“Seriously?”
“In the larger towns things might be a little more progressive, but not by much. Here, it’s like stepping back in time. No, I don’t think that’s even a fair statement. It’s more like stepping through a portal into an alien world. A world where the women have no rights whatsoever.”
Amanda folded her arms. “Surely, it can’t be that bad?”
“You’re right,” said Washington with a wry smile. “It’s worse. But whereas the men won’t talk to us and our guys are often told what the tribesmen think they want to hear, the women see and hear everything that goes on behind their walls. And the children are pretty much given free rein to come and go as they please and can get involved with just about anything going on in the community.”
Amanda unfolded her arms. “I get it. The Afghan men won’t talk to you. And the Afghan women can’t talk to our men, but the women can and do talk to you.”
Washington gestured to Amanda’s head while unwinding a patterned, earth-toned scarf from her own neck. “You need to cover your hair too. We have to play by their rules if we want to get this done. However, be sure to bring your Kevlar with you.” She gave a curt laugh. “OK, I’m going to assert my authority over those I can influence. I need to show my men where Torres and the elders agreed we can set up shop.” Washington left to join her medical team who gathered their bags and headed toward the designated site. Children crowded around, laughing and holding out their hands for any candy or gifts these people may have brought with them.
Amanda stalled for time, muttering something about needing water. She’d spotted Angel returning to the vehicle. His head was now covered with a battered baseball cap; his helmet fastened by a snap hook to his flak jacket.
She removed her helmet and scrabbled her fingers through her damp hair. She fiddled with her scarf, trying to remember how Washington wore hers. “Do I look OK?” she asked him.
Angel adjusted his cap. “Yes,” he said, “but you still got some hair showing. You need to fix that. They see it as provocative otherwise. Like being naked.”
She retied the scarf while Angel reached into the vehicle for something. Not wanting to end the conversation, she asked, “Is the area they suggested all right?”
He confirmed that yes, the area was all right.
Washington called to her and Amanda shielded her eyes. Washington gestured that she hurry up.
“Have you no eye pro?” Angel asked. “No sunglasses?”
“I can’t believe I forgot to pack them.”
“Here, take mine,” he said, removing his and offering them to her.
Looks like they’ve been ’round the block a bit. She slipped them on. Whoa, they’re good. The need to squint was removed instantly and everything became much clearer. “Are you sure you don’t need them?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t have a change of heart at missing a vital bit of kit.
“I have a spare pair,” he said, climbing into the vehicle to retrieve the replacement.
Angel accompanied her to the makeshift clinic where there were no signs of any village women.
Washington motioned to the vacant seat by her side. “Try not to make eye contact with these men, but if you do, don’t linger. It’s a taboo thing. They hate it that we, as women, are even allowed to treat them,” she said with a sly grin. “Gives me a great deal of satisfaction, knowing that.”
After examining the eyes of a small boy, she handed a tube of ointment to the interpreter, which he passed to the boy’s father—along with Washington’s application instructions. “The terps and ANA often see military women as a kind of intergender. We don’t dress, talk, react or respond within the same social norms as their women, so they don’t have the same constraints about dealing with us.”
Amanda wished she shared the outward display of confidence shown by the troops around her. The children were all smiles and laughter, but the vibe from the adult male villagers unsettled her. Their expressions ranged from scornful contempt to morbid curiosity, and she was grateful for the barrier the scarf provided. Or was it just her cosseted western upbringing misreading the situation? She kept telling herself she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t safe.
“Will we get to see any women?” she asked.
“Yes, but not until we’ve seen all of the men.” Washington smiled at Amanda. “When we’re done here, we’ll go into a sheltered compound where they”—she tossed her head in the direction of the Marines and soldiers— “can’t see the women.”
“Is it safe?” asked Amanda.
“The gate will be left open so the guys can see us; they just won’t be able to see the women.”
When the men had been attended to, Washington and Amanda were escorted into a courtyard. They set up the table in such a way that they could provide treatment, but the Afghan women were shielded from the gaze of the infidels outside. Someone rigged up a blanket to form a makeshift screen, behind which the interpreter could translate for, but not see, the women. They were a refreshing contrast to the sullen men in their drab clothes. They wore bright colors, and were curious and chatty—but they were effectively walled off from any outside contact. Many of the women were bareheaded.
“After what you said earlier, I was expecting them all to be in burqas,” Amanda said.
