Deployed (24 page)

28

TWO DAYS AFTER
the attack on the clinic, Bekah sat in the passenger seat of an armored Humvee and watched the countryside while Pike drove. Trudy and Tyler were in the back, with the latter on the M60 machine gun mounted on the rear deck. The heat beat down on them, and Bekah’s fatigues were damp despite the air circulating through the vehicle. The MBITRs kept up a constant chatter between the fire teams responsible for reconning the area for the medical convoy a hundred yards to the left.

Most of the platoon was on edge. Two hundred plus miles out from Mogadishu and nearer to Kenya now, they were a long way from help if something went bad.

Pike looked totally at ease, though. He sat solid and calm behind the wheel as he steered through the uneven terrain. His eyes were hidden behind his dark sunglasses, and Bekah had no idea what he was thinking. She remembered how he had run toward her when the grenade had spilled out onto the ground at the medical clinic, arriving within a heartbeat instead of running from the danger. That had impressed her.

He was a hard guy to figure and didn’t talk much. But he was there when she needed him. An interesting thing she had noticed was the tattoo that coiled around his neck, barely meeting Marine standards. The Corps was the strictest military branch for tattoos. She wanted to know what the tattoo depicted, but she knew she wasn’t going to ask him.

Pain pulsed on the right side of Bekah’s forehead. She’d caught a piece of flying shrapnel when the grenade had gone off. Other people had been wounded as well, but no one except the terrorist had died. She didn’t know what had become of the boy who had tried to take the grenade into the clinic, but she hoped he was all right. The wound from the shrapnel had taken eleven stitches to close, but Matthew had told her he’d put them in close enough that there shouldn’t be much of a scar left behind.

Bekah didn’t worry about the scar. She still had two eyes, and she was still alive to go home to Travis. That was all that mattered.

She opened the Velcro tab on her left sleeve pocket and looked at the man’s face there. Rageh Daud looked haunted and tired in the picture, and the white, uneven burn scarring stood out proudly against his dark skin.

“I don’t think you’re gonna memorize that face any more than you already have.” Pike glanced over at her, and his lips twitched a little in a maybe smile.

“I know. I’m just trying to figure him out.”

“What do you mean?”

Bekah thought about the briefing Lieutenant Bridger had delivered the previous night, detailing the mission’s objectives and parameters. “This guy was on the straight and narrow till he lost his family.”

“Then he went back to his old ways. It happens to a guy who doesn’t have anything else to hang on to.” Pike looked back at the terrain and concentrated on his driving. “A bad guy is a bad guy, Bekah. You don’t change from that.”

Bekah thought about Billy Roy and silently agreed. He’d never been responsible, and he never would be.

“Just stick to the program.” Pike downshifted and eased through a gully. “Don’t try to overthink this. Daud is a guy we gotta put down.”

That left Bekah feeling unsettled. “Do you think people are that simple, Pike? Just black or white? No gray areas?”

“Yep. I know bad guys. I’ve been around them all my life.”

Trudy leaned forward from the back. “How is it you know so much about bad guys?”

Pike flashed her a cold smile in the rearview mirror. “Because I’m a bad guy. Don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise. You’ll only get disappointed.”

Trudy didn’t know what to say to that and leaned back in the seat. She went back to looking out the window.

A small chill crept over Bekah because she knew Pike was speaking the truth as he saw it. She’d sensed the darkness in him, but she didn’t think he was as bleak as he believed he was. She turned her attention to their surroundings as well and absently listened to the chatter over the MBITRs, responding when she needed to check in.

The IDP camp sat near a slow trickle of water that wound through a small valley. According to the map Bekah had, the tributary was seasonal, probably only there now because of the rains a few days ago. On both sides of the stream, dome-shaped huts stood covered in colorful blankets, cargo tarps, and scraps of cloth. They looked like misshapen mushrooms that had sprouted up in wild abandon.

As the Marine vehicles approached, the people squatting outside the huts stood uncertainly, not knowing for sure what to expect. All of them wore ragged clothing and looked emaciated. A few men came out of the huts carrying single-shot rifles and machetes. None of them looked eager to fight, but they stood ready.

“Wow.” Trudy leaned between the seats and gazed through the bug- and dust-encrusted windshield. “I don’t think anyone was anticipating quite so many of them.”

Looking out over the huts, Bekah estimated there were between three and four hundred people settled in the area. She knew there was no way the camp could have supported so many people if they were depending on foraging for food. There wasn’t enough game and no crops to speak of. If it hadn’t been for the routine deliveries of supplies, they would have all died of starvation or sickness by now.

“I guess the success of the camp has brought more of them here.” Tyler stood beside the machine gun. “Others must have found out these guys were on a regular delivery schedule and decided to migrate.”

They found hope here, and hope is a very powerful thing.
Bekah knew the truth of that, and it was one of the things that kept her going—hope that Travis would turn out happy and healthy. But hope was something that threatened these people even more than the hardships they’d faced on their own. Whatever the numbers had been before the recent migration, the present population was putting even more of a strain on the camp’s resources.

