Bruce shifted his heavy backpack, hoping he had packed the right medical supplies. It was hard to prepare when the patient and the problem were left as need to know, and they told him the medic didn’t need to know. The fact SEALs had been assigned to come along for security was a pretty good indication this was not a safe place for tourists to visit.
At the turn of the trail the Turkish officer who was their guide stopped. “We wait here.”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer, simply sat down with his back to a big rock where he could watch the other side of the trail. The two embassy officers slid off the communication equipment they carried and sat down too. Wolf shook his head and started climbing up on the rocks beside the trail to get to higher ground. Bruce followed him.
“I’m betting it’s a PKK officer.”
“Maybe,” Bruce replied. “The earthquake was severe in this region, and yet few casualties were reported. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“Not many people risk living in this territory. It effectively changes hands every few years.” Wolf scanned the trail ahead with night binoculars. Bruce set aside his pack, glad in a small way to have something to do tonight rather than sit at the forward operating location looking at canvas tent walls. It was a beautiful night out, the stars incredibly bright this far from the nearest town.
“There comes Bear and Cougar. Finally.”
“Getting tired of babysitting?”
“Only the embassy spooks.”
They dropped back to the path to meet them. The two SEALs arrived in the company of a third man. He was an old man; that was Bruce’s first impression. An old man with incredible sadness in his eyes.
The man looked around the group, sighed at the sight of the Turkish officer, nodded to the two embassy officers, and stopped when he saw Wolf. “You are Navy SEAL also?”
“Yes.”
“Long ago, I walked with SEALs into Iraq.”
“You were a guide?”
The old man nodded. “Yes. Guide.” Bruce found himself being assessed. “My grandson. You will help him?”
A child. The kind of patient that invariably haunted him. “I’ll do everything I can,” Bruce replied, wondering what he had just been dropped into.
“Call me Jim. Come.”
Wolf waited until the man was some distance ahead, then joined up with Bear. “Jim?”
“Could be. He’s about the right age and build.”
“What?” Bruce asked.
“During Desert Storm, there was a guide who helped SEAL Team 5 blow up a number of hidden Iraqi chemical weapon storage sites. Jim was the name he went by.”
“Where are we going?”
“No idea. But he’s definitely our safe passage in and out.”
It was a thirty-minute walk into the mountains. Bruce was surprised when the man led them to a small plateau that had been built up as a homestead. There was a fence to keep a few sheep, chickens. Three large tents were built up on a wooden floor. Bruce was willing to bet there were normally many rebels staying here, but tonight the place looked deserted. He was still surprised that the man would give away the location of where he had obviously lived for many years.
Jim gestured for the others to stay here and he pointed at Bruce. “You and one other.” Bruce nodded to Wolf. The old man led the way to the largest of the tents.
It was lit by three lanterns but was still dim. The lady of the house, a woman probably in her sixties, rose from the side of the bed as they entered. Bruce nodded a greeting and offered a smile. “Ma’am.”
She was exhausted and worried; he saw that as he met her anxious gaze. He lowered his medical pack as he watched Jim have a whispered conference with her.
She nodded and waved them over. “My wife,” Jim said simply. “My grandson.”
The boy was maybe twelve years old with raven black hair. He was asleep but the fever was apparent, as was the pain. Bruce wasn’t a doctor, but it wasn’t the first time he had been asked to act as one. Twelve years of medical training had taught him enough to know when he could help and what was beyond him. The boy must have been ill for several days if the grandfather had taken the extraordinary steps to arrange this visit. Asking what was wrong was a rather stupid way to gain the grandparents’ trust. “His name?”
His grandmother smiled. “Jamael.”
“I will go see the others are comfortable,” Jim said and Bruce nodded, grateful the man trusted him enough to let him work. He accepted the chair he was offered. The grandmother carefully moved the blanket, and Bruce saw she had it draped as a tent not to touch the boy’s leg.
“Whew.” Wolf got caught by surprise and waved his hand to disperse the smell of rotten eggs.
Bruce carefully opened the loose bandage on the boy’s leg. Festering blisters and black skin. “Burns.” And not the kind he often saw. The last time he’d seen this kind of injury was at an evacuation for an erupting volcano in Japan.
Wolf set up the torchlights they had brought to give Bruce better lighting. “We should have brought more water with us,” he said. “Go ask the other guys to hand over their canteens.”
The lady squeezed his shoulder. “Water? I get.”
Bruce nodded. It was a scarce commodity. He’d use what she brought but make sure they offered what they had as a gift before they left. “Smell the sulfur?” he asked Wolf.
“Oh yeah.”
“These are recent burns. He’s been near an open fissure that had magma or hot gaseous mud popping in it. How do we find out where he was?” Bruce carefully moved aside the bedding to check and see if the boy was burned anywhere else.
“They aren’t going to be volunteering the information.”
“Others are going to get hurt if it’s still active. People, animals, not to mention the chemical contamination to the surrounding area.”
“Couldn’t satellites spot the heat?”
