A Fallen Hero

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  “At least forty-three thousand Pashtuns,” Dan answered. “About three men to every woman.”

  Katie glanced at him, feeling horrified.

  How could so many people survive in what is obviously a ruin, their livelihood and their lives virtually destroyed?

  “You’re kidding me,” she replied at last, shocked. “And they’re still here? Look at the place. It’s a ruin.”

  “Where would they go?” Dan asked her. “They’re not nomads. Each Pashtun has a home or place of business that has been in their family or clan for decades. These people would die before giving them up and moving on.”

  Katie turned back to look out of the window again. “How do you know so much about these people?”

  Dan laughed quietly. “What? You think someone like me can’t be interested in culture?”

  Katie glanced over her shoulder at him. “Not at all,” she said. “I’m just curious.”

  “I’ve always been interested in the culture of other countries,” Dan explained. “It’s like looking through windows into other people’s lives, maybe even their souls. Makes you appreciate the things you have in your own life.”

  Small wooden stalls lined the single dirt road and Katie wondered whether it was a market. The most basic of goods were on display, with several fruit stalls and one butcher shop with slabs of meat hanging in the open air. Kate shuddered at the thought of people buying and eating what was, without doubt, contaminated food. The poverty-stricken people likely didn’t have fridges or freezers or fresh water. How they survived, she had no idea.

  Children, thin and dirty, clad in ragged clothes, thronged the streets and Katie was horrified that most of them were below the age of approximately ten years and were completely alone without an adult in sight. Men and women walked past the young ones—completely ignoring them—going about their business as though the children did not exist.

  Refuse littered the narrow road and Katie fervently hoped that what looked like pools of sludge filling the shallow drainage trenches on each side was run-off from rain and not something more horrendous.

  Most of the people ignored the convoy moving slowly through the street, going about their daily business of trying to survive, as though they were used to seeing heavily-armored vehicles, but Katie noticed that some—mostly men—had stopped and were staring at the intrusion, their gazes intent, bearded faces expressionless.

  “Do you think the Taliban are here?” she asked, once more addressing the question to Dan.

  “Probably,” Dan answered. “The bastards move among ordinary people, take them as hostages and use intimidation to gain information about us. They take their possessions and control them through fear, get them to trail and track us by blackmail. They always seem to know when we’re around.”

  “Doesn’t our presence create more trouble for the people?” Katie asked worriedly, turning to stare at Dan once more.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Joe’s reflection in the cab mirror, and saw that he was watching her. She could not see the expression on his face but wondered if he could hear every word of the conversation. His gaze was intense, hypnotic and for a few short moments, she fell silent, forgetting what she had been thinking or the question she had asked of Dan. At last, not reacting to Joe’s stare, she turned back to the other man.

  “We build roads for them, schools for the children. We help them with power and water drainage systems, and we protect them,” Dan answered. “Hearts and minds, Katie.”

  “Fuck! All vehicles stop! Stop! Stop!”

  Joe’s words were loud and abrupt as a man darted out from the crowd, congregating on the ruined pavement, almost falling to the ground in front of the huge front tires, but careening instead against the reinforced grill of the MRAP, rebounding off it and only saving himself by slamming the palms of his hands down onto the hood. He came to a stop, dead center of the road, staring through the windshield at Joe, shoulders heaving with his efforts, his almost black eyes seeming to pin Joe into his seat.

  The driver obeyed Joe’s command, instantly bringing the MRAP to a sharp stop, suspension bouncing with the abrupt cessation of forward motion, brakes hissing in protest.

  For a few seconds, Joe sat frozen in his seat, his breath locked in his throat as he waited for an explosive of some kind to be unearthed from the man’s voluminous robes and thrown at the vehicle.

  Shit! He hadn’t been concentrating. His gaze and thoughts had been focused solely on Katie in the back, straining to listen to the conversation she had been having with the corporal—again.

