Blood Covenant (10 page)

NINETEEN

FIFTEEN MONTHS EARLIER
TALLIL. IRAQ

The boom of a Patriot missile going supersonic sounded overhead as Nick popped the last chewy mass of waffle fries into his mouth. Even the ketchup gravy, jokingly named for its thin consistency, failed to improve the taste.

Glancing at his watch, he ditched his tray and headed for the plywood “coffee shop.” If his luck held, there wouldn’t be any major emergencies tonight. But chances of that were slim. Last night he’d met a plane on the flight line at 0200 hours. One of the fighter pilots had come down with a case of appendicitis during his flight. Not exactly the way one expected to end a busy day of surveillance, flying over some of the most dangerous borders in the world.

A maze of tan tents used as barracks spread out before him. Beyond them, herds of sheep grazed the flat, sandy desert that was sprinkled with dry tufts of grass. The lack of color never failed to impact him. Except for the blue sky above and certain assigned military garb such as the bright yellow belt and purple gloves he’d worn on the flight line last night in order to be seen, everything was a variant of the color brown.

The radio hanging from his pocket burped. “Medivac … Medivac … Medivac …”

Thoughts of downtime vanished as Nick sprinted past the coffee shop toward the operations center while his crew chiefs and medics grabbed their gear and ran toward the twin Black Hawks. Other units might have the luxury of time to plan for a mission, but with his team every minute counted when they were dealing with injured soldiers. He had just enough time to receive the details of the injureds’ location, then join the team at the flight line.

Within ten minutes his company was strapped in and ready to take off. Taking the lead, with a second Black Hawk trailing right behind him in case of a mechanical problem or hostile fire, they headed toward the downed plane. Beneath them lay a sea of brown dirt, broken only by a sparse scattering of oil wells and, ahead, the Ziggurat of Ur. Yesterday he’d visited the site with a group of fellow soldiers dressed in their Airman Battle Uniforms, guns, and body armor while their Iraqi tour guide explained the history of the ancient pyramid. Today there was no sign of the Humvees or army trucks that had filled the parking lot.

Minutes later, amongst the continual buzz of information from the operations center, he caught a glimpse of the crash. The left wing had broken off on impact. A body lay ten feet from the wreckage, but at this point it was impossible to tell if the fallen man was dead or alive.

Adrenaline soared through Nick’s veins.
God, protect the lives of these four men. They have wives and children …

His men rushed from the chopper while he waited, ready to move once the injured were in place in the carousel. With any luck, they’d be out of here in a matter of minutes.

Someone screamed.

“Ambush!”

Nick heard the volley of bullets crackle behind the aircraft and watched the crew chief take a bullet to the head. He tried to swallow the overwhelming wave of fear that encompassed him. One of the medics shouted for everyone to take cover, then dropped to the ground as another explosion sliced through the night air.

This was no typical extraction. Five nomads, dressed in desert garb, appeared facing them thirty yards away at the top of a slight rise, machine guns in hand. They fired off another round, this time hitting the second helicopter. Nick moved to the side of the Black Hawk. He had to get his crew and the injured out of here.

He recognized Captain Lopez from the downed crew in the fading light, lying in a shallow ravine fifteen feet from the chopper, his right leg twisted at an odd angle. Twenty-eight years old. Married to his high school sweetheart. Father of three. The man was an open target.

Nick shouted at Captain Westbrook, the other pilot. “Stay here. I want your chopper up and flying at my command.”

With a band of rebels still shooting at them, he made his way toward Lopez. Picking up the man, he ran as low to the ground as possible. A bullet whizzed past his ear and he quickly weighed his options. The downed plane had become the closest cover. Inside, Nick could smell the stench of blood. The victims from the crash were going to die if they didn’t get them out of here soon. They had to get them to the helicopter.

“There are women and children out there,” one of his crew spat out from inside the fallen craft. “To your right.”

Nick glanced out one of the shattered windows of the plane. Seconds ticked off. Was this simply a group of nomads defending their land? Or were they insurgents using civilians as their cover?

He hated war. Hated the killing and the waste of life it left behind. He’d seen more death in the past four months than most people ever saw in a lifetime. Today, it was just too much. How was he supposed to deal with both evacuating his men and saving a bunch of civilians while the enemy shot them down like skeet targets?

A woman ran toward the plane, carrying a small boy. The wind pulled at her long black tunic. She tripped, almost dropping the boy, but somehow caught her balance and continued.

“Hold your fire, men!” Nick screamed out the order above the chaos of bullets striking metal.

The following silence sent chills up his spine. A blanket of evil permeated the air. Tears streaked through the dirt covering the woman’s face. The boy had been shot, his clothes marked with crimson. Nick fell against the door of the plane, cutting his lip. Ignoring the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, he stepped out of the plane. The sharp sting of sand hit him as he took the boy into his arms.

Medics from the rescue crew began treating the wounded in the plane. Maybe taking care of this young boy would prove to the Iraqis they weren’t here to fight. They simply wanted to take their own wounded home. For the moment, all firings of weapons had ceased. He could only pray to God that the cease-fire would last.

“How are the others?” Nick asked.

Westbrook shook his head. “Lopez was shot in the leg, but he’s a tough codger. I don’t think Johnson’s going to make it. At least three others are dead. We’ve got to get out of here.”

A flash of light penetrated the darkness. Westbrook was thrown against the side of the plane from the impact of the grenade. Nick felt a searing pain in his arm. Reaching up with his good hand, he felt warm liquid run down his fingers. There was nothing left to do now, but pray.

TWENTY

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 11:34 P.M.
KINGANI REFUGEE CAMP

Paige studied Nick’s eyes. His expression held a mixture of pain, regret, and sadness that made her bad day pale in comparison. And made her realize the shallowness of her earlier argument. She’d never save the world by running away.

