Love In The House Of War Read online

“As you wish. We are safe here,” Sarah stated.

  “Oh, I believe you. For now, we will stay here until you are able to move. We cannot stay in one place for very long. I need to link up with my team in Mazar-i-Sharif soon.”

  When he approached the natural mantelpiece, his eyes lit up with excitement. “Wow, Christmas arrived early! This is great.” Rummaging through the items, Ron pulled out a small black box. “Look, you have a Motorola! Does it work?”

  “Yes, of course. What do you mean, 'Christmas arrived early?”

  “Oh, sorry. Just an expression that means you have a lot of good stuff here. And, it isn't even Christmas.”

  “I have heard about Christmas.”

  “Oh, yes. A holiday in America.” Ron looked at the pond, very glad that the iodine tablets were still with him.

  Sarah lifted a leather flask to her lips. After expressing satisfaction, she held it out for Ron. “Would you like some fresh water from our stream in the cave?”

  “You mean this pond?”

  “The back part is where we get our drinking water.”

  “Thank you for your offer, but I have been drinking from my CamelBak.”

  “But I bet it is not as good as this water. Here, taste for yourself.”

  Sarah noticed his suspicious glance at the flask. “It won't poison you. Drink. It is good water. I drink it all the time and look at me. Do I look sick to you?”

  “No, not at all. In fact, quite the opposite,” he replied while accepting the flask from her hand. Tilting it upwards, he allowed the refreshing contents ride into his mouth, allowing the escaped droplets stream down his whiskered chin.

  “You are thirsty.” Looking around the cave, she got up while he drank to retrieve some blankets and a couple of small rugs stashed away.

  Ron was going to object to her movement but decided to let her go. “This water is good. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” She pulled out a small oil lamp, lighting it behind the massive boulder to conceal its light from the entrance. Ron continued to watch as she hobbled over toward a stone, sit in one of the many indented rocks, shaped like a bench, which leaned against the wall opposite the pond.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Not yet.” She pulled off the remaining blue burkha from her body. Ron turned away until he noticed she had on a khaki-colored cotton shirt and a pair of loose-fitting white slacks. She folded up her blue burka and placed it in a small chest as her hair fell onto her shoulders.

  My God, she is beautiful. Ron thought. Adding to the beauty, Ron noticed a glow at the cave entrance where he could view the pink snowy peaks of the distant mountaintops reflecting the setting sun.

  Sarah moved over to the supply shelf. “Can I show you now?”

  “Sure. Lead the way.”

  The two walked to the ledge. Once there, Sarah rummaged through some blankets, clothes designed for the rugged terrain, food items, means to start a fire, pots, and the most astonishing of all, a machete-like sword and a Makarov pistol. “You have everything covered, don't you?” Ron asked amazed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “All this stuff. You must have prepared for a long stay.”

  “Yes, sometimes we did stay long. Come. Let us make a fire and have some tea.”

  Ron followed her back to an area looking much like the Flintstones living room and watched Sarah build a fire equivalent to an Eagle Scout.

  “This may seem like a silly question, but if your uncle and father knows about this place, couldn't it be possible that others know also?”

  “No.”

  Ron waited for her to elaborate.

  “Well, how do you know?”

  “Because, nobody has ever found us. We have hidden here for many, many years.”

  Ron walked towards the cave entrance for a better view of the sunset. From his vantage point, the Darya Suf Valley stretched across the horizon below him, expanding east into portions of the Panjshir Valley. “I hope you guys are okay,” Ron mumbled to himself. “Lord, be with my team and may I return to them soon!”

  9

  The soldiers gathered around Staff Sergeant Short and Mohaqeq. “So, you are saying that Hawk followed the girl into the mountain?” Talbot asked Short.

  “Had to top. He had no choice. It was a set up. They were waiting for us,” Chris answered.

  “Who was?”

  “The Taliban—Al Qaeda…I don't know. They were firing from every direction.”