  His gaze held that of the Afghan man through the reinforced dirty glass and silence fell within the vehicle, broken only when the driver exclaimed, “What the fuck?”

  Joe raised a hand to stop the marine from saying anything further. Moving slowly and carefully, he thumbed his PRR then hesitated. Giving one last glare at the man impeding the convoy’s movement, his eyes eventually moved away from him to the left then to the right side of the road, his eyes searching the Pashtuns lining the street. Even though he did not see anyone acting remotely suspiciously, he couldn’t be sure that the man was alone and he remained uneasy.

  He finally thumbed his PRR. “Okay, Lima squad. Listen up. A single individual has run in front of this vehicle and doesn’t appear to want to let us pass. He seems to be alone, but I want crews on the guns, surveillance of all rooftops for hostiles. Security teams of two get ready to dismount and take up positions around the convoy. This could be an ambush so I want all weapons to go live. I am going to have to dismount to speak to the man. Does anyone speak Pashto?”

  In the back of the MRAP, everyone glanced at each other. It was unthinkable for the convoy to stop in an urban location. Normally, any convoy traveling through a built-up area where hostiles could so easily use diversionary tactics or take hostages as cover to enable an ambush to take place, did not stop, no matter what occurred. The Taliban, as a general rule, tended to disregard the fact that innocent victims often fell foul of their strategies, and they either ignored or simply did not care about how much carnage and destruction on a massive scale their mercenary actions caused.

  Katie, Joe’s words ringing in her ears and unable to believe what was happening, stiffened as tension mounted. She was fully aware that the convoy was now a sitting duck, the vehicles hemmed in as they were by people, neither able to go forward or in reverse and were effectively trapped in a kill zone. She jumped as Dan spoke up beside her, his words shattering the silence.

  “I speak a bit, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Good,” Katie heard Joe acknowledge. “Join me outside, Corporal Reed and you too, Corporal Anderson. I want one security team to dismount. That individual needs searching before we can approach him. On my order…go.”

  Katie heard the sound of the heavy passenger door opening then closing. She stood up, thrusting her arms through the webbing of her medical pack, and waited while Dan unlocked the back doors, swung them open and jumped down. Two more marines, buddying up to form a security team followed behind him and Katie dismounted last, closing the doors behind her.

  She landed heavily on the rutted, uneven road, staggering slightly, and quickly looked around her. The first thing to hit her was the smell then the heat. The air reeked of refuse, sewage and rotten meat. The odors seemed to form an almost tangible cloud about her face—viscid and moist—making her feel instantly sick. She briefly put a hand to her mouth and swallowed hard, gritting her teeth.

  The crowd lined the ruined street, staring at the scene unfolding before them. There was heavy silence. There was no murmur of conversation or of children making a noise. The crowd stood unmoving and she felt as though she were on display in a zoo. The direct, unblinking dark stares of the Pashtuns caused fear to bloom in her stomach.

  The security team walked around Dan, taking the lead from him, raising their weapons slightly and moving around to the right flank of the MRAP. Dan followed and Katie moved into position behind him. She ke
pt her eyes on the crowd, her breathing slightly rapid. She fully expected gunfire to shatter the silence, an explosion to rip apart the buildings in front of her or see heavily-armed Taliban come running toward them. If that happened, Lima squad would have nowhere to run or hide.

  Katie saw Joe standing by the passenger door. The Afghan man had joined him and her gaze fell on the stranger, immediately noticing that he looked young, guessing his age to be nearer her own. He sported a beard, had dark piercing eyes, but was very thin, as though he hadn’t had a good meal in some considerable time. As she drew closer to him, she heard the sound of rapidly spoken Pashto and noticed the man gesturing at Joe in what Katie thought was an agitated manner. He did not appear to be either angry or hostile, only desperate to make himself understood.

  The security team slowly approached Joe and the newcomer. They took up positions close to the Afghan, still facing toward the crowd, their body language showing tension, evident by their erect posture and the lift of their shoulders. Although they had not raised their weapons into firing positions, they were semi-aimed at the man and, by definition, at the crowd beyond him.

