by Lea Hart
“Feel good, because you know you can’t shake me even if you try. I get that it’s going to take you a while to believe in the good that we have because of the way life tested you in the first eighteen years of your life, but eventually, you will.”
“Maybe all your SEAL tenacity will turn out to be a good thing, because you seem to have enough of it for both of us.”
“True that.”
“And SEAL confidence, you definitely have enough for both of us.”
“Works out, because you have enough heart and kindness to make up for what I lack. When I think about what you’ve done and what you’ve given of yourself in your work, I’m blown away. Seeing you in Am Timan treating everyone from babies to grandparents helped me understand that your capacity to do good in this world is damn near unmatched.”
“That’s not true. I know a thousand people who make me look like a slacker. All the people that Piper and I have worked with have done as much, if not more, than we ever could.” Playing with the end of her braid, she looked at the incoming plane. “I made a deal with God that if I was allowed to survive cancer, then I would go out and do as much good as I could in the world, and all I’ve done is hold up my end of the bargain.”
“You have more than balanced the scales as far as I can see.”
“There’s always more to do.”
“That will be true until the end of time, but at some point, it’s smart to pass on the baton.”
She looked up and saw his thoughtful expression. “Are we talking about you leaving the Teams?”
“Partly. The last op I was on reminded me that going out on one more mission isn’t going to end things once and for all. It’s a long road with no end in sight, and sometimes the smart thing is to get out of the game with your body and spirit intact and let the fresh new players in.”
“Yeah, I started to feel that in my last days in Baga Sola. I knew that if I didn’t take a break then, I eventually would be of use to no one.”
“And yet you wanted to go back to help your friend.”
“I know, doesn’t make much sense, but I felt like I got another pass on the cancer thing and going out and helping was the right thing to do.”
“Like I said a minute ago, you have enough heart and kindness for both of us.”
“Not sure that’s accurate, but it’s lovely that you see me that way.”
Turning her in his arms, he tilted her chin and dropped his mouth. “I will always see the best in you.”
Pressing her lips against his, she prayed that was true.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Saturday October 21st
Chad
Frisco waved to Fadoul and Oumar as they pulled up in front of baggage claim, and he squeezed Brooke’s hand. “That’s them in the gray Land Cruiser.”
“It’s awfully nice of them to take us to Baga Sola.”
“That’s what friends do,” Frisco replied as he studied the two Chadian soldiers he’d become friends with. “They participated in the free-fall parachute training exercises that we led during Flintlock.”
“Does pushing men out of a small airplane usually result in friendship?” she asked as she adjusted her backpack.
“More often than you’d think.” When they parked the car at the curb, Frisco pulled open the door. “Good to see you guys.”
Fadoul saluted from the front seat. “Welcome, friend.”
Opening the front passenger door, Oumar stepped out and shook Frisco’s hand. “Didn’t think you’d come back so soon.”
Frisco put his arm around Brooke and grinned. “My girlfriend wants to help her friend in Baga Sola, so here we are. This is Brooke Foster, and she spent a bunch of months up there at the Dar es Salam camp with UNCHR.”
Oumar gently took Brooke’s hand. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you.”
Calling from the front of the car, Fadoul said, “Let’s get on the road; we have a five-and-a-half-hour drive.”
Frisco lifted their bags, opened the back, and slung them in. “Yes, sir.”
After they all got in and were buckled up, Fadoul took off, and they were soon traveling north out of the city. Frisco looked out the window and noticed the modern buildings that lined the wide, paved streets gave way to bustling unlined narrowed ones, filled with traditional bazaars. Feeling Brooke’s head bob against his shoulder, he looked down and saw she’d fallen asleep. Thirty plus hours of traveling had wiped her out, so he pulled out his sweatshirt, put it on his lap, and laid her down.
Brushing her hair off her cheek, he felt his heart grow a little bigger. The woman was his fire, and he was going to do everything he could to make sure she felt loved and taken care of the rest of their lives.
Oumar twisted in his seat and raised an eyebrow. “Is this the woman you were interested in the last time you were here?”
“Yes and, as you can see, it worked out.”
“It has indeed,” he replied with a low laugh.
“Has Baga Sola had any insurgency activity with Boko Haram in the last couple of weeks?”
“Skirmishes in the northern part of the Lake region, and that’s about it,” Fadoul replied. “I don’t expect they’re done, though, and believe we’re in for retaliation for becoming allies with Nigeria.”
Oumar rested his back against the window and narrowed his eyes. “When this insurgency first started claiming civilians’ lives, a Nigerian bishop came to the base and shared the history of Boko Haram. The general in charge was a forward-thinking man, and he felt it was important to understand what was driving the militants.”
Frisco rested his hand on Brooke’s arm. “I’ve never heard the history of the jihadists from the perspective of someone living inside the country.”
