Trapped (Delos Series Book 7) Page 9

  CHAPTER 6

  Ram watched the Black Hawk medevac lift off, the thumping of blades echoing like a harsh drumbeat. Ali and Dan, along with fifteen children, were squeezed into it. Fourteen of the children would be returned to their village, and then Husna would be flown to Bagram to the hospital for immediate surgery. It was near dawn, a thin grayish wash silhouetting the tall, rugged mountain peaks to the east of them.

  As Ram watched the Black Hawk move higher and higher into the darkened sky, he was aware of the two Apache helos escorting the medevac, circling above it to make sure the area was clear of any Taliban intrusions.

  Originally a combat mission, it had turned into a night rescue. That was okay by him. In fact, he felt good about the op. Now, he turned to his work with the rest of the team to get the remaining rocks off the road. He was glad those kids would be returned to the loving arms of their parents, instead of being sold to sexual predators, their lives ruined forever, and shortened to only three or four more years. Sex trafficking was a horrible sentence for any child, and bile rose in his throat at the thought. He knew that Lockwood had already been on the sat phone with the chief of the village, giving him the good news.

  The weak sliver of dawn gave them just enough light to get the road in shape to drive the truck down to the bottom of the mountain. Then, they’d turn it around and drive it back up it to US Army Firebase Charlie, where it would be well used. Too bad Pakistan had lost one of their trucks, but that was the spoils of war. The truck had enough gas in it to make it to the firebase, so that was more good news. From there, the SEAL team would be picked up by a Night Stalker MH-47 and flown back to J-bad. He was looking forward to a hot shower, chow and then, a long, deep, uninterrupted sleep.

  Steve Allen would drive the Unimog, Wyatt would be in the shotgun seat while the rest of SEALs sat in the rear, with the flap up. Chuck Cerney would continue to fly his Raven drone around the area where they were headed to make sure there wasn’t an ambush waiting somewhere down below them—or on the way to the firebase. It would be another eight hours before they’d get home.

  Home. Why had he used that word? He had no home. Not one he wanted to remember, anyway. In the rear of the truck he’d spread his blanket on the floor and used his pack as a pillow. He’d probably get no sleep with the bumpiness of the road, but at least he could stretch out without combat gear on and rest. Within another half hour, they were trundling down the narrow road toward the valley below. There, they turned around, heading up the mountain toward Firebase Charlie.

  Suddenly, Ram saw Ali’s face before him. Earlier, he’d taken out his cell phone when she was sitting on the end of the truck bumper with sleeping Husna in her arms. She hadn’t been aware that he’d taken the photo. And now, looking at it, he felt stirrings of something. Was it longing? But longing for what?

  All he could focus on now was the image of Ali as she regarded sleeping Husna, whose right cheek was pressed against Ali’s breast. At that moment, Ram believed she was the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mother Mary, with a halo around her head, revered by many Mexicans. Come on, he told himself sharply. You’re over-stimulated from having just rescued a bunch of kids. A minute later, he told himself that he was sleep-deprived, since SEALs worked twenty-four to forty-eight hours without sleep sometimes. He’d gotten used to it over the years, and had experienced other times when things took on a surreal feeling, as if he were on a drug high. But he didn’t do drugs, so he knew he was having sleep deprivation hallucinations.

  When he clicked on the photo to study it again, he saw the same thing he had before—a warm, golden glow around Ali. It hadn’t been his insomnia soaked brain, after all! The maternal look on her face, the love she clearly held for that child, was unmistakable.

  Wow! Was this what a mother who loved her child looked like? With that vulnerable tenderness, that openness and purity? In one way, he felt jealous of Husna, who slept safe and warm in Ali’s arms, overwhelmingly loved. In another way, he felt like an alien from another world studying and cataloging human conditions that he’d never had, but wanted so much to experience.

  This photo was a keeper. And for whatever reason, taking in the image of a loving Ali made him feel emotions he hadn’t believed possible—not for him.

