Deployed (25 page)

On a small hillside under the moonlight, Bekah dug a tiny grave for the child while his mother sat on the ground and quietly rocked him. Bekah’s muscles ached from the labor, and her heart felt broken. She didn’t know how much longer she could go on, but the grave needed to be deep enough.

“Need a hand?”

Startled, Bekah brushed hair out of her face and looked up to find Heath Bridger holding a shovel.

He looked uncomfortable. “I was asking around for you when I saw you’d gone off without your team.”

Bekah nodded. “It’s my fault. Not theirs. I asked them to give me some privacy. Under the circumstances, they understood.”

Heath nodded. “So do I, but I also know you’re tired and worn out. And all this work can’t be doing that head wound any good.”

The pounding in Bekah’s forehead had been almost nonstop. She’d felt it with every bite the shovel took from the earth.

“If you don’t mind, maybe I could help out.”

Bekah looked at him gratefully. If he’d simply come along and tried to take over, she knew she would have gotten angry with him. But he had asked permission. He was her commanding officer and she’d disobeyed some of his direct orders, and he wasn’t reprimanding her for that either. He was there as a man.

“Yes sir. I would appreciate it.” Bekah climbed up from the grave and let him step into it.

Heath worked carefully and respectfully, taking time with the task and not just getting through it. He squared the sides of the grave better than Bekah had been doing, and he went deeper than she thought she’d have been able to manage on her own.

When he was finished, he climbed up from the grave without a word and stepped to one side. He leaned on the shovel, sweat gleaming on his face. He didn’t look like a lawyer then. He didn’t even truly look like a Marine. He looked like a man who was in over his head and was still trying to do the right thing. He waited silently, like he had all the time in the world when she knew he didn’t.

Quietly, Bekah coaxed Varisha into surrendering her dead son. Together they bundled the tiny body in one of the new blankets from the cargo that had been brought in the trucks. On their knees, they reached a long way into the grave to lay the body on the earth.

The woman wept on her knees, wiping tears helplessly with her hands as she shook and shivered. Gently as they could, Bekah and Heath shoveled the earth in on top of the baby. When they were finished, they packed the ground down tightly.

Putting the shovel aside, Bekah joined the woman on her knees and took one of her hands. Heath hesitated for just a moment, then dropped to his knees on Varisha’s other side and sat there in silence as well until Varisha began to speak.

The bereft mother prayed for a long time, and Bekah didn’t know how she could do such a thing. Yet the words flowed from her.

Touched by the raw emotion, Bekah silently gave thanks that her son was healthy and safe, and she asked that she be rejoined with him soon. And it surprised her how soothing that small prayer felt.

Back at the camp, Bekah found a group of women willing to take care of the grieving mother. They welcomed Varisha with open arms, and this time she went with them. Before she left, though, she gave Bekah a hug, then tried to speak, but couldn’t.

Bekah couldn’t speak either. She hugged the woman back and returned to the Marine group. Heath fell into step beside her.

“That was an amazing thing you did back there.” His voice was soft but sounded tired.

“Helping that woman put her baby in the ground?” Bekah knew she sounded angry, but she couldn’t help herself. She
was
angry.

“Yes. The Marines don’t train you for something like that.”

“That’s because we’re supposed to be saving lives, not burying victims.”

“We are saving lives.” Heath took her by the elbow, stopping her in her tracks. Then he nodded out toward the camp. “Look at all those people. There are a lot of lives we’re saving out there today. We don’t get to save them all, Bekah. That’s just not in the cards. And the ones we don’t get to save? We’ll grieve over them and sometimes help bury them . . . and we’ll remember them. That’s all we can do, and if people stop doing that, then the world will fall apart.”

Bekah folded her arms over her chest. “I know.” She took a shuddering breath. His words mixed with Matthew Cline’s and her granny’s, and she knew they were all true. It felt as though pieces of her heart were locking into place and some of her worries and doubts were fading. Everyone had the same message. So why wasn’t she listening better? “I tell myself that nearly every day.”

“Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“Me neither.”

“After that, I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Then eat because you need to, because you do need it. You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, and it’s going to come early. Let’s go find dinner.”

Bekah knew that was something else her granny would have said, and it was good advice. So she nodded and trailed after Heath as he headed for one of the cook fires.

29

DAUD SAT HUNKERED
at the campfire and watched the boy sleeping on a blanket on the ground beside him. Gently, Daud picked up a corner of the blanket and tossed it over the boy, covering him from the night’s chill.

Over the days since he had found the boy and brought him away from the tree where his campmates had been left hanging like grisly trophies, Kufow had never left Daud’s side. The boy did not speak except when spoken to, and his eyes remained haunted.

Daud thought maybe some of that trauma would one day leave the boy’s mind, but there would be scars. They just wouldn’t be as prominent as the burn scarring on Daud’s face. In a way, though, Daud’s scars were easier to carry. People saw them and recognized that something had happened and respected his desire to be left alone. The boy would not have that built-in defense and warning system.

Sometimes when Daud watched the boy, he thought of Ibrahim and felt guilty. The loss of his son pained him, and having Kufow there hurt even more. But there was a solace in having the boy with him. Caring for Kufow gave Daud something beyond plotting revenge and attacks. He had never thought he would feel anything like that again.

“How is he?” Afrah stood on the other side of the fire. The giant looked like he’d been carved from the night sky above him.

“He is sleeping.” Daud got up easily and walked a short distance from the fire so their voices would not disturb Kufow’s slumber. “He does not always sleep because there are too many nightmares.”

Afrah walked beside Daud. Around them, men lounged at their own fires and talked. Some of them slept under the cargo trucks and pickups. Others stood guard beyond them at perimeter posts. They had been traveling hard these past few days, and they had occasionally spotted some of Haroun’s outriders. Twice they had taken down scouting patrols and killed the men, then siphoned their petrol to use in their own vehicles. The whole time, the boy had watched in stone-faced silence.

They had never spoken of the incidents, and Daud didn’t know if the boy felt justified in the killings or if he was further horrified by the violence. He had no way of knowing.

“We all have our nightmares, my friend.” Afrah came to a stop beside Daud. “No one is safe from them in this place.”

“I know.”

“Have you thought about what you are going to do with the boy?”

Daud studied Afrah’s hard face and tried to figure out what was on the big man’s mind. “What do you mean?”

Afrah hesitated as if choosing his words carefully. “This thing that we are doing, it is very dangerous. We are hunted men, Rageh. Haroun and the al-Shabaab search for us, and we have no allies among the TFG or the Westerners. They, too, would kill us. Or lock us up. I am concerned about the boy.”

“As am I.”

Slowly, Afrah nodded. “Do you think, perhaps, we endanger him by bringing him with us?”

By
we
, Daud knew Afrah meant
you
. For a moment a spark of anger sizzled within him, and he almost let his temper soar. Then he realized he did not have the heart for it. “The boy is fine. While he is with us, we can feed him and see to his needs. No one else out here can do that.”

“Of course.” Afrah put his large hand on Daud’s shoulder. “I would only not wish to see you hurt again. We lead very dangerous lives. If we care too much, we will stumble. I prefer our way of seizing our lives from those who would take them from us or those who would put us in boxes and feed us whenever they wished. If they even continued to remember us. We have had enough of that. I prefer a full belly when I go to sleep at night.”

“Then we shall keep doing what we are doing.”

Afrah nodded. “I wish you good sleep. I will see you in the morning.”

Daud watched Afrah walk into the darkness away from the campfire and mostly disappear. Only a shadow among shadows remained. Daud did not like being questioned about the boy because he knew no one would care for Kufow the way he did. The boy was safer now than he had been his whole life. Daud refused to believe anything else.

He gazed up at the stars for a time and crowded his anger into the recesses of his mind where it would bother him no further. Then he returned to his campfire. As he watched the boy sleep, he thought of Ibrahim, of the way he had held and cherished his son, and of the way Ibrahim had grown into a tall and straight likeness of Rageh.

