Veiled Freedom

by Jeanette Windle

  The fatigues poured out of the rec hall after the final song. Steve’s hand again cupped Amy’s elbow as they waded forward against the stream. Phil had made his way forward too and was speaking to the chaplain when Steve and Amy reached the platform.

  The chaplain’s face lit up as he saw Steve. “Wilson! Glad you could make it.” A powerful grip almost crushed Amy’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Amy Mallory. I’m Robert Garwood, though the troops call me Rev. And I’m glad you’ve pulled yourselves away from your other Thanksgiving celebrations to drop by.”

  The chaplain’s wide grin was contagious. Amy smiled at him. “Actually, I hadn’t expected to celebrate Thanksgiving, so this is a wonderful treat. And I loved your sermon. I was just thinking of that same passage when it started snowing today. I’m from Miami.”

  “Then you know just what I mean.” Rev Garwood beamed at Amy. “I’ve still got a half hour before liftoff, and I hear they’re saving us turkey in the mess hall. You got time to join us?”

  Steve’s cocked eyebrow her way gave Amy no direction, so she made up her own mind. She liked the chaplain as she’d liked Steve’s other acquaintance Phil. Why were the security contractor’s friends so much easier to get along with than Steve himself? “I’d love to. Oh, and your singing group was incredible. Are they all armed forces too?”

  “You bet—the best Fort Bragg has to offer,” the chaplain agreed. “My first chaplain posting was at Fort Bragg just when Wilson and Myers were coming through. They were both in my congregation till they shipped overseas. Myers here can’t sing a note, but Wilson was my lead baritone when he wasn’t disappearing on some op or other.”

  Steve interjected dryly, “What he isn’t telling you is that before he switched sides to a backward collar, he was the toughest, meanest survival instructor in Special Ops, and we were terrified to say no when he ordered us to be in the front row Sunday morning—or sing in his choir. Or that when 9/11 came along, though he was well past recall age, he was first in line to volunteer for Afghanistan with us. There are guys who’ll never forget who was with them in the back of an evac chopper, Phil here being one of them.”

  The chaplain’s chuckle at Amy’s disbelieving look was rich and deep. But at the last statement, he sobered and gripped Steve’s forearm. “You know all the rocket launchers in the Taliban’s arsenal couldn’t have kept me home.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re here instead of at DynCorp’s beer bash. Just wish you had more time.”

  The chaplain’s other huge grip was around Phil’s forearm. Amy swallowed again as the three men exchanged looks. There was a brotherhood forged under the heat and sweat and adrenaline and fear of battle neither she nor any other civilian could fully understand. But she couldn’t miss the almost-palpable bond between these very different men, and it was giving Amy a whole new image of the skeptic with abrupt manners and caustic tongue who’d so unexpectedly invited her here today.

  Rev Garwood released his grip. “So who’s joining Ms. Mallory and me for turkey?”

  Phil shook his head. “I’ve got a date with my kids on Skype.” He nodded at Amy. “A pleasure to see you again. Steve, about that other, will I catch you later?”

  “Count on it.” Something in the two men’s exchanged glance carried Amy back to that grim look she’d noticed when Steve picked her up. But the security contractor was smiling as he and Amy walked with the chaplain to the mess hall.

  As promised, the chef was keeping hot a food bar of turkey and all the traditional Thanksgiving trimmings.

  Rev Garwood led Steve and Amy to a quiet corner. “I sure was tickled it worked out to cross paths with you here, Will. How long has it been since you rotated out? Five years? More? Too long!” The chaplain murmured a short grace, then turned to Amy. “Wilson was one of the most dedicated soldiers I’ve ever known. We’ve sure been sorry to lose him from Special Ops.”

  As Amy stole a glance at Steve’s wooden expression, Rev Garwood turned back to her companion. “Which is why I sure wish you’d come back inside.”

  When Steve didn’t answer, the chaplain added forcibly, “Come on. You’ve got to be bored doing guard duty by now. Don’t you know we’ve been bleeding out Special Ops personnel these last years like a slit jugular? We need you.”