“It was his opinion that the conflict had been brewing since the British took control back in the early 1900s and the Muslim population resisted Western education and traditions. Bring that stewing animosity forward a hundred years and add widespread violence and corruption by the government, and the perfect recipe for an uprising was created. Which the charismatic Muslim cleric Mohammed Yusuf took advantage of when he formed Boko Haram back in 2002.”
“How did he acquire followers?” Frisco asked.
“Initially, he set up a religious complex, which included a mosque and an Islamic school. Many poor Muslim families from across Nigeria, as well as neighboring countries, enrolled their children at the school and, suddenly, Boko Haram had a recruiting ground for young jihadis. The word Boko Haram in the Hausa language means: Western education is forbidden, and the cleric made it his mission to make that statement true.
“The timing, according to the bishop, couldn’t have been better, because the president and the vice president, who were from different tribes, had called for war against one another and plunged the country into a civil war. Some saw the West as having a hand in the conflict, so Boko Haram was perfectly poised to begin their insurgency. What started out as an uprising against a corrupt government eventually turned into a vicious and bloody terrorist group that is committing heinous acts against its own countrymen to this day.”
Brooke moved around on his lap, and he ran his hand over her forehead until she settled. “For the foreseeable future, the world is going to have to deal with various manifestations of inflamed violent extremism, and the fight is going to become more difficult every day.” Studying the colorless landscape, he asked, “Do you think they have the leadership and firepower to continue to engage in skirmishes and assaults?”
“Absolutely. They have long resorted to kidnapping women and children, forcing them to become suicide bombers. They also conscript child soldiers and feed them amphetamines and hallucinogens until they’re hooked.”
“That is the sickest shit I’ve heard in a while, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve spent the better part of ten years facing off with the Taliban, al-Qaeda, and ISIS.”
Fadoul said from the driver’s seat, “Let’s stop in Massaguet for
something to eat because that’s going to be our best hope of something decent being available.”
“Sounds good to me,” Frisco replied.
“What does Brooke like to eat?” Oumar asked.
“McDonald’s. But there are none here, so she’ll have whatever’s available.”
Fadoul looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “The fast food place with the arches?”
“That’s the one. I think it’s because she’s spent so much time OCONUS for the last five years that the familiarity and consistency of the food is comforting. On our way over, she recited the exact number available in over a dozen countries.”
“Americans. You are a strange bunch,” Fadoul commented as he sped down the highway.
“That we are,” Frisco replied. Bending over, he pressed a kiss to Brooke’s cheek and hoped they wouldn’t run into any problems when they were in the North. A quiet week would be a nice change for both of them.
***
Brooke rolled down the window and looked out at the familiar sights of Baga Sola. Being that it was Saturday, the streets were bustling with activity because it was the largest market day of the week.
The locals mixed with the Nigerian refugees, and the colors of their pagnes brightened up the otherwise dreary town. “Can we stop at the fish market before we go to Malaba’s house?”
“Certainly,” Fadoul responded.
“I want to make dinner for everyone tonight, so I should grab some supplies before you drop us off.”
Frisco took her hand and kissed it. “Our first adventure together.”
“Maybe next time we can choose someplace warm with tropical drinks and beaches.”
“Sign me up, ’cause there is nothing better I’d like to do than spend time together in a place where clothing was optional.”
“Shhh.” Cutting her eyes sideways, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t talk about that here.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek and then said against her ear, “I’ll behave.”
Clasping her hands together in her lap, she gave him a prim smile. “See that you do.” When she heard his laugh, she knew he wasn’t going to keep his hands to himself for long, which turned out to be a good thing, because she couldn’t either.
“Is Malaba’s house behind the hospital?” Oumar asked as they slowly moved through the pedestrians.
“Yes. She’s been running it since it was built, and her small home sits adjacent to the small garden.”
“We can take you there and drop off your bags and then walk back to the fish market. I don’t want to leave the car out in the open, because it will invite too much attention.”
“Whatever you think is best,” she replied as she saw a group of women standing in line. Which, in many ways, defined life for the people who lived outside of N’Djamena. Nothing was plentiful in this country except heat and dirt, and the rest of life’s necessities were a daily struggle to acquire.
Clearing the pedestrian congestion, they moved easily in the direction of the hospital when the sharp sound of explosions filled the air and the vehicle shook from the vibration. “What…”
Frisco pushed her head down, slid his gun out of his leg holster, and swiveled his head right to left. “Hospital,” he instructed clearly.
Fadoul hit the accelerator, and they flew the last half mile and screeched to a stop. “Suicide bombers,” he said as he extracted his gun and threw open his door.
“Stay down,” he instructed Brooke as he climbed out of the car, his weapon sweeping the surrounding area.
Heart beating out of her chest, Brooke did as she was told. “Take me inside the hospital so I can prep for patients. I don’t know who’s available, and I have to help.” She pulled her MSF ID out of her backpack and looped it over her neck.
“I’m not leaving you here alone,” he barked as he ran around and opened her door, shielding her.
“Go to the fish market and see what’s happening and bring back whoever needs help.” Moving out of the car, she crouched next to Frisco as he led her toward the doors of the small facility. “I was in Sudan for a year, Frisco. I can handle this.”
