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December 2, 2019

Mission Timeline: Day 28

Cait Michaels handed a cherry sucker to the young boy who needed stitches and held her smile at the four-year old. A translator stood behind her. The young mother had an innocent face, at odds with the reality of the day-to-day life of Afghanistan. Missing Thanksgiving with Hunt had caused subsequent days of worry and plunged her into a cycle of depression. Would Christmas be the same or would he be back in San Diego with her still struggling here?

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The small, austere examination room had a white padded table, two side chairs, white tile, and no pictures on the walls. It was a step up from Haquiri’s mountain home, but that’s all she could say.

She took her time to explain to the translator what she was going to do and the process needed to keep the wound clean while the nurse prepared her tray. A quick prick with a needle left the boy screaming, but the area on his arm where he’d tangled with a nail would be dead enough for her to sew. Six stitches max. Usually she’d take time to soothe the child, but she didn’t have it in her today.

The health clinic days always allowed her to practice her basic skills and let off the pressure of high-performance surgical procedures – even though she excelled at those. But working on kids tugged at her emotions. This one wasn’t paying any attention to her now. He was enjoying his sucker – an American treat – and jabbering at his mother.

Cait picked up the needle and started, testing the area for numbness.

“He’d like another sucker,” the translator said.

“Sure.” Caid pointed at the jar. “Let him pick.” She took the first stitch and started the second one. Fortunately, she was on the sixth before the boy realized she was using a needle on him. His mother kept him calm while she completed the tie off.

Finished, she left the nurse to apply a bandage and the translator to talk with the patient. She made her way to the central desk. She was supposed to have more than a dozen patients, but the waiting room was empty. She turned to the local man volunteering at the desk.

“Anyone else?”

“No, we’ve cleared the building,” he spoke in broken English. “Disturbance in the street. Your ride out front, Doctor. Go back to hospital.”

A bit stunned by the short brief, she stared for a minute, hoping for more information. She was scheduled for the rest of the day. No more details were forthcoming. In fact, the man rose and toddled back to the exam room, presumably to get the other family and staff from the building. What type of disturbance? He didn’t come back so she could ask. Nerves on edge, she grabbed her jacket from the small closet that passed as a break room. They could call her back if they needed her later.

At the door, she glanced out to see a young airman standing in readiness for her to appear. The man had squeezed the jeep between two older compact cars. He wore Air Force camo well, was only twenty if a day, and his job was to drive around military personnel and supplies. The similarities to her first duty day as a resident where she’d only been trusted with stitches and fetching supplies made her smile.

Out the door, she studied her surroundings, a niggling sense of something stopping her. The small concrete medical building sat near a corner. A blaring noise held her in place. Dozens of cars must be honking. The airman faced away from her looking down the street.

She took a step toward him.

Both cars on either side of the jeep exploded in a massive fireball.

“No!” The airman!

The force of the explosion knocked her back, slammed her sideways into the building’s concrete front wall, and crushed her breath in one hard rip. The percussion blasted through her eardrums, leaving a ringing that nipped at her consciousness.