  Steve’s silence dragged out uncomfortably until he lifted his head to meet Rev Garwood’s fierce gaze directly. “You know why I got out. I still believe in the team, but I can’t support the mission. Not after what I’ve seen over here. What I’m still seeing. I fought once to put these people in power. I won’t lift a finger to keep them there. And if I had my way, we wouldn’t spend another drop of American blood doing so. I’d have thought you of all people would understand.”

  The force with which Steve put down a fork rattled his tray. “We’ve talked about this before. We call these people moderates, welcome them as our allies, if they promise not to cross the ocean and blow us up. And yet we’re propping up regimes that make it a capital crime for their own citizens to worship God as they choose. You want to call that building a democracy? I don’t.”

  “You think I don’t recognize that?” The chaplain looked troubled, a hand running across his shaved scalp. “There are people in prison and dying in this part of the world for their faith in the name I serve. Believe me, I don’t take that lightly. But what’s the alternative? The consensus back home is if we can just stay engaged in the zone, things will get better as the locals learn by our example what human rights and freedom are all about.”

  “It’ll never happen,” Steve said. “Not while sharia’s the law of the land. Oh, sure, if we throw around enough money and blood, we might eventually bring some lessening of violence, even stability. But freedom?”

  Again, Amy caught that harsh bleakness in his tone. “Right here in Kabul this year, we’ve had journalists sentenced to death. Religious converts arrested for apostasy. And those are just the government-sponsored acts. Forget little things like corruption or drug dealing. Meanwhile, they haven’t so much as seen their aid packages skip a beat.

  “As long as we keep pumping aid and military support into Islamic fundamentalist regimes without any serious accountability, why should they believe we’re serious about optional little items like human rights and freedom? or anything else but catching terrorists in their backyard instead of ours?”

  “And letting the region disintegrate into civil war is a better option?” Rev Garwood shook his head. “You know what a bloodbath there’d be if we walked out of here tomorrow.”

  “If our presence is the only thing keeping this country from reverting to savagery, what does that say about its people?” Steve asked. “If they want to fight it out among themselves, let them. If they attack us, slap them down hard. But if we don’t quit making deals with the enemy, we’re going to compromise ourselves literally to death, at least as far as freedom of conscience goes. Because unlike us, they have no intention of compromising. Why should they when we’re happy to do that for them? And that’s what I can’t forgive.”

  Steve’s mouth twisted wryly. “Which is another reason you wouldn’t want me in uniform anymore. I’d never be able to keep my mouth shut about how I feel. Not all superior officers are as forgiving as you.”

  “Yeah, well, forgiving is also part of my business. And I can hardly order you to drop and give me forty these days.”

  Amy might have thought the two men had forgotten her presence, but as Rev Garwood let out a deep sigh, he turned to her. “As you can see, we’ll have to agree to disagree. Forgive us for getting carried away. Now I need to get my crew on the road if we’re to catch that chopper back to Bagram.”

  As the chaplain rose, so did his entourage across the mess hall. His large hand enfolded Amy’s again. “It really was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Wilson, it’s always good to see you. I’d have liked to get into Kabul to check out what you and Myers are up to these days. In Iraq at least I was allowed off-base to visit some historic churches. Not that you
’ll find those in Afghanistan. And if there are any Christians, they’re smart enough to keep themselves hidden well away, especially since that convert you mentioned was arrested.”

  “And there you are,” Steve put in forcefully. “Our new allies are happy to have you hold the line against the Taliban and rebuild their wells and schools. But you can’t visit an Afghan Christian without worrying about one or both of you being killed. Now why did you say we’re staying?”

  The chaplain laughed and patted Steve on the back. “No, you’re not going to draw me into that again. Fact is, we need men like you. But uniform or not, I haven’t the slightest doubt if the time comes that you’re really needed, you’ll be boots on the ground and running—in the right direction.”

  Rev Garwood was heading away when he turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot. We collected some gifts for that children’s project of yours as per your guidelines. They’re up at Bagram. How can we get them to you?”