  *

  Ali felt as if her feet were weighted with ten extra pounds of concrete. It was late afternoon, the sun hot and bright above Bagram, the sky a light blue. In the distance, she could hear fixed wing aircraft coming and going. At the helicopter terminal, the thudding whirl of blades punctuating the air was constant, the smell of kerosene—the taint making her wrinkle her nose.

  Husna had successfully come through surgery and a CH-47 had flown her aunt into Bagram to be with her. The Army had also provided a Pashto translator for them while her niece remained at the hospital for two more days of recovery. Ali had promised Husna’s relieved aunt that she would drop over tomorrow to see them. They were profoundly grateful to the Americans; from Ali’s perspective, it was one more check mark in the positive column as to how these people felt about them.

  Things had changed a lot since the drawdown of troops from Bagram in 2014. The bustling activity of the city was gone. The huge base had lost over and it was a bare-bones facility compared to its former status.

  Luckily, there were still buses that took routes around the base and she caught one, taking it over to the SEAL compound. Ali was looking forward to getting a hot shower and then hitting the sack. Wyatt had been in touch with her, wanting her to remain with Husna during and after the surgery, and to be there when the girl’s aunt arrived.

  Husna was a bright-eyed little girl with such spirit, joy, and courage that Ali had fallen totally in love with her. Husna was her favorite of all the children in that Afghan village. They both felt an invisible connection between them. Ali’s own mother was a world-class nurturer, too. She doted on children, fought for them, and was their champion from her powerful position in her tribal nation. Cara had certainly followed in her footsteps, too and would one day be a kindergarten teacher in the neighborhood where they’d grown up in Tucson, Arizona.

  Getting off the bus, she headed into the SEAL compound. She was grateful that they were going to catch a break of a few days to rest up and recoup. On her way down the passageway, she ran into Wyatt. He often flew into Bagram on SEAL business.

  “I really appreciate you staying with Husna. You must be beat. How’s the patient doing?”

  “She’s better now that her aunt is with her. The doc is going to hold her for two days before releasing her.”

  Wyatt rubbed his beard. “Good to hear. What’s going on with you?”

  “I’m whipped,” she replied. “Like everyone else.”

  “Everyone but you is in bed sawing logs.”

  “I’m going to be there real shortly. I need to shower first.”

  “Sounds good. Listen, get a hop to J-bad and drop by and see me sometime tomorrow morning in my office after breakfast. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  “Sure.”

  “See you later,” he said. “You did good work out there last night.”

  Standing there for a moment, Ali wasn’t sure about his request for a chat. But since he’d praised her just now, it probably wasn’t bad news.

  Entering her room, exhausted, Ali pushed thoughts of tomorrow out of her head. She could barely think straight she was so tired. Pulling off her clothes, she fell into bed and was asleep even before her head hit the pillow. The shower could wait. She’d get a hop to J-bad later in the day and wondered once there, what Wyatt wanted to talk to her about.

  *

  Around 1000 the next morning once again in J-bad, Ali tried to prepare herself as she swung into Wyatt’s office. She felt at least halfway human after a long sleep, a hot shower, hot chow, and had prepped a bit to look her best. Wearing her SEAL uniform, a tan t-shirt with her desert trousers and boots, she had her black hair down around her shoulders. She rarely got to wear it lik
e that because on patrols or missions, it had to be tamed into a ponytail.

  As usual, Wyatt’s workspace looked like a tornado had whipped through it. Positioned on one end of his desk were six different radios. Clearly, his job as SEAL team leader was demanding, and it required a skilled multi-tasker like him to stay on top of it.

  “Have a seat,” he invited. “And close the door?”

  “Sure.” Great, this was looking serious. She quietly shut the door and took one of the two metal chairs available in front of his desk and sat down. She’d been in the military long enough to say nothing without being asked. Whatever was on Wyatt’s mind would be revealed shortly.

  “How many cups of coffee did you chug-a-lug this morning?” he asked, picking up his own mug.