  Joe beckoned to Dan and she came to a stop a meter or two behind them, turning to face the noiseless crowd. Their silence and stillness was unnerving and she wondered how so many people could remain so quiet and unmoving. It set her nerves on edge and she licked dry lips and clenched her weapon more tightly.

  At a gesture from Joe, one member of the security team approached the Afghan man slowly and proceeded to pat him down while the other marine stood close by, his weapon now aimed solely in the stranger’s direction. They paid particular attention to searching the stranger’s loose robes and when the marine was finally satisfied that there was nothing concealed about his person, he ordered the man, with a twirl of one finger, to turn a full circle while he checked for wires or any bulkiness that might denote explosives tied around his waist or anywhere else about his body. After a tense few minutes, they completed the search and the marine who had completed the body frisk turned to Joe.

  “He’s clean, Staff Sergeant.”

  With his rifle raised slightly, also aimed at the man, Joe nodded. “Okay. Reed, ask him why the fuck he tried to kill himself in front of my MRAP then ask him what his fucking problem is?”

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

  Keeping his distance, Dan repeated Joe’s questions in slow Pashto. Even before he had finished speaking, the distraught-appearing Afghan blurted out a virtually incomprehensible sentence and Dan—frowning—lifted his hands and with palms down gestured him to slow down his speech. The man took a deep breath and appeared to repeat his previous statement.

  Dan turned to Joe. “He says he’s sorry for stopping us in the way that he did. He felt that this was the only way of getting our attention. He says that his wife is in labor and has been for a long time but there is no sign of the child coming. He thinks there is something wrong and asks if we have a doctor, as he needs our help.”

  Joe nodded his head and glanced over his shoulder at Katie. He saw that she was watching them, saw the alert tilt of her head as she listened to the conversation and the way she had straightened at the mention of someone in trouble.

  Shit, he thought to himself. She’ll be off to search for the woman any minute.

  He turned back to Dan. “Ask him where he lives.”

  Dan obeyed, and they all waited while the Afghan turned and pointed to a small, almost hidden, side street opposite to where the convoy had stopped and he said something back to Dan.

  “He says he lives halfway down that side street. He also promises that there is no danger. He only wants help for his wife,” said Dan, once the man had finished speaking.

  Joe, following the man’s pointing finger, saw the narrowness of the street—almost an alleyway—and felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Lined with bombed-out buildings on either side, he suspected that there were going to be plenty of places where the Taliban could hide and spring an ambush, or even bomb them out of existence if they wanted to.

  “Oh, fucking perfect,” he exclaimed, gritting his teeth. He remained silent for a few moments—thinking—then said to Dan, “Tell the man that we will help him but first we have to set up security. Tell him to wait.” He thumbed his PRR and said, “Louis?”

  Sergeant Eastman’s response came back immediately. “Yeah, Joe. What’s happening?”

  Joe briefly explained what he knew so far and what he wanted. “Offload three teams and send them down to me. Take the MRAP and drive down that side street as far as you can and seal it off. I want you to set up the rest of your security teams in a perimeter facing east. Keep your engine running, gun crew watching those rooftops. Is that understood?”

  “Roger that, Joe. Moving out.”

  Katie heard the loud growl of an engine starting up and watched as the trail MRAP moved slowly past, turning right into the street pointed out by the Afghan. It disappeared from sight and cringed, expecting to hear the loud eruption of gunfire or the ripping roar of explosions from IEDs. Nothing happened and she sighed inwardly with relief. She moved to stand beside Joe, listening to his continuing radio conversation.

  “All on this net…security teams from the lead MRAP, dismount. Two teams secure the rig, the rest of you form up into three fire teams. Driver, once we are in position, seal the entrance to the street. Dana?”

  When Sergeant Edwards responded, Joe continued, “Take your truck down the street a couple of meters and stop, keep your engine running.”

