Five
FIVE
C LIMBING DOWN FROM the cab of the old Toyota pickup, Khalid took a cardboard box from the front seat and carried it to the rear of their camp. His men were gathered around a small fire, cooking their evening meal when he approached.
Mohammed glanced up, a wide smile breaking over his face when he saw what Khalid carried. “You have them?”
Khalid nodded and surveyed his troops. Mostly young men in their late teens and early twenties. There had been more in the fall, but the majority of the older ones had been sacrificed in the previous operation to eliminate Nasrallah. Those remaining were motivated, fair marksmen and, more importantly, completely loyal to him.
A cool wind picked up, ruffling his hair and making the flames crackle and leap within their stone pit. “I have received word from Rahim’s people that tomorrow’s operation is a definite go. Are you all ready?”
A chorus of excited voices answered him in the affirmative.
He held up a hand for silence. “We leave an hour before dawn, in the groups I’ve divided you into. Mohammed will lead the last group to ensure our escape route is clear.” Across the fire, the boy’s eyes shone with pride at being given command of his own group. “We have only one chance to execute this properly. You all know what is expected of you—what I expect from you as men and soldiers. Prepare yourselves accordingly with prayer.”
He paused to let his gaze carry over the circle of men, the rise of excitement warm in his veins. “And now for those of you who will accompany me into the village, something to help you on our journey to rid our land of the unbelievers.” He opened the box flap and reached inside for the item on top. Smiling, he held up the first of five camouflage-patterned jackets of the Afghan National Army for everyone to see.
* * *
A BOVE THE POWERFUL pulse of the Black Hawk’s rotors, Jackson listened to Cam and his other fellow passengers bullshit over their headsets as the helo flared above their LZ and hovered a moment before touching down. The pilots shut down the engines, and everyone took off their headsets and collected their gear in preparation to disembark. Just as well, since he didn’t much feel like talking to anyone anyhow.
Shouldering his heavy ruck and a duffel he’d stuffed full of medical gear, he hopped out of the helo and headed across the empty expanse of dun-colored ground to where the SF guys had already set up shop at the village’s perimeter. Doing a MEDCAP with an A-team helped on several levels, especially since they were all linguists and could speak Pashto. A real bonus out here, where none of the villagers spoke any English and what Pashto Jackson knew wouldn’t fill a coffee cup. Two more H-60s landed behind the bird he’d just exited, remaining on the ground only long enough for their passengers to disembark before powering up and lifting off again.
As he neared the SF guys, he noticed Maya off to the right with some other Security Forces personnel, likely setting up last-minute security details for the upcoming press promo op for an unnamed senior U.S. official. Nothing better to show the voters back home how much the current party in power back stateside loved to help the Afghan locals. At least this setup saved him from an awkward episode with Maya. They both had jobs to do here, and there was no doubt in his mind Maya would let nothing come between her and her duty.
It still shocked the shit out of him that she’d sought him out last night. He’d never encountered a woman so sexually aggressive, let alone have one be so detached from her own pleasure during sex. It not only bothered him, it made him want a repeat so he could make sure this time ended differently for her. Things felt too unfinished between them.
Cam caught up with him, carrying his own load of gear. A group of villagers had already assembled near the SF troops. Mostly women and children waited, standing a short distance behind the village elders to await permission to come forward.
“You got enough stuff for the kids if I run out?” Cam asked.
“Should have. Let me know if you need it.”
The SF Team Sergeant directed them to the two small tents set up at the eastern end of the village. Maya was farther down, directing a few of her soldiers into place. Even if her rank hadn’t been displayed on her uniform, there was no doubt as to who was in charge there. The woman wore her authority like a Kevlar cloak.
“You know anything about her background?” he asked Cam, still watching her.
Cam followed his gaze and answered. “Some. Dev told me she didn’t get to know her real well at Bagram, but apparently she was raised by her grandmother in L.A. Tough neighborhood, lots of drugs, gangbangers. She must have learned to kick ass early on to make it out of there without getting sucked into that kind of lifestyle.”
“Makes sense.”
Cam shot him a sideways glance. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” It was just that he couldn’t fucking figure her out. He’d always prided himself on being able to understand a woman and how her mind worked. God knew his mother and sisters had tried their best to get him to understand them while they’d raised him. What happened with Maya last night had left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He wanted to be the one to make her let go of all that hard-won control, watch her melt in his arms when he got her underneath him next time. And there would be a next time. He’d make sure of that.
“She’s stumped you, huh?”
