Brotherhood Protectors: Soldier's Heart Part Three (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Ilsa J. Bick

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Twisted Page Inc.. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Brotherhood Protectors remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Twisted Page Inc., or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  SOLDIER’ HEART PART THREE

  By

  Ilsa J. Bick

  Copyright 2018 Cover Art by Croco Designs

  Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing

  Table of Contents

  PART SIX: BLOOD IS FOREVER

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  PART SEVEN: ONE DISASTER AT A TIME

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  13

  14

  15

  PART EIGHT: TIME IS NOT YOUR FRIEND

  About the Author

  Other Books by Ilsa J. Bick

  Dear Readers,

  First, for all those who’ve followed this journey from its inception, welcome back! It’s been awhile. Yes, yes, I know, I promised Part Three would hit in January and had every intention of getting this into your hot little hands then. But you know life. Yada-yada sometimes gets in the way. Nothing horrific, just clutter I couldn’t clear quickly enough. So, my profound apologies.

  Second, a big shout-out to Elle James for being so understanding—and continuing to allow me to play in her sandbox.

  I recently had the most interesting chat with a writer-friend, where she had to beg off continuing because she had about three thousand more words to finish her book. Well, I was floored and asked how she could know the precise number. Turns out she was writing to word limit and had to wrap things up.

  I get that. It’s just I don’t ever think that way. When I write, the story simply becomes. Can I write to limit? Well, sure, all writers can and do. I sorta write to limit here because there are only so many words a work can have and still be a KW novella. Does this mean there’s usually a fair amount on blood on the floor when I edit? Oh, yeah; most often, these installments are at least 8,000 words too long, but that’s okay. I have to tell myself the story, for starters. Also, to be honest, a writer has to leave her ego at the door when it comes to editing because not all words deserve to live.

  I also have been fortunate to work with editors who aren’t about word limit and, instead, are all about story. In fact, one who looked at my ASHES series, which I originally planned as two books, insisted I had three at the very least—but I simply didn’t know that yet because my characters hadn’t told me. He was right, too. ASHES is a big story, and folks still get in touch, wanting more.

  That’s happened here with SOLDIER’S HEART. Turns out my characters are bigger than life and busting at the seams, with lots still to say and do. I’m fortunate I can do that here because it wouldn’t be fair to them—or you—not to give them their day in the sun. As I’ve said before, every book is a journey and this train will pull into the station when it’s good and ready.

  Of course, I understand my work isn’t everyone’s cuppa. If you’re at this point in this series, though, it means you’ve enjoyed the ride enough to come back for more—and for that, I am truly grateful. If you have not left a review or rating for the other books in the series, please reconsider. While I would love for you to LOVE my work, honest reviews and ratings boost a book’s placement in searches and promote visibility. So, if you’d like to help out with that, please.

  Above all, I hope you continue to enjoy. My characters would be nothing but words without you.

  PART SIX:

  BLOOD IS FOREVER

  AFGHANISTAN, 2014

  1

  This is a mistake.

  “Wait up.” She was melting here. Sticky, sweat-slicked dust shellacked Kate’s face and neck. Blinking was like taking sandpaper to her eyeballs. Unhooking her ballistic sunglasses, she dug grit from her eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Let’s hold up a sec.”

  “With pleasure.” Dropping to a knee, Tompkins unfolded a portable bowl then dumped in water for Six sprawled in the dust at his feet. “Not to be a pain, but I’m on my last bottle.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” One disaster at a time. Pulling at the nib of her pack’s camelback, she sucked but got mostly damp bubbles. Tugging a spare water bottle from her hip, she sipped, swished, then forced back the mouthful, which was muddied by dirt on her tongue. On the other hand, the water was wet and that was all that mattered. The air was still and turgid with heat, no breath of a breeze. Unlike the slopes immediately adjacent to the valley and Cham Bacha’s fields, these were virtually barren, a glare bone-white in the westering sun. Running her tongue over her upper lip, she skimmed salty wet sand then had to work to get enough spit to clear the mess from her mouth. What the hell had she been thinking, going off into the mountains above Cham Bacha, no call-in, no authorization? She offered her bottle to Bibi. “Drink. How you doing for water?”