“We’re talking about somewhere a child would play. A ravine, something small. And if the boy found one, there are probably more of them. Syria had a bubble hit Lake al-Assad, there was one at Birecik Dam, and this countryside probably has several of the sulfur and methane pocket fissures. The earthquake must have ruptured a rock plate that stretches the length of this region and opened it close to the ground.”
The boy’s left hand and arm had a couple small serious burns as well. He tried to brush off whatever had hit him. Bruce carefully lifted the boy’s arm to rest on a pillow. “Did you see Jim’s hands? He’s probably also dealing with a few burns from trying to rescue his grandson.”
“Not that I saw. We can ask him, but I don’t think he will say.”
The grandmother brought him back water. Bruce accepted the pail, stunned to find she had enough fresh water to half fill it. The water was even cool. “Thank you.” She nodded. Jim was resourceful to have provided so well for his family.
Bruce touched her hand and caught her gaze. Her grandson had a very bad burn, but the wound showed no sign of infection. “You did a good job helping Jamael.”
She smiled again and moved to sit at the head of the bed where she stroked the boy’s hair. Bruce took Jamael’s temperature and his blood pressure, knowing it was the length of time since the injury that was the most difficult risk to assess.
Not quite 103 degrees; he’d been afraid it was higher. At some point the boy became so worn down and weak his body could not rally to recover. Jamael needed to be in a hospital where there was someone to provide twenty-four-hour care, but Bruce could read reality. Jim would never take him to a Turkish hospital even if they could find one that had a bed among the other earthquake victims.
His language skills were decent, but they didn’t stretch to what the boy was murmuring. Bruce pulled two peppermints from his pocket and unwrapped them. “Jamael?” The boy opened his eyes. They were brown, pain filled, and glazed. Bruce brushed his hand along his hot cheek. “Candy,” Bruce said softly, offering one to his grandmother and then to the boy. Jamael
smiled when he tasted it. “Suck it.” The sugar would help the boy start having a taste for something to eat and drink.
Bruce nodded to Wolf to open the medical kit. The tough decisions were coming. Had the boy even seen a needle, let alone been given a shot? Bruce tried to balance the painkiller against the boy’s size and what pain his trying to help was likely to cause.
He’d been in enough situations like this around the world. He could work as a doctor among kids trapped in war zones for the rest of his life and barely scratch the surface of the need. Wolf distracted the boy with a flight patch while Bruce carefully gave him two shots, a painkiller and a strong antibiotic. The grandmother had a harder time with it than the boy did.
Bruce patted her hand. “All done,” he reassured with a smile.
Wolf opened the sterile packs. “Your bedside manner is improving.”
Bruce slid a large sterile square under Jamael’s leg. “I hope your nursing skills have.” He carefully cleaned the boy’s leg around the wound while he waited for the painkiller to take effect before he started taking care of the burn. He had to remove the dead patches of skin, remove places where skin had tried to heal but had actually curled on itself into the burn. It took almost an hour of careful work. There was good pink skin below the burn that was a great relief to see. The boy wouldn’t lose his leg as long as infection was kept out. The boy’s grandmother sat quietly watching the entire time.
Bruce carefully applied a thick layer of burn cream to keep the skin soft and infection out, and lightly laid gauze across it. “If I leave supplies, can you do this twice a day for Jamael? Morning and night?”
His grandmother nodded. “Yes.”
Bruce took a look at the blisters on the boy’s hand and arm. “Wolf, find the bottle of painkillers and cut the pills in half. I assumed the patient was an adult.” His friend looked relieved to be able to step away from being nurse. The man did look a little green around the edges.
Bruce decided it was best to leave the boy’s hand open to the air. It had to be very painful but it was healing.
“We’ll leave all the supplies we brought with us, the antibodies, the painkillers. Give Jamael one white pill and one pink one every morning until they are gone. It’s important he take them all.”
His grandmother leaned over to make sure she understood which pills, then nodded. “Okay. One and one, each morning,” she repeated, touching them to make certain.
Bruce offered her the thermometer he had used. “If it goes up to the red area, have your husband come find us.”
“Yes.”
Bruce patted her hand again, seeing the fear on her face. “By the full moon, Jamael will be walking again and playing.”
She gave a small smile. “He’s a good boy.”
Bruce began cleaning up the supplies he had used, putting them in the black biohazard bag. “Wolf, find the Gatorade packets.”
“Right here.”
Bruce dumped one packet into his water bottle and filled it with water. The boy was waking up. Bruce helped him raise his head to drink, then helped his grandmother change the large cotton T-shirt the boy wore. His temperature was down to 100.5. “Do we have any of those baseball cards left in one of the packs?”
Wolf smiled. “Be right back.” Bruce hadn’t met a boy yet who didn’t like to collect things, even a sport he didn’t necessarily play.
The boy laughed when he was given the cards, and turned to show the top one to his grandmother. Bruce carefully draped the blanket over the bedposts to keep it from touching the boy’s leg. “One more favor, Wolf. Cut loose my sleeping bag.”