Cam knew him too well. He didn’t bother denying it. “I think maybe, yeah.”
“Well, that’s one for the history books. I can’t wait to tell Went.” His eyes sparkled at the prospect.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” And once Ryan heard about that, there’d be no end to the ribbing he’d take. The “woman whisperer” had finally met his match and lost? It’d be all over the Bagram Spec Ops compound by morning.
“I’d tell you to send her flowers, but she doesn’t seem the type,” Cam continued with a wry grin.
Jackson wasn’t so sure about that. Back in November, when he’d hand-delivered a bouquet of wildflowers on Ryan’s behalf so Maya could give them to Ace, she’d seemed stunned by the gesture. No, he was pretty sure that flowers and good old-fashioned courting might be exactly the way to go with her, even if she’d never admit to wanting it.
“Maybe a fancy knife or a tactical flashlight might be more her style,” Cam suggested with another grin.
Jackson’s lips curved at the irony in his friend’s tone. “I was thinking maybe I should write her a song.” Though he said it half-jokingly, part of him was serious.
Cam must have known it, because his eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? Wow, okay then. Damn, you’re pretty into her, huh?”
He nodded, since there was no harm in confiding in Cam. After last night, Jackson guessed Maya figured things were over between them. For him they weren’t. Not by a long shot. He knew he could find his way underneath all that attitude and bluster if he looked for the answer carefully enough. With her, patience was the key. Only he didn’t know how much patience he had left when it came to her.
“Which tent you want?” Cam asked as they approached the hastily set up medical area.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You take the far one, then. It’ll give you the nicest view.” His blue eyes danced with laughter.
Grinning, Jackson passed him and carried on to the far tent, closest to where Maya was positioned. She didn’t glance his way, but he knew she’d seen him. He ducked under the low tent flap and stepped inside. Someone had set up a small table and cot with a pillow and blankets on it. Setting his gear down, he got to work unpacking what he needed—BP kit, syringes, bandages and swabs, some OTC meds and a few mild narcotic analgesics. The analgesics were sort of ironic, since he was currently sitting in the middle of the opium poppy capital of the world. The villagers he was about to treat probably had enough opium to keep them high and pain-free for several lifetimes.
Just another fucked-up thing about this war.
One of the SF sergeants came into the tent, a short, stocky guy with a thick ginger beard. “You all set up?”
“Ready to rock.”
“Okay, the deal is for me to stay and help translate. If for any reason I need to step out, you’ll be on your own. You know any Pashto?”
“Pretty much nil.”
“I’ll stick around as long as I can then.” He left and returned a few minutes later with one of the village elders, a man in his seventies if Jackson had to guess, dressed in traditional garb of the flat-topped hat, loose shirt and pants with a vest. The soldier acted as translator as the elder thanked Jackson and they exchanged polite courtesies. After he exited the tent, Jackson’s first patient was brought in. A young girl around four, the same age as his youngest nephew back home in San Antonio. The girl’s mother wore a veil that covered everything but her eyes, and from the lack of wrinkles around them, Jackson guessed she had to still be in her late teens.
Staying silent, watching him and the SF soldier warily, she sat on the cot and placed her daughter in her lap. The girl clung to her, staring at Jackson with wide, dark eyes.
Jackson smiled and dropped to his haunches in front of the little girl. “Hey, sweetheart. You got a sore hand?” The cut running the length of the side of it looked sore and, from the discoloration, infected. He asked a few questions, which the other soldier translated for him. All he picked out was the word Taliban , and it was enough to make his lips thin in disgust. He put it all together even before the translation came.
“She says it happened a few weeks ago when some Taliban fighters came through. The little girl got too close to one of them, and the asshole slashed her with his knife.”
Tamping down his sudden surge of anger, Jackson held his hand out toward the child. “Can I see it?” It took a while for the girl to let him take a good look, and with the back and forth translation it was a few minutes longer before Jackson could actually start cleaning the wound. It was deep and definitely needed stitches. It surprised him the girl wasn’t running a fever, though the mother reported there had been one for a few days after the injury.
Irrigating the wound and cleaning it out didn’t go quite as smoothly, but once Jackson got the local freezing injected, the girl stopped squalling and watched in amazement as he sutured the gash closed and bandaged up her hand with a sterile dressing. After a shot of antibiotic just to be safe, the girl and her mother left.
