He dropped to his knees, pulling those around him down as well. Men argued in Pashto as the hood was jerked from his face, vomit smeared in his beard. He heaved and gagged painfully—shakily—and then fell forward into the snow, the coolness of the powder refreshing his chapped cheeks. The conversation turned to yelling as he lay there, pleading in English to be left where he had fallen.
“Enough,” he gasped. “Enough.”
But, it was not to be, and he was jerked once more to his knees. His head hung into his chest as he tried to find the strength to stand. He could feel those he was bound to lifting him, the effort alone encouraging him. He tried to draw strength from them. He breathed deeply and said a quick prayer before looking up.
Only to meet the butt of a rifle as it painfully met his head.
The Journey
Chapter Thirty-Two
I’ve always hated the expression postcard perfect. It seems hokey. However, as I stood at the edge of a flat stretch of ground at least a half-mile wide, I could think of no words that would more eloquently portray what lay before me. The picturesque, snow-covered valley close to the Khyber Pass, usually bustling during the other nine months of the year, was quiet. Empty. Evergreens, oaks, and poplar trees reached for the clouds, covered with a week’s worth of fresh snow. The view was breathtaking. In America, it would beg for someone to ski, or snowboard, or even snowmobile across it. But there was no sound. Nothing to disturb the tranquility. No resonance of men firing at one another, nor echoes of bombs exploding, competing for souls from the other side. Just silence.
I turned to Mary Beth and smiled.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I nodded, my eyes lingering on her before searching the horizon. I had been betrayed by the beauty of this place once too often, most recently when I’d been shot out of the skies a few short miles from here, mere weeks ago. So, I didn’t dare trust what I could see. I trusted in what I didn’t see, because what was hidden was dangerous and destructive. What we couldn’t see could kill us.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“That a country so peaceful as it is right now will be war-torn again in two months.”
“I’ve learned that sometimes peaceful can be deceptive.”
Mary Beth glanced at me, and we said almost in unison, “Glass-half-empty.”
I chuckled, spewing fine mist into the air above me. “So, how many vials are they sending you?”
“A thousand.”
“Do you honestly think you’ll immunize a thousand kids?”
“It would be a miracle. But—.” When Mary Beth looked at me, her eyes were brimming with excitement, “I believe in miracles.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
Mary Beth stepped away from the black Unimog that her organization had bought the team when they placed them in the mountains. It could traverse almost any terrain—climb rocks and hills like they were nothing—which made it perfect for where we would be going. The massive vehicle was fully loaded with a 40-gallon water tank, a kitchen, three beds, a gray water receptacle, and most importantly, a heater, though we hadn’t turned it on yet, trying to save gas. This particular model had a 60-gallon fuel tank, and at an average of thirteen miles to the gallon, we’d have to conserve our fuel to make it to all the villages. And back. When we returned, we would load our supplies and any extra fuel left in the town. No one else would need it anytime soon, after all. Where would they go? All in all, it was a good, sturdy vehicle. Too bad they didn’t have the foresight to equip it with a satphone.
We heard a sound in the distance, coming from the south, and turned at once. It would have been a welcome sight, only it wasn’t coming to pick me up. I had considered finding a way to signal it, but after two days of wracking my brain, nothing came to mind. When I glanced at Mary Beth, somehow, I wasn’t as anxious to leave, as when I first landed—or rather, fell—here. Don’t get me wrong, when the pass thaws, I am out of here. And yet, I was conflicted. Suddenly, I was wrestling with something I never before could imagine, never previously would have considered. I no longer wanted to leave alone.
We could see the plane in the distance, coming nearer, slowing down. Flying lower. I began to look around us in every direction, using binoculars I had found in the Unimog, next to the tongs in the kitchen. I slowly turned, searching the landscape for a full 360 degrees. If we heard the plane coming, it was a safe bet that anyone who lived within ten miles heard it as well.
“They’ll drop it about 200 yards that direction.”
I’m sure she was pointing, but I was otherwise engaged.
“Two cases usually.”
“Mm-huh,” I murmured. The roar of the engines was upon us. I didn’t even want to look at something that was so close and wasn’t the wiser about my presence. I caught a glint as I scanned the taller mountains behind us. I stopped, focusing on the place where I thought I had seen it. The sun was twenty degrees to the right, so I might have caught a reflection off of the snow. My fingers, ever so slightly, adjusted the diopter setting on the binoculars as I focused on a tree until it was distinctly clear. Then I moved the lenses toward the light I’d seen moments before. If it was an optical illusion, then I probably wouldn’t see it again. If it wasn’t—. The light was in the blink of an eye, then again, a few moments later. I furrowed my brow.
Mary Beth tugged on my jacket gently, then harder, but I refused to look away. I needed to know at what, or rather who I was looking.
“Do you see something?”
“Yeah. Someone’s watching us.”
“Someone’s always watching,” she said nonchalantly.
I dropped the spyglasses and turned to her. “Why is it that you’re always so calm, except when it comes to me?”
“Hmm,” she cooed. “I wonder.”
