Taking Fire

by Lindsay McKenna

  As a paramedic, Khat knew the ultimate outcome of appendicitis if it wasn’t immediately addressed with emergency surgery: death. The appendix was swollen and would, at some point, burst. The toxic crap held in the sac would spew out all over into her abdominal cavity, infecting her, and she’d turn septic. The poisonous material would then flood into her bloodstream, and she would die from the blood poisoning. And at a certain point, no antibiotic in the world could stop it once it had burst.

  In her fevered state, Khat knew her temperature could spiral up and reach a killing one-hundred and six degrees Fahrenheit. A temperature that high would kill her brain. She could die from infection or go brain-dead from high fever because the body’s own defenses were trying to kill the infection before it killed her.

  Either way, she was dead. How badly she wanted to live! Tears jammed into her eyes as she remembered Mike’s hands loving her, his mouth worshipping hers. He’d infused her with the dream of a new, better life than this one. Was the irony that this life she finally wanted to leave would kill her before she ever got a chance? Oh, God…let me live…let me live…please…

  As dawn crawled on the horizon, Khat was fighting to stay coherent. She was weaving, stumbling and falling. Her knees were bloodied and bruised. She saw the village below, perhaps a half a mile away. Was it a hallucination? Because half the time with the fever, she was imagining things. She heard voices. Mike’s voice. She heard Mina’s soft whinny. And then she’d heard the Taliban nearby. In her present state, she couldn’t sort it all out. What was real? What was not? Khat didn’t know.

  Just as she got to the flat of the valley floor, Khat saw the gate to the Shinwari village being opened by a man. He didn’t see her, too busy opening the huge iron gate. Stumbling, she tried to push herself into a trot. Wobbling badly, she saw the man lift his head, hearing her approach. His eyes widened and he froze as he saw her approach.

  “I’m American,” she cried out in Pashto. “I need help! I’m hurt! Please, help me!” Khat fell unconscious in the dirt, two hundred feet away from the stricken-looking Afghan farmer.

  *

  KHAT GROANED, FEELING a cool cloth against her brow. Opening her eyes, sweat pouring off her, she saw a young woman dressed in a dark brown robe with a pink scarf over her head, a worried look on her face, sitting beside her. She was gently sponging Khat’s face and neck. Feeling a bed beneath her, Khat swallowed and tried to speak. Only a groan came out. Thirsty, she tried to sit up. Pain in her abdomen made her gasp and lie down, breathing hard.

  “I need help,” she said hoarsely to the woman in Pashto. “I need someone to ride to Bravo, to tell the SEALs I’m here. My name is Sergeant Khatereh Shinwari, US Marine Corps. Please? Can you do this for me?”

  The woman nodded. “I am Nasreen. My husband, Mohsin, has already left. He is riding to Bravo, the closest base to our village, asking them for their help,” she whispered shyly. “Are you thirsty?”

  Khat nodded. “My ruck,” she said, lifting her hand weakly, seeing it sitting in the corner of the room, “there’s water in it. Give me that water?” Because the water Afghans drank was full of germs and parasites. She was in enough trouble without drinking polluted, dirty water.

  The woman nodded and quickly stood. Khat saw she was in a small mudroom. There was a window, allowing sunlight into the area. She didn’t know what time it was. The woman brought over the bottle, and she handed it to Khat.

  Shakily, she unscrewed the bottle top. Trying to sit up on her elbow, she found she couldn’t.

  “Here, let me help,” the woman whispered, sliding her arm beneath Khat’s shoulders. She placed her small, delicate hand around the bottle, guiding it to her mouth.

  Khat drank deeply, the water dripping out of the corners of her mouth. Finished, she pulled the empty bottle away, thanking her. “My name is Khatereh. I am from the Shinwari tribe. My family lives in Dur Babba. What is your name?”

  “Nasreen,” she said. “My husband, Mohsin, saw you as he opened the gate to our village this morning. He ran back and called for help. Three men carried you in here. You are now in our home. You are hurt?”

  “Yes, I have appendicitis. When did your husband leave?” Khat asked, feeling the fever eating away at her mind. She was dehydrated. She needed an IV to rehydrate her.