Washington laughed. “No men can see them here so they can uncover. And it’s mostly in the towns you see the burqa.”
Amanda checked that the scarf still covered her hair. “Coming from a society where a woman can do or be anything she wants, it’s a little hard to accept this reality—until you see it first-hand. When I get home, I swear I will never take my freedoms as a woman for granted.”
“You have no idea,” Washington said under her breath.
They treated a few minor wounds, and Amanda expressed surprise when Washington said they should examine babies and young children for signs of malnutrition, saying despite huge amounts of foreign aid, the levels of deprivation were similar to those found in famine zones. She was pleased to report these kids were in much better condition than their southern compatriots.
Between patients, Amanda leaned back in her chair to get a good view of the square—and steal a glance at Angel. He and the other men never let their guard down, always looking, checking, and re-checking. Without any visible signals, they randomly changed positions. She also noted how one of Washington’s men stayed with the parked vehicles at all times.
While Angel continuously scanned the surroundings, he would inevitably glance in her direction. Once, when he caught her looking at him, he’d acknowledged her with a discreet thumbs up and she’d hidden her giggle in the folds of her scarf.
Two small Afghan girls, around five or six years old, ducked out through the gate and into the square. They huddled together for a moment and then shyly approached Angel, who was now standing in front of his vehicle. Amanda caught the tiny hand signals exchanged between him and O’Malley. One of the girls, in a bright green dress, smiled up at Angel. He smiled back, placed his right hand over his heart and gave a little nod. He went down in the dirt on his left knee, making sure the muzzle of his rifle was pointing down and away from her. The other girl turned and fled.
I would love to be the one staring into those gorgeous green-flecked eyes right now.
Angel reached into one of his cargo pockets and pulled out a beanie toy; a purple unicorn.
Does she even have any concept of the creature?
Angel said something to the girl and she answered him.
Surely, she doesn’t speak English?
The girl laughed and Angel responded with an indulgent smile.
Aww, looks like he likes kids.
The girl ran away, hugging her new toy. Angel resumed standing security. She soon returned carrying a faded cloth flower and hesitantly held it out to him. He dropped once more to his knee and Amanda saw his lips move. The girl bowed her head and peered up through her eyelashes. His large gloved hand tenderly enveloped hers as he accepted the tat
ty flower. Smiling, he stuck it into a loop on his tactical vest.
Amanda’s heart skipped a beat. How many people would not have seen that gesture from the girl for what it was? He really is an Angel. Amanda regretted leaving her camera in the vehicle. What a picture that would have made!
Angel stood and adjusted his baseball cap while watching the girl skip away. In an instant, his indulgent uncle’s smile hardened into the thin line of a warrior. And although he still appeared relaxed, Amanda could sense the change coming over him. She searched for the reason. There. A twenty-something Afghan male was staring at Angel with such sheer malevolence Amanda shivered.
“What’s up?” asked Washington.
Amanda nodded to the scene beyond the walls. Angel passively held the man’s gaze.
“That’s not good,” Washington muttered. “That warning I gave you about eye contact. It’s also considered beyond rude for men to hold prolonged contact for more than short periods.”
The Afghan broke first. With an insolent smile, he turned and walked away. Angel signaled Washington. She declared the clinic over and ordered her men to pack it up.
Angel’s affable demeanor shifted gear and the tone in which he instructed Amanda to ride with Washington for the return journey brooked no protest. He strode with Lowell toward their own vehicle, speaking into a handset attached to a coiled lead coming from a rucksack on Lowell’s back. Everyone was wearing their helmets now. Mason gave her a cheery thumbs up on the way back to his vehicle, which was bringing up the rear. Amanda climbed into the back seat of Washington’s and sat next to a soldier who was chugging an energy drink.
“Is everything all right?” Amanda asked.
“We’ve taken rather longer than normal today,” Washington replied, “and Torres wanted us to make a move so we’re home before dark.”
Washington’s gaze remained fixed on the road ahead and with no small talk between her and the driver, Amanda pouted about not being able to travel with, and chat to, Angel. The vehicle slowing down broke her daydream. The soldier beside her lifted his rifle from his knees.
The radio squelched and Mason’s voice came on. “Sup?”
O’Malley responded. “Spidey senses are tingling.” He brought his vehicle to a halt and Washington’s stopped about twenty-five yards behind it. The atmosphere in the vehicle became charged.