  “I have been better hydrated.” Bibi’s hijab was sodden. Blotting sweat from the underside of her jaw, the police woman tipped back several swallows, sighed then handed the water back. “Down to my last bottle as well. At least we are all still sweating.”

  More or less. She didn’t like the hectic color in Tompkins’s cheeks and neck. Six’s chest was going like a bellows. “Ask Fatimah how much more of a hike we’re talking here.”

  “Not very.” Bibi listened as Fatimah rattled off more Pashto. “Another ten, fifteen minutes?”

  “What?” This wasn’t supposed to be the deal. Once they’d hoofed up a rocky scramble to where Fatimah waited above the main path back down to Cham Bacha, the girl had them follow the thin cut of a goat path, which wormed through a maze of boulders and led them deeper into the mountains. The problem was every step took them farther from their platoon—and Jack.

  Why didn’t I just put my foot down? Well, she knew the answer: her guilt working overtime. Guilt at leaving these kids. Worry over abandoning them to whatever awaited and a future in which she didn’t figure at all. Because this was the last of everything in Afghanistan: last mission, last clinic, the last afternoon. Her very last chance to do some good. She’d started something here, thinking there might be time to finish ... only finish what? A rebellion? Some half-assed Prime of Miss Jean Brodie thing? Bibi had said as much, implying Kate wasn’t liberating these kids so much as giving them false hope.

  Yet, look at Bibi. The fact she was in the police force, working alongside men, was a miracle in and of itself for a woman whose family hailed from a village not unlike Cham Bacha and whose mother regarded a woman’s education as unnecessary, even sinful. Sure, Bibi struggled; the men on Gholam’s team hoped she would fail, but at least there was something for Bibi to struggle for.

  Still, she had to stop this now. She couldn’t fix everything.

  “I’m sorry, but no, Fatimah.” Kate held up a hand as the girl started up again. “Listen, we’ve been at this for a while. Now, I get you think there’s something you just have to show us. But we’re running out of time, and I can’t justify going any farther until I know what this is about.” She turned an exasperated look on Bibi. “I’m sorry, but she has t
o give us something.”

  She waited as Bibi translated and for Fatimah to come back with an answer. After the two went back and forth a few more moments, Bibi gave Kate a regretful shake of her head. “I can’t get a straight answer either. She won’t explain other than to say you must see to believe ... erhm ...” Bibi groped for the correct words. “How would you call it ... a visual, yes?”

  “A visual of what? Wait.” Kate waved her question away. “She won’t say, right?”

  “I am afraid not.”

  “Figures,” Tompkins grumped as Six, his tongue unspooling in a frothy pink ribbon, tried to lap up water and pant at the same time. “Atta boy.” Tompkins massaged the dog’s shoulders. “There you go. Just take it easy. Water’s not going anywhere, buddy.”

  “You should save some for yourself.” It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest Tompkins call in and head back, but the handler was just as stubborn, and she didn’t outrank him. “I’m serious. You and that dog crap out, it’s a long way down. You don’t look so great, either. Your color’s high and you’re not sweating much anymore.” Before he could stop her, she put a hand to his forehead. “Your skin’s pretty hot, too. Feeling sick to your stomach?”

  For a second, she thought the dog handler might lie, but then his shoulders moved in a marginal shrug. “A little, but no big deal. I can handle it. Long as we’re trading compliments, you don’t look so terrific yourself.” He transferred his gaze to Bibi. “You either. Never mind the armor—we all know it’s like being slow-roasted, but you’ve got to be hotter than hell in that tunic and pants. You can take the hijab off, you know. Let that sweat evaporate, cool you down.”

