Amish Sweethearts (42 page)

Zane’s unit stuck around base for a week, day-tripping to local villages, finishing up business that had been left undone once the translator fell ill. The nightmares continued, and a couple of times Zane woke up to the screech of his own voice, surprised he hadn’t woken Grant too. But it seemed the man could sleep through anything.

The next week they headed up the windy road safely strapped in an MRAP and finally into the mountains, where some new intelligence was waiting at the farthest village, or so the speculation was. No one talked much until they reached the first village. Casey and her crew gathered a few of the women around and showed them one of the new stoves. Zane translated how it worked while Casey demonstrated. The plan was to keep children, especially toddlers, from falling in the cooking fires and burning themselves.

If people in the states believed the Amish lived primitively, Zane thought they’d be flabbergasted by an Afghan village. But even in the midst of war, the people were relatively happy, as long as their children had enough to eat. The smaller ones played with sticks and rocks, while the mothers cooked in a group. The fathers were off in their fields and the older kids were herding the goats and sheep.

Zane stumbled a few times over words, but overall he was grateful for how the language came back to him. That evening after supper, he sat around with some of the Afghan men and visited and drank tea. The air was cool and crisp, and the temperature would likely drop below freezing that night. Hopefully the colder weather would mean less fighting.

One of the men asked if he’d seen Jaalal yet.

Zane shook his head.

“Go see him,” the man said. “He’d like that.”

“I hope I can,” Zane answered.

The next day he asked Sarge about detouring to Jaalal’s village, but he refused. “I’m not going there,” he said. “That’s why we brought you back.”

“I can’t do what Jaalal can. He’s an elder. He can rally the people, not to mention uncover intelligence I never could. Can’t you give him a chance?”

Sarge shook his head.

They moved on to the next village that morning and went through the same lesson with the stoves, but this time only two Afghan women joined in, and all the men in the village stood around in a semicircle, observing.

Zane spoke loudly so they could hear, and when they’d finished asked if they could give the children a treat. The men shook their heads. They’d hoped to stay at that village for a night, but instead traveled on, skipping Jaalal’s village and going toward the fourth, where the man with new intelligence was rumored to be, nearing it late in the day.

A pickup blocked the road before they arrived. It seemed to be empty, but there were no guarantees that someone might not be hiding in the brush. It had started to rain, and dusk was falling, adding to the poor visibility.

“Taliban,” Grant said.

“Maybe,” Sarge answered. He unbuckled his seat belt and began moving up toward their driver, Private Anderson, saying, “We should turn around.”

Wade paled.

“Where to now?” Zane asked Casey.

“Probably back to base. That’s been our MO lately. That’s why we’ve hardly gotten anything done.”

Zane leaned back against his seat. He was supposed to be the coward, but they were all as punchy as could be. He’d come back reluctantly, at Lila’s urging, but now that he was here he wanted to be able to complete their work. And the only way they could get it done was to bring Jaalal back on board.

The rain grew heavier and Private Anderson slowed as he turned the wheel.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Grant said.

“Give it up,” Casey hissed.

“It’s Taliban. I can feel it.”

“You’re like a broken record,” Casey said to him.

Zane couldn’t help but sympathize with Grant, thinking of the last patrol the two of them had been on to gather intelligence.

Grant crossed his arms and scowled at Casey, but then the MRAP jumped, followed by the sound of an explosion. Then a scream. Zane was pretty sure it wasn’t his, but he couldn’t be certain. Smoke began to flow into the front of the vehicle’s interior.

“Everyone okay?” Zane asked, feeling oddly calm.

“Yeah,” Casey responded.

“We’d better get out.” Zane unbuckled.

“It’s not safe,” Grant answered. “It’s a trap.”

“It’s not safe to stay in a burning vehicle either.” It could have been that the IED was freshly set, or perhaps it was an old one. But considering the pickup blocking the road, it had likely been a trap. They’d probably been lured to the village by the promise of information, but they’d arrived sooner than anticipated. Maybe that had saved them—no one seemed to be in the immediate area, but they wouldn’t know for sure until they exited the MRAP.