He saw a dozen or so patients after that, some having walked miles from other nearby villages when they’d heard about the opportunity to get free medical care. Or maybe just to see the big, bad American soldiers up close. Winning hearts and minds from the locals wasn’t easy this late in the war, though he hoped to change some minds among the villagers today. He treated a barrage of minor cuts and scrapes, handed out vitamins and antihistamines, put an old man’s arm in a sling to take the strain off his damaged rotator cuff.
He was alone in the tent reorganizing his supplies when urgent, raised voices came from outside. Jackson glanced up at the sound of shuffling feet coming closer, and the SF soldier stuck his head in.
“Got a sick little guy here for you. He’s in pretty bad shape.”
Jackson stood, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from his pocket. “Bring him in.”
An old man entered the tent, carrying a boy around seven or eight. The boy was listless and pale, lying in the man’s arms like a limp doll.
“Put him down,” Jackson instructed, helping settle the boy on the cot. His face was gray but for the bright red fever spots on his smooth cheeks. “How long has he been sick?”
The soldier translated. “Four days. He had severe stomach pain and he’s been vomiting a lot. Then this morning, when the family woke up, he was like this.”
Already putting the symptoms together, Jackson grabbed a tongue depressor and his scope. The boy stared up at him with dark, fever-glazed eyes. After a bit of coaxing, Jackson managed to get him to open his mouth. His tongue had a grayish tint and there was a film on it. Not good.
When he palpated the boy’s abdomen, it was rigid, but he didn’t flinch or give any indication that it hurt. Jackson was certain he already knew what the problem was. Finding the point halfway between the boy’s right hip bone and his belly button, he pressed his fingers deep, watching for any signs of pain. The boy shifted but remained quiet. Then, with a silent apology, Jackson yanked his hand away.
The boy blanched and came up off the cot with a shocked gasp, grimacing as a strangled sound of pain came from his throat. One hand automatically came up to shield the spot Jackson had just touched, and his breathing was fast and choppy.
All dead giveaways confirming what he’d feared.
Jackson tossed his stethoscope aside and strode for the flap. “Don’t let him move,” he said tersely to the SF sergeant.
Exiting the tent, he immediately looked for Maya and found her a hundred yards or so away, manning her post and supervising her airmen. “Lieutenant,” he called.
She glanced over and raised her brows in question.
“Got a situation here.”
She strode over fast, giving him a terse jerk of her stubborn chin when she neared. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got a young boy in there with a ruptured appendix. Peritonitis has already set in and he needs immediate surgery.”
Her alert gaze sharpened even more on his face, and there was no trace of awkwardness from what had passed between them last night. “What do you need?”
He freaking loved that she offered assistance without hesitation or questioning him. And he was grateful, because the kid needed them to act now. “I need an emergency medevac to get him to a base hospital ASAP, or he’s not going to make it.”
* * *
T HE MOMENT HE said it, Maya immediately got on her radio to request an emergency medevac. After giving her the nine line to pass on to the dispatcher, Jackson rushed back into the tent to tend his young patient. His word was good enough for her. If Jackson said it was urgent they get the boy to a hospital, then it was. End of story.
Once she got confirmation and the ETA for the helo from Bagram, Maya strode quickly over to Jackson’s tent. The SF sergeant at the entrance nodded to her and let her pass without a word. She stepped inside just in time to see Jackson handing a fluffy brown teddy bear to the sick little boy. The huge duffel in the corner had several other stuffed toys poking out of it along with the medical equipment he’d brought.
“Helo’s on its way,” she told him. “Should be here within a half hour.”
Jackson met her gaze. “Can they move that up any faster?”
She shook her head. “I made it clear the situation was urgent.” She spared a glance at the boy, then the old man with him. “That his grandfather?”
“Yes. He’ll go to the hospital with him.” He grabbed a bag of fluid and something else from his supplies. An IV kit. “Can you hold the bag for me once I get it hooked up?”
“Sure.” She slung her rifle and took the fluids, hovering close by. “Need any help with that?”
“Maybe. His BP’s so low, I’m not sure I’ll be able to find a vein open enough to get this IV in.”
The grandfather stood at the head of the cot and watched, his face impassive, though there was no doubt he was anxious and wasn’t leaving the boy’s side.
It took Jackson three tries to get the needle into the boy’s vein. The child barely flinched at all the pokes, a sign of just how ill he was. Jackson got the IV locked in place and hooked the tube from the bag into the line. “Okay, we’re good to go.” He opened the valve and set the drip running, one hand resting reassuringly on the boy’s thin shoulder. “There ya go, buddy. That should help a bit.”