  “Three hours ago,” she said. “But he must be careful. The Taliban are nearby.”

  Nodding, Khat whispered, “Yes, they are.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No,” she managed, closing her eyes. “I need water, and I need to cool down. I’ve got a high fever…” Khat could tell that the woman, who was probably around twenty, didn’t understand most of what she said. The pain was still minimal unless she tried to move. The morphine continued to do its job.

  She sank into a feverish semiconscious state. Her mind was playing tricks on her, thinking Taliban were bursting into the room where she was. She could hear herself babbling nonsense, but the fever was amping up and soon Khat swam in the fevered heat of hell and nonstop hallucinations.

  Mike…she needed Mike! If only the Afghan could get through to get her the help she desperately needed!

  *

  “HEY, TARIK,” MAC BOOMED, “get in here!”

  Mike ran down the hall, stopping at the chief’s door.

  Mac was on the phone. “Get down to the security gate. An Afghan named Mohsin is there, speaking in Pashto, and the Marines need an interpreter.”

  Nodding, Mike grabbed his hat out of his cammie pocket, threw it on and trotted out into the evening. The sun had set, the sky a deep blue. As he came up to security, he saw a small Afghan man waving his arms excitedly on the other side of the gate, his tired horse next to him. When the marines saw him arrive, they gestured him around the gate to talk to the Afghan.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” the Afghan said, out of breath. “You must come. One of your SEALs is badly hurt!”

  Mike scowled. The man was frantic, his brown eyes huge, sweating freely like his horse. Holding up his hands, Mike said, “Slow down, slow down. We don’t have any SEALs outside the wire right now. What’s your name and what tribe are you?”

  “I’m Mohsin of the Shinwari tribe,” he gasped. He pointed toward the north. “You must come now! Your SEAL is very badly hurt! In need of medical attention.”

  He wasn’t making sense. Mike wondered if it was a Taliban ruse, a lie to drag them into an ambush. It had been done before. Looking over the bay horse, whose flanks were heaving from being galloped for a long way, he turned back to Mohsin. “How did you get through the Taliban lines?” he demanded, his eyes hardening.

  Mohsin took off his rolled cap, “Very, very hard. They are everywhere! I wanted to get here sooner, but I had to hide many times to avoid them. They are angry. They’re looking for someone.” He wiped his darkly tanned brow. “I think they are looking for your SEAL. She is safe with us, but I worry. I think they are tracking her.” His voice turned anxious. “Please, you need to protect us. We took her in. We have kept her safe, but I’m afraid. Afraid they will come to our village, looking for her.”

  Mike’s breath jammed in his chest. “You said her?” he demanded hoarsely.

  “Yes, yes! She wears SEAL clothes like yours.” He pressed his palm to his eyes for a moment. He was shaken, his voice trembling from exhaustion and stress. “S-she was babbling. Once, she said her name is Khatereh Shinwari. She said to tell someone at Bravo that she is very sick. She needs help very quickly. Please,” the Afghan begged, “you must believe me!” He gestured wildly toward the north. “My village is going to be attacked because she is there! She asked for pashtunwali, and we have given her help and protection. But the Taliban is angry. I’m afraid for my wife, my village—”

  Mike nodded to the security guard to open the gate. Grabbing Mohsin by the shoulder, he yanked him forward. “You’re coming with me.”

  Inside, Mac listened to what the Afghan had said. The man was shaking, literally. Mike asked Travis to sit him down
in the big room and give him some water, food and watch him.

  “There’s his village,” Mac said, pointing to the map on his laptop. “Twenty miles from here. A friendly, pro-American village.”

  Rubbing his jaw, Mike felt his heart thundering in his chest. “Mohsin said the place is crawling with Taliban. He thinks they tracked Khat to them.”

  Mac grimaced, getting on the phone. He called in the two officers and pretty soon, the small office was crowded with bodies. Mike stood back as the chief got the three officers up to speed. The LT, Jim Sanders, a man with a lot of years of experience, said, “Get a drone over there. I can’t send in a Medevac if the Taliban is surrounding that village.”