“Having you anywhere near flying bullets is not something I’m comfortable with,” he bit out as he took her inside.
“As long as it’s not mortars being blown over my head, it’s totally fine.” Bursting through the door, she took quick inventory of who was available. “Un Kamikazi sur le marche,” she yelled out. “Kai harin kansa a kasuwa.” Clapping her hands, she yelled. “Incoming casualties.”
“What did you just say?” Frisco asked as he checked the magazine in his Sig Sauer P226.
“I said: suicide bomber in the market in French and Hausa. They’re the two most prevalent languages in the area.”
“Stay inside, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“This is my wheelhouse, Frisco. You go and do your thing, and tell Fadoul and Oumar to keep an eye on the road that leads to the camp. If they’re Boko Haram, then they’re going to want to inflict casualties on the people who escaped.”
“Got it.” He gave her a quick kiss and then jogged out the main doors.
Watching him confer with his friends from the Chadian army, she prayed for his safety. Not only was he needed by his team members and family, he was also needed by her because he was essential to her happiness. Without him, she didn’t see much of a future. Hearing footsteps, she turned and saw Gordan running through the back door. “Explosions in the fish market, suicide bombers.”
“Welcome back,” he said as he spun on his heels and moved toward the supply room. “Seems we’re going to keep you busy.”
“Wouldn’t want anything else,” she said as she followed him and prepared to scrub up for surgery. Another loud explosion made the windows rattle, and she silently prayed for the innocent souls caught in the crossfire.
Another day in the world, another tragedy, and she was ready for whatever was about to walk through the door. As much as the cycle exhausted her, she wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, because simply…she could. Her life had afforded her the luxury of growing up in a safe home, a safe country with access to education. She had survived her battle with cancer so that she could give back, and the last scare had brought that fact home once again.
The doors to the hospital slammed open, and two men carried in a woman who had to have been close to the blast. Grabbing a gurney, Brooke rolled it over and motioned for the men to place her on it. She slid on a pair of gloves that Gordan handed her, and she started her examination to see where they needed to begin. Holding the woman’s hand, she looked into her eyes. “Zan yi duk abin da zan iya.”
The woman’s fingers tightened as she whispered, “Na sani, na gode.”
Gordan came up and pushed the gurney. “Why do you always promise that?”
“Because I mean it. I will always do everything I can, and that includes bargaining with God.”
“Missed you around here,” he said as they moved into the room.
As Gordan slipped on his own gloves and they began assessing the woman’s injuries, she realized she missed the action. As she hooked up the woman to the monitor, she discovered her blood pressure was dropping. “Internal injuries,” she said.
“Start praying harder,” Gordan said as he cut the woman’s pagnes open, “because we’re going to need a miracle.”
We always needed a miracle, Brooke thought as she inserted a central line. Maybe today was the day they’d get one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sunday October 22nd
Baga Sola
Frisco sat against the concrete wall of the hospital and drained his bottle of water. It was well past midnight, and Brooke was still arm-deep in patients and blood. The three suicide bombers that had hit the market were DOA, and the two that had made it to the refugee camp were as well. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he tried to erase the picture of pulling up the burka of one of the bombers and seeing the face o
f a thirteen-year-old girl. For all the war he’d seen, all the atrocities, that shit still got to him.
Fadoul and Oumar walked over and joined him. “Boko Haram?” he asked.
“Probably,” Fadoul responded. “Someone should claim responsibility in the next day or two.”
“What’s the casualty count?” Oumar asked.
“Heard at least thirty,” Frisco responded. “I went in to check on Brooke a little while ago, and she was assisting in surgery.”
“Lucky for the victims that she decided to come and visit her friend,” Fadoul remarked.
“Has this ever happened before?” Frisco asked.
“No, but we expected something to occur, because we participated in the joint task force that moved them out of their strongholds in Borno. We are seen as infidels, the same as you,” Oumar responded.
“How can you be an infidel if you’re Muslim?”
Fadoul let out a sharp snort. “Because, apparently, our Muslim faith is not as good as theirs. Our faith does not require us to kill and terrorize innocent people, so we must be part of the unfaithful.”
“This is what we like to call a goat fuck in America. Which means no one is winning and everyone has lost.”
“I like this term,” Oumar said as he uncapped his water bottle. “A lot.”
Frisco let out a snort and then wiped his face with his T-shirt. “Should we expect a second attack? Was that just the appetizer?’
“That was probably it,” Fadoul responded. “But if it were me, I would take Brooke out of here as soon as I could. American aid workers are a big commodity for Boko Haram because they can extract both publicity and money if they manage to get ahold of one.”
“That was my plan when I heard the first explosion, but I can’t pull her out of the hospital until she’s done what she needs to do.”
“We have the army patrolling the town and surrounding area, so I think you’ll have until Monday. The area will be restricted, and since you two are traveling without an affiliation, they’ll want you to evacuate,” Oumar said.