Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
An Afghan officer waited at the end of the walkway connecting the tarmac to the terminal, escorted by six of his own soldiers. They looked like they’d been through hell and dragged back again.
“Twelve inches,” I said to Izzy once the noise of the rotors had faded enough to hear myself.
“Not quite,” she shot back quietly, clutching the strap of her messenger bag.
“Smart-ass,” I muttered. “Twelve inches is the maximum distance you’re allowed to be from me while we’re here.”
“You don’t trust the Afghan forces?” she asked quietly.
“Some of them, absolutely.” I kept my hands on my rifle. “But I didn’t live this long by trusting anyone I don’t personally know.” And I wasn’t trusting anyone with her.
“Noted.” She glanced at me once we were halfway down the path. “And what if I have to pee? Does your twelve-inches rule apply then?”
“I’ll be happy to hand you the toilet paper.”
“Graphic.” Her nose crinkled.
“You’re the one that went there. We’ll only be here for an hour, remember? Hold it.”
We made it to our liaison, and I shook the young captain’s hand while the others kept their hands on their weapons. “Are the evacuees ready?”
“They arrived about thirty minutes ago,” he said, leading us into the terminal. Two of our operators hung back to secure the entrance and recon. “We might be losing the edges of the city, but we still hold the airport road.”
“That’s good to hear.” If they lost that, there would be no evacuation route for anyone in the city. We were officially surrounded.
The air-conditioning was still working, which was a welcome relief. The floor and chairs were covered with dust, and two of the windows in my line of sight had been boarded up.
Izzy lifted her hand to the strap under her chin.
“Leave it on.”
“It might scare the girls if I walk in dressed like we might be bombed at any moment,” she whispered.
“I highly doubt they’d expect anything different.” We passed by gathered groups of both military and civilians waiting for evacuation. “You might be forgetting that children here aren’t strangers to war like American kids. The helmet stays on.”
“Are you going to be this pleasant the entire trip?” She arched a brow but kept up with me step for step.
“Yes.”
“This looks good,” Graham said, motioning to an area on the right.
I looked at his recommendation—rows of chairs that formed what had been an exclusive-looking waiting area. No boarded-up windows. Glass that could be blasted open if we needed out. A direct line to the tarmac and our birds. It was exposed for a quick exit, but defensible, and we could control the environment. “This will do,” I told the Afghan officer. “Please bring the evacuees here.”
“We have them waiting—”
“Here,” I said in a tone that didn’t leave any room for argument.
He glanced out the window, toward our helicopters, and nodded, then, in Pashto, ordered two of his soldiers to escort the chess team to us.
The other operators spread out for an efficient perimeter.
“They’ll be here momentarily,” the captain said in English. “Is there anything else we can do?”
“No, thank you,” I replied. “I’m sure you have way more important things to be doing.”
“Indeed, I do.” He shook my hand again and walked off, leaving two of his soldiers behind with us.
Izzy and I stood in the middle of the waiting area. “He sent the soldiers to go get them? You’re sure?”
I nodded. “I speak Pashto.”
“Of course you do.” She shook her head. “Is that another new development?”
“No.” I scanned our surroundings, not entirely at ease. I knew we should be safe here, but Izzy would be a fantastic and expensive trophy for our enemies.
“Just something else you didn’t tell me.” Her tone was low but cutting.
“The number of languages I speak didn’t seem like worthwhile space in a letter, and I never wanted to waste your time. But apparently you—” I locked my jaw to still my words. This wasn’t the time or the place to get into it with her.
She glanced up at me, her eyes narrowing. “Just say it.”
I shook my head.
“I know you’re pissed about Jeremy. I saw the disappointment in your eyes. I know you well enough to read your emotions, Sergeant Green. At least I used to.” She crossed her arms over her chest and drummed her fingers on her arm.
“You have no idea what I think about Dickface.”
“Like the nickname isn’t a dead giveaway.” Her fingers moved faster.
Anger welled up, overruling my common sense. “He fucking left you at Georgetown,” I said as quietly as possible.
“He did.”
“He forced you to graduate early, leave your friends, and enroll at a school that wasn’t even your first choice, and then he left you.” I spared a WTF look in her direction.
Torres cocked an eyebrow at me from where he stood at the nearby wall, obviously able to hear us.