  Mike remained silent. A sudden op like this took time. Maybe more time than Khat had. Had she been wounded in the firefight? Making mental calculations, she had walked from that ridge down to the village in two days. It wasn’t that far mile-wise, but if she was wounded, it would take her more time.

  “Call in the Apaches,” the LT ordered Mac. “I want them out there in front of us coming in like yesterday.”

  Mac got on the phone with the emergency request to the Black Jaguar Squadron.

  The LT looked over at Tarik. “Get seven SEALs together, let them know we’re going in hot. Kit up in—” he looked at his watch “—twenty minutes. I want everyone on the tarmac ready to load into a Chinook. You’ll head up the team, Tarik.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mike said, relieved. He didn’t have to go far to find seven other SEALs. They were all lounging around in the big room, bored to death.

  As soon as he gave the orders, the room flew into action. Mike turned and ran out the door, heading for his tent where his gear and kit were stowed. They were going in hot. The Taliban had somehow trailed Khat to the village.

  As he ran, he knew the Taliban would enter the village even if the elder forbade it. They were not Pashtun, and therefore, weren’t bound by that tribe’s ethics. They took what they wanted. And they’d find Khat by process of elimination.

  His mouth tightened as he ran down the dusty avenue, skidding to a halt in front of his tent. Khat could be dead before they even got on scene.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MIKE WAS NEVER so relieved as when the SEALs landed at the Shinwari village and Mohsin led them directly to where Khat was being cared for by his wife, Nasreen.

  The Apaches were keeping the Taliban at bay, and they were hiding in the woods, so they couldn’t attack them or the village. Khat was barely conscious, lying in the only bed in the house. As he entered the home, Mike felt a mountain of fear dissolve from around his shoulders.

  The combat medic with him, Tate Johnson, introduced himself to Khat, giving her a quick examination. Mike wanted to rush to her side, kiss her, hold her, but knew he couldn’t. Instead, he stood back, speaking to shy Nasreen, who had cared for the woman he loved. He thanked the woman for her courage to bring Khat into their household. Mike slipped Mohsin, who stood by his wife, four US hundred dollar bills into his hand as compensation. Nasreen’s eyes grew large as her husband disbelievingly clutched the bills. And then she wept, her hand against her face, grateful to Mike. Mohsin bowed, thanking him profusely. Mike gripped his shoulder, thanking him.

  If not for this Afghan’s bravery to dodge the killing Taliban, they would never have known Khat was here. And four hundred dollars would feed them and their relatives for the year to come. It was the least Mike could do for them saving Khat’s life.

  The combat medic, Tate Johnson, looked up. “Probably appendicitis. She’s stable, and I’ve just given her a mild dose of morphine to sedate her for the trip to Bagram. Let’s rock it out.” He stood, going to his huge medical pack. On the side of it was a stretcher that he quickly unfolded so that Khat could be placed on it and brought to the awaiting Medevac Black Hawk.

  Mike moved forward, kneeling down beside Khat. Her eyes were cloudy, and her skin stretched taut, glistening with perspiration. “We’ve got you,” he told her quietly, squeezing her hand. “You’re safe, Khat. You’re coming home with me.” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her brow. As he pulled away, he saw her mouth soften.

  “Home,” she rasped, her voice hoarse. “That sounds so good…with you…only you…” And she lost consciousness from the morphine.

  *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Mike was sitting on the edge of Khat’s bed in the private room at the Bagram hospital. She’d had surgery immediately upon being flown into Bagram. Her recovery was nothing short of a miracle. Her concussion, a level three, was improving.

  He sat facing her, holding her hand, listening to the entire story of what happened to her and Zorah leading up to and through the firefight. Her fever was almost gone, and there was clarity in her eyes. He leaned forward and moved the tears of loss from her pale cheeks as she choked up about Zorah being killed by the RPG.

  “I feel so horrible about her death,” Khat sobbed, covering her tender abdomen with her hand because each one pulled at the surgical stitches. “She was so brave. I asked so much from her…”

  “War takes so much from all of us,” Mike agreed with a rasp, sliding his hand over her clean red hair. “At least you still have Mina. She’s at Bravo, and Travis is taking care of her leg for you. She’s going to be fine.” His voice thickened. “I’m sorry you lost Zorah…”

  When she was finished weeping, Mike pulled out a set of orders from his pocket and handed them to her. He had already read them, and they were from General Maya Stevenson, ordering her back to the USA.