  “Mmmm.” A rime of dried sweat showed on Bibi’s dark-gray hijab. “I do not deny the idea has its appeal, but if I take off the hijab, Corporal, it would be as if you took off your helmet, your battle dress. I would be out of uniform.” Bibi gestured at Fatimah in her purple tunic and light head scarf. “What message would I send?”

  “That it’s not okay to be oppressed? I saw how your guys smirked. Made me kind of pissed off for you. I’m not saying a lot of guys on our side aren’t the same way, but at least we’ve got a command that won’t tolerate it.” Tompkins thought about that a moment then added, “Most of the time. Ninety percent. I mean, we’ve got our assholes, too.”

  “Ah, yes. Assholllle.” Bibi rolled the word around her mouth as if savoring its taste. “Quite evocative. Here we say khar kwass. Dumb ass.” Bibi wrinkled her nose. “Not as ... pungent. Hanzeer bacha is good, although calling someone a son of a pig doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, don’t you agree, Corporal?”

  “Uhm.” Tompkins slipped a look to Fatimah, who’d clapped a hand to her mouth to catch a snicker. “No, I guess not.”

  “You know who excels at cursing? In Afghanistan, I am saying. We women. My mother ... oh, she could really let go. She was always calling my sister a black face and praying to God to deprive us of sons. If I didn’t like what she’d made for dinner, she would say, ‘Khaoray ukhra!’ It means, ‘Then go on, eat dust,’ though I suppose you would say shit, yes?”

  “Ah.” Tompkins’s Adam’s apple bobbled in a hard swallow. “Probably?”

  “Do you know why we women here are so good at curses? It’s because we largely have no power over our lives. All we have are empty threats, empty words, but maybe not forever. In the meantime, this is my uniform, Corporal. You wear yours, I wear mine. Or perhaps”—Bibi’s mouth curled into a half-moon—“you are simply curious as to the color of my hair?”

  “No, no, that’s not it. It was just ... I was worried you might be ...” Flustered, Tompkins scrubbed the air with the flat of a hand. “You know, that you’re hot.”

  “Ah, hot.” Bibi’s features were a perfect deadpan. “Yes, I have been told I am very hot and on several occasions.”

  “Guys,” Kate said as Tompkins’s flush deepened to a ruddy purple, “can we focus? Plenty of time for you two to debate gender inequity and flirt on the way back.”

  “Hey, I’m not flirting,” Tompkins said. “I don’t even know how.”

  “To this, I can attest,” Bibi said.

  Tompkins almost, almost grinned. “Look, we’re all running on fumes. It’s, what, a hundred and ten?” Tompkins jiggled his water bottle. “Another couple of ounces and I’m—” He broke off as Fatimah interrupted, punctuating with a lot of hand-waving. “What now?”

  “Interesting.” Bibi gave the girl a narrow look. “She says there are plenty of supplies and water when we get where we’re going.”

  “Wherever that is,” Kate said.

  “Well, I think that’s the first good news I’ve heard in a couple hours ... What?” Tompkins asked as Bibi shook her head. “What’s not to like about getting more water?”

  “Plenty, Corporal. Think of where we are in relationship to the village.”

  “In the mountains. So?”

  “No, she’s right. We’re three-quarters of an hour from the village now. Why keep supplies here?” Kate held up a finger. “Either, the elders are stockpiling ...”

  “Doubtful,” Bibi interjected. “In an emergency, you want supplies near at hand.”

  “Not necessarily,” Tompkins said. “Maybe you put a depot along an evacuation route.”

  “Oh, really? Evacuate to where? Go north, and you’re into Taliban territory,” Kate said.

  “Okay, so maybe you put stuff here because you don’t want bad guys to get it.”

  “Which brings me to number two.” Kate held up another finger. “Maybe the bad guys are doing the stockpiling.”