  The truck drove past and turned into the street and the remaining marines formed into their fire teams. They positioned themselves in a staggered formation with fire team one offset to the left from fire team two, fire team three offset to the right of fire team two.

  Once everyone was in position, Joe held up a hand signaling for everyone to wait then gestured with one finger and pointed at the side street. Fire team one jogged across the main road, with the two remaining fire teams covering them, and disappeared into the street. Joe waited then repeated the gesture, ordering fire team two to follow. Again, he waited then ordered fire team three to proceed. He then turned to Katie and Dan. “You’re with me. Let’s go.”

  He gestured to the Afghan man to follow and he and Katie ran across the road, into the side street where the teams were waiting.

  Joe led the way through the waiting marines to take the lead, then halted, turning to watch as the lead MRAP pulled into position behind them, effectively sealing off the street. He then raised a hand and gestured for the teams to move off, each man concentrating on empty doors, glassless windows and parts of roofs that had not collapsed from bomb damage.

  Every now and again, Joe would lift up one, two or three fingers and the fire team allocated that number would disappear through a doorless ruin, carry out a hasty sweep then exit, confirming all was clear.

  Eventually the Afghan man stopped at a small house that still appeared reasonably intact, halfway down the deserted street. He spoke to Dan who turned to Joe. “This is his house, Staff Sergeant.”

  Joe ordered two members of fire team one to wait outside the building, either side of the doorway. Fire teams two and three continued on down the street, spreading out and then stopping on either side, taking up positions equidistant from each other. The remaining members of fire team one carried out an internal sweep of the man’s house while Joe, Katie and the Afghan waited outside for confirmation that the interior was clear. Joe carried out a final visual check on the MRAP in place down at the far end then gestured for Katie and Dan to follow him into the building.

  On entering, Katie was appalled at her surroundings. Someone had obviously tried to patch up holes and cracks in the walls with bits of cardboard and lengths of material and although the house was in a much better condition than others she had seen, it was still not a fit habitation for humans. There was a dank smell in the air, which was laden with dust, and because the sun could not reach through the glassless windows due to
the narrowness of the street, it was cold. The furnishings were pitiful, the combined kitchen and lounge littered with a scattering of rubble and debris.

  The man gestured frantically for them to move through the small lounge into a tiny back room and having followed him, Katie was horrified to find a young woman of no more than seventeen or eighteen lying on a pile of rugs and blankets on a dirty floor. She instantly assessed her patient, noting that the woman appeared to be in a great deal of pain and there was a look of exhaustion on her pretty face. Her skin glistened with sweat and her long black hair hung soaking about her shoulders. Although she lay very still, low moans escaped from her now and again.

  Her mind now totally focused on the patient, Katie hurried toward the makeshift bed, shrugging out of her pack. Throwing it to the floor, she knelt beside the woman and gently touched her arm, carefully alerting her to her presence. The woman slowly opened her eyes and as she caught her first glimpse of Katie, a look of terror crossed her face.

  Murmuring soft words of reassurance, guessing that the woman might not understand but hoping that the soothing tone of her voice might convey her intent, Katie pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, which she took from the front of her body armor, and turned to Dan.

  “Can you tell the husband to come and sit on the bed? We’re going to lift her shoulders and he’s going to support her. Staff Sergeant, can you help me lift her?”

  Speaking to the Afghan man again and after what appeared to be a brief explanation of what they needed him to do, the man complied, seating himself on the makeshift bed and moving to sit behind his wife. Joe moved around to the woman’s side opposite to Katie and they both gently lifted her into a semi-upright position so that her husband could move close enough to her to support her shoulders. Katie took his hands, brought them under the woman’s arms, and joined them together across his wife’s upper stomach. This elicited a moan of panic from the young woman and Katie spoke softly to her, stroking her forehead.

  The woman went quiet, and Katie turned to Joe and Dan. “I need to examine her, so you both need to move away to give her some privacy.”