Although he tried to keep it at bay, Daud thought of the hard way his son had died too, and that pain ate through him like a cancer. Gently, he pulled the blanket higher over the sleeping boy and watched him breathe until those old memories finally lay at rest again.

Daud and his band arrived at the next camp early the following morning. They hoped to replace some of the men lost in the last confrontation with Haroun’s people. Every time they had stopped somewhere, they had gotten new recruits. Daud expected this stop would be no less successful. But something about the elder’s response put Daud’s senses on edge.

The camp elder was in his early sixties, a gnarled little man who depended on a shepherd’s crook to help him walk. The man’s pungent body odor was strong enough to make Daud breathe through his mouth.

Kufow stood at his customary place beside Daud and wore the bulletproof vest and helmet Daud had gotten from the UN cargo and forced the boy to wear. As usual, the boy didn’t speak, only watched with cold, hard eyes as the negotiations were made.

“I have medicines and food on these trucks.” Daud’s pitch was always the same, simple and direct.

The elder gazed at the trucks, but his attention snapped back to Daud. He spoke quietly, gingerly, and his voice sounded strained. “I see that you do, but we are poor and have nothing to trade.”

“I ask nothing in trade.” That was the deal Daud always made with the camps. Then he selected young men who were willing to come with him when he left. When he met up with black market dealers in various locations, he traded the goods for petrol. So far his group had managed to meet their needs. Men could be purchased so much more cheaply than fuel.

“Then you are most welcome.” The elder waved to the center of the camp. “Join us.”

Something about the old man’s behavior set Daud on edge. Usually the camps were not so willing to accept visits from outsiders even when they arrived in peacekeeping vehicles. Daud and his men were not Westerners and did not wear uniforms. The villagers’ first impression was always the truth: that they were bandits and outcasts.

Daud looked over the village, trying to figure out what made him so ill at ease. Everything was still, and the camp dwellers stared nervously at the trucks. That wasn’t anything new. Strangers were always dangerous in Somalia.

Then the boy seized Daud’s hand and yanked, pointing to movement in the scraggly bushes behind one of the
aqals
. In that brief glimpse, Daud spotted a man carrying an assault rifle. He turned to his men.

“Get back on the trucks!”

Because most of them lacked training, many of Daud’s men hesitated a moment before moving. Bullets sprayed over them, taking some of them down immediately.

“Traitor!” Daud lifted his rifle and aimed at the elder.

The old man held his hands up before him. “No! Please! The al-Shabaab forced us to—”

The burst from Daud’s AK-47 silenced the man and punched him backward, sprawling his body across the ground. Turning, Daud caught the boy’s elbow and hurried him toward the pickup where Afrah was already sliding behind the wheel.

Just when Kufow had almost reached the pickup, he suddenly went down. Daud reached for the boy and grabbed his arm, thinking that a round had hit the Kevlar armor and knocked him down. Then he saw the bright blood streaming from the boy’s right side where the body armor had ridden up high.

“No!” Daud watched in horror as Kufow tried weakly to get to his feet, clawing as though trying to swim to the pickup.

Getting control of himself, aware of the bullets punching into the pickup and tearing craters into the ground, Daud slid his rifle over his shoulder and reached down for the boy, lifting him in his arms. He placed Kufow inside the truck, on the floorboard so the body of the vehicle would better protect him. Daud closed the door and leaped into the pickup’s bed.

One of his men on a machine gun poured a torrent of 7.62mm rounds over the camp. Gunmen as well as people who lived in the camp died or went down in a bloody wave.

Daud slammed the pickup cab with the flat of his hand. “Go! Go!” Then he braced himself as Afrah engaged the transmission and the rear wheels spun and grabbed traction. Daud lifted his AK-47 and added his fire to that of his men as they hosed the camp with high-velocity death.

