Homeward Bound Ch. 13

Ahmad Dekhtah and his men hit the road at dawn, leaving the pickup where they had slept. Ahmad had come that way many times, to go and fight around Kabul, so he knew there was a hut near the road in that zone. And he thought that if the medic and the two Russians had seen it, they likely stopped there for the night, though he could not be sure they were really there. His idea was to surprise them asleep, and that's why he decided to approach the hut by feet. The pickup could be too much noisy.

All seemed to go as they wished, till something cracked under their feet. They froze for a while, but all remained calm in the hut and around it. So they came on, and did not stop even when something else cracked again. The "Kafirs" seemed to do not sleep heavy. Deep heavy, if they were there at all...

Yuri was not sleeping at all. At the second "crack", he peeked from behind the hut, from the side the moon did not shine on, looked around, saw something moving, but did not see Russian uniforms.

And so he shot.

The first bullet just scarfed Gulbuddin on his left side, the second pierced his chest without serious damage, but the third broke his frontal bone and all that was behind. He fell down, while Yuri ran to the entry of the hut, shooting in front of himself to get everyone could be there to duck down. And all the men of Ahmad did exactly this, till Yuri jumped in the hut, safe but short of breath.

"They are coming!" he shouted with what remained in his lungs.

"How many they are?" the medic asked, realizing one second too late the foolishness of the question: Yuri had had no time to count them. In fact, he looked at him and grinned:

"Too many for me!"

Ahmad reassessed the situation in his head. The surprise had failed. Gulbuddin was in the arms of the Houris. He was the only man of the group which had an RPG. With it, it would have been easy to blow the hut away. But now it was tied with a shoulder strap on the corpse of Gulbuddin, fifteen paces right flank in front of him. between him and the hut. And in the hut there were three people who were able to shoot damn right, and saw all itt happened all around. Or at least, in front of them...

The hut was made mostly with stones. So the AK47s could not destroy it or kill the people inside of it, as it could have done, if there was just a brick wall, or mud, or straws. To launch a grenade inside of the hut could be possible, but not from so far away. It took to get halfway before to throw it, and now it was no more possible to do it without being seen. And killed.

So the only solution was to retake the RPG.

And make the hut blow away.

As he should have done at once, he thought...

Afizullah was not a fool. When Ahmad signaled him to go, he did not go straight towadrs Gulbuddin and the hut. He went to the right, away from the entrance of the hut. while the other men of Ahmad were shooting at the hut, to get the medic and the two Russians to keep low, and distract them from what Afizullah was doing.

One step, one more step, another step...

Afizullah was some meters on the right from the body of Gulbuddin. He lay on his belly and gripped the clothes of Gulbuddin, to tow him on his side, then he took away the shoulder strip from the corpse, took a rocket grenade from the bags on the body...

The men of Ahmad were expert warriors, but not trained soldiers. They had shot all together, and finished the ammo of their mags more or less at the same moment. They had to reload, just in the moment when Afizullah put the grenade launcher on the ground and the rocket grenade inside of it. Too much noise in the silence. The point of a gun barrel poked in a hole between the stones of the wall of the hut and a long volley was heard. Afizullah collapsed on his right side, with the RPG still on his shoulder. still dead. Just one more second, and Afizullah would have pulled the trigger and killed the Russians and the medic who had chosen to go with them, Ahmad thought. War... or destiny?

Katya dropped with her back against the wall of the hut, on the left hand side of the hole where she had seen the man with the RPG ready to fire. "Gòspodi!" she breathed. My lord... She too was discovering that there are no Atheists in foxholes, the medic thought. But Atheism or not, she had saved their lives, one more time...

"And so, scratch two!" Yuri said.

"And many others on the list!" the medic answered.

"How many they are?" the soldier asked. "What do you think?"

"If they are travelling on a pickup or a truck or what, they could be a dozen, or even less. But if they are traveling by feet... Who can say? Twenty, thirty..."

"Well, then let's hope they are motorized..."

"Motorized or not, they are too many..." Katya said, gloomily.

"What do you mean?" the medic wonder. She looked at him. All of a sudden, The seemed deadly tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of all...

"I mean that we are trapped..." she said.

"No..."

"Yes! They don't have to come here and take us! They just have to wait! Sooner or later we will have to sleep! Or else, we will end up without food! Or without water! Or without ammunition! Or..."

"You're letting yourself go too much! i understand, you are tired, but..."

"It's not that I am tired. It's that we are tired. It's that we are dead!" she said, calmly. She dropped his gun. "End of the journey. You have to do what I have asked to you..."

"What?"

"What I have asked to you..." she said, looking in his eyes. her eyes were wet, sweet, big, like the eyes of a wounded horse. They shoot horses, don't they?

"We are not screwed yet, fuck!" the medic said. He hit the wall with his rifle, enlarging the whole where Katya had shot Afizullah, poke in the hole and shot a volley. Some bullets hit the RPG and the rocket grenade inserted in the launcher exploded, making the weapon unsusable.

"You have wasted another magazine." said Katya, always calmly. And the medic realized they really had very few ammunitions. They could not resist so long indeed...

