Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“Done here, Boss,” called Fazel.

“Okay, Doc. Take a quick look at these documents and make sure there are no names or addresses. Then have everyone back off. Stand by for some noise,” he announced. With that Ramey took his rifle, and using the butt, completely smashed all the windows. Shirin jumped at the sound of crushed glass. Jerry winced with each strike, convinced that the noise would be noticeable down on the highway. He glanced over at Yousef who looked on approvingly. He took that as a good sign.

After Ramey had thrown some sand inside the car, he stepped back and declared with satisfaction, “There. The car looks sufficiently vandalized.”

“Were still good, sir. Nothing is moving out there,” spoke Lapointe without prompting. Phillips also reported that all was clear.

“Awesome,” Ramey replied. “Diamond formation. Positions as before. We’ll follow this path down to the road. It’s one and a half klicks to the south-southeast. Maintain a careful sweep of your sectors, just in case someone did hear all that noise. Everyone be quiet. No talking unless the tactical situation requires it. Form up.”

Lapointe and Phillips scampered down the small hill and took their positions. Once Ramey was satisfied everyone was in his or her proper place, he ordered, “Forward.”

Slowly, the group began their long trek down the Iranian coast.

Ramey was true to his word. The dirt road he chose was more or less level, firm, and free of big rocks and other obstructing debris. The soft crunching of boots on the sand was the only sound made by the party, interrupted by the occasional truck that passed by on the highway less than a kilometer to the south. Jerry initially thought they were doing pretty well pacewise, but after a couple of hours, Shirin started slowing noticeably. Yousef tapped Jerry on the shoulder and gestured that she had to rest. Jerry relayed the request to Ramey who sighed audibly. “Hold,” he commanded over the radio. Phillips directed Yousef and Shirin to rest behind a small ridge; Fazel came up to check on Shirin. He gave Yousef a bottle of water and instructed her to drink as much as she could.

Ten minutes later, they were on the march again. But this time, Shirin barely walked for an hour before she had to stop and rest. Frustrated, Ramey called Jerry and Fazel over to discuss the situation.

“We’ve got to pick up the pace if we are going to reach Akhtar before first light,” complained Ramey impatiently. “We can’t keep stopping like this.”

Before Jerry could respond, Fazel spoke up. There was an edge to his voice. “Boss, the lady is on the small side to begin with, she doesn’t have a whole lot of muscle mass, and she’s almost five months pregnant! She’s not barfing her guts out, but fatigue is still a major issue at this stage of her pregnancy. She’s moving about as fast as she can.”

“Honestly, Matt, I think we need to reevaluate our goal for tonight,” suggested Jerry.

“Ya think?” Ramey snapped. “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”

Jerry didn’t even bother to reply to Ramey’s angry outburst; he just looked at him sternly. Fazel’s expression showed he disapproved of the lieutenant’s behavior as well. Ramey rubbed his neck and huffed, trying to get his emotions back in check.

“All right, Doc. Do what you can. I’ll look for a place for us to bed down that’s closer.”

“Hooyah,” replied the corpsman as he went over to check on Shirin.

Ramey pulled out his map, placed it on the ground, and shined a small red light on it. He found Bandar Charak and started working backward.

Jerry said, “Matt, I’d like to talk with Dr. Naseri for a moment.” Ramey’s expression made it clear he wasn’t pleased with the idea.

“Look, they don’t trust us, and for good reason from their perspective. She’s given us a peek into the treasure trove of information she’s carrying, but she’s holding something back, something big. We need to understand why they are so damn eager to prove their worth to us.”

“I already asked her, XO. She said ‘no.’ She either doesn’t think we would believe them, or they’re still scared we’ll take the data and run. She was emphatic that we had to see the value of the data they had, before we would accept whatever they are holding so damn close to the chest,” responded Ramey impatiently.

“All the more reason for us to find a way to break the ice. Five minutes, and I’ll keep it down.”

Ramey sighed deeply, and after a short pause, nodded his reluctant approval for Jerry to go have his talk.

Jerry walked over and sat beside Shirin. Even in the dim light he could see she was exhausted. “We re looking for a closer place to stay. There is no way you can make it to Akhtar.”

She looked confused, and then glanced in Ramey’s direction.

“It’s okay. I got his approval for us to talk. Just keep it down; whisper.”

Naseri smiled. “Thank you. I’m sorry that I am slowing you all down.”

“Can’t be helped. You’re not exactly in the best shape for a long distance hike.”

“We didn’t plan on having a baby just now. But Allah’s will has gently pushed us down this path. Do you have any children, Mr. Jerry?”

“No, no, I don’t have any children. We aren’t quite ready for that yet.”

“You are married though?”

“Yes, Dr. Naseri. My wife is a university professor, a teacher.”

Shirin nodded as she took another drink. “Dr. Fazel is insistent that I drink much water.”

Jerry chuckled softly. “Petty Officer Fazel is not a medical doctor.” Naseri looked confused again. “He’s a hospital corpsman, more like a nurse. Although, I think he’d be mad if he heard me calling him a nurse. The title ‘Doc’ is a nickname. A friendly title given to a person, usually associated with one’s occupation.”

“Ahh, I understand,” said Naseri. “My mother told me that my father was called an ‘Ali-Cat’ because he was a pilot.”

Jerry’s expression changed instantly, becoming more intense. “Your father was a Tomcat pilot?”

Shirin seemed embarrassed, and looked away from Jerry. Yousef saw her reaction and spoke in Farsi. She put her hand on his arm and put him at ease.

“Yes, Mr. Jerry. My father was a fighter pilot in the Imperial Iranian Air Force.”

Jerry’s broad smile had a soothing affect. “I’ve read a lot about the bravery of Iranian fighter pilots, and F-14 pilots in particular. I was once a fighter pilot myself, but I had an accident that forced me down another path. Did your father fight in the war?”

Shirin’s eyes began to water, and she choked as she spoke. “They imprisoned him after the Revolution. He was too Westernized for their liking. The Pasdaran beat him. But after the Iraqis attacked us, they let him go. And despite all that they had done to him, he flew to defend Iran from Saddam Hussein.” Tears were now falling from her eyes as she wept softly. Ramey looked over at Jerry, wondering what the hell was going on. Jerry waved him off.

“He died on the eighth of October, 1986, defending Khark Island from an Iraqi raid. An Iraqi Mirage shot down his plane, his body was never found. I… I was less than a year old when he died. He had so very little time with me as a baby. This is all that I have to remember him.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of folded green material and handed it to Jerry.

It was a piece of a flight suit, with an F-14 Felix the Cat patch, showing a gray cat decked out in Persian garb, complete with slippers and a scimitar. The words “Ali-Cat” on the lower border were in bold, italicized letters. Jerry held it as if it were made of pure gold.

“I’m sorry,” he said sympathetically, as he handed the precious memento back. “I didn’t mean to bring back sad memories.”