Page 14 of Lucky Charm
“Alpha Seven,” he said into the mic. “We are backing to you.”
Their adversary raised his hands and shouted at them to stop. When they didn’t, the lead man chased them down the road. He came within ten feet of the vehicle and raised his weapon.
Hunt swore and raised his weapon, too. “Carter, tell him we don’t want to hurt them. We go to the village, the doctor stays with us and we treat the boy, or we leave, and the boy dies. Tell him to ask Haquiri.”
“I’m not sure my Pashto is that good, LT, but I’ll try.”
Carter stayed quiet for a minute before yelling out the window again.
This time only silence followed Carter’s words.
Another man jumped from the back of one vehicle and took off running in the opposite direction toward the village.
“Finally,” Hunt muttered, then switched to his mic. “Hold, Alpha Seven.”
He kept the armed man in his sights and waited. “Doc?”
“I haven’t moved, LT.” Her quiet response showed no nerves.
“Homeplate, we’re having difficulties getting into the village.”
“Copy, Alpha One. Overwatch shows movement in the village. Hold but stay alert. Note, winter storm moving in faster than expected. We may lose Overwatch before you can get out of the village. How do you copy?”
“Good copy, Homeplate.”
Twenty silent minutes later another vehicle sped toward them. The original two pickups backed out of position and let it through.
The truck stopped next to the man with the gun. Another unarmed man jumped out. As near as Hunt could tell, he wasn’t Haquiri either. They had no estimates on how many people Haquiri had with him, and the lack of solid intel made him uneasy.
A long argument between the two ensued. Weapons man turned and jogged back to thetrucks. The two vehicles then roared off to the village.
Man in authority approached Carter’s side with his hands raised. This one spoke English. “Come. To the village. I’ll show you.”
Hunt glared at him for several long seconds.
“Come.” The man walked to his truck, backed to the side road, did a swift turn, and headed toward the village at a slow pace.
“Alpha Two. Alpha Five. Get back in your vehicle. Carter, let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later, they followed their emissary into the center of the village and drove slowly around a circular dirt entry road that led to a central house. K-Rock pulled the second vehicle in behind them.
The man stopped, got out of the dilapidated truck, and pointed at the main house. He disappeared around the side, apparently not responsible for introducing them.
Hunt studied the layout. Typical adobe brown construction with one floor and a single front entry way. The house appeared bigger than most local houses with small, blackened windows inlayed in the adobe, likely covered from the inside to protect from heat, cold, and sand. Hiding secrets was on that list, too. There were small houses on either side. Line-of-sight left undetermined how many were there. If they were all similar, they would be small, airless huts with one entry way and no windows.
The entire area was surrounded by a seven-foot rock wall, crumbling and broken apart in places. The original intention was protection, but their disrepair left the tiny village vulnerable. Haquiri’s drug money evidently wasn’t maintaining this house or the village. There was no activity anywhere from man or beast. Either the locals were hiding, or they had already taken their goats and made their way into Pakistan, or to points south to get away from the coming weather.
The pickups were also gone.
“Ghost town.” Baxter’s bragging tone made Hunt smile.
“Too quiet,” Carter added. “Considering there is an injured child who is waiting for a doctor, there ought to be someone. Especially since he’s supposed to be Haquiri’s son.”
“Right.” Hunt exited the vehicle and took a deep draw of air.
The place was a monochromatic study in sandy browns amidst freezing temperatures and no good smells. If he believed the politicians – and he didn’t – peace was here, and Afghanistan was rebuilding. His forays through the whole of Afghanistan since the Support Operation started presented significant differences from that rosy story – poverty, embedded explosive devices, rocket-propelled grenades, snipers, and mean fuckers waiting to tear apart what was being built. Peace? What peace?
He checked his weapons before reaching to open Doc’s door, primed for that moment of clusterfuck. It always came.