  “Taliban?” Tompkins’s features darkened in a scowl. “That doesn’t compute. You heard the captain. According to Prophet and the drones, there’s no Taliban activity here. Look, we could debate this all day, Kate. You might be right, but we need to decide here. If this is a democracy, then my vote is we call in.” Tompkins folded up Six’s water bowl. “I know our radios have GPS, but at least tell the captain what we’re doing, where we are.” When she still hesitated, he said, “I know you care about the kids. I do, too, but I really don’t like the cloak-and-dagger routine. Fatimah’s had plenty of time to—”He suddenly stopped talking.

  “What?” Kate traded a look with Bibi, who only shrugged. “Tompkins, what’s the—”

  “Hush.” Turning aside, Tompkins raised his weapon then gave Bibi, who’d moved swiftly to flank him, an appreciative nod. “Look at Six,” he murmured.

  The dog stood rigid, ears swiveled forward, expression alert, his eyes riveted to the rocks a short distance away.

  Uh-oh. Kate readied her own weapon. “Bibi, does Fatimah know who’s here?”

  Bibi opened her mouth to translate, but the girl suddenly cupped her hands around her mouth and gave a shout in Pashto.

  Jesus. Kate flinched. So much for not advertising. She had no idea what the girl was saying, though she caught her own name and spai. That meant dog. “Bibi?”

  “I believe you say the jig is up?” Bibi hadn’t taken her eyes from the rocks. “She wishes them to show themselves.”

  Kate’s stomach bottomed out. Crap. An ambush?

  From the rocks came a sudden soft scuffling. A moment later, there was movement as first the tops of heads and then eyes and then the children of Cham Bacha stood.

  Six let out a low rumble.

  “Easy, Six. Stay.” Tompkins hadn’t lowered his weapon. Neither had Bibi—and with good reason.

  Because all these kids were armed.

  Oh boy. The dog hadn’t alerted to the kids. He was alerting to weapons. AKs: the go-to weapon in this part of the world. She also recognized most as her band of rebels, Jawad among them. Fatimah’s brother was the oldest, a natural-born leader with a level head and big dreams. Yeah, right, some level. Instead of books, Jawad suggested they pick up guns?

  “I sure hope someone showed them how to safety those,” Tompkins said.

  “From your mouth to Allah’s ear, Corporal.” Bibi never broke her
ready stance. “Kate?”

  “If they wanted to shoot, they had plenty of opportunity before now. There don’t seem to be any adults around either,” she said.

  “I am so not comforted by that,” Tompkins said.

  A boy Kate didn’t know shouted something angry. Jawad responded. Tompkins was right. Her Pashto was for shit, but she could swear they mentioned ...

  “Bibi?” Tompkins frowned as Jawad shook his head as if to say the other boy had it all wrong. “Did that first kid say something about polees? Why would he be pissed about you?”

  “I know as much as you do, Corporal.” Bibi said something to the first boy, listened as the kid spat back a reply. Whatever he’d said set the other children to arguing, too. “His name is Aram, and he does not want me to accompany you. He and his friends say I should be ... how do you say it? Cut from the herd?”

  “Awww, no.” Tompkins was already shaking his head. “Leave you alone with a bunch of kids with rifles? Not going to happen. And what’s this ‘cut from the herd’ shit?”

  “I believe it is because of what I am.”

  “Because you’re police?” Kate didn’t like the sound of that either. “Tell them this is a package deal. We go in together or not at all. Besides, you’re my translator. I need you.”

  “Yeah, we’re a team,” Tompkins said. “I wouldn’t let anyone separate me from Six.”

  “How flattering I am worth as much to you as your dog,” Bibi said.

  “Damn straight.” Tompkins held her gaze. “And just so you know, I’d take a bullet for Kate, and I’d take one for you, no hesitation. We watch each other’s back.”

  They stared at one another a beat longer, and then Bibi’s eyes softened. “Let us hope it does not come to that, Corporal. I would be very sorry if harm came to either of you.”

  “What are the other kids saying?” Kate liked them both, thought they’d make a fine couple, but now wasn’t the time. “What’s the problem?”