  Captain Carter walked over to Mohaqeq who was barking orders to one of his men trying to bandage his leg wound. “Commander, what do you know about this?”

  Mohaqeq took a large swig from the rusted flask he was holding. Carter watched the strong-smelling liquid drip from his scraggily face.

  “Captain, something like this can only be from one man…Daoud Puri, a ruthless fighter who leads the Taliban.”

  Carter waited as Mohaqeq tipped the container back to his mouth.

  Letting out a large belch, he continued. “He will go after my niece and your soldier in the mountains.”

  “Sir, we gotta…” Talbot began but Carter held up his hand.

  “How do you know this? Why won't he come after us?”

  “Simple captain. Against us, he is outnumbered. With them, he has an opportunity to catch two people and if he does, will make an example of them for the world to see.”

  Carter walked up to Staff Sergeant Short. “Tell me what happened.”

  Chris gave him and Talbot the details. “It had to be a setup,” Chris concluded.

  Looking at the captain, Talbot said, “Shouldn't we go after them, sir?”

  Carter slow shook his head. “You know we can't do that top. We have our directive and we are behind schedule. Hawk knows our objective.”

  “Excuse me captain,” Mohaqeq interrupted. “Your soldier will be safe with my niece.”

  “What makes you so sure?'

  “She will lead him to our secret place that not even Daoud can find. She is a warrior herself and they will have plenty of supplies.”

  “What sort of secret place?” Talbot asked.

  “It is a well-hidden cave with many supplies. I took her there myself many times.”

  Talbot and Carter exchanged glances.

  “She will help him meet with us at the objective,” Mohaqeq continued.

  “What about this Daoud?” Carter asked.

  He will pursue them and leave us alone. If your soldier is as good as what I have seen, he and my niece will be fine.”

  “Sir, I don't know about…”

  “We have to move on top. We cannot afford to disperse our resources searching them. Just pray that he finds us at the objective.”

  As Captain Carter moved away, Talbot and Short looked worried. “He can do it top. I met the girl before. She's quite resourceful.”

  Talbot didn't answer him.

  * * *

  At the base of the mountain, Daoud organized his men. “We will split up and follow the trails. Be careful. They both are trained in guerrilla warfare, they will be armed, and I want them both alive.”

  One of the men spoke. “What if we have no choice but to kill them?”

  “Then you will deal with me.” Shouting, Daoud reemphasized his command. “I want them both alive—do you understand?”

  The men agreed.

  “Good. Now let's go find them.”

  * * *

  You have quite a view from here. Very beautiful.”

  “Just wait until nightfall. The stars shine like millions of diamonds. If you come here now, I have some tea ready. We can drink and eat something.”

  Ron walked back to the fire and sat across from Sarah. “So, Doctor Rajiv is your father. Interesting.”

  “He is not my real father. Why is this interesting?”

  “He's not your real father? What happened to your real father?”

  “It depends on who you ask,” she said. “I heard many things and did not know what to
believe so I stopped asking. Besides, Doctor Rajiv is an excellent father. He has raised me from my birth and taken great care of me all my life.”

  Ron sipped his tea. Before he could ask about her mother, she continued.

  “He has taught me everything. I was a midwife and then a nurse under his care. He has also taught me the languages, like English and Russian.

  Ron's eyes lit up. “Russian? Why Russian?”

  “Dr. Rajiv, said I will need to know it when I get older.”

  “I wonder what he meant by that. I studied some Persian, or, I guess you refer to it as Dari?”

  Sarah smirked. “Tell me something in Persian.”

  “You are a very smart young lady,” Ron said in Persian.

  Sarah chuckled. “The way you said it means that I am a very young girl, like a child.”

  “Oh, my apologies. You are not a child.” Ron tried again in Persian. “You are a very smart woman.”

  “That is better. Now me,” Sarah added. “Why?” Sarah asked in Persian.

  “Why, what?”