She leaned forward. “What happened? Obviously you made it out alive.”

Nick rested his hands against his thighs. “Somehow, we managed to get out of there after taking down three of the rebels, one of whom shot me in the arm. But I was one of the lucky ones. The boy died in my arms right before we left.”

Any remaining irritation—justified or not — melted away. “I’m so sorry.”

“After I got through with the physical therapy, I decided to take an honorable discharge, because on top of everything else, the local government ended up blaming us for their loss of innocent civilians that night.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Even though it wasn’t your fault?”

“That depends on whose side you were on. They say we fired against them first, an innocent group of nomads herding their flocks. No matter how many times I replay the events of that night, I’m at a loss to know what I could have done differently to save the lives of my comrades.” He stared past her. “I still have nightmares about that day.”

“Maybe there’s nothing else you could have done. You couldn’t exactly walk up to them through a volley of bullets and ask them what they wanted.”

“According to their government? Yeah, I should have.”

“But it still wasn’t your fault.”

“No matter whose fault, losing men on my watch — and watching them die along with innocent civilians — it’s not exactly something that’s easy to forgive yourself for.”

Paige let out a slow breath while anger flared over the injustices that seemed to prevail in this world. And how hard it had become to try and make them right. Nick had experienced injustice in the middle of war. And now they were both on the frontlines of a different kind of war. One where people were killed to make a point and too often life held little value.

How do we change that, God?

Maybe sometimes there simply wasn’t a black-and-white solution. Or maybe sometimes there wasn’t a solution at all.

Paige shifted her focus back to Nick. “So why Africa?”

“A friend of mine from college worked as an instructor at a school that trained pilots to work with mission organizations. And since I wasn’t ready to give up on flying, it seemed like the perfect solution. At first it was just a place where I could disappear. Then I realized I could actually help people using my skills.”

“Do you ever regret your decision?” Paige’s own doubts swirled in her head.

“I don’t regret coming here, only that I ran away from the situation. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wondering what might have happened if I’d handled things differently.” He leaned forward. “That’s why you need to finish this assignment, for your own sake. I know what it’s like to run and then try to redeem yourself.”

“Are you still running?”

“There are nights when I can’t sleep because all I see is the face of that little boy dying.”

Paige stared at a black bug working its way across the bottom of her pants. She’d been haunted by her own images of what she’d seen the past few weeks. She pulled out the warm photo from her pocket. “I didn’t tell you everything about Marila.”

“What do you mean?”

“I visited her last November when I first arrived at the capital. It didn’t take me long to realize that something was wrong.” A range of emotions surged at the memory. “A week later, an Australian surgeon diagnosed her with a sarcoma, a life-threatening childhood cancer that affected her legs. There was no chemo or radiation here to treat this sweet child and by the time she was diagnosed it was too late. There was nothing the surgeon, or any of us, could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was sent on to Jonga and a few weeks later received word that Marila died. I guess that’s when everything started falling apart. I did my best to keep up with the workload, but for every one I saved, I felt as if I lost two.”

“Overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“Very. When we arrived here, I stopped on one of the ridges and looked at the masses of people living in tents. It made me remember a verse out of Zechariah the pastor at our church read a few months ago. It said something about the blood covenant God had made with them, and how He would free the prisoners from the waterless pit.” She flicked the bug off her knee and looked up at him. “And that’s how I see them. Not prisoners in the traditional sense of the word, but prisoners all the same to their physical circumstances. And there’s only so much I can do.”

“Which is why the only thing left to do is admit our fear and hurts and continue on God’s strength.”

“But beneath all of the injustices in this world there has to be a ray of hope somewhere. Sometimes, like right now, I just don’t see the freedom He promises.”

Nick stared past her at the long row of patients. “Maybe freedom doesn’t always mean physical freedom. Christ brought us spiritual freedom.”

“Because he was poured out like a sacrifice to forgive the sins of many.” Paige fiddled with her broken nail. Christ was their only hope, but even that knowledge didn’t always make things easy. “I suppose it’s easy for us to twist God’s promise of eternal life in heaven to where we expect a heaven here on earth. We forget that sin destroyed that possibility in the Garden of Eden.”

“Which means that while I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop second-guessing myself for what happened that day in Iraq or even understand why God allowed it to happen, maybe it’s time we both found hope in the greater-reaching eternal promise.”

She looked up at Nick. “What if I’m still not sure I can do this?”

The door to the clinic swung open and banged against the wall. A man stumbled through the doorway.

Nick jumped to his feet, blocking Paige.

“I’m sorry.” The man held up his hands. “I’m looking for Dr. Ryan. I was told I could find her here.”

Paige moved from behind Nick. If this was one of the rebels, she’d probably be dead by now. “I’m Dr. Ryan.”

“My name is Prosper.” He struggled to catch his breath. “I have just come from the base camp at Mt. Maja.”

“You walked here?”

“I ran most of the way. Our phones are down. I need to arrange an emergency evacuation.”

Lightning struck in the distance. “What’s the emergency?”

“Rebels raided Mt. Maja’s base camp and a second camp on the Senganie Route where they shot and killed an American tourist along with one of the porters. Another woman was badly injured and needs to be transported to Kingani. We were told you have access to a plane.”

Paige looked to Nick, who shook his head. “Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I can fly to the base camp tonight. No one can in the dark and in these weather conditions.”

“Then when?”

“In the morning. I can fly to the base camp once it’s light, then on to the hospital in Kingani.”

Paige wrapped her arms around her waist as the feelings of helplessness returned. “So what do we do now?”

“We try to sleep. And pray tomorrow is a better day.”