Lindsay McKenna - Never Surrender

CHAPTER SIX

“REZA!”

Reza turned. His eyes widened enormously where he stood within the Shinwari village. “Is that you, Baylee?” His mouth dropped opened as she waved enthusiastically at him, jogging toward him in Special Forces cammies, her medical rucksack on her back. His smile increased as she drew near. Happiness danced in her blue eyes as she halted, taking off her soft cover and grinning at him.

“It’s so good to see you again!” Bay said in Pashto to her old friend. She said to hell with Muslim protocol because she’d worked with this man two times before. He accompanied U.S. black ops as a tracker and interpreter. “Can I hug you?”

Reza, who was in his middle thirties, giggled. He opened his arms. “I know how to be an American! Come here!” He laughed, striding up to her and throwing his arms around her.

Bay hugged her Afghan friend tightly. Tears came to her eyes as she stepped back from him. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t know you were here. Are you staying long?”

He wiped tears from his eyes, too. Reza had worked with Special Forces near the border with Pakistan with her two years earlier. He knew the Hindu Kush mountains, their thousands of caves and the goat paths so instrumental in tracking down Taliban, better than anyone else. His family had been slaughtered by Sangar Khogani, a Hill tribal warlord, several years earlier. His wife and five children had been cut down before the guns and curved knives of the brutal Taliban. Since then, Reza had pledged his life to helping the Americans eradicate the Taliban from his beloved country.

“I will be here for a while, yes.” He shook his head. “You look beautiful in my eyes, Baylee. Something must have happened since I last saw you. You are better filled out, not so starved-looking as last time. And I see happiness in your eyes. Tell me, what has happened?”

Bay looked around the village where she was to remain for the next six months. “I’m engaged to a very good man, Reza. We’re going to be married when I get off this rotation.” She sighed. “He’s wonderful, Reza. Gabe is...well...I just never thought I’d ever meet someone like him.” She smiled softly, missing Gabe so badly. “I’ve just gotten off a helo from Camp Bravo and have to go see Captain Drew Anderson. He’s the head of the SF team here. After that, let’s have tea and catch up.”

“Of course, of course,” he murmured. “Come, I’ll show you where the team is staying. So, you are replacing the medic they lost?”

Nodding, Bay shortened her stride for Reza. He was only five feet four inches tall. “Yes, I have to give him my orders. And then I’m sure he’ll give me his orders.” She laughed.

Originally, Reza had made a living as a cobbler, making shoes for his and other villages. He was greatly loved in the valley near the border. Not the leader of the village, but his kindness toward all earned him a special place in the hearts of everyone. And when she’d met him two years ago and worked six months with him, they’d become fast forever friends.

Bay’s heart lifted with joy because Reza was someone she could honestly talk to. He was a trusted adviser, worked as a terp, interpreter, and was often asked to lead black ops teams into the Hindu Kush to hunt down HVTs, high value targets. The Taliban had a high price on Reza’s head. They wanted him badly because he knew the Hindu Kush like the back of his hand, better than anyone else and certainly better than any American did. He’d been born in them, grown up there and was intimately familiar with the tall mountains and thousands of caves where the Taliban hid. The black ops Marine Force Recons, Army Special Forces, CAG/Delta Force and Navy SEAL teams all wanted his help and knowledge. Since Reza had begun working to avenge his family’s death with the Americans, Taliban deaths had increased two hundred percent. Bay thought that was one helluva way to get even.

“Captain Drew is a very nice man, Baylee. You will find him even-headed.”

She smiled and clapped his shoulder. “Levelheaded, Reza, but I know what you mean.”

He flashed her a shy grin, his face sun darkened, bearded, his black hair long across his shoulders and receding in the front. He dressed like all Afghan males, but she had always seen him as cosmopolitan and worldly. He was one of the few Afghans to get the macrocosm view on his country and his people. He was a fierce fighter in a firefight, and she was so darned glad he was here, with her. Bay knew Gabe would be happy to hear about it. Maybe he wouldn’t worry so much, she hoped.

* * *

ARMY CAPTAIN DREW ANDERSON was bent over his planning board with his warrant officer and four sergeants when Bay entered the one-story mud house in the center of the village. They all looked up in unison. No doubt, they recognized her immediately. On the left side of her cammies was the black medical symbol. Relief came to the blond-haired commanding officer’s face. The man straightened up, his gray gaze quickly assessing her.

“Petty Officer First Class Baylee-Ann Thorn reporting as ordered, sir. I think you were expecting me, sir?” She pulled out her orders from her pocket and handed them to him.

“We’re damned glad to see you, Thorn,” Anderson muttered, swiftly perusing her transfer orders. He nodded and introduced his second-in-command, a young man of about twenty-four, Warrant Officer Jerry Bannister. Bay shook his hand. The four sergeants were older, and she knew they were the backbone of any SF team. They all eagerly shook her hand, knowing she was an 18 Delta medic. Anderson dismissed the group, wanting to talk to her privately.

“Have a seat, Doc. You ready for some black coffee that’ll curl your toes?”

Bay liked the officer’s laid-back humor. He was about thirty-five years old, and she saw he wore a wedding ring on his left hand. She thought about her own engagement ring Gabe had given her that was tucked away in the top pocket of her Kevlar vest. A warm feeling of sadness and missing him moved through her. “Uh, yes, sir, coffee doesn’t scare me, but the Taliban sure does.”

He chuckled darkly and poured two mugs. Both white pottery cups were chipped but salvageable. Anderson handed one to her as he sat down at the planning board across from Bay. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m damned relieved you’re here, Doc. Losing our other Doc...Sergeant Brokelman, well...it’s been a hard loss on all of us.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure it’s been rough on everyone. I know how tight SF teams are. You’re like family.”

“Well said. I’ll have my team sign those top secret papers your general needs shortly, so no worries. I’ll send them on to General Stevenson.”

Bay felt him probing her a little. “You ever worked with any Operation Shadow Warrior women before?” she asked.

Shaking his head, he said, “No, but frankly, I don’t care what your gender is. You’re an 18 Delta medic, the best we have in any branch of the military. You’ve already earned your stripes with me, Doc.”

“Do you think I’ll have any blowback from the rest of your team because I’m a woman?”

“No, these men have been with me for four to five years, and we’ve been through plenty together. Most of them are married. Only two who aren’t, but they’re engaged. How about you?”

“Engaged, sir.”

“To who?”

“A SEAL, sir. Chief Gabe Griffin.”

He nodded, assimilating the intel. “Yeah, I ran into his team just before they left to rotate out of Camp Bravo last year. Good man. He’s lucky to get you. Congratulations.”

Bay felt his sincerity. “Thank you, sir.”

“Well,” he said, a slight grin on his face, “SEALs are known to be damned protective of their women. I don’t suppose he’s any different?”