The rear door slowly opened under the hydraulic drive, then a loading ramp was pushed out by the crew. The first thing to appear was a Mitsubishi truck that was driven off the plane. Another followed, then a couple of dozen people pulling roll-out luggage walked down the ramp to the ground. The SEALs' collective interest rose when they noticed that among the disembarking passengers were a number of females. A man led the group, and he paused to look around as if searching for someone to greet him. Brannigan and the leader of the rifle platoon, Lieutenant Lawton, picked him out to be the head man. They walked up and introduced themselves.
"How do you do?" he said. "I am Dr. Bouchier. I have some tents and other accommodations to set up. There is a crew of laborers still aboard the aircraft to do the work. Where do you recommend that we establish ourselves?"
Brannigan pointed to the south side of the warlord's fortress. "The wind is cut off there. You'll be more comfortable."
Lieutenant Lawton made an offer. "I have a platoon of men here if you need any help."
"No, thank you," Dr. Bouchier said. "We have plenty of hands to tend to the task. The sight of soldiers putting up our camp gives a bad impression:'
"All right, Doctor," Lieutenant Lawton said. "I don't suppose good impressions mean much if it turns out you need any protection, so we'll be close by."
The doctor ignored the remark that bordered on sarcasm. "Our laborers will go back with the plane tomorrow, but will return to repack us when it's time to leave." Then he added, "By the way, I am Belgian not French."
I almost give a shit, Brannigan thought, but he said. "Really?"
"Yes," Bouchier said. "Really." He turned and yelled out some orders in French. The effort produced a dozen Afghan laborers who cheerfully trotted down the ramps over to the trucks. An impatient gesture from the doctor set the vehicles off in the right direction.
Chad Murchison stood with his CAR-15 over his shoulder, with Senior Chief Dawkins and Connie Concord, watching the activity. He had started to turn to go back to the platoon tents when a female voice caught his attention.
"Chad! Chad Murchison!"
He turned to see who had hailed him. A young woman wearing white coveralls walked rapidly toward him, and the sight caused a deep feeling of sweet sadness to sweep over the young SEAL. It was Penny Brubaker, the girl who had dumped him for a varsity jock back in their college days. He managed an awkward grin, not really happy to see her.
"Hello, Penny."
She embraced him tightly around the neck and kissed his cheek. "Chad! Oh m'God! I never expected to see you. I mean here. Y' know, in Afghanistan." She laughed nervously. "Oh m'God! I am so flustered."
"I'm a bit surprised to see you too," Chad said.
"Oh m'God! I hardly recognized you," she said. "I had to stare a minute to make sure it was you."
He noted that she wore a name tag on her coveralls with her last name as BRUBAKER instead of ARMBREWSTER. The big man on campus she'd gotten engaged to was Cliff Armbrewster. She suddenly realized what he was looking at. "Oh! Cliff and I never married. He was such a shallow buffoon." She gave Chad a bold gaze. "You look so rugged! And you've filled out! But then you're a SEAL, aren't you? I heard about it from Pauline Dillingham. She said you had gone into the Navy and became a SEAL. How exciting. I thought that was so brave and mature of you."
Suddenly his feelings of awkwardness disappeared and he felt manly and macho. "Yeah. It was tough sledding, but I made it."
She saw her companions following after the trucks. "I have to get over there with my people. Oh m'God! We have to get together for a long, long talk, Chad. Really!" She kissed his cheek again and hurried after the other UN workers.
Senior Chief Dawkins and Connie walked up to him, grinning. Dawkins chuckled. "Man, Murchison, you work fast, don't you?"
Connie laughed. "She hadn't been off the plane a full minute before you made your moves. Way to go, guy!"
"Yeah," he said sadly. "I'm a regular Don Juan."
He walked away, wanting more than anything to be by himself. Seeing Penny again had stirred up old feelings of hurt and humiliation, of being rejected and unwanted. He was both sad and angry at the same time. He had pushed the girl into the far distant recesses of his heart, but now here she was back, all beautiful and desirable as she had always been.
Evidently the old maxim about women all being the same when they stood on their heads did not apply to Penelope Brubaker.
Chapter 21
UN RELIEF CAMP
3 SEPTEMBER
DR. Pierre Bouchier's medical and advisory teams were now into their second day of ministering to the Pashtuns living in and around Warlord Hassan Khamami's fortress. Even the people who belonged to the now defunct band of the late Ayyub Durtami were included in the program. Khamami had generously allowed them to take advantage of the UN offerings because of the martyrdom of their men in the final battles with the American SEALs. Another very important aspect he considered was the fact that their sons would reach adulthood someday to serve as his mujahideen. They would come in handy when he renounced the recent surrender to launch a campaign to renew his former glory. This future coup d'etat would be more than amply financed through opium poppy cultivation.
The UN's initial efforts in the fiefdom were a bit chaotic on the first day. The relief workers had not expected the five hundred people to show up all at once. But most of the staff had faced similar situations in Africa during civil wars that produced hordes of refugees. In only a short hour, using interpreters from the UN center in Kabul, the people were lined up in groups and pointed in the direction they should go.
