The Missionary

by Margaret Ferguson

  “We gotta go,” I insisted. Anyone within ten miles heard that blast.” I nodded over my shoulder. Depending on the mode of transportation, it might be hours, or they could be here very soon. Abdullah was propped between us as he half walked, and we half dragged him toward the truck.

  Mikey shook hands quickly with his old bunkmates then took over for me, propping up Abdullah while Abraham and I ran ahead to the vehicle. The pain in my chest was excruciating, but I fought it. The human body is built for survival and, frankly, it will adapt to better handle cold, heat, stress, pain, and just about anything you can throw at it. Mental toughness. When you’re in Special Forces, it’s merely trained into you. Therefore, I sucked it up and endured.

  We reached the Unimog first and started it up, hoping the engine would still be warm, so we wouldn’t have to sit long. The sun was directly over us, and I had no intention of being out here overnight again. There was no doubt in my mind that once the dead were discovered in the camp, others would come looking for us, night and day, until they had found those responsible.

  After a few minutes, I drove the short distance to pick up the rest of our merry band of warriors. Everyone crawled or piled in, and we took off before the doors were even completely closed. I glanced at the gas gauge. Barring any complications, we could quickly make it back to town and drop off Henry and the boys before Mikey and I and our new British friend headed to the extraction point. In my mind, I had thought it all through. I had it all planned out. It was ingrained. Remember everything. Notice everything. Down to the minutest of details. And I thought I had.

  Except that it had stopped snowing. Ergo, there was no snow falling to cover our tracks.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  I was perfectly content listening to Abraham and Henry converse because it meant that I didn’t have to. Mikey and Randall talked about their time in captivity until the Brit redirected the subject to the documentary that they had been working on before his capture. Every so often, Abraham would jump into the conversation, curious as to how they had been treated in captivity. Abdullah lay resting in the back, having been patched, wrapped, and given a tranquilizer by Henry from the medical supplies I had brought. Me—I just sat there like a mute, glancing at my mirrors every few seconds, watchful for anyone that might be on our trail.

  Abraham apologized over and over again to Henry for having left him. He had been confident that he had seen his friend killed. Henry explained how his captor had fired the gun beside his head to scare him, and then showed Abraham the scar on his temple. Sadly, he had been mostly deaf in his left ear since the incident, a result of the gun being discharged so close to it. When Abraham started crying again, Henry grabbed and hugged him, and, I thought I even heard Henry praying over the young man.

  The windows were fogged, which only made it more difficult to see. But I mostly remembered the trail from the three times I had driven it in the past two weeks. Mostly. Every so often I glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Henry as he talked excitedly. Both men looked and smelled like they hadn’t bathed in quite some time, their hair and beards unkempt, their nails jagged, with dirt under them. Randall had several scars on his face, but no recent bruising that I could tell. I tried not to focus too much on Henry, but somehow couldn’t help myself.

  He was not bad looking, I guess. He’d probably would be considered handsome once he cleaned up. He had deep dimples when he smiled, which he did a lot. His eyes were dark, like a shark’s eyes, where you can’t really see the iris. But they held a kindness in them. I listened to how he spoke to Abraham. Henry had an honest compassion for Abdullah and others in the village, inquiring about family after family, like they were old friends.

  If I’d met Henry in a bar, we’d probably have hit it off, though I’m sure he wouldn’t be caught dead in one. I wanted to hate the man. Hate him for being alive. But, how could I? I wanted to duel him for the woman he’d left behind. Only, there would be no duel—no battle to see who she loved more. No competition for her affection. She was his wife. He was her husband. And I was leaving in a few hours. God-willing. Of course, the way my luck was going, I’d miss my flight and be stuck here for another month, to be subjected to their daily making-up-for-lost-time. When I thought about him touching her, I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to wipe the images from my mind.

  “So, what’s your story, Soldier?” Henry asked, leaning over the seat to get my attention.

  “We fell out of a helicopter, sir,” Mikey answered for both of us.