I glared at her, then quickly turned back to my task. I looked up again for several minutes, but I saw nothing. I turned in time to see the plane wag its wings, as it slowly turned and headed back in the direction from which it came. I sighed before glancing back to Mary Beth.
“Taliban?”
“More than likely.” She climbed into the massive vehicle and started her up.
I stood, staring after her, shaking my head. “Tenacious.” Then I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Before you get all paranoid on me—,” she began, as she turned the vehicle toward the crates.
“Paranoid?” I interrupted with a sarcastic chuckle. “I’ve had enough dealings with them to know not to underestimate them.” I studied her as I spoke. “Just because you’re neighborly with them, doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.”
“There’s a parable about—.”
I cut her off. “Save it,” I said in frustration. “They killed your husband.”
“They didn’t know—.”
“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. “Will you knock it off?” I shook my head, staring at her in disbelief as she pulled to a stop. “They killed your husband. They killed my team. My friends.”
She turned to me, unbuckled her seat-belt, her eyes and demeanor unchanged. “And I forgave them,” she said before stepping back into the cold.
I dropped my head into my hands, chuckling to myself in disbelief. When I looked back up, she met my stare.
“Coming?”
I crawled from the cab walking to meet her on the other side of the vehicle, my eyes searching the horizon and the mountains the whole time. I had a bad feeling about this in my gut. And usually, my gut was right. “I thought you said there were two crates.”
“We’ll figure it out when we get back. We don’t have time to waste. Anyone could be waiting over the ridge, ready to hijack our shipment.”
“I’m not loading anything until we confirm what it is,” I interjected.
“What? Is the WHO after us now, too?”
“You’re mocking me,” I added flatly. “I get that. But, I’m still not putting anything in the
truck until I check it.” I carried the crates one at a time to within twenty feet of the vehicle and then motioned for her to stand back. When I turned to assure that she wasn’t nearby, she crossed her arms.
“So, by your assessment of the situation, us standing out here longer doesn’t make us stationary targets, right?”
I ignored her attempt to bait me. Carefully, I slid my blade beneath the lid of the wood on the first crate, until I had pried it loose. Slowly, I opened the box, determining that it contained a Styrofoam cooler, which in turn held the vaccine. I set the case into the truck. Noting the smugness in her eyes, I moved to the next crate. Cautiously I used my SOG Elite blade, again, to pry open the second one, peering tentatively in before completely removing the lid. After a few moments, I concluded that it also held vials of the vaccine. I didn’t bother glancing in Mary Beth’s direction, certain I’d be met with a familiar I-told-you-so glare.
The third box was sealed tighter, but I was persistent and removed the wooden top moments later. This one also contained a Styrofoam cooler, only it didn’t hold vials of vaccine. I carefully pulled out bottles to check the labels.
“That’s amoxicillin,” she said over my shoulder.
I would have reprimanded her for ignoring me by coming closer, but I was pretty sure she would discount my advice again, anyway.
“And penicillin.” Mary Beth began to dig around in the crate until she found an envelope addressed to her. Hurriedly she opened it. I watched her eyes quickly scan the paper as her hand flew to her forehead. “It’s Teddy,” she smiled. “Oh my gosh!” She looked up at me excitedly. “Teddy sent the supplies we needed. He said he couldn’t make it through the pass, so he camped out on the WHO doorstep until they agreed to help us.”
“He must be persistent,” I said, prying open the fourth crate.
“You have no idea.”
I glanced in her direction, her smile softening my frustration. Mostly. The fourth crate held other supplies. Bandages, syringes, and other items she had been needing. “What a coincidence,” I said dryly.
“Not coincidence,” she beamed. “Answered prayers.”
“I’m glad yours are getting answered,” I said out loud. Then I added under my breath, “Because mine have fallen on deaf ears.”
Together we loaded the last two crates into the truck and then climbed back inside.
“This was a good trip,” she breathed out, excitedly.
I glanced out of the windows as we passed the mountains, my eyes continually searching the woods for anything out of the ordinary. Slowly, we climbed the ridge and then disappeared around the bend, heading back toward the village. When I turned to her, she had pulled the scarves from her face. Watching her was calming. All the frustration of the day merely drifted away.
“Yeah,” I smiled to myself. “It was a good trip.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Denice cried when she read Teddy’s letter. It began…
* * *
“Guess what, Honey? I’ve been kidnapped! Or at least that’s what the word is around here. Spent a whole day at the embassy convincing them that I’m me! Seems the Taliban has been trying to extort money from our family for the past month. But, I’ve cleared everything up. I know what you’re thinking. I thought it, too. But, it’s been a year. If it had been Henry, we would have heard sooner, and we would have been sent proof of life…”
* * *
When I side-glanced Mary Beth, who tried to look busy, I could see the pain in her eyes.
* * *
“I told the family to send the cash over anyhow, since I got this very unexpected vacation...”
* * *
Denice chuckled through tears when he teased about how he’d been spending his time in Dubai, on the beach sipping a Fine Tipple since he couldn’t get through the pass. She became concerned when he wrote that he would try and breach the pass again every week until he was back in her arms. I wasn’t sure, but could have sworn I heard her mutter, “Damned old fool,” under her breath.