The Pashtuns accepted the help offered them with a silent, dignified gratitude. Most of the attendees were women who brought their children in for treatment of such things as rashes, diarrhea and other conditions that would be considered minor in the more advanced areas of the world. The relief workers were aware that there must have been scores of little graves in the area that held babies who had quickly succumbed to more serious illnesses in the past. It was a pathetic situation, but there were no pharmacies out in the hinterlands of Afghanistan, and most remedies were homemade or derived from faulty folklore. The arid terrain offered little in the way of the healing herbs that were available in the jungles and forests of the globe's temperate and torrid zones.
Dr. Bouchier's plate was also full. Many surviving mujahideen had suffered debilitating wounds during their service. Without proper medical treatment and convalescence, a great majority of these fighters were either crippled up or suffered chronic pain from old injuries. The doctor employed his skills as an orthopedic surgeon to bring comfort and mobility to the suffering veterans.
One of the busiest places was the dental tent. It seemed that the majority of the people suffered from toothaches, diseased gums and other problems of the mouth. They would have been more than willing to accept the pulling, drilling and filling of teeth without anesthetic, but were happy to find out that the learned Western dentist and his hygienists had a magic needle that, although it pricked hotly when stuck into the gums, quickly produced a welcome numbness. Even the noisiest of their whirring instruments could be endured in great comfort. The whole program was turning out to be a pleasant experience for Khamami's people.
Then Khatib the Oracle made an appearance.
The wizened scarecrow, wearing a tattered and soiled chador as a serape, stalked into the area. "What are you miserable sinners doing?" he shrieked in his reedy voice at the Pashtuns. "Have you lost your minds? You are letting infidels examine your bodies and give you strange medicines and treatments that go against the holiest of Islamic laws! Their serums and elixirs are impure and unblessed."
The people, still fearful of the old faker, recoiled physically, causing their carefully formed lines to curl and buckle.
Khatib strode among them, waving his arms, his face contorted into a righteous rage. "Allah the merciful and beneficent will cure your ills in His own way! If you die, it is His will! Suppose y
our mortal life slips away while you are under the care of these unbelievers? Do you want to show up at the gates of Paradise bearing the curse of unholy therapy given to you by infidels? You will be turned away to join the heretics of the faith who have been doomed to hellfire forever!"
Warlord Khamami had anticipated an appearance by the old man, and sent Ahmet Kharani with a half dozen guards to put an end to his haranguing. The preaching of religious fervor no longer benefited Khamami and he was more than ready to get rid of Khatib the Oracle. He had become a source of great disturbance in the fiefdom.
The guards, under Kharani's supervision, simply grabbed the skinny oldster and hauled him out of the area, frogmarching him away. They were under orders to take him back to the mountains to renew the hermitage he had foisted upon himself for fifteen long years.
Kharani watched the old man's forced departure, then turned back to the crowd, raising his hands for attention. "Pay no attention to what the insane ancient has told you. Amir Khamami blesses the efforts of these good people who have come to help us. You may continue to receive their healings and medicines."
The lines quickly reformed.
.
UN CLASS TENT
1015 HOURS LOCAL
PENNY Brubaker's assignment in her relief team was the position of instructor in the diet, sanitation and hygiene program. Her training aids were posters, videotapes, pamphlets and one translator fluent in the Pashto language. No matter where she had gone in her short UN career, her classes were made up wholly of women who eagerly sought her counsel. Their knowledge of even the most rudimentary sanitation practices was severely limited, and the first lesson Penny imparted was the benefits of boiling water before use. From there she progressed through cooking, cleaning and the proper placement, construction and uses of latrines. When those basic subjects were mastered, she moved on to more complicated matters such as proper diet. This latter could be extremely difficult to teach in areas suffering from shortages of food due to famine, war or extreme poverty.
Penny and her interpreter had just finished the second lecture of the series, and had put a tape in the VCR. While the women in her class sat enthralled by this method of presenting instruction on maintaining healthful diets, she went outside the tent for some fresh air and some time to collect her thoughts.
The unexpected meeting with Chad Murchison had shaken Penny more than she realized. He was always a cute guy in a sort of awkward way, and his physical ineptness was charming. But he'd seemed so immature, even though he was a brilliant student who was always on the Dean's List. The rugged physical strength and manly handsomeness of Cliff Armbrewster had attracted her in a way that Chad never could.
But seeing him here in Afghanistan had shocked her to the point of giddiness. It wasn't so much from finding him in this isolated place, but seeing how much he had changed. He had been armed, wearing a battle vest complete with military equipment, and a camouflage-pattern uniform; but most of all, his once scrawny physique had blossomed into a sharp muscularity. His shoulders and chest filled the jacket, and his arms were corded with muscle. He still had long slender fingers, and they were a charming contrast to his ruggedness.
Additionally, Chad's face, once long and sort of girlish, was square jawed now, with a masculine maturity that made it hard to realize he was that same sweet boy she had known through their preppy years and into college.
"Oh m'God!" she whispered to herself. "He's so handsome! So Brad Pitt!"
The tent flap opened and her assistant instructor stepped out. "Penny, the video is over. It's time to continue the instruction."