  Thankfully, at that point, Mikey filled all of us in on his fall, his ultimate rescue by the wrong side, and subsequent treatment by his captors. When they first found Mikey, they had beaten him within an inch of his life, threatening to kill him if he didn’t tell them the location of the rest of his unit. Somehow, they didn’t believe that he had fallen out of a helicopter. Neither had we.

  For most of the time they were captive, they weren’t allowed to speak, much less to one another. Every prisoner had been blindfolded and chained to the floor in the bunker. Usually the guards would rotate as security to assure that the captives complied with their orders. However, before Mikey got there, security had been laxer. When there were a dozen hostages, they all got to know one another. Except, for most of the past year, Henry had been kept separate from other captives, only interacting as needed to tend to any medical needs of soldiers and fellow prisoners.

  Mikey asked why they called him Teddy, since that wasn’t his real name. Henry explained how he and his friend had agreed, when first meeting, that if either of them was ever captured, they would pretend to be the other. They even swapped wallets. Since none of his captors had ever been to the clinic, it was easy to do. If one of them was captured, the other would write to their own family members, telling them if anyone ever asked for money to let them know. That way, if the captors ever tried to ransom them, the other party would know that they were alive. Pretty smart plan, if you ask me. Had they just known sooner.

  Apparently, the Taliban found Henry’s skills more valuable to their needs on the ground, since he’d been captured at the start of the spring conflicts. So, they waited to try to ransom him until just recently. And having been assumed dead for a year—especially since Abraham had supposedly seen Henry killed—the authorities in Afghanistan assumed that the perpetrators were just pulling a fast one by trying to ransom a dead guy. Therefore, they didn’t bother notifying his family of the attempted shakedown until recently.

  This time, when Henry asked, and I looked in the rearview mirror, I could no longer avoid the question.

  “I fell out of the same chopper as Mikey, and Abraham, here, saved my life.”

  “Abraham tells me you were pretty banged up when they found you.”

  “Yeah, but they took good care of me.”

  “So, how’s my wife?” he smiled. “How’s she holding up?”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay, I guess. Considering her husband has been dead for a year.”

  He looked down sadly. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on her.”

  “Not as hard as it was on you, I’m sure.” I struggled for the right things to say—for anything to say—hoping he couldn’t see the uneasiness in my eyes.

  “Abraham says she took good care of you.”

  “They both did.” Deflection. “Abraham stayed with me every night, waiting on me hand and foot. He fed me.”

  “Ah, you got to try Zahra’s food?”

  “Yeah,” I grinned. “The woman kept trying to fatten me up.”

  “She’ll do that,” he smiled, turning to Abraham and patting his back.

  I recognized a landmark ahead. “The village is just around the corner. You’re almost home,” I sighed, forcing a smile.

  “God, I can’t wait to take a bath,” Randall said. “And brush my teeth.”

  “I can’t wait to try those great meals his mom makes,” Mikey pointed at Abraham.

  “I can’t wait to hold my wife in my arms
again,” Henry murmured.

  I winced, holding the smile.

  “Maybe you should do her a favor and take a bath first,” Randall teased. Those who understood the joke chuckled.

  And as we rounded the last curve and the outline of the tiny berg became visible in the high beams from the Unimog, I felt my smile fade. In a matter of minutes, Mary Beth would be reunited with her husband. And he would take her in his arms, kiss her and tell her how much he loved and missed her.

  I’d never been so envious of anyone in my entire life.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I’d like to say I climbed from the vehicle, but it was more like I fell. I drew in another deep breath, though each one was becoming more difficult. It was close to dawn—short nights, remember—so I didn’t expect anyone to be awake yet, although the truck made enough noise to wake the whole damned town when we arrived. When Henry climbed down from the vehicle, I saw a clad figure step from Denice’s doorway. When I saw her hand go to her mouth, my heart sank. She ran to Henry and grabbed ahold of him, hugging him. I turned away, unable to watch.

