FROM THE BOOK "THE WATCH"
THE CAPTAIN'S DIARY
PAGES 272-279
Continued from previous post:
I glare at Whalen accusingly. I thought you'd checked her
thoroughly.
I thought I did too, Sir, he says.
I'm glad she's going to get medical attention, Ellison interjects
quietly.
You better be, given that after she's evaluated at Kandahar,
she's headed for Bagram, where they'll give her a thorough
examination before sending her on to Landstuhl.
To Germany!
Damn right. We're gonna make her a textbook example of trauma
rehabilitation. She's going to be fitted with the latest
state-of-the-art prostheses. By the time they're done with her,
she'll be able to compete in the ...! Olympics. What do you gents
think of that?
The murmur of surprise that goes around the circle is succeeded
by approval. Even Whalen's features relax. I savor the moment by
drawing it out.
Are we shipping her out on the same bird as her brother? Whalen
asks.
I'd assume so. Why? What does that matter? I was thinking of the
stench, Sir.
Oh, ...! the CH-47 is a pretty big bird! I reply. Besides, she
won't know where it's from.
We could have him towed behind the bird, Tanner jokes. He's
probably so bloated with gas by this time, he'll float like a
balloon. 'Cept he might get tangled in the rotors, and then
they'd be left with bubble gum for their TV show, Bradford
ripostes.
All right, that's enough, I say brusquely. Any more questions?
You appear to have covered all the bases, Sir, Petrak says with
admiration.
You can thank the colonel. I had very little to do with it.
All the same, Petrak says loyally, he wouldn't have known about
her if you hadn't brought it to his notice, Sir.
Well, I suppose there is that, I admit, running a caustic eye
over MY subordinates, before adding: Although there's still one
thing that I haven't figured out.
What's that, Sir?
Where am I gonna get the white robes and angel wings with which
to dress up you namby-pambies before sending you out into the
mountains to explain to the dead man's tribe how sorry you are
for what became of him.
I interrupt the smattering of chagrined laughter by suggesting
that we go and get some coffee and take a look at the field.
And then we can have some breakfast before heading out to fetch
her, I add.
Whalen pauses in midstride and stares at me. We're not all going,
are we?
Oh, I don't see why not. After all the fuss you've made, don't
you guys want to give her a ...! parade?
There's still a thick fog outside, Sir, he says. We may have to
wait a bit until it clears.
The birds will be here at 1100, so we're gonna need to have her
ready to go before then, I reply. Shall we say 0900? And if we
have to go out under cover of the fog, that's fine.
You're in a good mood, Captain, Whalen says with a wan smile.
Should I not be, First Sarn't? I'm pleased with the resolution
we've come up with for her. It's good to belong to an
organization that cares about the finer points.
I turn to Ellison.
You see, Lieutenant? Never jump to conclusions where the U.S.
Army is concerned. We do have a sense of honor, we respect
courage, and we do things right.
He turns crimson. On behalf of the men, Sir, he says haltingly,
may I give you our thanks?
Don't sweat it, Lieutenant, I say crisply. You'll learn. What's
more, we're going to get a whole lot of feel-good PR from this
story. It's just the kind of thing that gets written up-heroes
with hearts, or something along those lines. Maybe I'll suggest
it to the colonel the next time we talk. Who knows?-we may even
make it to the front page of Stars and Stripes. Or maybe we'll
get really lucky and they'll put her on the cover of Time
magazine like that gal who got her nose cut off.
Ellison raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything.
Whalen's the last one to file out. He catches my eye and says in
an undertone: Are you absolutely sure we should all go out to get
her, Sir?
I tense up. Yes, I am.
May I disagree with that decision, Sir?
....! of again, First Sarn't! I whisper furiously. It's obvious
we're gonna need to have a chat. See me as soon as we've dealt
with her, do you understand?
Yes, Sir, he says quietly, before lapsing into silence.
0630.
Sunrise.
The mist shades to gold and then red.
I warm my hands holding my second cup of coffee of the day and
walk with the others toward the Hescos. The mountain peaks are
crimson; the slopes long shadows of gray. Once again, I marvel,
as I do almost every day, at the immensity of this landscape, and
feel puny in comparison.
We walk right up to the wire. What I see before me is truly
surreal. In the middle of the field made black by the shadows
cast by the mountains, a flock of sheep mills about in confusion,
while the girl sits motionless in their midst. There's something
almost statuelike in her stillness. Unable to hold her gaze, I
look away. Every feature of the landscape stands out in black and
white. An electric current seems to run through the air. I'm
about to steal a glance at her again, when a ray of sunlight
falls on the dew-dappled ground and carves out a shape like a
scimitar.