"Come on," she said, taking her rifle from the ground. "One single shot. You are a doctor. You know where to hit to kill faster..."

The medic nodded. Yes, he had promised, and she did not forget it. So now he had to do it. Even Yuri understood that Katya was right: she wanted to die before the "dukhi" could... Of course... It was her right...

"Close your eyes..." the medic said. She complied, with a smile. Where to shot? "And if you shoot in his head or his heart, he will just have the time to die..." In the head no, too beautifull..."Oh, my God, your skin is white, I love your face"... He put the tip of the gun on her heart, between her breasts... Tender, firm, soft breasts...

And then he heard somebody shouting something, an order, in Dari, from outside, and he froze. He secured his weapon, put it on the ground, run to the entrance of the hut and shouted:

"Assalàm alèikum, Ahmad Dekhtah!"

That voice! It was him! Among all the Western medics in Afghanistan, right him!

"Stop! Come back! All of you!" Ahmad shouted.

All his men, who were going to encircle the hut to attack him from three sides and kill the Russians and the medic, as he had ordered them to do, looked at him surprised, even shocked. How could someone who fought with the "shuravi" know him, their chief, the best of them all? He did not consider it necessary to give an explanation. He simple rose up and answered:

""Aleikum assalàm, taubìb!" he said. "Taubib" means "medic", in Arabic language. "What are you doing here?"

"I accompany these guys. They just want to go home!"

"They had to stay home! Now it's too late!"

"It's not late, Ahmad! The war is over! What can change if two more Russians go home?"

"Nothing!" conceded Ahmad. "But they have killed two men of mine!"

"I did not know they were yours! How could I?"

"Kafir of a taubib!" Ahmad shouted. Infidel of a medic. "This is not an answer!"

"And what would have happened, had they not killed your men? They would have killed all of us! And now you would see me, slaughtered and covered with blood! Me, Ahmad! And they would have said "Sorry, we did not know!". And what would you have told them? That that was not an answer? Would you have killed them? This would have not given the live back to me! A man has raped and killed my woman! And he has been killed! But that did not give me my woman back! And killing all of us, you will not have your men back!"

Ahmad did not answer quickly. The woman of the medic, raped and killed? That could explain a lot of things...

"I am sorry... it was a good "taubiba", she too..."

"And an even better woman!" the medic said.

"But that does not matter! I don't want to kill you, taubib! Go away! Let this "shuravì" to their own destiny! They have deserved it!"

"I cannot do it! It's not a thing a man can do! You would t do it, in my shoes! If you want to kill them, you'll have to kill me too!"

"I promise you, they both will have a fast death! And no one will rape the woman! She will just die, and quickly!"

The medic was translating every bit of the conversation to the Russians, and it seemed that Ahmad had understood it. A quick death. Something human. Not all had it, down there. Not the man of Katya. And not even Francoise...

"It's all I can do! There's a war between them and us! We did not want them, and they have come! In our shoes, they would do the same!"

The medic translated the last words to the woman. The medic translated the last words to the woman. It was if Ahmad would have wanted to talk just with her, and with Yuri.

"Kill me!" Katya said. "Kill me and then ho away!"

The medic looked at her and shook his head, then he looked outside again.

"I did not give your sons a fast death, Ahmad Dekhtah!"

Ahmad was hoping this detail could remain undisclosed, but it was a silly hope. His sons. Yes, the medic had not given them a fast death. He had made them be born. Two splendid males, healthy and strong, good for the peace and for the war. And twins. Fatima gave birth to them in the least proper conditions. running away with him from Afghanistan, in a frontier village, where there was just a young midwife who was tearing her hair off: in the womb of Fatima there were three creatures, and he had never seen nothing similar. And Fatima was even weakened by the journey, with all the possible consequences about resistance to infections and all the rest.

Allah had wanted that the medic and his "taubiba" passed the night in that village during that same day. And they had done miracles. Of course only the woman, the "taubiba" had cured and looked after Fatima. But even he, the medic, the male, had done his duty, helping her with the right suggestions, supporting her where she was on the brink of desperation, ready to give up, facing the difficulties of the task... He had made them be born not less than her. And he had refused any reward, "I did what I had to do, I am a "taubib"", he had said, using an Arab word: his Pashtu and his Dari were not yet so proficient...

And now, that splendid "taubiba" was dead, raped and killed by a scoundrel, to the dishonor of the Believers. And the taubib... Well, it was time to repay them. But, how to do it? Of course, Ahmad would have never killed him, it was out of discussion. But what about the "shuravì"?

"Let's make a deal!" the medic was saying. "We leave to you all our weapons, ammunitions, and money. And you let us go. All of us! if not, come and get us here! And then, come what may! If you will kill me, it will be your problem! And if I will kill you... it's all up to you!"

"You will not kill me, Taubib! You are a medic, not a fighter!"

"I was not a fighter, I BECAME a fighter! I have passed more than a week walking and shooting, eating a little and drinking even less, sleeping ad relieve myself where I could! I could die lots of times! Do you think I'm dead?"

"If you're alive, it's not you deserve! It's the will of Allah!"