  He watched Khat’s expression as she read them. Hoping she would go along with them, not fight them, Mike was surprised by the relief he saw shining in her green eyes as she lifted her head.

  “I’m ready to go home,” Khat uttered tiredly, placing the papers to sit on the tray next to her bed. “I can take no more. Aunt Leeda wants me out of here.” Her voice waned, and she gave him a weary look. “I have done what I can… I am only one woman.”

  “Home with me?” Mike asked, unconsciously holding his breath. He saw her lips compress and turbulence in her eyes for a moment.

  “Yes, only with you.” Khat placed her hand in his. “So much went through my mind and heart after the firefight, Mike. What was I doing? You love me. I love you. I have a mother who wants me home and living near her.” She earnestly searched his somber face, held by the gold in his eyes. There was no question Mike loved her. Khat felt it, saw it, heard it, every day from him. “I guess—” and she frowned, looking away for a moment “—I guess I had blinders on. I saw no other life other than this one. Aunt Leeda giving her permission… That was so important to me.” She clung to his gaze. “And you wanting to marry me? Do you know how wonderful that made me feel? To be wanted? Loved? And I never had any dreams of ever being married.” Her mouth curved faintly as she absorbed his intense look. “Until I fell in love with you. I never thought anyone could love me with my scars…my shameful past.”

  Mike moved a little closer, sliding his hands through her thick red hair that was a loose mantle around her shoulders. “Those scars are medals showing your bravery, Khat. To me, you are beautiful just the way you are. There isn’t an inch of you I don’t love.” He kneaded her scalp, watching her eyes slowly shut, a soft hum in her throat telling him how much she enjoyed his ministrations. “You survived, Khat. Most wouldn’t have, but you did.” He smoothed the strands away from her delicate ears, smiling down at her. “We have a chance at a new life. Together. I’m more than ready to take that step. Are you?” Because Mike had never wanted anything more than Khat since he’d regained consciousness in that cave after she’d saved him.

  Khat opened her eyes, drowning in his gold ones. “You are the bravest warrior I have ever known.” She slid her hands up across his forearms, her voice shaking with emotion. “I want a life with you, Mike. I know it won’t be easy, sometimes, but you have shown your willingness to work with me, love me despite my ups and downs. I still have to finish out my enlistment…”

 
“Those things will work out over time,” he reassured her. Slipping his arms from her hands, he folded her long, graceful fingers into his. “The important thing is General Stevenson is ordering you to San Diego Naval Medical Center to recuperate. She’s already got a job waiting for you at ST3 in their Intelligence section until your enlistment runs out. You’ll be there with me. I have sixty days when our platoon returns to Coronado and I intend to spend every one of them with you, Khat. I have a condo that is owned by Gabe Griffin, a former SEAL, on the island. We’ll live there with one another, love one another, have the time we deserve with each other. Sound good?” He caressed her cheek that had a little pink color returning to it. A tender smile pulled at his mouth, his voice husky with emotion. “And you can feed Sam, the harbor seal, every Friday when he drops by for his fish dinner.”

  “That sounds so good,” Khat wobbled. “My mom lives in San Francisco. She’ll be close, and that’s good. I need her right now, too.” She hitched a shoulder. “My father? I don’t want to see him. I’m not ready for it.”

  “You don’t have to see him,” Mike promised her quietly, holding her hurt stare. “My parents live in Alpine, California, just north of San Diego. They’re longing to meet you, Khat. They know I love you, and that you love me.” He lifted her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. She smelled of fresh Ivory Soap. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Not a bad one.”

  “No, a good one.”

  “I’ve lost so much, Mike. I can’t stand to lose anything more.”

  Mike understood the gravity of her words. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss across her lips, meant to heal Khat. She eagerly returned his kiss, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, trying to draw him closer to her. The past two days had been rough on Khat in every way. Wanting to love this fierce woman warrior, but knowing with her surgery, that was out of the question for a couple of weeks, Mike whispered, “I love you, desert woman of my heart…”