His Woman in Command & Operations: Forbidden

“I have problems with English sometimes and I’m Greek, remember?”

“So, I guess that’s a no.” Grinning, Gavin felt the tension melting off his tense shoulders. Just looking into Nike’s gold eyes made him hungry for her again. Black curls framed her face and Gavin had to stop himself from reaching out and threading his fingers through that dark, shining mass. “Pashto isn’t that difficult. Most villagers don’t speak English. I’ll get one of my other men to help interpret from a distance. You can always go outside the home and talk to him out in the street and he can translate. He won’t be allowed in where there is a female.”

“That sounds like a workable strategy.” She narrowed her eyes on Gavin. “So how did it go with Abbas? He looked like he’d just won the lottery when he read some of the labels on that shipment.”

Gavin laughed a little while keeping alert. Taliban came through this valley all the time, and he knew that with an American A team here, word would get out to their enemy. “The elders’ main concern is the health of their people. We’ve done this type of mission in southern Afghanistan for the last year and it was a great success. The key is in establishing trust with the Afghans.”

Nike nodded and noticed how Jackson remained alert. She was glad the .45 pistol was strapped to her left leg. And wearing a bulletproof vest gave her a strong sense of protection. She hated wearing the chafing vest, but this was Dodge City and bullets could fly at any time. “I thought I saw tears in his eyes. He kept stroking the tops of the boxes that contained the antibiotics. It reminds me of a Greek proverb—Upon touching sand may it turn to gold. Only this time, his gold is the lifesaving drugs for his people.”

Grimly, Gavin agreed and said, “I’m sure he’s seen many of his people die terrible, suffering deaths that could have been avoided if they’d only had antibiotics available to them.”

“Pnigese s’ena koutali nero,” she agreed softly in Greek.

Cocking his head, Gavin said, “What did you just say?”

“You drown in a teaspoon of water. Another one of my Greek sayings I was raised with. It’s the equivalent to your saying that for want of a nail the horse’s shoe is lost, and for want of a shoe the horse is lost, and for want of a horse, the battle is lost.” She held up her finger. “Antibiotics are a small thing, but in his world, they’re huge,” Nike said. “Why was Abbas pointing at me earlier?”

“His wife, Jameela, will bring you a hijab to wear. Just be grateful to her for the gesture. Muslim women always wear the hijab any time they’re outside their home. In Arabic it means covering or concealing.” His mouth pulled into a devilish grin. “The best part is Abbas inviting us to stay at his home. The men and women are always separated. You’ll be on the women’s side of the house and have your own room. You’ll also eat separately, too.”

“That’s a little strict.”

“I agree, but we have to be aware of their religious laws. Afghans see that as a sign of respect. And respect can, we hope, earn us friendship with them.”

Nike said, “Okay, boss, I can do it. Not exactly military issue, but in black ops you have to be flexible.”

“Good. Come on, I see a woman coming toward us. She’s got a red hijab in hand, so that must be Jameela.”

When Gavin placed his hand beneath her elbow, Nike was surprised. She felt a sense of protection emanating from him. It was like a warm blanket surrounding her and she couldn’t protest the nice gesture. The entire village, it seemed, had come out to view the boxes. Indeed, word had traveled fast. Women, men and children stood as the elders marched past them with the A team carrying some of the boxes. There was crackling excitement and expectation in the air.

“Women are pretty well hidden here from the outer world. When they’re inside their homes they don’t have to wear a burka or hijab. And there’s real power among the women. They treat one another like sisters. Even though you may think the women have it bad, they really run the place. They have a lot of power in the household and in the village decisions in general. The women learned a long time ago to stick together as a unit. United they stand and divided they fall. Woman power is strong among the Afghan women and I think you’ll enjoy being a part of it,” Gavin told her conversationally as they walked toward Jameela. The elder’s wife wore a black burka. The black wool robe swathed her from her head to her shoes. A crosshatch opening revealed her cinnamon-colored eyes.

“Don’t expect me to wear one of those things,” Nike warned him with a growl. “All the women are dressed like her. I’m not going to wear a burka. I’ll stay in my uniform.”

