The Colonel's Daughter (3 page)

Evan plastered with sweat and grit, and panting like a woman giving birth, gave a loud howl.

The Colonel shook his head, “It’s just a broken leg boy…come on, just a scratch.” then turned away.

His shoulders hunched forward, keeping a flogged back away from the serrated wall, Dallas turned to the Colonel. “Tell me more about your daughter, sir.”

“Aren’t you the boy who camped out in his sleep system the first night you got your hands on some night vision gear?”

“Yeah, that was me.” He gave a thousand yard stare, “I never saw so many stars…most beautiful thing I ever seen.”

“Son, you ain’t ever seen my daughter. She’s more beautiful than any of the roman candles you’ve caught sight of through those high tech PVS 14’s you snipers are carrying around.”

“That beautiful, huh?” Dallas managed a smile, “Didn’t think you were into meteor showers, sir.”

“Very talented also, she’s an artist.” The old man stroked his scraggly beard. “And smart. She’s in graduate school…University of Miami. Art History major.”

“The U?” Raising his eyes to the ceiling, “You’re killing me Colonel,” he brought a hand over his stomach. “You know I’m a die-hard Texas Longhorn fan. Don’t ask me to step foot in the U, sir. You’ll be dropping me in the middle of enemy territory at the U.” Dallas looked at the old man, who had been giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Anything for you Colonel,” he agreed.

“She’s worth it son.”

“Dallas,” Javi called out, “Come over here and help tie this shirt around his leg,” as he held it in a tight grip around Evan’s shin.

Making an imperial entrance with the thunderous crash of the rolling stone door, Shahrivar, an Iranian opium dealer took one look at the Colonel and motioned to the guards. The Iranian boss illustrating the finesse of an Arab Prince, not by blood but by performance and underneath the façade a ruthless murderer led by greed, watched in contempt as it took the strength of five guards to carry the struggling Colonel.

Shahrivar then studied the pitiable moans of Specialist Daniels who was lying on the ground and crying for a doctor. The stoic old drug dealer called to the guards in Arabic then in Pashto and motioned for them to bring the young soldier outside.

Javi observed Shahrivar closely and immediately noticed his intent to torture the young naïve soldier while taking advantage of his weakness in order to retrieve information. He hastened to warn Daniels, “Don’t say a word to them. You hear me, don’t say a word.”

Three armed men grabbed Evan, one of them twisting his injured leg while Javi crawled closely behind insisting, “If you talk, they will kill you. You’ll be of no use to them after that,” while they dragged him out.

The stone door rolled shut.

Javi immediately put an ear to a makeshift window in the jagged wall. Resting his hand against the stone above Javi, Dallas leaned into the small hole to listen.

Furrowing his brow, Javi murmured, “Son…of…a…bitch, he’s telling them about the Colonel.”

“What’s he saying?” Dallas clenched a fist.

“He’s….no. No, no, no.” Javi pulled away then leaned in once again, “That son of bitch.”

“What did he say Cap’n? Did he mention her?”

“He just told them about the Colonel’s daughter.” Javi punched the jagged wall scraping his knuckles. “Shit.”

Shots resonated and then silence. Javi slid down the serrated wall and sat on the dirt floor burying his swollen face in his hands. “They killed the kid.”

Dallas paced back and forth. “We need to get out of here, Captain. I can’t let them hurt the Colonel’s daughter.”

“Hell yeah we’re getting out of here.” Javi brushed the dust from the top of his head in frustration.

* * * * *

In the dark cell, Javi and Dallas gripped the stone doorway pushing their wounded bodies against the rock. “Alright on the count of three,” Javi drew a breath, “One two—”

Giving it their all, they opened the door making very little noise, a job that would have taken five guards, proving the agility of their well conditioned bodies even after having been tortured.

Dallas snuck up on a sleeping guard, yanked the AK-47out of his hands and gave him an elbow to the face while Javi rounded the corner, choked a guy out then stripped him of his ammo vest and weapon.

Running harder and faster than any other time in their lives and fueled solely by adrenaline, they were unstoppable as they descended from the steep cliff to the trenches below.

Upon reaching a dense forest, Dallas balanced himself against a holly tree and began puking.

Javi gurgled, emitting massive steam from his mouth into the chilled night air. “Just weakness leaving the body, soldier,”

“Not now, bro.” Dallas howled in sheer exhaustion.

Javi looked around at the shadows of the holly forest. “You hear that?”

Dallas shook his already spinning head.

“It’s too quiet. I don’t like the quiet. We gotta keep going.”

Dallas regained control of his breathing and said, “Check this out, AK rounds,” digging a finger into the tree trunk.

The sudden piercing sound of an incoming rocket propelled grenade sent them both to the ground and they crouched in a trench. Forced to a low crawl, Javi listened intently. He looked up into the trees and shouted, “Damn birds!”

“Are you sure it was a bird?”

Javi rolled onto his back and pointed, “Look at ‘em up there.” He pointed again, “Did you see ‘em fly across that branch?”

“Oh shit man, don’t move Javi. There’s a camel spider crawling up your arm,” immediately grabbing a stick, Dallas’s steady hand was unflinching, even with the repeated sounds of the squawking birds. He swatted the spider away.

“Damn birds.” Javi stood back up and zigzagging through the holly oaks, he called out, “We gotta make it to the bottom of the valley.”

Dallas followed close.

Signaling Dallas to halt, Javi stopped to peer through the trees at a nearby river. He studied a most welcome sight underneath the moonlight, a line of American soldiers wading across in body armor. “We can’t blow their cover. We’ll have to catch up on the other side.”

Dallas looked around and motioned, “This way Captain.” They followed a makeshift path.

* * * * *

At the dining facility of Mejia Army Camp in Nuristan, Afghanistan, Captain Santos stood at parade rest by the serving trays and studied the revamped menu of the cafeteria food.