  Sarah switched to English. “Why did you come back to save me?”

  Ron thought for a moment longer. “It is what we do, liberate the oppressed.”

  Not satisfied with his answer, Sarah pressed further. “But your mission. Why did you risk it for me?”

  “We liberate the oppressed because it is the right thing to do, that's all. Your father and uncle were very upset. We are here to help your people. This is our mission. For now, you are my mission.”

  Ron turned the questioning around. “Why did you dare to speak to me in English at the town? That was very dangerous.”

  She looked into his eyes. “We needed medical supplies.”

  “That's all?”

  “Of course, why else?”

  “I don't know, just wondering.”

  There was a brief pause as both sipped their tea. Ron gazed at her beauty, as her face reflected a golden glow from the flickering fire. She appeared to him a mixture of fragility and confidence. He was going to ask about her mother when she said, “To be truthful, I hoped to meet somebody like you one day, somebody from the outside world.”

  “Like me? You didn't even know me.”

  “My friends and I watched you from a distance. You were reading and seemed to be praying, meditating, or something. Besides, you are an American soldier. Who would not take the risk?”

  “When we were inside the clinic, why did you reveal your face to me?”

  “It worked, yes?” They both chuckled a bit. “Do you like the food?”

  “I'll eat anything, and yes, it's good.”

  “I do not believe you,” she answered. “What do you eat at your home?”

  “Well, when I'm at home in Tennessee, my mama fixes me a big bowl of hominy grits soaked with melted butter.”

  “I do not know what 'how many grits,' is.”

  Ron chuckled. “It's hard to explain but it is like, porridge, maybe?”

  “Hmm.”

  Ron could tell she was getting sleepy and not following the conversation too well. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

  “What about you. Will you not sleep?”

  “Don't worry about me. I'll keep watch.”

  “But you look tired. You will need to sleep also,” Sarah insisted. “You won't see anybody because nobody will come here.”

  Ron gave her a doubtful look. “Maybe I will later. For now, you try to rest and keep your foot elevated. I might try the radio.”

  Sarah dumped her tea. “No! You must not! The Taliban monitor our communications.”

  “Why do you have it?”

  “To monitor them. We listen. This way we know what they are doing and where they are going.”

  “Okay, I'll listen then.”

  “If we stay one or two more days, we will be safe here, trust me.”

  Ron thought for a moment. “We'll see. That may be necessary, but we'll see.”

  “You never told me why you risked your mission to save my life.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “I do not believe you Mr. Ron.”

  “Ron.”

  “What?”

  “Please just call me Ron.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why else do you think I rescued you?”

  “That is what I am asking you.”

  “Well, you never told me why you revealed your face to me in the clinic.”

  Sarah tried to hide her pleasure. “Goodnight, Ron. I will sleep now.”

  Smiling back, he answered, “Goodnight Sarah. Pleasant dreams.”

  Ron walked toward the cave entrance, found a spot, and turned on the small radio. He could hear some chatter in Pashto going back and forth. Getting bored with the chatter, which was becoming less and less, he turned off the switch and drifted into sleepiness throughout the night, fighting to keep his eyes open.

  She was right. I could just reach out and grab a cluster of diamonds from the sky, he thought. He felt safe for the time being and did not see or hear any signs of other human activity. Outside the cave, darkness encompassed the landscape and wind gusts increased, bringing in a raw cold. After a few hours, he decided to go back to the fire in an effort to keep warm.

  Sarah was sound asleep near the dying flames. Ron added more wood and sat across from her. Besides having an unwavering faith in God, he relied upon his training, back wood wits, and Sarah's calm assurances that her uncle Mohaqeq's knowledge in guerilla warfare resulted in the ultimate hideout. Both the fire and the blanket were sufficient to send Ron into a deep sleep.