Washington reached for the handset. “Direction?”
“Eleven o’clock,” O’Malley said.
Amanda craned her neck around the seat in front of her. “What’s going on?”
“His lizard brain has pinged that something isn’t right,” Washington said without turning around. “They’re investigating.”
Amanda followed Washington’s gaze. “What—?”
Washington held up her hand, which Amanda took as a signal to shut up, but she strained against the seat belt harness vying for a better view.
Angel’s voice came on. “Five-meter check.”
Washington’s driver spoke. “Ma’am?”
She nodded and she and the two soldiers swung their heads from side-to-side, searching for something just outside the vehicle.
Lowell and O’Malley reported with a concise, “Clear.” As did Washington’s men and those in the following vehicles.
“Twenty-five-meter check,” Angel said.
A much longer pause, then all-clears from up and down the line.
“Out.” The doors on Angel’s M-ATV opened and the men climbed down.
Washington ordered her men to do the same and once out she headed for Angel.
Amanda was pretty sure the order to exit wasn’t meant for her so she twisted around to see out the door which had been left open. The men swept their weapons around at shoulder height, sometimes using their rifle’s scope while they performed a physical check of the surrounding area.
Eager to know what Angel and Washington were discussing, Amanda unfastened her seat belt and slithered down from the vehicle wondering how the heck Angel managed to swing himself in and out so effortlessly. She inched her way forward. Reaching Angel’s vehicle, she hid behind the open passenger door and peeked around it. A loud ratcheting sound from above caused her to jump sideways into full view. She looked up into Matty’s grinning face. He motioned that he had just locked and cocked the machine gun.
Angel also turned toward the sound. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
Amanda shrank against the door at his tone.
“Were you not told to stay put?”
She looked around wild-eyed. Everyone it seemed, apart from Matty, was out of their transport and staring at her. Being at the center of so much attention made her skin crawl. She lifted her chin and tried to make a dignified retreat, but she caught a toe and had to clutch at the open door to prevent herself falling. She screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the laughter and jokes. None came.
“Wait,” Angel said, more kindly. “Come take a look. It might save your life one day.”
The others went back to scrutinizing the landscape and Amanda sank onto the vehicle step and put her head between her knees.
“You OK?” Matty asked. “There’s water just inside the door.”
Amanda raised a hand in thanks and once sure she wasn’t going to faint stood to retrieve the offered water. She downed the whole half liter bottle and instantly felt better. She’d had the dangers of dehydration hammered into her, but there’s nothing like personal experience to drive a point home. She grabbed another bottle and made her way over to Angel. She stood on his left, reasoning he might need to swing his sand-colored rifle around quickly if something happened—and she didn’t want to be in his way.
“So what gives, Gunnery Sergeant?” Washington asked.
“The dirt in the road ahead looks disturbed, ma’am,” Angel said.
Washington walked up level to the front of the lead vehicle. “I don’t see anything.”
O’Malley lowered the spotting scope he was using to view about forty yards ahead in the road. “Guess you ain’t used to seeing what we are . . . ma’am.”
Angel cut him a cease-and-desist look.
Washington continued. “What are you seeing, Marine?”
“How that dirt directly across our path is a slightly different color to that either side of it. Looks like it’s been disturbed recently.”
Amanda shielded her eyes trying to pick out what O’Malley was seeing. “Where?”
He grinned at her.
Heck. Did I say that out loud?
“See that bush, there?” Angel said, pointing with his left hand. His rifle was on a sling, so he could have let go with both hands if he chose, but as in the village, he had his right finger, not quite in, but darn close to the trigger. “Follow the line of the big branch down. See how the dirt looks a slightly different color?”
Amanda shook her head.
“How about over by them rocks?” O’Malley said, handing her the scope. “For the most part, it’s disturbed, but just in front there, it’s too flat. Like someone’s gone over it to remove tracks.C
“Ah, yes, I see that now,” Amanda said. They had come to a part of the road that was bordered by a short rocky outcrop of about fifteen yards. Indeed, the dirt did look too smooth there compared to what was around it. Her voice shook a little as she voiced the thought. “IED?”
“Most likely, but not where you think.”
“So, it’s not under that smooth patch?” Is it that blindingly obvious an answer, or have I just made myself look a right prat!
Honor Courage Commitment Page 12