A number of tents flew to pieces as jeeps tore through from within. Evidently the gunmen had been there long enough to hide their vehicles. The jeeps roared over the dead bodies of the camp dwellers as well as fallen comrades.

A bullet pierced the head of the man working the machine gun and emptied his skull in a rush that threw blood over Daud. The man feeding the ammunition belt to the weapon froze in alarm as the dead body sprawled across him. More bullets ripped through the pickup’s rear window and shattered the glass. Afrah kept the vehicle on course, though, so Daud knew the man still lived.

Dropping his assault rifle, Daud moved across the bouncing pickup bed to the machine gun. He gripped the weapon, found the trigger, and swung the heavy barrel to cover the lead pursuing jeep. “Feed the ammunition!” He kicked out with a leg and knocked the corpse from the other man. “Feed the ammunition or I will kill you myself!”

The man worked the belts, keeping them coming quickly from the containers as Daud fired long bursts. It took him a moment to find the range, but when he did, he pelted the jeep unmercifully. The rounds cored through the radiator and chopped into the hood. Some of them skimmed across the flat surface and tore into the men inside the vehicle.

The driver’s head vanished in a crimson burst, and the jeep lurched out of control and smacked into another pursuer. The two vehicles jockeyed back and forth for a moment, until the driverless jeep hit a rocky outcrop that caused it to overturn on the other vehicle. Both of them became hopelessly tangled.

Daud fired into the wrecked vehicles repeatedly, managing to stay on target despite the way the pickup beneath him jounced across the terrain. Just as Afrah swung the wheel hard to take a sudden turn back onto the trail they’d followed to the camp, the two jeeps blew up. Daud didn’t know if the explosion was caused by the bullets creating sparks that ignited the fuel or if one of the men onboard had dropped a grenade. Either way, a sudden fireball enveloped both jeeps in a roil of orange flames and black smoke.

Tracking immediately, Daud lowered the gunsights over another pursuing jeep and squeezed the trigger. Brass spilled out of the machine gun in a sun-kissed torrent. A few of the superheated casings brushed his cheek but he ignored them, focusing on his enemies. He kept seeing the blood that had spilled from beneath Kufow’s body armor, and he cursed himself for not making the boy stay inside the pickup. Kufow would have been safer there.

A rocket warhead landed just ahead of them, and Afrah swerved to miss the crater it left as the horrendous
boom!
echoed around them. Daud hung on to the machine gun grimly as the pickup swayed and skipped across the ground, momentarily losing traction. Then the vehicle settled down again and ran flat out.

“Rageh!” Afrah shouted through the open window and slapped his hand against the door. “Over here! On this side! Quickly!”

Daud swung the machine gun around to face the newest threat.

Another al-Shabaab jeep, this one driven by men wearing the red-and-white-checked
keffiyehs
, swooped in from the left. Just as Daud laid eyes on them, the machine gunner mounted on their rear deck opened fire. Bullets cut the air around Daud’s head, skimmed over the top of the cab, and thudded into the side of the pickup bed. One of them punched through the bed and hammered into the machine gun feeder’s chest, bursting it in an arterial spray.

Focused on his enemy, Daud swayed and bent his knees, locking himself in behind the machine gun. He aimed low and opened fire, slightly leading the jeep at first, then inching back. The 7.62mm rounds chopped into the jeep’s front-passenger tire, then steadily climbed upward, knocking holes in the jeep’s body and exploding the windshield.

The tire shredded by the machine gun bullets came apart, and the metal rim dug into the ground. When the rim caught the ground firmly enough, the jeep’s momentum flipped the vehicle over, pancaking it onto the unforgiving ground. A couple men flew free, but the rest were buried beneath the wrecked vehicle that suddenly went up in flames. One of the men staggered to his feet. Daud took aim and fired through the remainder of the ammunition belt loaded into the weapon. The rounds struck the al-Shabaab man and knocked him backward.

Dropping to the pickup bed, Daud shoved the dead man aside and opened another ammunition box. He hauled out the heavy belt and loaded it into the machine gun, slamming down the receiver and working the first round into position.