“They won’t ask you to don a burka, so don’t worry. Little girls don’t start wearing them until around age seven. Until then, they’ve still got their freedom from the burka.”

Nike grumbled, “I have a really hard time thinking any woman would be happy wearing a burka.”

“Try to be gracious and don’t stir up trouble with Jameela—she’s the chieftain’s wife. There’s an unspoken hierarchy here in these villages. She’s boss of the women and children. Jameela wields a lot of power even though she’s hidden under that burka. Don’t ever underestimate her position and authority. In reality, the women have equal power to any of these men. It may not appear to be like that, but from what I’ve seen, it is.”

“All women are powerful,” Nike reminded him. She felt his hand slip away as they walked to meet the tall, thin woman swathed in the black wool robe.

“No argument from me.” And then Gavin turned slightly, gave her a wink and added teasingly, “Especially you…”

Nike had no time to retort. She felt heat rising in her face. Gavin chuckled with delight. Focusing on Jameela, Nike searched the woman’s spice-brown eyes between the fabric crosshatch. It was Jameela’s only opening into the outside world. Nike felt at odds with the woman, who stood about five foot six inches tall. Only her hands, reddened and work-worn, told Nike of her hard, unrelenting life.

Gavin bowed in respect to Jameela and offered the Islamic greeting to her as they halted about six feet from one another. Jameela whispered softly the return greeting to Gavin and to Nike, who bowed slightly, pressed her hand to heart and said, “Salaam.” She didn’t know what else they said to one another, but at one point, Jameela leaned forward and gave Nike the hijab. She made some gestures indicating she should wrap it around her head.

Nike gave her a friendly smile and put it on. Once the knotted scarf was in place, Jameela’s eyes crinkled as if she were smiling. Perhaps she was grateful to Nike for honoring their customs. Not being able to see another person’s body language or their facial expressions was highly disconcerting. Nike realized in those minutes how much she truly assessed a person through nonverbal means. Jameela remained a mystery to her.

“I speak…English…little…” Jameela said haltingly to Gavin and Nike, opening her hands as if to apologize.

Nike was delighted and grinned. She saw Gavin smile and nod.

“Where did you learn English?” Gavin asked her politely. He knew that Jameela shouldn’t be talking to him. Under the circumstances, he felt it was all right but not something to be done more than once outside her home.

“When I was little, my parents lived in Kabul. I was taught English at a Christian missionary school.” Shrugging her small shoulders beneath the burka, Jameela laughed shyly. “Coming out here, I could not practice it. So, I am very poor at speaking your language, but I will try.”

“Thank you, memsahib,” Gavin told her quickly in Pashto. “My friend, Captain Nike Alexander—” he gestured toward her “—is here to help the women and children. Perhaps you could interpret for her? She does not know Pashto.”

Jameela nodded in deference toward Nike. “Of course, Captain, I would be happy to. Please, apologize to her that I speak broken English?”

Gavin nodded. “Of course, memsahib, but you speak English very well. I know Captain Alexander will be grateful for your English and translation help. Thank you.”

Jameela bowed her head slightly, her long hands clasped in front of her. Nike could have sworn the Afghan woman blushed, but it was hard to tell with the burka like a wall between them.

“You are the first Americans to come here,” Jameela told Gavin in a softened tone. “There are Sufi twin brother and sister medical doctors, Reza and Sahar Khan, who visit us once every six months. The Sufis are heart-centered and they help us greatly. The Khan twins travel from the northern border of Afghanistan and follow it all the way to the south helping the villages along the way. Then, they turn around in their Jeep and come back north to do it all over again. We bless them. The Sufis are a branch of Islam who are dedicated to compassionate love toward all, no matter what their beliefs.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the Sufis’ nature,” Gavin told her in Pashto. “I’m also aware that the Taliban hate them. The Sufis practice peace at all costs and the Taliban has been known to kill them.”

Jameela nodded sadly. “That is so, Captain Jackson. But Doctors Reza and Sahar Khan are welcomed by all our villages along the border, regardless. We greet them and bring them into our villages on two white horses. We place flower wreaths around their necks and sing their praises. That is our custom of honoring their courage to care for us regardless of the personal danger they place themselves in. They have saved many of our people over the years.”