Zane turned toward the front and called out, “Sarge!”

When he didn’t answer, Zane started crawling forward on his hands and knees, yelling back to Casey and Wade, “Go out the back door—but watch for any insurgents. Let me know if you see anything.”

He felt Sarge before seeing him. His helmet was off and he was unconscious, but he had a pulse. Zane crawled over Sarge to Anderson, who was slumped over the steering wheel. He appeared dazed but hadn’t lost consciousness.

Smoke was now pouring into the cab from the engine.

He crawled back over Sarge and now saw that there was significant blood coming from a head wound. He pulled out his first-aid kit, pressed the quick clot packet over the wound,
and strapped his helmet back on. He then grabbed Sarge by the feet and pulled him toward the back. Grant still sat in his seat.

“Come on,” Zane ordered. “We’ve got to get Sarge to safety.” Maybe it was the appeal to help someone else, maybe it was the smoke, but something finally compelled Grant to move. “Call for help,” Zane ordered him.

Grant just stared at him.

Wade said, “I’ll do it.” As Grant and Zane stumbled out the door with Sarge, who had regained consciousness, Wade spoke into his radio.

Casey stood sentry with her gun pointed toward the brush. “I haven’t seen a thing.”

“Head to the stand of trees off to the right,” Zane ordered and then followed with Sarge between him and Grant. Wade fell in behind.

They lowered Sarge to the ground, and Zane went back to the MRAP for Private Anderson. He pulled his T-shirt up over his mouth as he entered. Anderson was fairly alert and appeared to be shutting down the MRAP systems. By the time they were out of the rig and in the stand of trees, both Zane and the driver were coughing.

After examining Sarge, who was unconscious again, Zane knew he’d hit his head pretty hard. His left arm and leg were both bleeding and his uniform was torn up. Zane packed those wounds and then checked his pulse again. It was steady. He revived and after a few more minutes seemed to be doing better.

“What now?” Casey asked.

“We should go back to Jaalal’s village for help,” Zane replied, saying a silent prayer that it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t certain it was—but he couldn’t come up with a better plan.

He turned toward Grant. “Go back and destroy any sensitive items we can’t carry.” The last thing they wanted was for radios and electronic equipment to get in the wrong hands.

Grant frowned but followed Zane’s instructions.

Anderson had dropped to the ground once they reached cover, and now he groaned.

Zane knelt beside him. “We’re going to walk to Jaalal’s village. Do you think you can make it?”

The driver nodded. Zane helped him to his feet as he motioned to Casey to come support him.

Then he instructed Wade to make a “chair” with Zane, linking their hands together to carry Sarge. It would be slow going, and they’d need to trade off with Grant, but hopefully it would work.

“We’ll lead the way,” Zane said. He called out to Grant, as he came back across the road, “You take up the rear.”

“Great,” Grant said. “I’ll be the target.”

“Would you rather be in front?”

“Yeah. Actually, I would.”

“Go for it.” Zane and Wade fell back.

As darkness descended, they stopped and put on their night-vision goggles. Sounds startled them now and then, and Zane kept expecting whoever owned the pickup to follow, but after thirty minutes of walking, he started to feel more confident.

They had to stop over and over to rest, and an hour later they were taking a break in the middle of the road when Grant bellowed, “Truck!”

Sure enough headlights were coming their way.

“Hide,” Zane commanded. He and Wade lifted Sarge, who continued to move in and out of consciousness, again.

Grant reached the trees first, followed by Casey and Anderson, and then Wade, Zane, and Sarge. They’d just made it into the trees when the truck drove by. It was an old Toyota, white and beat up. It looked a lot like Jaalal’s.

As the pickup went by, Zane stepped out into the road—hoping to appear as if he were alone in case it wasn’t Jaalal—and started waving his arms.