I clear my throat and look sideways at Ellison, who's gone very
pale.
I can't wait to put up an observation post on the spur of that
mountain, I remark conversationally. It's our biggest frickin'
vulnerability in this place. It'll be our first task once she's
outta here. Then we can stop worrying about shooters, and those
razor-teeth slopes are gonna look a lot less intimidating. We're
gonna fix this problem once and for all.
I hear you, Sir, he says.
I turn toward the field once more and study it closely. Kinda
funny there's all these sheep and no one looking after them,
don't you think?
He stiffens as he follows my gaze, but doesn't reply. Clearly, it
hadn't occurred to him. His eyes don't leave the field.
Did we find out how she killed the lamb? I query him. She used a
knife, Sir. Some of the men saw her do it.
I aim a baleful glance at Whalen, but he's staring somewhere
else. There's a moment's awkward silence. Ellison stands ramrod
straight beside me, looking glum.
And what are those things covering some of the sheep? I ask him
irritably.
He raises his binoculars to his eyes. They look like blankets
folded in half, Sir. Probably to protect them from the cold.
Probably? You're speculating, Lieutenant. I don't like it when my
officers can't give me answers to simple questions. Do you follow
me? Yes, Sir.
I look through my binoculars as well. Do you know if we've
checked them out?
I don't believe we have, Sir.
Sheep in the killing zone. I hate imponderables.
I could send a team out right now.
No, let it be. There's no point in spooking her. You can deal
with it after we've brought her in.
We'll chase the whole damn flock back up the slopes, Sir, Petrak
says smartly.
Break the terp's heart, Tanner says with a laugh, but stops short
when I stare coldly at him.
All right then, I tell the others. I've seen enough. We'll
assemble here at 0900, fog or no fog. First Sergeant Whalen: I
want you to assemble a team from First and Second Platoons to be
her escort. Call it her guard of honor, if you like. You can ask
for volunteers.
Whalen hesitates. So you really mean it, Sir? You bet I ...! mean
it.
I turn to Bradford. You better round up Masood. We're gonna need
him to translate.
Yes, Sir.
Great. Let's go and get some breakfast. I can smell those
scrambled eggs and hash browns all the way from here.
0845.
I tie Shorty's leash to my bunk. He's not used to being confined,
and it seems to make him restless. To reassure him, I pet him and
tell him I'll set him free as soon as I get back.
Good dog, I tell him. Good boy.
He wags his tail uncertainly and whimpers. As I walk away, he
strains to free himself. He starts barking as soon as I leave the
hut.
0905.
I watch the men lining up by the Hescos. There's Duggal, Lee,
Jackson, Ramirez, and Pratt from First Platoon, and Everheart,
Pietrafesa, Scanlon, Lawson, and Wonk Gaines from Second Platoon.
With their zinc-covered noses and sun-blackened faces, they look
intimidating, even to me. I shake my head. Don't you guys ever
sleep? I remark.
I walk up to Scanlon. Don't forget to talk to Lieutenant Ellison
about your wedding band.
I won't, Sir. Thank you, Sir.
I turn to Pratt. Glad to be doing this, soldier?
Yessir, he says. Then his forehead furrows. But something don't
feel right. An' I can't figure out what that be. He reaches down
to touch the desert floor. Snakeskin ground, he says. It's givin'
me bad vibes.
Maybe you're worried because she's armed, soldier, I say
tonguein-cheek. Don't forget she has a knife.
One of the men snickers, but shuts up as soon as I scowl at him.
Masood runs up, panting. He glances at me apprehensively. I was
wrong about her, Comandan Saab, he says in a stricken voice.
She's a parvaneh. A butterfly.
You're gonna have to learn not to talk out of turn, I tell him
irritably.
Doc arrives with his medic bag and a couple of blankets. He opens
the bag and shows me extra dressings and gauze.
I'm good to go, Sir, he says, snapping the bag shut.
I turn to Schott and Ashworth. To Schott, I say: Once we bring
her in, I want you to get her biometrics, okay? No ifs, ands, or
buts, just get them-and I don't care how you do it.
I watch as soldiers climb up on the Hescos and set up machine gun
positions to cover the field and the slopes. Turning to Ashworth,
I ask: D'you have your men on overwatch positions?