Penny nodded. "All right. I'm ready."
The two women went back inside the tent.
.
1700 HOURS LOCAL
THE day's work had ended for the UN team, and their evening meal would soon be ready, but Penny Brubaker was too excited to eat. The one thing she wanted more than anything else at that moment was to see Chad Murchison again.
When she walked into the SEAL bivouac, she noted that they had situated themselves in a sort of circle arrangement of tents. They sat in front of their canvas shelters in twos and threes, speaking quietly with one another. After a quick glance around, she saw Chad seated on a camp stool with two other men. As she approached them, the oldest noticed her and gave her a smile and a wave.
Chad turned, and stood up when he saw her. He smiled a greeting. "Hello, Penny."
"Hi, Chad," she said. She looked at the others. "Hello." "Penny," Chad said, "these are a couple of my platoon mates. Guys, this is a friend from my hometown. Penny Brubaker. Senior Chief Dawkins here is our fire team leader?' "How're you doing?" the senior chief said politely.
"And I'm Guttorm Olson," the other man said, introducing himself. "It's nice to meet you, Penny."
"Thank you," Penny said. "It's very nice to meet you too. Are you Norwegian?"
"Only by ancestry," Gutsy said. "I'm from Minnesota." "Can we fix you a cup of coffee?" Chad asked. "All we have are MREs, but it'll be hot and invigorating."
"No, thank you," Penny said. "I just dropped by so we could bring each other up to date."
"That's a great idea," Chad said. "How about a stroll? We're actually safer out here than we'd be in a large American city."
"I can believe that:' Penny said. She smiled at the senior chief and Gutsy. "It was nice meeting you."
The two young people walked out of the bivouac and began strolling along a route that would take them around the SEAL bivouac, the UN camp and the area occupied by the troops from the 101st Airborne Division. Everyone seemed tired from the day's activities, except for a half dozen air assault soldiers playing flies and grounders with a bat and softball.
Chad only took short glances at Penny during the impromptu promenade. Even without much makeup and wearing coveralls, she was still alluring. He cleared his throat to speak. "So how're things going with the United Nations?"
"Pretty good," she said. "The people here gave us an enthusiastic welcome. All of our facilities are going at full speed. I teach diet and sanitation, and just started some groups this morning."
"We're not doing a thing but keeping an eye on the warlord in the wooden castle over there," Chad said. "Between standing watch and patrolling, we're starting to get bored."
"I don't quite know what to think of that chief or whatever he is," Penny said. "My interpreter told me she learned that he and his people have slaves."
"I haven't heard anything about that:' Chad said.
"They were evidently conquered by the warlord in some battle or war a long time ago:' Penny said.
"You say they're slaves?"
"Yes," Penny replied. "And they are not allowed to take advantage of our services."
"Can't your boss do anything about that?"
Penny shook her head. "He can't do a thing to ease the situation because of a UN mandate that forbids aid teams to interfere with certain local customs and practices. We try to keep friction between us and the people's leaders to a minimum."
Chad stopped walking, turning to look at her. "I'll bet the Skipper can help out those slaves in the winking of an eye." "Who is the Skipper?"
"My commanding officer:' Chad said. "Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan. He'll go over there and give that warlord an attitude adjustment."
"Oh m'God!" Penny exclaimed. "They told us he was a powerful man! A warlord! He has an army, Chad!"
"He had an army," Chad said. "We just kicked his and his troops' asses but good. If that son of a bitch as much as blinks the wrong way, he'll find his butt right between the rock and a hard place."
Penny was stunned. Here was this tough guy she had once known as an awkward boyfriend, who in reality was now a stranger. That proverbial ninety-eight-pound weakling of those long ago days had disappeared forever. Instead, here he was as muscular as a football player, and talking about defeating entire armies in the company of somebody he called Wild Bill.
Chad took her hand. "Let's go talk with the Skipper.
C'mon!"
.
BRANNIGAN'S CP
1720 HOURS LOCAL
LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan lay on his mattress pad inside the tent he used as his office. With very little paperwork to do, he had no furniture. Frank Lopez had organized a commo center with the newly acquired Shadow-fire radio and the platoon's PRC-112s in another tent.
The Skipper had almost drifted to sleep when he perceived the sound of footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes and waited. A moment later he heard Chad Murchison's voice.
"Sir! I need to have a word with you. It's me, Murchison." "Well, c'mon in then," Brannigan said irritably.
"Are you decent, sir? I have a young lady with me."
Brannigan laughed. "I'm having my way with two of the skankiest whores this side of Baghdad. So maybe I better join you out there if you're with a fucking lady." He got up and went to the flap, stepping outside. He stopped, his eyes opened wide. "Jesus, Murchison! You do have a young lady with you." He grinned as his face reddened with embarrassment. "Excuse me. Please. I thought Petty Officer Murchison was joking with me."
Penny smiled. She had run into all sorts of situations since going to work for the UN. "That's perfectly all right. I just hope those skanky whores can spare you for a moment or two."
Brannigan, liking her right away, laughed. "I truly apologize. And Murchison should have said he was with a charming young lady."
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