Page 78 of Keeping a Warrior

Finally he sighed. “It’d just be temporary, huh?”

Sudden tears rushed to Devon’s eyes and clogged her throat. “Yeah,” she managed. “But it wouldn’t be casual.”

She felt him bury his lips in her hair, his voice so soft as to be almost inaudible, “Sweet, beautiful girl. I—”

Before he could complete that thought, there came a pounding on the door and Matt burst through it, still wearing all his tactical gear, weapon slung from his shoulder. “Doc, we need you!”

They both sat up in alarm. “What is it?”

Matt told them about a young boy in the neighboring village. “Stepped on an old Soviet land mine a few weeks ago, blew off part of his right foot. They left it untreated, and now it’s so infected, Doc. The kid is in a lot of pain, and the smell...” He gagged.

“Let’s go.” Rhys jumped to his feet, Devon right behind him.

“They told Sayed they didn’t want to be seen asking the Americans for help.” Matt’s words stopped them both in their tracks. “They fear reprisals.”

Sayed was a member of the Afghan National Army who acted as their platoon’s interpreter. He’d said at the outset he was afraid for his own family’s safety, and he hadn’t been home in years so as not to lead anyone watching him to them.

They all looked at each other helplessly, until Devon suggested, “We could do a hard entry, as if we’re searching them or something. Make it look like we forced them.”

A gleam entered the men’s eyes. “I like it,” Rhys said slowly. “That might work.”

“Lemme get Hov and Maddox.” Trotting out the door, Matt soon returned with Shane and Aaron. The five of them huddled around a map of the village, and after a few minutes of intense discussion decided on their course of action.

Devon shivered in excitement. It’d be a fine line to walk between the appearance of American aggression and allowing the family to save face, so they had to proceed carefully.

“Okay, get jocked up,” Rhys ordered them. “We roll in fifteen.”

On a medical mission, and as the guy with the most combat experience, it was understood Rhys would take tactical lead; Devon couldn’t help but be impressed at how the other three had checked their SEAL egos at the door in their willingness to help.

Her heart in her throat, she flew to her hooch to grab her Kevlar. She snatched up her weapon and quickly checked it over. Since arriving in country, she’d kept it meticulously clean and sighted in, so it was just a matter of making sure her magazine was full and she had extra ammo.

Then she jogged out to meet the guys, who were already gathered in front of Rhys’s hooch. Bradley was there, too. “This is going on the books as a humanitarian mission,” he was saying. “You’ll be following MEDROE, Halloran.”

Medical Rules of Engagement, which said that an injury not the fault of the United States wasn’t eligible for advanced care. In other words, Rhys wouldn’t be able to call for a medical evacuation of the child. The U.S. wouldn’t risk a helicopter and flight crew to assist in something that wasn’t their fault.

It was understandable, but it still sucked. They all nodded.

“I’ll be monitoring from the TOC,” Bradley went on. “Good luck, guys.” Fist bumps all around, and then Bradley jogged toward the tactical operations center, where he’d be listening to their comms, ready to send help if they ran into trouble.

Matt and Rhys took point, Devon in the middle, Shane and Aaron bringing up the rear. They moved swiftly and silently through the sleeping village, the darkness of the Afghan night almost tangible. Through her night-vision goggles, Devon could see an occasional cat slink through the shadows and tensed, wondering if the ever-present packs of feral dogs would betray their presence.

But all was quiet, and as they neared the target house, the stench of rotting flesh filled the air. Bile rushed into Devon’s throat, and she gulped it down, horrified by the extent of the little boy’s infection.

The team arrayed themselves next to the front door, and at Rhys’s signal, Matt raised his booted foot and kicked it in. They swarmed into the tiny mud house, following their noses to the family’s sleeping room.

Swiftly, silently, they overwhelmed and flex-cuffed everyone but the child. Devon warned them in Pashto to keep quiet. “We’re here to help.”

Wide-eyed, the family nodded as Rhys knelt next to the little boy. His left foot was wrapped in some filthy, bloodstained cloths, and when he eased them away, Devon gasped. The toes were completely gone, and what remained of his foot was a mass of blackened goo.

Rhys hissed through his teeth. “Fuck. Devon, translate as I go.” He pointed at Aaron. “Help me hold him down. This is gonna hurt.”

Trying not to puke, Devon relayed in shaky Pashto what Rhys was doing as he gloved up and first irrigated the boy’s wounds with Betadine before grimly going to work to scrub out all the dead flesh.

The boy’s screams were heartbreaking, even muffled as they were behind Aaron’s hand. By the time Rhys sat back and wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, everyone in the room was green around the gills.

“Almost done,” he murmured.

Trembling with relief, Devon knelt next to the boy and brushed his damp hair off his forehead. “You’ve been so brave. It’ll feel better soon.”