantern cast an ethereal look about his face, and Ben knew from Farid’s calm features that he was praying.
Ben also saw the swollen face and eye. A twist of guilt hit his gut, and he rubbed the back of his neck as though he could erase what his soldier had done. He concentrated on Farid, not really wanting to speak with him, but sensing a need to make some type of amends.
Farid lifted his gaze. He neither smiled nor frowned. The look always bothered him, as though Farid’s thoughts could penetrate his very soul.
“Are you okay?” Ben said.
“Yes.”
Ben took a deep breath. “I should have stopped him before he threw a punch.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Ben realized Farid meant exactly what he said, and he felt more convicted of his past treatment of him. But he couldn’t bring himself to fully apologize, not when he didn’t completely trust the man. Farid represented the enemy, no matter what he claimed or did. Turmoil continued to pick at Ben.
“I understand your father is proud of your work with the SPLA,” Farid said.
Strange comment. “Yeah, seems to be. He’s a strong Christian—lives in Nairobi. When I took my post with the SPLA, he sent a letter congratulating me along with a verse.”
“What’s the Scripture?”
“Second Timothy two, verse four: ‘No one serving as a soldier gets involved in civilian affairs—he wants to please his commanding officer.’” Ben chuckled. “I understand my father meant for me to be a soldier for Christ instead of for man, but those things are for later. Right now, I have a war to finish.”
“You can do both,” Farid said, barely above a whisper.
“No, I can’t. War’s a cruel master, and I’m a slave to it.”
Farid expelled a heavy breath and stared out into the night. “I’m sorry.”
Irritation made Ben restless. He’d stated his business and had no desire to make friends with the Arab. “I need to find Nyok. He could give me insight into the attack.”
CHAPTER 26
The morning sun beat down hot on Nyok’s back, and sweat soaked his shirt. He didn’t care. For the first time in years, he was doing exactly what he wanted. Each step brought him closer to collecting on the revenge he sought for his family’s murder. He kept pace with the soldiers ahead of him. They’d even given him a rifle—a Russian Kalashnikov.
Nyok longed to use the weapon on the GOS. He planned to kill ten men for each one of his family members. When he finished, every dead GOS would have increased Sudan’s chances for freedom. Clenching his fists, he allowed his loved ones’ memories to wash over him. It fueled his anger and kept him from thinking about Dr. Kerr and how upset she’d be to learn that he’d left the Red Cross center with the soldiers.
She’d pushed him to his limit by always telling him he was smart and southern Sudan needed educated leaders to make the country stand and grow. Of course Paul agreed.
I am smart. I saw through Dr. Kerr’s need to mother me. I’m a warrior, and I need to fulfill my destiny.
Rachel had been taken captive, and Dr. Kerr wanted to hold on to him like a child. Granted, he was interested in completing his education, but much later, when the war ended. Enjoying a safe and easy life studying medicine or how to create good policies for Sudan was a coward’s way out. Nyok stiffened as he marched with the other four soldiers. Yes, now he’d perform his military duty for his country. Colonel Alier would applaud his decision. How many times had the colonel told him he’d make a good soldier?
Dr. Kerr said the United Nations banned child soldiers, and Nyok understood their mandate. But regardless of his age, he was a warrior-protector, and he had an obligation and a responsibility to carry out those duties. He refused to think how God might view the decision. The memory of fighting the lion dropped itself into the middle of his thoughts, forcing him to relive the fear all over again. Undoubtedly, God gave him strength and went before him to fight. Would He do so again? Would God protect him as He’d done so many times in the past?
“God doesn’t run out of grace.” That’s what Bishop Malou said. Nyok squinted his eyes in an effort to concentrate on what the bishop had claimed in his last sermon. “God always gives His children what they need, but not always what they want.” Saving Sudan was a need. Protecting his fellow soldiers was also a need. Wants were new clothes and plenty of food.
So many SPLA soldiers have died—like James.
Nyok swore away the frightful remembrance. He dared not think of death, only of completing his vow to avenge his family. God would not forsake him. This opportunity to become a part of the soldiers fighting for freedom and justice was not just luck. It had to be God’s will. The circumstances leading up to it were odd, as though prearranged. While he was talking with the soldiers, four of them received orders to head southeast into Warab Province. There they were to meet up with another battalion.
“Are you ready to fight for southern Sudan?” a soldier had asked him.
“Yes, I’m ready,” Nyok had said. “I’m ready to begin now.”
* * *
Larson hugged Marty close. She bit back the tears and squeezed her eyes shut.
“We’ll keep in touch.” Marty sniffed. “Next time we’ll meet under better skies than . . . than this one.”
Larson pulled back and wiped the dampness from her friend’s cheek. “Hey, chocolate and girlfriends. What could be better? The next time will be wonderful.”
Marty smiled through her tears. “How do you do it? How do you manage to keep your sanity day after day? I have God, and still I’m a puddle of emotion. I’d hate to think where I might be without Him.”
Larson didn’t know how to respond. “I just live one day at a time. When things get bad, I stuff it back, then move on.”
“So you don’t deal with the pain?”
“I try to ignore it, try not to get involved.” Larson realized her words conflicted with Marty’s view of Christianity. She took her friend’s hand. “You have to choose how much to absorb in order to survive what is being done to these people. I love them, but I do all I can to avoid emotional attachment.”
Lies. You’re lying to her, My child.
Marty clamped down on her lip. “I think you know God more than you care to admit.”
Larson refused to answer. She wouldn�
��t upset her precious friend. The trauma of the past few days had been enough. “We all have our ways of dealing with life’s pressures.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I will continue to pray for you.”
And I hope you see how to eliminate the crutch you call Christianity.
She heard Paul call her name. “I need to go.” She scanned the area one more time in hopes of seeing Nyok.
“You’ll find him,” Marty said.
“I hope so.” Larson knew he had left with the soldiers. His determination to fight meant nothing could persuade him otherwise. “Have a good trip home.” She turned to walk toward Paul. His face looked worse today than when the soldier punched him two days ago. At least Ben had told her the truth, but she felt certain he could have stopped the beating.
The SPLA had left about an hour earlier. Ben was cordial, assuring her that if Nyok had accompanied the soldiers, he would soon know it.
“Will you send him back to me?” she’d said.
She’d recognized the rigid lines across his forehead. How many times had they discussed this issue? Now Ben and Nyok held the advantage.
“He has the right to choose, Larson.”
“He’s a child.”
Ben’s gaze soared over her head. “Arguing won’t solve a thing.”
She wanted to slap him. “You’re right. I’m not asking, I’m begging you to think about it.” Larson lifted her chin. “I’ll do anything you want to bring Nyok back.”
Ben’s gaze swung back to her, and he softened. “I understand.”
As she replayed her conversation with Ben, she understood the sacrifice of a mother’s love. Whatever Ben wanted from her, she would comply.
An hour later, the truck jostled Paul and Larson along the road. Once she stopped to allow a ten-foot crocodile to crawl across the path. A small group of red colobus monkeys screeched and scurried from one branch to another, reminding her of squirrels back in the States. A vibrant green sunbird and a raven crisscrossed in front of the truck.
“Beautiful, huh?” Larson’s hushed voice whispered above the rustling of the thick-leafed plants and towering trees.