Abraham helped Mary Beth unpack the Unimog, sort, and inventory the supplies and then load the vehicle again with half of them, while I checked the progress on the wall repairs around town. Satisfied that rebuilds and repairs were going well, for the most part, I retired to my temporary home. I pulled back the carpet and wood that covered her cellar, which I had found when investigating after I’d become relatively mobile. I retrieved my hidden tactical gear and packed it, my watch, and weapons, in an empty feed sack that one of the villagers had generously filled with clothing when I first arrived. Then I discreetly loaded it into the Unimog, stowing it in one of the many hidden compartments onboard.
Mary Beth had already stocked the shelves with medical and nutritional needs to hold us over for at least fourteen days. During this time, we would depend on the generosity of the villages we visited for our main sustenance. But, should we become stranded in the mountains, we could survive on the provisions for as long as they would last. Berries and nuts, sweets and loaves of bread abundantly gifted to us by those I had come to call friends. Plus, two dozen MREs that had been generously supplied by Teddy.
I helped where I could. But mostly, I was just in the way. We agreed to meet the following day after breakfast, which around here meant late morning—before retiring to our respective abodes. Abraham slept at home that evening, allowing him one last night with his family before we left.
Me? I was restless. Anxious. I stopped at Denice’s, asked for some blank paper and envelopes. She invited me in for tea, but I politely refused, asking for a rain check.
Usually, before going on a mission, I would write letters: to Amanda, to my mother and stepfather. Through the years, I’d even penned letters to siblings. I would leave them in my bunk or with my CO, just in case. Kevan held all my letters. I’m sure within a few days of the crash—certain that I had died along with my fellow Berets—he had mailed a letter of his own along with mine to each of my family members. Kevan and I are close, so I know how hard that would have been. I’ve written some of those same letters, myself, to family members of fallen soldiers. No matter how many you write, it never gets easier.
Now I sat, penning a few more. If I didn’t survive—this time—I wrote Kevan asking him not to tell my mom that I had been alive and then died. I don’t think she could bear losing me twice. And so, I sat, warming myself by the small barrel wood-burning stove, or bukhari, heating my frozen feet, contemplating my words carefully. As I stared at the stack of addressed envelopes, I wrote and re-wrote several drafts of my last letter, burning each one I crumpled before starting over. Until I had one sheet of paper remaining. But, in the end, one was all I needed.
I didn’t sleep well, working through my mind how I needed to find a satellite phone to communicate with my unit. The Taliban had become quite ingenious in recent years, intercepting communications and breaking codes. But one that had never been broken was the one used through a dozen wars. Every Beret knew it, and every well-trained radio operator could decipher it. I was counting on it. I couldn’t write down what I wanted to say, in the event I was discovered and captured. The message would be simple. I’m alive. Here are the coordinates. Now get me the hell out of here.
When I finally fell asleep, it wasn’t to the plan in my head but to the visions that flickered across the wall of Mary Beth’s home, memories of a distant cave. Memories of her in my arms, naked and warm. Images of the woman I’d gone and fallen in love with. The more I tried not to think about her, the more I did. No woman had ever distracted me more. No matter what, I’d always been able to focus on my mission, on my job, keeping everything else out—which had a lot to do with Amanda’s eventual exit. It had always been one of the things that had helped me be a better soldier. Until now. I was having a hard time focusing. Concentrating. It was frustrating. Damned frustrating.
But when I finally closed my own eyes, it was hers I saw—hers that held me fast. “Everything will be okay.” Just a whisper. But in th
at whisper, in those eyes, I knew she was right.
God willing.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When Mercedes-Benz created the Unimog after World War II to be used mostly in farming and forestry, I don’t think they fully realized the potential of the vehicle. I’ve seen them used, most notably, by the Army, by firefighters, and even by cities as snowplows. And now, it was transporting a missionary, two goat herders, and an American soldier, deep into enemy territory, to vaccinate a bunch of kids that would probably grow up taught to hate us. And they didn’t even know us.
Glass half empty.
Mary Beth knew the terrain well, having traversed it every year for the past three years for varied reasons. I offered to drive, but since she knew the lay of the land, I merely sat back and watched her. We still weren’t using the heater, except to defrost the windows as needed. Plus, there were two young men in the vehicle, so she intentionally kept her scarves around her face. Women usually didn’t drive in Afghanistan. Since the Taliban had taken control of much of the country, it just wasn’t done. Well, maybe in the bigger cities. But that was still a rarity. So, I’m sure seeing Mary Beth behind the wheel was a bit of a shock for the two teenage boys traveling with us.
When I glanced back, Abraham seemed comfortable, but Abdullah was looking a little pale. Probably from all the bumping and bouncing. He didn’t say anything, but being a betting man, I’d say he was carsick. I looked around to find something for him to puke in if he had to, knowing it would be unpleasant for all if he did—but saw nothing. I turned back to Mary Beth. When she looked my way, I nodded over my shoulder. One glance in the mirror and she knew to pull over. And not a moment too soon.
The Missionary Page 17