“I’ve heard the Khans mentioned by other villagers,” Gavin said. “I hope one day to meet them. They’re heroic people and give the Sufis a good name around the world for their courage and generosity.”

Jameela hesitated and then said, “My husband is afraid Americans coming here will invite another Taliban attack upon us. Surely you know this?”

Nodding, Gavin said gently, “I understand that. We hope to win his trust over time, memsahib. And my team will be in your valley here to protect you from the Taliban. Our mission is to show that the American people are generous and care, especially for those who are sick.”

Jameela looked toward the sky. “Allah be praised, Captain. You have no idea the prayers I have said daily to Him, asking for more help. If you stay in our valley then the Taliban won’t attack us. Our Sufi brother and sister constantly travel. We understand they can only visit us twice a year.” She gestured gracefully toward the village. “Captain Alexander, you will come with me, and I will put you to work. Captain Jackson, you may join your men.”

“Of course,” Gavin said, and he winked over at Nike. “I’ll catch up with you later. And I’ll have Sergeant Robles alerted to your requests. Just relax. It will all work out.”

Nike wasn’t so sure, but said nothing. She didn’t want this humanitarian mission scuttled because of her lack of medical knowledge. As she walked with Jameela, she said, “Are your duties the same as your husband’s in running this village?” Nike knew little of the Afghan culture and didn’t want to make a gaffe. Better to ask than to assume.

Jameela nodded. “My duty first is to my husband and our family. After that, I am looked upon to provide leadership to the women of the village in all matters that concern us.”

“I see,” Nike said. She suddenly had a humorous thought that couldn’t be shared with Jameela. Wearing a bright red scarf, a dark green flight suit and a pistol strapped to her waist, she must look quite a sight! The women of the BJS would laugh until it hurt if they could see her in her new fashion garb. Still, Nike wanted to fit in, and she would allow the course of the day to unfold and teach her. Often, prejudices and misunderstandings from one country or culture to another caused tension and she would not want to create such problems.

As Nike followed Jameela down the muddy, rutted street, she was struck by the young children playing barefoot on such a cold April morning. The children’s clothes were threadbare with many patches sewn in the fabric. They shouted and danced. Their gazes, however, were inquisitive and they stared openly at Nike. What an odd combination she wore—a man’s trousers with the prescribed headdress of a Muslim woman. Fired with curiosity, the group followed them down the middle of the wide street where mud and stone homes sat close to one another.

As Nike smiled at the children, she regretted not knowing Pashto. Their eyes were button-bright and shining. Little girls and boys played with one another just as they would in the States or in her homeland of Greece. But then, as she glanced farther up the street, her heart saddened. A little girl of about six years old stood on crutches near a large stone home. The child had only one leg. Nike remembered that damnable land mines covered this country. Most of them had been sown by Russians, but of late, it had been the Taliban, too. Had this child stepped on one? Nike’s heart contracted. There was no doctor here to help her. No painkillers. No antibiotics. How had she survived?

“Jameela? That little girl over there? Who is she?”

“My youngest daughter, Atefa. Why do you ask?”

Gulping, Nike hoped she hadn’t made a fatal mistake by asking. “I…uh…she’s missing one leg. Did she step on a land mine?”

“Yes, as a four-year-old.” Jameela’s voice lowered with anguish as she pointed outside the village and to the east. “Afghan national soldiers laid land mines everywhere outside our village two years ago. They wanted to stop the Taliban from coming through our valley.” Choked anger was evident in her quiet tone.

“How did Atefa ever survive such a terrible injury?” Nike asked softly.

“Allah’s will,” Jameela murmured. “Everyone said she would die, but I did not believe it. Dr. Reza Khan and his sister, Sahar, found her near the road where it happened. They saved her life and brought her to the village in their Jeep. Then, we had Farzana, our wise woman, tend her with the antibiotics the doctor left. Also, Dr. Sahar knows much about herbs and she directed Farzana how to use them.”