“You’re going to get us all killed!” Grant hissed.

The pickup stopped and started coming back, in reverse.

Zane stopped waving. Even if it was Jaalal, it didn’t mean he’d come to help. Zane didn’t budge though until the pickup stopped. Then he walked up to the driver’s side.

The door swung open. “It is you,” Jaalal said. “I had a call. I’ve come to help. Hurry though, the insurgents are headed this way.”

Zane ran back to the others.

“I don’t know about this,” Sarge said, groggy but talking for the first time, which encouraged Zane.

“What other choice do we have?” Zane said. “We can’t spend the night out here.” He and Wade lifted Sarge again and started to stumble, but Jaalal was there to help them. Together they got Sarge spread out in the back of the pickup and as comfortable as they could.

“You sit up front,” Zane said to Anderson. “You too, Casey.”

She shook her head. “Go ahead, Grant.”

Zane climbed into the bed of the truck, after Casey and Wade were seated. Once they’d all hunkered down, Casey said to Zane, “Thanks for taking charge.”

“You could have done it,” Zane said.

Wade shook his head. “Grant won’t listen to Casey. If you hadn’t been here, he’d still be in the MRAP, dying from smoke inhalation. And the rest of us would be across the road in the trees.”

If he hadn’t been here, they’d all have probably been back at base.

They slept in the front room of Jaalal’s home, and the next morning a helicopter landed in the clearing outside of the village and took Sarge and Anderson back to base.

“I’ll drive the rest of you down,” Jaalal said.

Grant was against it, saying they should wait for transport. “Someone has to come recover the MRAP,” he said.

“It could be a couple of days, and we don’t have much as far as supplies,” Casey said. “I think we should take the ride.”

“Wade and I’ll ride gunner in the back,” Zane said. “Grant, you and Casey ride up front.”

Zane silently recited the Twenty-third Psalm on the bumpy ride down the mountain and prayed he wouldn’t have to shoot anyone, prayed they’d get there safely. Prayed Jaalal would get back home.

When they finally reached the base, it took some talking to get the MPs to allow Jaalal through the gate. “I can vouch for him,” Zane said. “I promise. He won’t leave my side. I’m just going to gas up his truck and then send him back up the mountain.”

By the time they reached the hospital, Sarge was already on his way to Bagram. “Will he be coming back?” Casey asked the doc, a new one from when Zane had been through the ER.

The doc shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Zane turned toward Jaalal. “I’ll get you back to the gate. You should go home.”

Jaalal nodded.

“I’ll meet up with you at the mess hall,” Zane said to Casey.

Zane climbed into the cab of the pickup. Before he could ask Jaalal anything, the old man said, “I told you not to come back.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Zane said. “So what’s going on? Sarge was afraid you’d joined up with the Taliban.”

Jaalal shook his head. “Never. But the pressure is getting worse and worse.”

“I can try to get you out,” Zane said. “You and Aliah.”

He shook his head. “We’re too old to start over. I would have asked for Benham . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Zane said.

“I know you are,” Jaalal answered, starting his pickup. “But he brought it on himself. There was nothing else you could do.”

Zane swallowed hard. “Still, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Jaalal said again, looking straight ahead.

“For all of it. For what war has done to your country. For the decisions ahead for you. For your son’s death and Benham’s.”

“We have never known peace, not in my lifetime,” Jaalal said. “First the Russians. Then the Taliban. Now this. For a time I hoped, but I’m afraid we are doomed to violence.”

Zane didn’t respond.

“Go back home as soon as you can. Marry that girl, that . . . What do you call them?”

“Amish.”

“Yes, marry that beautiful Amish girl. Have a houseful of children.” Jaalal looked at him for a moment. His eyes were rimmed with red. Then he turned onto the road and headed to the gate. “Remember me and Aliah, of all the things we wanted, of the things we had, of what we lost. But know we had each other, and that kept us going. We’ll be all right, in the end.”