"Be always blessed his name!" the medic said, in Arab language, as it took. Ahmad snorted.

"Have you become a Believer too?"

"No, Ahmad! I respect the Believers like you, and I spit on the Believers who are not like you! But even you, believer, could you say what will be the will of Allah in the next hours?"

Ahmad shrugged. Of course he could not. Who could? Life, Death... Who knows? Kismet, mallum... Fate...

"I'm not afraid. I am ready. And you?"

"Me too. And this "shuravì" too are ready! But are your sons ready to remain fatherless? Is Fatima ready to become a widow? Don't die if it's not necessary, Ahmad! Are you in a hurry to see the Houris? Fatima is no more enough for you? Are you afraid to see them when you are too old?"

Ahmad snorted again. Hell of a "taubib"... He knew how to talk... Like a bazaar trader, a storyteller... Come on, let's see how he reacts now...

"My sons were three. You have saved two of them! "One of the shuravi has to die!"

True, the medic thought: the third son... A daughter, indeed. A miniscule being, she did not survive a minute, once she came out of Fatima's womb... Ahmad was really the worthy heir of a family of traders. Like himself, after all...

"I have saved THREE persons, Ahmad! Your two sons and your WIFE! What do you think would have happened to your sons, if nobody had made them be born? They would have remained in the womb of Fatima, as in a tomb! And you know what happens to the bodies in a tomb, don't you, Ahmad?"

Ahmad nodded. Maybe the medic knew how to say "septicaemia" or "infection of the blood" in at least one Afgan language, but saying the things that way, he had got the message home very good, even with the warriors who were listening, and maybe did not know what "septicaemia" really was... he looked at his men, and saw that someone was nodding too, really impressed...

"If this was the will of Allah..."

"If this was the will of Allah, be always blessed His name, so it would have been. But so it had NOT been. And the count is three, Ahmad. You owe me THREE lives. THREE!"

Well, now all his men knew all his private deals, but there was nothing shameful. Two healthy sons, and a wife ready to give birth to others sons or daughters,"Insh Allah". And even if only Allah is the real healer, nobody could deny that the medic had something to do with that. Enough to do, for to save the two "shuravì"? That was the question. A chief has the right and the duty to take decisions, but he cannot dismiss the opinion of his men. What could they think, if he decided that "it would be enough"? Even Afizullah and Gulbuddin had relatives, sons, wives...

He looked at Babrak, his second-in-command. He thought the same things who Ahmad thought of himself. At the end, Babrak shrugged. Afizullah and Gulbuddin, may Allah give them any comfort, but they had made some mistakes, they did not shoot first, and for this they had died. It was war. And besides, it was true, the Russians were going home. And a man never abandons the friends, let alone the women. Under the circumstances, it was not worthwhile to kill a man like the "taubib". After all, now there was not even the RPG anymore: an assault to the hut would have meant losing more men, more fathers, more husbands...

The medic was waiting. What could he do, if Ahamd refused his proposal? Pessimistic analysis, Murphy's law, if something can go wrong, it will... Well, they could get out of the hut shooting all around... Like Butch Cassidy? So what? Better off that way, that dying like mice in a trap...

"If he says no, shoot at me," Katya was saying. "Shoot me, at once, do you understand?"

"We will shoot at them, all of us... Out there..." he said Out there, Katya thought... bullets everywhere... no, better one single blow... She tried to tell it to the medic, but he stopped her: Ahmad was talking.

"All right, Taubib! That's MY deal: the weapons, the ammunition, the money and the FOOD, After tomorrow, you will be in Kabul. Till then, you can beg for food and money, rob someone or die in the attempt, "Insh Allah", it will be not my deal! And now get away, before I change my mind!"

The medic could hardly translate the last word, before Katya hugged him, and Yuri patted him vigorously on his shoulder: he could not speak. The medic calmed them down for a while and answered:

"In the name of Allah, the merciful and compassionate?"

Ahmad snorted. The medic was a prudent man. Pays to be sure.

"In the name of Allah, the merciful and compassionate," he said. So let it be.

They got out of the hut, holding the guns by the barrels. The men of Ahmad took them, the bags with the food and the water, and got the money from the medic. Dollars and Afghan banknotes. Nobody said a word.

When all was done, the medic, Yuri and Katya started walking, but Ahmad called the "taubib", and they all stopped. Ahmad come closer to the medic, quite embarrassed, looked down, then looked at the medic and talked. In French.

"I'm really sorry for your "taubiba", doctor. I hope that you will come back home, at least..."

"I hope the same for you, Ahmad. This war will go on, even without the Russians. And I don't know if it will still look like holy, for you..."

"I know," Ahmad snorted. He never had thought that that war was "holy". It had been just necessary, that was all. It took to fight it. And if it took to fight it again..."Insh Allah"..."We did not beat the Russians just to be ruled by the Pakistani... or by the Pashtun... which are the same thing..."

The medic nodded. Ahmad patted his shoulder and he moved away, followed by the Russians. Soon they arrived to the limit of the plateau, undisturbed, and started to descend. Down to Kabul.