  I walked to Mary Beth’s, or rather Henry and Mary Beth’s home, to collect my things. My intent wasn’t to stick around long. I would grab the rest of my meager possessions, a few MRE’s, and then we were leaving. Mikey, Randall, and I had a long walk to make to get to our destination in the next four hours. I’d already said my goodbyes. There was no one else I wanted to see. No one.

  I glanced around one last time, then down at the few items I held in my hand. I had already given the things to the mullah that I wasn’t taking with me. I glanced over at the chess set on the floor by my toshak. I sighed and moved to the door. As I opened it, Denice was preparing to knock.

  “I was just about to come to tell you good-bye,” I smiled.

  “She’s gone, Eddie.”

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “When you didn’t come back yesterday morning, she was beside herself,” she exclaimed. “She went looking for you.”

  I rushed past her, then turned. “Henry?”

  “I told him she was worried about the three of you and went to look for you at the drop zone.”

  “Where is he?”

  At that moment, I heard the truck start up. I hurriedly hugged Denice before running toward the sound, hollering out to Mike and Randall, who were standing outside the clinic. “This is the last bus out before our flight, boys!” I yelled.

  The two of them ran up behind me as I attempted to flag Henry down. He didn’t actually see me until he was nearly on top of me. Thankfully, he slowed, just long enough for Randall, Mikey and me to climb aboard.

  I waved one last time at Denice, before she turned and entered the clinic to attend to Abdullah, who had been left on the table in the surgical suite.

  As we pulled away, Henry slammed on the brakes again, and we skidded sideways in the slush to a stop. Abraham was standing in front of us, a dusting of snow falling around him.

  I looked at Henry, and he grinned faintly. “Why not? He’s always been my good luck charm.”

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t be the same without him.” I threw the door open, and Abraham scurried under the high beams of the Unimog as he raced to my side. Mikey, noting my state, reached around me and grabbed the boy’s arm, pulling him into the cab with us. “Welcome aboard, Soldier.”

  The sun was just rising on the horizon, brilliant gold shimmering on the white powdery landscape. I glanced at my watch and grabbed on to the dash as Henry made a sharp turn. We were now about halfway to our destination—to my final ride out of here. Sixty minutes or less. Give or take. Then we’d just sit tight and wait.

  “What was she thinking?” Henry growled, slapping the wheel. “She knows better. She knows what can happen!”

  I shook my head. “Damned fool woman,” I said under my breath. When I looked up, Henry was looking at me strangely. “Did she go alone?”

  “No, Rafi went with her,” he replied, looking back at the road.

  I glanced in the side mirrors, then leaned toward them and squinted. “We’ve got company,” I said, rolling down the window and wiping the glass with my arm to see better.

  Henry picked up speed as we drove over the crest of the hill that put us on a downward path to the valley below. I turned in every direction, but I didn’t see Mary Beth or Rafi anywhere. Where the hell were they? I looked at Henry, his face showing concern as well. When I glanced back at the mirror, about a quarter of a mile behind us, one truck separated into two. Damn.

  “Mikey, Randall, weapons are behind you. We have to conserve our ammunition. I have no idea how many are coming, but we’ll hold ‘em off as long as we can. Extract is in just about two hours, so we are ahead of schedule.”

  I turned to Henry. “We have to take a little detour.”

  “But won’t we miss the pick-up?” Randall asked excitedly.

  “Not if we stick to the plan.”

  “What plan?” He continued, worry showing on his face. “I didn’t hear any plan?”

  “If we go straight to our extract point, we’re leading them right along the route where Rafi and M—,” I began, then corrected myself. “Where Henry’s wife would be looking for us.”

  I pointed thirty degrees to the right. “Henry, I want you to drive right between those two banks of trees,” I stared at two faint dark blobs in the distance. “And then slow down."

  Randall leaned over the seat next to me. "I'm more concerned about the landmines and plethora of other bloody abandoned weaponry that's still lying around in this valley." When I looked at him, confused, he continued. "Does no one read the bloody papers anymore?"