His bedside manner was spot-on. Calm, professional, but most of all, it was clear he cared. That kind of thing cut through language and cultural barriers. Though the boy and old man were no doubt anxious about being here surrounded by American soldiers, there was no way they could doubt that Jackson gave a damn and was doing everything he could to help the child.
“I think you’ll be an amazing doctor,” she said without thinking.
His head came up in surprise, and then he smiled. “Thanks.”
She looked away, battling the blush trying to steal into her face. Why had she just blurted that out? She sounded like she was crushing on him. Pathetic.
Cam stepped inside the opening and took in the scene with a single glance. “Need a hand?”
“No, we’re good. Gonna get this young fella outta here shortly.” Jackson put a blanket over the boy.
“Give me a shout if you need me.”
“Will do.”
Cam ducked out. Maya’s gaze landed on the open duffel in the corner and couldn’t help asking what was on her mind. “Are stuffed animals standard on a MEDCAP? Or was that your idea?” A box of Lifesavers candy lying among them solved the mystery of why he always smelled like wintergreen.
He shrugged. “We like to give stuff out to the kids. Just little things like rubber balls and crayons, pads of paper, teddy bears. They don’t have much out here and they always really appreciate the toys.”
She bet they did. And she also bet that the toys had come out of Jackson’s own paycheck and not the military’s budget.
Watching him work with the boy, she was struck again by his genuine kindness. She shook her head, part of her worrying about him. He had so much skill and compassion to give the world. Those were attributes to be cherished and protected. She hated thinking about something happening to him.
They sat in silence next to the boy on the cot, while the grandfather stroked the boy’s hair every so often. When they finally heard the steady whump whump whump of the rotors, she and Jackson stood.
“I got him,” he said, bending to carefully scoop the child into his arms. Protective yet gentle. The combination turned her to mush inside. He would make an amazing father. It was stupid, but she couldn’t prevent the little pang in her chest at the thought of him settling down and having a family someday. If she were a different sort of woman, she’d have fought for that kind of future with everything in her. She didn’t regret last night, only the way it had ended. Either way, she’d hurt him, or at least his pride. That hadn’t been her intention at all. She felt badly about it, but there was nothing she could do to fix it now.
Holding the bag of fluids up so it dripped properly, Maya kept pace with him to the Black Hawk. The medic on board helped load the boy onto a stretcher and handed the grandfather in after him, while Jackson shouted the particulars over the noise from the engines.
She and Jackson stood back as the pilots powered up the engines and the helo lifted off, its nose tilted downward slightly as it cruised forward and up into the cloud-studded sky. “Think they’ll operate in time?” she asked him.
“Hope so. That’s one tough little dude. Peritonitis is really damn painful.”
Maya covertly drank in his profile. To her, he was amazing. What would it feel like to be able to help save a boy’s life like that? “If his grandfather hadn’t brought him here today, he would have died. He’s lucky.”
“Yeah. Glad I was here.”
Gah. The man was so unbelievably sweet and humble it killed her. Mentally shaking her head at herself, she pulled her weapon around, holding it across her body with the muzzle pointed down. “Looks like you’ve got another patient waiting.” An old woman stood at the tent entrance. “Better get back to it before the guest of honor gets here to start the dog and pony show—”
The sound of another incoming helo broke the quiet. She gave a sardonic smile. “Speak of the devil.”
“Enjoy the show,” Jackson said with a wry grin.
“You know it.” She got on the squad radio to make sure everyone was in position, part of her concentration on Jackson as he walked away.
After last night, she hadn’t known what to expect from him today, though in hindsight it shouldn’t have surprised her that he hadn’t brought it up or been anything but the consummate professional he was. Had he lain awake after she’d gone, thinking of her? She hadn’t slept worth a damn. Leaving that bunk had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but also one of the smartest and most necessary. Because if things had been different—if she had been different—she’d have given anything to stay snuggled up in his arms. That, more than the fear of discovery or reprisal for all the regulations she’d broken, was what had driven her back to her own tent.
The incoming Black Hawk finally landed and the star of the show got out, along with the remainder of his personal security team. Glimpsing his dark skin and military bearing, Maya immediately recognized Doug Haversham, the U.S. Secretary of Defense. They’d told her to expect a high-ranking official, but it surprised her they’d send someone this high profile. As one of the men responsible for the war effort in the region, he wasn’t exactly a popular choice for these locals.
That wasn’t her concern though. With her principal on the ground and a serious duty calling, thoughts of Jackson disappeared. “All right, gentlemen, get your game faces on,” she said into her helmet mic. “It’s showtime.”