Сюзанна Бэк - Desert Storm

Tovah smiled and clapped the young man on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Martin.” She beckoned another soldier to approach. “Relay my orders to the others. B and C squads get in those trucks and head north to meet with A squad at the rendezvous point. Take the secondary route out of here. Benjamin, Martin and I will go to Karbala with our injured friend. Good luck and God’s blessings on all of you. You did a great job today. I’m proud of you.”

The young woman beamed, snapping off a stiff salute. “God grant you safety in your journey, Commander.” Turning, the officer gathered the rest of the soldiers and the group entered the remaining trucks, escaping the bunker under cover from their compatriots still pinning the Iraqi forces down.

Adellich reached down a hand and aided Tovah into the back of the truck. Once there, the commander found a cache of purloined uniforms and took one out for herself, groaning at the gigantic size compared to her tiny form. She also threw one to Adellich and the two began to hurriedly dress as the truck lurched away from the scene of slaughter.

Scant moments later, the small truck rocked on its springs as a titanic explosion sounded behind them. Tovah looked out the flap and saw the remains of the bunker litter the sky in a field of fire. “May God have mercy on your souls,” she whispered before turning and coming to sit beside her friend. “How’s she doing?”

“No change,” Adellich replied, dragging a hand through his sweaty hair. “She has an incredibly strong will to live. I just hope it’ll be enough. There’s nothing more I can do for her here.”

“The safe-house has a pretty good medical facility,” Tovah informed him, leaning over to brush a lock of dirty raven hair from the face of the injured woman and gently caressing her noble brow. She cocked her head to the side, studying the woman’s features intently. “Who are you, Jafit?” she whispered. “Where are you from? Do you have kin to mourn your fate or tell your stories?”

The silent battered woman gave no answer as the truck lurched along through the desert.

24 July 1990. Israeli Safe-House. Karbala, Iraq

The journey to the safe-house was easier than any of them expected. They arrived quickly and without incident, having only been stopped twice on the road. The scarlet of their uniforms and the expertly forged documents allowed the group through the established blockades with nary a passing glance from the quickly growing ranks of Iraqi soldiers filling the streets.

With a rattling cough, the truck stopped outside of a non-descript two story building that had seen better days. The whole neighborhood had, in fact, seen better times. With its close proximity to Baghdad and the continuous shelling that was doubtless going to start up soon, Karbala might just be gasping out its last breath of existence in these watchful weeks of summer.

The rear flaps blew back as Tovah jumped from the truck, followed quickly by Adellich who bore Kael’s heavy body easily in his arms. A knock to the door, an exchange of passwords, and the group was allowed entrance into the home.

With one look at the unconscious figure slumped in Adellich’s arms, the soldier guarding the door sent the group up the narrow stairs and onto the second floor of the house where the medical facilities were housed. The rooms were filled with young men and women industriously going about their assigned duties. Quick glances of curiosity were spared the newcomers before attentions were returned to the important work being done.

A door at the far end of one hallway opened and a tall, striking woman with cropped dark hair stepped out, taking in the sight of the three visitors and beckoning them closer to her. “Bring her in here,” the young woman said, stepping aside to allow Adellich and Tovah to enter a large, sterile room filled with medical instruments. “We’ve been ready since we received your call.”

Adellich strode to the single bed set in the center of the room and gently laid his charge out on the crisp white sheets. He turned to the woman, running a hand through his disordered hair. “Show me to your washing facilities. Then get her prepared for surgery.”

With a crisp nod, the woman did as ordered, leading the medic back to the bathroom and the stack of clean gowns laying on a rack just inside the small room. Conditions were hardly sterile, but Adellich was used to operating in the middle of battle and so would make due with what he had, filling the woman with potent antibiotics to stave off whatever infection the lack of sterility would cause. Of course, lying about in fetid, filth infested water for days with open wounds would pose far more of a danger to the woman’s fragile health.

Finished washing and gowning up, Adellich gently ushered Tovah from the room as the nurse finished preparing her unmoving patient for surgery. “It’ll be a few hours at the very least, so why don’t you get out of that uniform and take care of business. I’ll come down and let you know how things went once I’m through here, alright?”

With a last long look at the woman she’d helped rescue, Tovah nodded. “Good luck,” she said, squeezing his arm briefly before turning from the room and closing the door firmly behind her.

“I’ll need it,” Adellich remarked softly, walking over to his patient to begin the lengthy process of trying to save her life.

Tovah traversed the long hallway and entered the command center of the house. Her compatriots greeted the soldier warmly, ushering her into a shower and giving her clean clothing to replace the detested and blood spattered Iraqi uniform she had been forced to don.

Rolling up the sleeves and pant legs of the too-large garments, Tovah walked back into the large second floor room, coming to stand next to an earnest young man who was busily tapping codes into a massive computer terminal housed along the back side of the room. The young man looked up at her, smiling and removing his glasses, which he proceeded to clean on the tail of his shirt. “I’ve sent your information to Command, Ma’am. We’ve just been given orders to bug out in a week. Maybe less if the Iraqis cross into Kuwait sooner than expected.”

Rising, the young officer led his superior over to one of the large windows and pulled back the heavy curtain. Both looked down onto the bustling city streets. Off into the distance, Tovah could see Iraqi soldiers pulling heavy camouflage tarps over huge nests of armaments and military equipment. Tovah smirked as she noted that the soldiers weren’t half as interested in protecting the city and its attendant civilians from the threat of military reprisals. “I’ll bet you’re looking forward to getting out of here,” she remarked softly to the young man at her side.

“Home has never looked so good,” he agreed, closing the curtain and walking back to his post. “I haven’t seen my wife and daughter in almost a year.”

“You realize it’s likely to be just as dangerous there,” Tovah warned, looking over the man’s shoulder at the military strategy mapped out on the large computer monitor.

“Yes. Probably moreso. But I’d rather be with my family when war comes.” He blushed slightly. “There’s just something about looking into my daughter’s eyes that makes me want to fight harder for the freedom of our homeland.”

Tovah smiled warmly and clapped her compatriot on the shoulder. “I understand perfectly.”

Turning away from the young officer, Tovah found an unoccupied desk away from the middle of the action and sat gratefully down in the padded chair, staring into the blank computer monitor, lost in thought. She wondered if she’d ever see her homeland again. She was stuck about as far behind enemy lines as one could get, right on the brink of an all out war. Her thoughts traveled back to when she was a young girl, the only child of a marriage between an Israeli mother and an Egyptian father. Her father had been a soldier in the Egyptian army and his wife and daughter had been his biggest secrets. Growing up, the young girl had revered the impossibly tall man with the thick black hair and laughing brown eyes. She listened to his impressive tales of battles won, her young mind not even comprehending that the enemy her father spoke so proudly of defeating encompassed fully one half of her own heritage. Until she was much older, she never thought to question the fact that her mother seemed so impossibly sad during the telling of these particular tales of glory.