Bekah got out of the Humvee with her rifle in hand and watched as the scout vehicle rolled on ahead to meet with a small group of men coming from the camp. Two Marines and a Somali interpreter got out of the vehicle and talked to the camp representatives.

After a moment, Lieutenant Bridger’s calm voice came over the MBITRs. “Okay, Marines, let’s move in and get squared away. These people are depending on us.”

The Marines took turns standing guard and unpacking some of the supplies they’d brought. In short order, the camp women turned out, laid fires, and hung large pots to cook an evening meal. Some of the children ran around and talked to the new arrivals, chattering away like magpies. Other children lay in the shade, stricken with disease and malnutrition.

Bekah helped set up the big tent Matthew Cline was going to use for his treatment center. One of the nurses organized the distribution of the medicines and medical supplies. Matthew and the other doctor, a younger guy named Keith Reilly, walked among the sick and injured, organizing them into groups to separate the more severe cases that needed immediate attention.

Once the tent was set up, Matthew moved his efforts inside. The sound of crying children and worried mothers filled the air. Bekah had just stopped to take a drink of water when Tyler approached her with a grim look on his face.

Bekah turned to face him. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah.” Tyler looked pale. “Doc asked if you could come give a hand with one of the patients.”

“He’s got three nurses.” Bekah had been looking forward to sitting down and catching her breath. The smell of the beans and rice and stew floating up from the cook pots was enticing. She was also looking forward to rack time later that evening. She and her team were going to be standing early watch the next morning, so getting to bed early was important.

“All the nurses are busy tending patients. And this doesn’t need a nurse.”

Curious, Bekah walked over to the medical tent and stepped through the flap. The tent was large enough that four examination beds had been set up. All of the beds were filled. Portable containers of medicines and supplies sat around the outer edge. Electric lamps, powered by generators mounted on the trucks, lit the interior.

Across the tent, Matthew stood talking earnestly to a young woman holding a baby to her chest. The woman was shaking her head and pushing Matthew away.

Bekah crossed over to Matthew. “Tyler said you wanted me.” She looked more closely at the woman and the baby.

The woman looked like she was all of sixteen or seventeen, not much more than a girl and at least ten pounds underweight. Tears streamed down her face as she continued to shake her head in denial. The baby was small, surely not much more than a newborn, and lay with its face against her breast.

Matthew spoke in a whisper. “I need to get her out of here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do anything for her.”

“Yes, you can.” The young woman spoke in broken English. “Make my son well.”

Matthew looked at Bekah, and she saw the sadness in his eyes. “Her baby has passed. He’s been gone for a couple days. The other women tried to take him away from her as well, but she won’t let go.”

Bekah’s heart chilled, but she kept control of herself.

“I need the bed space. There are a lot of kids out there who need the help I can give.” Matthew shook his head. “I don’t want to sound coldhearted, God knows I don’t, but there’s nothing I can do for the baby.”

“Yes.” The woman struck Matthew with a balled-up fist. “You can make my son well.” As she leaned forward again, the baby’s head twisted and exposed his face. The tiny eyes were open and unseeing.

Bekah took a deep breath, but that only made things worse as the smells of alcohol, cleansers, and body odor filled her nose. She breathed more shallowly. She spoke to Matthew. “Does she not have any family here?”

Matthew shook his head. “I was told that she wandered in a few days ago. The baby had a fever. Some of the women tried to help her with the baby, but there was nothing they could do. She has no one.”

Bekah faced the woman, stepping in between Matthew and her. “Do you speak much English?”

The woman calmed somewhat. She cupped the back of her baby’s head and brought it back to her breast. “Yes. A little.”

“My name is Bekah. What’s your name?”

“Varisha.”

“Varisha, I wish I could have met you under better circumstances. I truly do.” Bekah thought desperately, searching for words to say, and tried to imagine what her granny would do. But she knew. Granny would tell the truth. In the end, that was all there was. Just the truth.

“Make him help.”

Bekah shook her head. “He can’t help.”

“He can. Make him.”

“Varisha, your baby is gone.”

“No, this is not true. He is just sick.”

Taking out her phone, Bekah brought up a picture of Travis. “I’m a momma too, Varisha. This is my boy. His name is Travis, and I love him with all my heart. I would not ever want to lose him. I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

“My baby is just sick. This man lies.”

“No.” Bekah put her phone away. “Your baby is gone, and you’re gonna have to let him go. You can’t hang on to him.” Despite her control, tears slipped down Bekah’s cheeks. She took hold of the girl’s elbow and pulled gently. “Please. Come with me.”

“No. I want this man to help my baby.” Varisha’s voice was hoarse.

“Varisha, look at me.” Bekah locked eyes with the woman. “There are other babies out there that need help. The doctor can help those babies. But he can’t help yours. You need to let him do what he can for those children so they don’t end up like your little one.”

The woman cried and shook as she held her dead child. “No.
No.
” Her words turned into a plaintive cry that tore at Bekah’s heart.

“You know this is true. You know your baby is gone. You need to be strong now. Let me help. We need to find a resting place for your son.” Quietly, gently, Bekah pulled the young woman and her dead child into her embrace. Reluctantly at first, the woman came to her, then finally clung to her fiercely. Slowly, Bekah led the grieving mother from the room.