  I glanced sideways at Henry, then back at Randall.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," he exclaimed, exasperated, then turned away. “This was the last place the Soviets took their stand. Before they left with their tail between their legs, they left behind some gifts of their own."

  "Landmines," I wheezed, grabbing my chest.

  Henry furrowed his brow, nodding.

  "The gift that keeps on giving," Mikey said from behind us.

  I covered a cough, and when I drew my hand away, I saw blood. Henry saw it too. He looked at me concerned.

  “It’s nothing,” I insisted, before moving to wipe the window with the arm of my jacket to aid in Henry's view.

  "And that's the least of it," Randall added anxiously. "The Russians left a whole arsenal of goods that are now under four feet of snow, just waiting for some unsuspecting blokes to roll right over them. Landmines, jeeps, tanks—whatever other bloody rubbish they didn't feel like carrying back with them."

  Well, that just made our little adventure more exciting. I breathed in again, trying to suppress a wet cough. “Mikey,” I interrupted, in my attempt to turn attention from Randall's comments. “We’re going to have to jump. We’ve got to see if we can slow ‘em down and maybe stop a few of them. Buy these guys some time to get out of here. Maybe get some of their weapons, because we won’t last five minutes with what we have.”

  I turned completely around so that our eyes met. Thanks to Randall's ramblings, our knowledge of the risks became greater. But, it didn't change the mission.

  “Gotcha, Cap," was all Mikey said.

  I turned and faced forward once again, mentally preparing for what came next.

  “Well, I'm not bloody jumping!”

  “We’ll hike the rest of the way in,” I added, ignoring Randall.

  “And if we miss it?” The Brit looked between Henry and me anxiously.

  “Then we’ll wait until the snow thaws,” I said flatly.

  Randall started fidgeting in his seat. “I can’t wait until then! I can’t do this again.”

  I turned to him, feeling my anger rising. And yet, when I looked into his eyes, I understood his fear. Shared his fear. I reached across and put a calming hand on his arm. “It’s your call, man.” When he didn’t respond, I added, “Do you trust me?”

  Randall looked a
way, considering for a few moments before nodding.

  Henry spoke up. “I trust you. You saved our lives.”

  “You know I do, Ro,” Mikey chimed in.

  “Bloody hell,” Randall finally said. “What choice do I have?” He sat back in his seat, his hands in his lap like a scolded child.

  I turned to Henry who was still studying me.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted.

  “You’re not fine,” he replied calmly. Realizing I didn’t really want to make a big deal about it, he lowered his voice. “Where are you hit, Soldier?”

  Though I didn’t want to admit It, drawing each breath was becoming more and more difficult. I could feel the sticky wetness of blood under my arm. So, after a moment of consideration, I raised my left elbow just slightly. Henry motioned with his head, and I complied, lifting my tunic enough for him to see my injury. His eyes moved from the wound to my own eyes as he pursed his lips. His expression was telling.

  “So, what’s your prognosis, Doc?”

  Henry reached over as best as possible, considering he was driving a tank one-handed over rough terrain while being chased by the Taliban. His fingers found the wound and I flinched, ever so slightly.

  “Hmm,” he murmured.

  “Can’t be that bad. I’m still standing.”

  Henry tilted his head as he moved his hand back to the wheel. Without saying a word, he stared into my eyes. Immediately, I noted his concern.

  I didn’t take my gaze from his as I called over my shoulder. “Mikey—hand me an occlusal dressing and the duct tape.”

  Conversation in the back of the vehicle ceased immediately as they all looked forward at my exposed wound. A moment later, Mikey held the roll of gray tape over the seat. When I nodded, he understood and tore off a piece about six inches long. I raised my arm a little more, which wasn’t just uncomfortable, but laborious. Abraham reached over the bench with a roll of clean gauze and wiped the wound.

  “We should irrigate it first.”