Page 74 of Keeping a Warrior

Devon grunted before yanking her knife from its sheath on her thigh and ripping into the nearest box. “I’ll help you. Whiner.”

They pelted each other with rolls of gauze as they worked, and when they were done, Rhys invited Devon to sit. They sprawled on his bed, backs to the wall, cans of warm Rip-It in hand.

Rhys drained his can in one gulp, then let out a contented sigh. “Thanks for your help. That would’ve taken me forever.”

“Did I actually see you put away a box of speculums?” Devon asked, one knee drawn up, wrist draped across it.

Rhys nodded. “Yeah. Spec ops medics are trained in basic OB/GYN. I can deliver a baby if I need to.” He paused. “You think any of the village women will come to see me?”

“No. Their husbands and fathers would never allow it.”

“Even if you’re here?”

“Even then.” She hesitated. “To be seen by a male outside the family, to converse with him, much less be examined by him—it won’t happen, Rhys, even with me present. There could be severe consequences for any woman who tried.”

They were quiet as Rhys digested that. “We promised them schools, and clinics, and roads, in exchange for helping us fight the insurgency. It doesn’t seem like anyone’s accomplished anything. Does it?”

Except thousands of people dead. On both sides.

“It’ll take several generations and many trillions of dollars to even begin to accomplish what we promised,” she said softly. “And we only have four months.”

The politics of why they were here, why they were still here, were so muddied that Devon didn’t think she’d ever understand it.

With twin sighs, they got up from the bed and ambled outside, where Devon spied Bradley wearing a hunted look on his face as a village man spoke earnestly to him. When he saw Devon, he called, “A little help here?”

As Devon hurried over to them, Rhys on her heels, she pulled an ever-present scarf from her pocket and draped it over her head before addressing the man.

“Salaam alaikum,” she greeted him. Peace be upon you.

“What’s he want?” Bradley asked impatiently.

Devon listened closely as the man waved his hand at a nearby pile of broken-down MRE boxes, which were intended for the burn pit. “He’d like to have those.”

Bradley looked at the guy, then at the boxes. “What for?”

Devon listened again. “To make a new floor for his house, sir.”

When Bradley indicated he could take it, the village man snapped his fingers and several preteen boys darted over to grab up the flattened cardboard.

Bradley looked like he wanted to say something else, but hesitated.

“What is it, El-Tee?” Devon prodded him.

“Well, it’s just amazing to me that he’d talk to a woman. I mean, we’re not allowed to talk to their women. Why is it okay for them to talk to you?”

With a shrug, Devon said, “They don’t see foreign women as a threat, and I’m not bound by their own cultural restrictions. I’m completely neutral to them, like Switzerland.”

“Shit.” Bradley shook his head. “That’s amazing. You’re such an asset to this platoon.” He sounded totally sincere, and Devon flushed with pleasure.

“Thanks, sir.”

They all watched the boys finish gathering up the cardboard before scurrying away with it. The man nodded his thanks as he followed them back into the depths of the village.

Devon bit her lip. The Americans had promised so many things in exchange for the demands they’d put on these people—a stable government, a well-equipped military, an economic regrowth.

And what’d they get instead? Some broken-down cardboard.

“Can we go into the village, too, sir? Spread the word that a medical clinic is now open, locals welcome?” Rhys’s voice was subdued, as if he was thinking the same thing Devon was. They had to be able to do more.