“That’s an amazing story,” Nike said, her voice thick with unshed tears. People like the Sufi medical doctors inspired her. She’d never heard of Sufis or that they were Muslim. Nike decided she was very ignorant of Muslims in general. What if the Sufi doctors hadn’t been on the road driving by when Atefa had been injured? Nike watched as the child hobbled toward them on carved wooden crutches. “She’s so pretty, Jameela. What does her name mean?” Nike wondered.

“It means compassion in our language. Little did I know when my husband and I chose that name for her that she would, indeed, bring exactly that to our family and village. My husband wants her to go to a school in Pakistan when she’s old enough. He feels Allah has directed this because she was saved by Sufis.”

Atefa had dark brown, almond-shaped eyes; her black hair was long and drawn into a ponytail at the back of her head. She wore a black woolen dress that hung to her ankle; her foot was bare. To Nike, she looked like a poor street urchin. But then, as she scanned the street, she realized all the children shared in the same impoverished appearance as Atefa. The children were clean, their clothes were washed, their skin was scrubbed clean, their hair combed, but this was a very poor village.

“Maybe,” Nike told Jameela, briefly touching her arm for a moment, “there is something that might be done to help Atefa before she goes to her school.”

Chapter 4

“How are things going?” Gavin asked as Nike finished ensuring her helo was protected for the night. She’d just sent Andy into the village to grab a bite to eat at Abbas’s house before staying with the bird during the coming darkness.

She turned, surprised by Gavin’s nearness. The man walked as quietly as a cat, never heard until he wanted to be. His cheeks were ruddy in the closing twilight. “Doing okay.” She held up her gloved hands. “Today, I became ‘Dr. Nike’ to the women and children in the village.” She laughed. The look in his narrowed eyes sent her heart skipping beats. She stood with her back against the Chinook, for the metal plates still exuded the warmth of the sun from the April day.

“Yeah, Robles said you were doing fine. He’s proud that you can give vaccinations. You’re a fast study.”

Nike grinned. “I had to be! I wasn’t given a choice.”

The jagged mountain peaks became shadowed as the sun slid below the western horizon.

“From all accounts, old Abbas seems to be satisfied with our efforts.”

“Him.” Nike rolled her eyes. “That old man is married to a woman thirty years his junior!”

“That’s not uncommon out here,” Gavin said. “Wives die in childbirth and there’s no medical help to change the outcome. The man will always marry again.” He grimaced. “And let’s face it, there are many widows around and they need a man in order to survive out here.”

“Jameela said Abbas has had two other wives before her. Both died in childbirth.” Shaking her head, Nike muttered, “Things were bad in Peru, too. BJS did a lot of flying into the jungle villages to deliver health care when we weren’t chasing druggies. This place is a lot worse.”

Gavin enjoyed being close to Nike. About six inches separated them and he wished he could close the gap. The best he could do was keep them talking. “These people deserve our help. You look kind of pretty in that red hijab. Do you like wearing it?”

“No, but I respect their traditions. At least Abbas didn’t demand I climb into one of those burkas.”

“Indoors, the women wear more casual clothes and no hijab,” Gavin told her. “It’s just when they go out in the community that they put on the burka or hijab.”

“That robe looks like a prison to me,” Nike muttered. “I asked Jameela today what she thought of the burka and she liked it. I couldn’t believe it.”

“In their culture, most women accept that their body and face are to be looked upon only by their husbands. The way the men figure it, if the woman is hidden, she’s not a temptation to others.”

“Why don’t their husbands show some responsibility for what’s between their legs? Then a woman would be safe to wear whatever she wants.”

“Yeah, I can’t disagree with your logic, but that’s not the way their world turns, and sometimes we have to fit in, not try to change it.”

Nike felt the coldness coming off the mountains in the evening breeze. “I feel absolutely suffocated by their culture’s attitudes toward women. You don’t find an Afghan woman flying a combat helicopter.”

“No doubt.” Gavin saw her put her hands beneath the armpits of her jacket to keep them warm. He took a step forward and allowed his heavily clothed body to contact hers. Her eyes widened for a moment. “I’ll keep you warm,” he soothed.

“Right now, I’m so damned cold I’m not going to protest.”