  “Six.”

  “Probably still feelin’ pretty tired from that mission twist?”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  Wyatt studied her, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve been with us nearly four months now. I can see you’re sitting there waiting for a ball bat to come out of my drawer and whup you, am I right?”

  She couldn’t fight back a quick smile. “Copy that.”

  “Well, this is no woodshed moment, so relax.” He leaned back in his creaking black leather chair. “I wanted to get your assessment of Ram Torres.”

  Her brows flew up and she shrugged. “What? I mean . . . what assessment?”

  “I know it hasn’t escaped you that he’s the lone ranger in our team. He came in that way and I’ve been hoping I could bring him around in time. I’d like to know if you noticed a change in him on this last mission.”

  Stunned, she sat back, staring at Wyatt. “Well . . . yes, I guess in some ways.”

  “Could you spell them out for me? When we’re on a mission, everyone’s pretty involved in their particular duties.” He managed a wide, good ole boy smile. “I know you all think I have eyes in the back of my head, but I really don’t.”

  She chuckled a little, watching him sip his coffee. “Coulda fooled me.” Then she got serious, thinking about last night’s mission. “Torres is always good at what he does. When we had to take down those two Taliban in the rear of the truck, we worked seamlessly as a team to fire at them at the same time. He’s never tried to screw me over during a mission. It’s always back at base where he avoids me at all costs unless he’s forced to be in the same room I’m in during a mission briefing. I can live with that.”

  He waved his hand. “I mean, how was he treating you last night, Ali?”

  “Well,” she managed wryly, “there’s no love lost between us and you’ve always assigned me to work with someone else. Last night, you assigned us to work together for the first time. Things seemed to go okay. Is that what you want to know?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “No.”

  Perplexed, she sat there staring at him. “As a SEAL, he’s top drawer, Wyatt. He performed 4.0. last night. I don’t have anything but good to say about his performance.”

  “I would like to hear that you two become inclusive, not exclusive.”

  “Oh.” She blinked once, seeing the gravity on Wyatt’s face. He was a good-looking Texas dude and had plenty of women on this base wanting him in their beds. But he kept his personal life separate from his work life, and she respected him for that. In SEAL Team One he was known to be a rising star in the black-ops world. He’d made First Class Petty Officer two years earlier and then was given command of his own team. Usually, that was given to someone who attained the ranking of chief, a rank above his. He’d become a chief six months earlier, before she’d come into the team.

  Wyatt sipped his coffee. “Can you give me some details?”

  “She rubbed her furrowed brow, thinking. “Well . . . gosh, so much went down out there last night, Wyatt.”

  “I need you to tell me whether he was a little less cold or less inclined not to work with you.”

  She placed her hands on her trousers, moving them to absorb the dampness off her palms. “He was trying,” she said finally. “He felt to me like he wanted to thaw out around me, but didn’t know how. It was awkward for both of us at times, but I never said anything directly to him about it. We have a fragile, unspoken agreement between one another and I did not want to destroy it by confronting him last night. Is that what you want?”

  Setting the mug down, Wyatt said, “If someone is gonna change a bad habit . . . ”

  “Yes?”

  “They start by bumbling around. They’ll try on the new way of doing something, and then revert to their old ways. Then, they’ll try it again, and then revert once more. It’s a process, Ali. We all go through it, every one of us. But I have to know that Torres is trying to work with you, even if he fucks it up. At least he’s making the effort to change.”

  “I’m not into psychology like you are, Wyatt. But I understand about changing behavior patterns and you’re right, we all go through this process many times over.”

  “He was terrific with the little boys in the back of the truck. He volunteered to pass out water and protein bars to them and the girls. He was very gentle with them.”

  “He’s well liked, for sure.”