“Congratulations on that Silver Star, Javi.” Sergeant Joshua Wittemore swaggered towards his longtime friend.

“Hey thanks man.” Javi gave him his crooked smile.

“I just saw Dallas taking off on the Chinook. You’re not going with him?”

“I’m not married to the guy. Besides, I’m sticking around to talk to the General, seems like you boys are in need of some help.”

Sergeant Wittemore picked up a plastic plate and waited with Javi at the end of the line of hungry soldiers. “We can always use your help brother.”

“Are you ready to indulge in some gourmet fare gentlemen?” A chubby bald guy spoke from behind the serving trays.

“Gourmet…Fare?” Captain Santos chuckled.

“Yes…fare…as in food…gourmet food. It’s Mongolian BBQ gentlemen.” He waved his hefty arm revealing the contents.

“If that’s what you wanna call it.” With his nose almost in the food tray, Sgt. Wittemore gave Javi a fist tap.

Amid a treacherous desert, concrete T-barriers and sandbags surrounded all the trailers in the camp protecting the soldiers from shrapnel and indirect fire like mortars and rockets. Inside the chow hall, the color scheme, which was designed to promote a low stress atmosphere for the soldiers, usually went unnoticed.

“Come on Robowski make a decision already. Brownie or cupcake, it’s not so hard.” Sergeant Wittemore called out to a young Private at the front of the line.

“Yes sir. Oh and Serge, don’t forget to work on that outside shot, sir.” Robowski responded taking a jab at Sergeant Wittemore’s basketball skills.

“Yeah, you can build a bunker with all those bricks you be throwin’ up, Sergeant.” Javi added.

“What? Yeah…well…my jump shot’s sweet. You know you can’t guard me, Private.”

Shooting erupted, too close for target practice several yards away from the mess hall bringing everyone to silence. Captain Santos and Sergeant Wittemore hurried through the nearby door to scan the outside perimeter. A thunderous crash caused Sergeant Wittemore to react taking hold of his best friend forcing him onto the ground. Plummeting, Javi watched the horizon disappear as all went black.

Torn sheets of paper and ash danced in the air amidst sand and debris just seconds following the deafening sound of a bomb blast. Captain Javier Santos opened his eyes with difficulty only to witness the lifeless body of Sergeant Joshua Wittemore lying on top of him.

He blew sand out of his nose and spat grit from his mouth. Rolling his friend’s body off, Javi then realized that his own injuries were severe.

* * * * *

Aircraft propeller noise became audible then inaudible as Javi drifted in and out a conscious state. The helicopter transporting him hovered over a vast camp of tents and barbed wire on its way to the hospital, one of the few permanent structures erected.

Captain Santos could hear the voices of men calling out to one another over the propeller noise.

“I’m equipped to start surgical treatment if necessary. What is our eta?”

“We’re almost there sir.”

* * * * *

Chapter Two

Abby tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. She was early enough to look for the perfect seat. Placing her Modern Art notebook on a desk and taking out a random sheet of paper, she began an elaborate sketch.

The professor fidgeted with his laptop. One by one, students began filling the back of the class.

Diligently shading her drawing, she suddenly took in a strong fragrance of men’s cologne. Looking over her right shoulder, she noticed a tanned guy with wavy jet-black hair taking a seat next to her. His long thin legs stretched beneath the desk displaying a perfectly ironed pair of jeans.

Mesmerized by his aroma, she wondered,
who irons their jeans?
She studied his perfect ensemble. The sweetness of that moment suddenly came to a screeching halt.

“Please don’t stare. It’s not becoming of a lady to stare at a man.” He had a heavy accent masked by a deep melodic voice. Maurice Shahrivar the eldest son of Afshin Shahrivar, who had been raised like an Arab prince trained in falconry and spoke five languages, was heir to his father’s vast opium empire and as he spoke he gave no courtesy of eye contact, not even a glance.

“Excuse me? Or rather…excuse you? For your information, I wasn’t staring…and I have news for you, you’re not a man, you’re a boy.”

The professor commenced his lecture and as much as she tried, she couldn’t shake those arrogant words from her mind.
I wasn’t even staring. What a jerk.
She thought.

Having received Abigail Johnston’s information from headquarters and after following Abby from her Brickell Avenue apartment to the university, the image from Colonel Johnston’s description of his daughter had become a reality. In the University of Miami parking lot, Dallas shut the door to his dark blue pick-up truck and pulled out a Texas Longhorn cap.
If I have to enter the U—enemy territory—I better represent my team,
he thought firmly placing it on his head. He studied a short printout, folded the paper, stuck it in his back jean pocket then waited outside the Art History class.

Representing the Longhorns was no way to go stealth. Dallas got looks from every student exiting the building including Abby, who shook her head and continued towards her car. He followed thinking,
ain’t no way I’m takin’ it off
.

Abby had squeezed her grey sedan into the only available parking space since no one else had attempted to park their car next to the poorly centered black luxury sports vehicle. She had been forced to exit via the passenger’s side in order to avoid scuffs on the paint of the—high and mighty—convertible.

Dallas watched as she managed to fit her bulky backpack between the car doors only to realize that her keys were still in the ignition.

The fragrance of the same peculiar cologne came with a saunter, and with a push of the button on his key chain, Maurice automatically started his black sports car.

“Nice parking job.” Abby hopped back onto the sidewalk.

He chuckled and paused to survey the close proximity of the two cars. “How did you manage to get out?”

“I managed just fine…for a
lady
.” She crossed her arms.

He squeezed his body between his passenger door and her driver door to see for himself. As he lifted his arms above the car to balance his body, he noticed Abby’s keys in the ignition.

“It looks as though you left your keys behind.”