Chuckling, Gavin continued to look around. “Things seem to be quiet. I’ve been working with Abbas most of the day. You know, he won’t admit that the Taliban comes through their village, but we have satellite photos as proof.”

“Is he pro-Taliban? Or just afraid of them like everyone else?” Nike absorbed the heat from his woolen Afghan clothes. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to slide her hands beneath the folds and place her hands against his well-sprung chest. It was a forbidden thought, but tantalizing, nonetheless.

“I’m pretty sure he’s afraid of them. There aren’t many village chieftains or sheiks who get in bed with the devil and the Taliban is all of that,” Gavin said, his mouth quirking. “He told me that the Taliban came in here and ordered their girls’ school shut down. He’s a man of education, and he didn’t like being ordered to do that. Abbas continues to teach the girls and women of his village behind closed doors in defiance of their orders. He’s a man of strong principles and morals. He believes women deserve education just as much as any man. And Abbas is enlightened compared to other village leaders.”

“He was a teacher?” Nike found that inspiring for a man who lived in such a rugged, isolated area.

“Abbas was born here in this village. His father sent him to Kabul for higher schooling. He graduated with a degree in biology. When Abbas returned home, he helped the village breeding programs so that their sheep produced better wool. That helps to raise their economy because better wool demands a higher price at market. And he increased goat-milk output. He’s done a lot in the region and he’s respected by everyone because of this.”

“Wow, I’d never have guessed. No wonder he’s the head elder.”

“Looks are deceiving.” Gavin watched the high clouds across the valley turn a dark pink as the sun set more deeply below the western mountains. “He’s carrying a lot of loads on his shoulders, Nike. Abbas takes his responsibilities as leader seriously. He’s got a lot of problems and few ways to resolve them. When I asked him about medical and health help from the Afghan government, he got angry. Over the years, he’s made many trips to the capital to urge them to bring out a health team every three months to these border villages, but he could never get them to agree to it. And Afghan people are superindependent. They really have a tough time looking at a centralized government to rule over them.”

“That’s awful that the politicians in Kabul wouldn’t help these people. Can you imagine that happening in the USA or Greece? There would be a helluva uprising.”

“Abbas doesn’t accept his government’s lack of care,” Gavin said. “When you realize Afghanistan is cobbled together out of about four hundred different clans or tribes, you can see why they wouldn’t place trust in a Kabul government. Our job is to try and persuade Abbas that his own government does want to work with him.”

“How are you going to convince him Kabul’s listening and willing to pitch in some medical help out here in the border area?”

“I told Abbas that the report I write up regarding our visit will be given to the health minister of the government. This minister is trying hard to change old, outdated policies. I pointed out to Abbas other border villages south of him already have intervention, supplies and funds on a routine schedule from Kabul.”

“Does he believe you?”

“No, but over time he will.”

“And you and your team will stay here four weeks?”

“Yes. From the satellite photos, we know that the Taliban uses the north end of this valley twice a month. We’ve set up to be here when they try to cross it a week from now.”

“And then what?” Nike grew afraid for Gavin and his team.

He shrugged. “Do what we’re good at—stopping them cold in their tracks and denying them access across this valley.”

“What will Abbas do?”

“I don’t know. He knows if we stop the Taliban from crossing, they could take revenge on this village. This is what Abbas is worried about.”

“He’s right about that.” Nike leaned against Gavin a little more. The dusk air had a real bite to it. His arms came around and bracketed her. For a moment, she questioned her silent body language. Why had she done this? Something primal drove her like a magnet to this military man. Fighting herself, Nike finally surrendered to the moment. She had been too long without a man in her life, and she was starved for male contact. Yet, what message did this send to Gavin? Was he reading her correctly or assuming? Unsure, Nike remained tense in his embrace.

“Comfy?” he teased quietly. Surprised by Nike’s unexpected move, Gavin hungrily savored her nearness. He had wrapped his arms around her but resisted pressing her tightly against himself. Right now, just the fact she’d allowed this kind of intimate contact was enough of a gift. Even though they sparred like fighters in a ring, he’d seen something in her gold eyes that he could never quite accurately read. Maybe this was the result of that smoldering look he’d seen banked in her expression. Only time and patience would tell.