  “Right. But when we were trying to soothe the children in the back of the truck after we killed the Taliban, he suggested I handle the girls and he’d deal with the boys. Of course, all these kids knew us, but when we came into that truck, we were wearing greasepaint and were in heavy combat gear. All of that scared those children even more than they had been before we showed up, and they didn’t recognize us until we wiped the greasepaint off our faces and removed the bulk of our combat gear. Then, when they realized who we were, everything changed in a split second. The kids were so relieved because then they recognized us.”

  “Would you have had to tell him to do that? To separate the boys from the girls.”

  “Usually, we go our own way and don’t say much, if anything, to one another, unless we have to communicate during the mission. But he picked up the reins last night and made that suggestion and it was a good one. I was surprised, but relieved, because I had my hands full with the little girls. I couldn’t have handled all fifteen children by myself. He stepped in and made things go smoothly for everyone. It was really, truly, a team effort.”

  Rubbing his chin, he studied her in the silence. “So, is this what you’d term ‘new behavior’ on his part?”

  “Yes, I would.” Ali didn’t want to be the reason that Torres was kicked off the team. “Look, the guy isn’t a bad dude. I just think, as you told me before, that he has an issue with women in general. When he was holding those terrified boys, I did see something new. The look on Torres face with those boys last night was actually loving—like a father who loves his sons. I’ve never seen that expression on him before. Certainly not in any of the villages.”

  “He was coming from out behind that shield he used to protect himself,” Wyatt suggested, pleased. “He was authentic in that moment even though you were present.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, “psychology-speak, I guess.” She saw Wyatt grin. “Yeah, well, I saw it and he remained in that mode for the rest of our time with the kids, until we transferred them to the Black Hawk.”

  “Was there any other new behavior besides being vulnerable with the kids?”

  “He made them feel safe by being tender and gentle with them. The boys were so scared, and they clung to Torres.” She hesitated. “Do you remember that I showed you pictures of my mom, my dad, and my sister, Cara.”

  “Yes.”

  “My father, Diego, is one of the most loving men I know. Cara and I were so lucky to grow up with someone like him. He is strong, but affectionate—the exact opposite of Torres. My father can cry, and that was so good for Cara and me to see that. We grew up knowing a man could be open and share his innermost grief, or his greatest happiness with us and it never made him less than a man in our eyes and hearts.”

  “Diego is a good role model for a man and a
father,” Wyatt agreed, giving a nod. “My own dad is more like Diego than Torres, too. Now, he’s Texan and he’s not about to cry openly in front of anyone, but I know one time growing up, I went out to the barn. We’d just lost a member of our family, his brother—my Uncle Billy. I went out there to feed the horses that evening and I heard him crying in the tack room. It shook me because I’d never heard or seen a man cry. But it did something good for me, too. It allowed me, when I’m needing to cry, to be able to do it.” Wyatt’s grin spread. “Now, you won’t ever catch me doin’ it in front of my SEALs, but I do crawl off in a private corner sometimes and let it go. My dad doesn’t know to this day what I heard out in that barn. And maybe a day will come when I can sit down with him and share it with him, and the gift that it was. But so much of our upbringing is Texas stuff.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, you dudes from Texas are something else,” Ali agreed, smiling a little. She tilted her head. “Wyatt, you know a lot more about psychology than anyone I’ve ever met.” She opened her hands in a helpless gesture. “I just have this gut feeling that Torres’ problems come from his growing up years, and I know you shared that with me earlier about his mother.”

  “That’s right, they do. Your gut is accurate. Why?”

  Giving a shoulder shrug, she muttered, “What I saw in the truck last night was really stunning, at least for me. Torres has never dropped that game face he wears. It was as if he realized those boys needed a man who was going to be tender and protective of them, showing them his affection, embracing them, keeping them safe and holding them.”

  “And that’s a very strong change for Ram,” Wyatt agreed quietly. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. “You’ve given me what I needed to hear, Ali. I’d like you to continue to observe him. From time to time, you and I will have a little chat in here about it. He’s a lone wolf who never had a pack and now, the SEALs are his pack. He’s learning how to be a pack mate, not a loner.”