  Amy’s incredulous glance saw red rising up Steve’s neck as he answered, “I’ll take care of it. I’ll be up there myself tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ll leave the stuff with the chaplain’s office.”

  “You were right,” Amy said as she stretched her legs to keep up with Steve’s long strides back to the car. “I like your friend.”

  “Yeah, Rev’s quite a guy. One of the original Green Berets and a POW back in Vietnam before he became a chaplain. Which is why he can fill up a chapel on Sunday morning. The recruits know he’s got credibility because he’s been where they’re at. No one before or since has ever talked me into singing in public.”

  The lightness of Steve’s tone did nothing to downplay his affection and respect for his former superior officer, and Amy looked up curiously as he opened the passenger door for her. “But you’ve really never considered what he said? joining back up?”

  “Never.” Steve’s answer was immediate and flat. “Well, never say never. Like the Rev said, if my country came under attack again, I doubt there’s a PSC still weapons-qualified who wouldn’t have their gear packed and be first on the bus. But under the present circumstances—you heard what I had to say. It isn’t just that I don’t buy the mission anymore. I could no longer blindly follow orders, at least not in the kind of missions I’d be handed. I’ve seen too much, and I know more than I should.”

  Steve rounded the hood to slide into the driver’s seat before grinning at Amy. “Enough of that. Rev’s right; we got kind of carried away there. Blame me. You may have noticed I’ve a talent for starting arguments I hadn’t planned.”

  “I noticed,” Amy said dryly. But her return smile was wholehearted. She was starting to get this guy—or thought she was. He wasn’t being deliberately provocative. He just said what he thought, as though the life experiences he’d passed through had stripped away the usual social shield of prevarication and diplomacy. It could be exasperating. But there was also something reassuring in a person who said exactly what he meant and meant what he said.

  “Actually, I enjoyed myself. And the Thanksgiving service. Thank you for inviting me.” Amy waited until the car was moving before asking, “And this children’s project Rev Garwood mentioned?”

  Red deepened up Steve’s neck and ears as the guard waved them through the gate. “It’s no big deal. I just happened to mention your project when I heard Rev Garwood was heading this way. Didn’t know he’d take it seriously. My granddad sent some stuff too. They were thinking Christmas, of course. But with this Eid thing, I’ll make sure the stuff gets to you tomorrow. Our team house guys got a few things for the kids too.”

  Amy stared at him, stunned. “It’s a very big deal—to the kids and me. Especially when you’ve already done so much for New Hope.” Slowly, she added, “I should be apologizing. I don’t think I’ve had a very . . . well, shall we say, accurate picture of you.”

  “Is that so? And just what kind of picture did you have?”

  Amy hesitated. But under his quizzical glance, she gathered her breath. After all, the guy believed in straight talk. “To be honest, since I met you, I’ve thought you were kind of . . .” Daunting? Bossy? Disapproving? Tough as nails? Amy wrinkled her nose. “Intimidating comes to mind. And I guess I had the idea you’d no use for things like faith. Or humanitarian projects like New Hope. That you thought what I was doing was somewhere between stupid and hopeless.”

  “I hadn’t noticed you’re so easily intimidated,” Steve answered as he eased the car back into traffic. “Make no mistake, I’ve got faith enough in God. It’s people I have no faith in. So don’t give me too many kudos. I hope I’d never be so rude—” another quick grin—“to use words like stupid or hopeless for what you’re doing. I’m just not convinced it makes any difference in the long run. Or even that you’re doing these people any favors when you keep stepping in to save them from what are also consequences of their own choices. Maybe not individually but certainly as a society.”

  Amy abruptly lost her smile. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying. It bothers me too that we—the West—should cooperate with ideologies that put people to death for their faith. But you can’t be suggesting we withdraw humanitarian aid from countries that don’t share our ideas of human rights and freedom. Why, there’d be millions starving this winter right here in Afghanistan if we weren’t here to offer food and shelter. I can’t believe you’d want that on your conscience.”