Yes, Sir.
And you've got all approaches covered? Yes, Sir.
Why all the fuss, Sir? Ellison asks quietly. I thought the drone
gave us the all clear.
Contingency planning, Lieutenant. When you've been here long
enough, it becomes second nature.
Behind us, the men arrayed along the Hescos in the overwatch
position scan the field and the shadowy slopes. A weapons team
from Second Platoon moves an M-240B machine gun from their
fighting hole and places it on a tripod. One of the men slings
belts of ammunition over his shoulders.
I walk over to Simonis, who's settling down on his perch on top
of the Hescos. The mountains tower over us. With my gaze fixed on
the slopes, I say: If you see anything happen out of the
ordinary, take the shot. Don't hesitate. That's a standing order.
Roger, Sir, he says tersely. Wilco.
I watch him uncase his sniper's rifle and run his eyes over the
field and the mountains' faces. Binoculars and another rifle, an
M-24, lie next to him. He stretches out on a bed of sandbags, one
leg crooked, eyes pressed to the rifle's sight. He's my ultimate
lethal weapon, with a kill ratio of almost one hundred percent,
and that reassures me.
I climb down from the Hescos and walk back to where everyone's
waiting.
A raven flies low overhead and circles the field twice before
heading east toward the mountains.
That's frickin' bad luck, someone mutters. Whalen turns to glare
at the speaker.
I address the men: Any questions?
I wait for a moment, and then say with a tight smile: All right,
then. Let's go.
We troop out past the concertina. Whalen takes point.
I pause to absorb the breathless feeling I get whenever I step
outside the wire.
I turn to the men and say in a calm voice: Now remember, this is
going to be a Zen operation. We're not going to use any force on
her. We're going to respect her dignity and treat her with the
honor she deserves.
Her eyes stare watchfully at us as we advance, bulky in our body
armor.
I can see her bangles glinting in the sun.
Our knees click like castanets as we march in unison. Scorpions
scuttle out of our way.
We're almost there, when she turns suddenly and reaches for the
dead lamb. Her knife flashes at the same time as I spot a
movement on the slopes. Get down! I scream, even as everyone
around me is hit ting the ground. A cloud of dust rises from our
falling bodies, and it distracts me momentarily from the shot
that rings out. We hear the bullet whistle past, and then the
girl's falling backward with a bright red explosion where her
heart used to be.
In the pin-drop silence, a voice cuts through the air from behind
us.
It's Simonis. He says: Score.
I'm breathing in gasps. I feel helpless and disoriented.
Masood's the only one standing. I glance past him with disbelief
at the slope where Shorty is darting between rocks. How the ...!
did that dog get free?
Masood lurches toward the cart. He moves jerkily, as if someone's
pulling his strings. When he reaches the girl, he falls to his
knees. Her wide open eyes stare at him. She attempts to speak,
but only blood wells out of her mouth. She's pointing at the
lamb, and he gently moves her outstretched arm out of the way.
The knife slips out of her nerveless fingers. He frees the bright
red blanket from the animal and discards it along with the
plaited-wire harness that she'd cut. Apart from the portion of
its fleece covered by the blanket, the rest of the lamb is
drenched in blood. Picking it up, he rises to his feet and begins
to walk shakily toward me. When he reaches me, he bends down and
places it on the ground. His eyes brimming with tears, he says in
the voice of a young boy: Why did you kill her, Comandan Saab?
The lamb was her gift to you. We were to feast on it tonight. It
is a part of our culture.
I watch my hands reach slowly forward. They sink deep into the
fleece of the lamb. It feels absurdly soft to the touch.
......
THAT'S HOW THE BOOK ENDS!!
ALL THE IN-BE-TWEEN IS TRULY AN EYE OPENER OF LIFE IN
THE USA WAR ZONE, IN AFGHANISTAN - A DESERT LAND,
FIGHTING AN ENEMY THAT ATTACKS AND RUNS OR PLANTS BOMBS
UNDER YOUR FEET - THE TALIBAN THAT IS - AN ENEMY THAT
KNOWS HOW TO LIVE AND SURVIVE IN A MOUNTAINOUS DESERT
LAND - BEEN DOING IT FOR DECADES. THE RUSSIANS IN TEN
YEARS COULD NOT DESTROY THEM, AND NEITHER WILL THE USA
IN THEIR TEN YEAR PLUS EFFORT.
Keith Hunt
No comments:
Post a Comment