  10

  Thursday, October 25, 2001

  Ron sprang up when he heard the whistling wind blend with a girls harmonious wailing. There was an empty space and rolled up blanket where Sarah had slept. Her sleeping mat was gone! Ron jumped up and looked for his weapon, finding it right where he laid it the previous night. The fire flickered to his right side, emitting some warmth. Snatching up his rifle, he moved toward the cave entrance until he spotted Sarah.

  Kneeling on her mat at the cave entrance, head bowed until her nose touched the ground, she rose while facing toward the west. Repeating the process, she was chanting something in Persian.

  Setting his weapon down, Ron studied her a few minutes. Her soft voice had a melodious tone to it and seemed to blend with the golden sunrays peaking above the mountain range from the east, casting a tinge of orange on the cave wall. Picking up his weapon, Ron went back to the fire.

  Five minutes later, Sarah appeared, walking with a slight limp and sat down next to him.

  “Can I have a look at your foot?” Ron asked.

  “It is fine. I already changed the dressing.”

  “You must have been up quite early. How did you sleep?”

  “What do you mean? I lay down on the—”

  “I meant did you sleep well?”

  Sarah beamed with that pretty smile Ron enjoyed. He tried his best to prompt her for a display of that soft gentle warmth of happiness.

  “Yes, I slept very well, thank you. And you? You did too,” she added.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you were making a sound like a bear.”

  They both chuckled together at his expense.

  “So how is your foot?” Ron thought to ask again.

  “It is healing fine. You have soft and careful hands for a soldier. They were skilled with precision.”

  Ron grinned. “Well, I'm glad I passed the test.”

  There was an aroma of something cooking filling the air. Although Ron could not distinguish its precise scent, it smelled good.

  “What are you cooking?”

  “I am cooking breakfast.”

  “Yes, but can I ask what you are cooking?”

  “Yes.”

  Ron paused a moment. “Yes, what?”

  “You said, 'can I ask what you are cooking' and I replied, 'yes.' You can ask me.”

  “Okay, what are you cooking?”


  “I am cooking Chalau with rice and spinach.”

  “Chalau?”

  “Yes, it is lamb. I season it with cumin and put it all in this pot.”

  “It smells good.”

  “I think you will like it.”

  “I'm sure I will.”

  Sarah sat against the wall with a tiny cushion padding her back from the rock. She had already prepared some tea over the fire.

  “Can I help?”

  “Not for now, thank you.”

  When Sarah had finished cooking the food, the two of them ate and sipped tea while the cool brisk morning greeted them with a clean but chilly, stiff wind giving reason enough for them to stay close to the fire.

  Sarah sported a brown leather jacket that looked like a beat up Soviet pilot's jacket. She kept a medium-sized, rectangular, olive-colored, soft cotton headscarf wrapped around her head and neck, what she called a Cādar, to go along with a pair of khaki pants.

  Previously, she had a stout leather sandal on her good foot, soled with a strong rubber from an old tire, but Ron noticed that she had changed into distinctive ankle-high moccasins, with the one on her injured foot left untied.

  “It is good that you help Masood and my uncle Abdul fight the Taliban.”

  “We would help anybody who fought the Taliban.”

  “You Americans? My uncle said that you would never come to help us.”

  “Well, we are here. Yes, the mighty army from America!” Ron said proudly as he flexed his two biceps like the Hulk.

  Sarah said, “Ah, look, a righteous king is coming. And honest princes will rule under him.”

  “What? Where did you hear that?” Ron asked chuckling.

  “Well, that's what you act like. Those young American girls who lived in our village were right about you American men,” Sarah commented.

  “You had American girls here?”

  “Before the Taliban ravaged all of the people for everything—paintings, photographs, rosebushes, life—they were here. But they left because of the threat on their lives.”

  Ron sought understanding. “So what you said before, about the prince, it sounds like a verse from the Bible.”

  “Yes, from the Bible. The girls were missionaries.”

  Ron watched her a moment, wondering if she had anything to add. She continued. “The girls said that the king is Jesus. We believe in such a person, but not as a king. He was a prophet.”