“A step ahead of you. I’m leaving two, and my dried snacks.” The last thing the boy needed was his grandmother getting sick because she was now sleeping on the floor.
“Thanks.” Bruce leaned forward one last time and smiled at the boy. “It was nice to meet you, Jamael.”
It was a shy smile in return, but a smile, and it about broke Bruce’s heart.
“Ma’am.” He offered her the chair he had used.
“Thank you.” She was close to crying.
“You’re very welcome.”
Bruce followed Wolf outside. He stopped across the threshold and took a very deep breath, then let it out slowly, feeling exhaustion curl all the way to his toes. “I wish Rich had been available instead of me. He’s better with kids.”
“I’d say you did just fine,” Wolf replied. “Now comes the fun part.”
“Kids and politics should not be mixed.”
“Agreed.”
The men were sitting together in front of the middle tent, a small fire burning, and the smell of tobacco drifted on the wind. It was a silent group, Cougar standing farther away by one of the few trees on the plateau. Bruce walked with Wolf over to join them. “The animals look surprisingly healthy considering the drought.”
“I saw signs of a couple horses too, probably moved somewhere else for the night. Jim has found a water supply for his family, and it’s kept these folks going.”
Jim rose and came to meet them.
“Your grandson should get better,” Bruce said. “You were right to ask us to come. I left supplies with your wife. If his fever rises, please come get us. They were bad burns—I would really like to see where it was your grandson was playing when he got hurt.”
The Turkish officer interrupted them. “We’ve done our part of the deal.”
One of the embassy men intervened, cutting off the Turkish officer, apologizing for him. “Jim, we were honored to help.” The Turkish officer tossed a frustrated look at him and walked back to the fire.
“If you can help us too, it would be appreciated but there is no deal, and never was one. When you honor us with a request for help, we will be glad to assist you.”
“I know this, Samuel, which is why I sent the message to you. A favor for a favor is fair.” The old man knelt down, smoothed the dirt, and picked up a stick. He drew a sketch on the ground. “Where the trails divide, go north. There is a solitary gypsum tree along part of the trail that drops off sharply. Descend the face of it to the bottom of the ravine. There’s a new fissure that cuts into the ravine; follow it east. You’ll see the mouth of a cave down low to the ground. The weapons are there.”
“The stingers?” Samuel asked.
The man tossed down the stick. “The weapons are there.”
Bruce shot a glance at Wolf. Stingers? As in what brought down Grace’s plane?
“Thank you, Jim,” Samuel replied, extending his hand.
“Jamael is worth it.”
“And if you need us to come back, we will come quickly.”
With a doctor this time, Bruce noted to himself, wondering why one had not been found for this trip. Probably the Turkish officer’s influence there, and the fact so little was known before they came.
The old man looked at Bruce. “The planes that go overhead?”
“Yes.”
“I watch them. One went down. The pilot is okay?”
Bruce tugged a worn picture from his pocket and offered it. “The pilot.”
“There were rumors.”
“She’s home and will be fine.”
“Good. That is very good.”
Jim handed back the picture with a sigh and looked at the embassy officer. “This land needs peace, Samuel. And if what is in the cave can bring it . . .”
“You have my word, Jim. The gesture will go far with my government.”
“I will see.”
“If you are comfortable we can leave the boy, it would be best if we were in and out by dawn,” Bear commented, joining them.
“I’ve done what I can.” Bruce slipped his pack back on.
Polite good-byes were extended to their host.
“Let’s get moving,” Bear said. “Cougar, take point.”
They headed back to the trail.
It took trial and error and a few mistakes as to what constituted the solitary gypsum tree before they found the ravine.
“Where did he say the cave entrance was?”
“Down there somewhere.” Wolf pointed.
“An old cave or a new one just opened?”
“If it’s being used as a weapon storage, you would think old.”
They found it along the base of the ravine, a twisted squat tree trying to grow just above the four-feet-long by two-feet-high opening. It was more a fracture in the wall than an entrance, and it appeared to open up farther inside.
“You smell that?”
Wolf winced. “Sulfur.”
“A cave is also a natural place for methane gas to build up,” Bruce pointed out.
“You want to wait for a geologist to get here?” Bear asked, shining his light around the area to see how much of the rockslide looked new.
“When we’re in the area under the watchful eyes of rebels with essentially a one-time pass to come and go without being shot at? I vote we get in, get the stingers, and get out,” Wolf replied.
“If the cave preexisted the earthquake, there are probably several branches and caverns. I doubt the weapons were stored in the first few feet of the entrance,” Bear replied.
“Wolf and I can do it,” Bruce offered. “We stay low, go slow; it shouldn’t be more complex than other cave jaunts we’ve made.”
Bear nodded. “Try it. I’ll leave Cougar to pull you out if you get into trouble, and the rest of us will spread out and set up a screen. Stay in close touch.”
Wolf slid on his gloves, picked up his coiled rope, and glanced at Bruce. “You just don’t want to be standing around out here when someone realizes we’re stealing what they stole.”
True Valor Page 26