  “It’s not a matter of conscience. You think I don’t feel sorry for starving kids on a street corner?” Steve took a hand from the steering wheel to run through his hair. “But let’s be honest. For years I’ve heard people in your line of work blaming poverty for corruption and violence. And always with some bighearted idea that with enough food and cash, the world’s problems would disappear. Yet for all the decades organizations like yours have been handing out aid, do you see any fewer starving children, abused women, corrupt dictators?”

  Steve took in Amy’s mutinous expression. “Exactly. Because in my rather extensive experience, corruption and violence breed poverty, not the other way around. This planet has plenty of resources. I’m not talking natural disasters. Pitching in there’s understandable. But how much aid goes to bail out countries that have created most of their own problems? And forgive me if it sounds hard-hearted, but more often than not, the very aid that saves a few lives also enables bad governments to keep their grip.

  “All I’m saying is maybe it’s time to stop interfering and let the natural consequences of bad human behavior play themselves out. If there’re no more bailouts, maybe the locals will get desperate enough to lay their own lives on the line against tyranny. Or not. But let it be their decision—and consequences—not ours.”

  “Which all sounds good and logical.” Amy found that her voice was shaking and steadied it. How had she let herself consider this man worth liking? “Except what about all the children and women at New Hope? Maybe you can dismiss them as easily as natural consequences. But to me they’re people I care about, not statistics. How can you be so unfeeling?”

  “And how can you be so naive? You speak of faith in God. Well, isn’t free will one of the things God gave man? And didn’t God almost wipe out humanity once before because of our choices? So what makes you think human beings are any more salvageable now? And I’m not just talking about this part of the world. Believe me, I’m under no illusion our free West has any corner on human decency. All you can really do in this crazy world is take care of yourself, survive the best you can, and be as decent a person as possible while you’re at it. What you can’t do is save people who don’t want or deserve to be saved.”

  “Yet you’re here in Afghanistan.” Amy’s annoyance was evaporating as she studied her companion. “And you’ve rounded up presents for needy children and put up perimeter defenses to keep us safe.”

  Steve’s grin held no humor. “Well, now, that’s the advantage of being a civilian. I don’t have to practice what I preach. Like you, I’m hired to do a
job that can take me anywhere in the world there’s a trouble spot. The difference is, I make no pretence to try to change or save the world. But if the Christmas season brings out the warm and fuzzy even in a hard case like me, I’ve got no problem putting a temporary smile on a few kids’ faces even while I’m well aware my drop in the ‘do-good’ bucket doesn’t make a bit of difference to this planet’s big picture.”

  “Maybe not,” Amy said slowly, “but to these particular kids, it sure does.”

  The traffic was no less chaotic at this late afternoon hour, the earlier snowfall already churned to slush and mud. But Steve drove as though there were no slickness under the tires, and with his next turn, Amy recognized the quiet paved side street and a familiar blue wall coming up fast on the next corner.

  She broke the silence. “In any case, I can’t agree with you. I let you convince me once I had no hope of making a difference here. But New Hope is proof you’re wrong. Maybe not about all the political stuff. I’ll admit I don’t know the answers for Afghanistan or the world. What I do know is that the kids at New Hope, my women who’ve gone through so much, the staff I’m working with—they’re incredible people. Resilient and hardworking, and they’ve survived things I can’t imagine putting up with. And I have faith that working together with them, I can make a serious impact to change this country.”

  “Faith.” Steve braked hard in front of the black pedestrian gate before turning to Amy, his eyes hard, disbelieving. “You have got to be kidding. You have faith in people who all benefit from you, who all have something at stake in playing nice with you. I’m guessing you’ve never had your heart broken, have you?”

  Amy shook her head, confused. Why was he changing the subject? “You mean, falling in love?”

  “I mean betrayal. Breaking your heart over someone else, someone you’ve trusted, their lies, the pain and suffering they’ve caused to people you care about.” His tone was harsh. “Even your other missions, all those floods and earthquakes where you’ve handed out MREs and blankets. You’ve never had to be personally, emotionally invested in those people. If one lets you down, there’s always a dozen more waiting in line.”