I suppose it was a little ridiculous to think that justbecause the US government spent all of that time and moneytraining us together as a team that we would actually getdeployed together; we weren't. Cali was going to Kuwait, andI was going to Afghanistan. I was leaving first, loaded likecargo onto a C-130 with a stop in Germany, then off toKabul. The trip took twenty eight hours, counting thestopover, done mostly in a state of half sleep, not enough tofeel rested, but enough to feel dysfunctional.
As usual, I was having a delayed reality attack as westood in formation in the cold, dry, mid December afternoonsun on the tarmac of the Kabul airport. Standing in someoneelse's country, I could sense the tension between myChristian feet and the Muslim ground.
When I was in high school, our senior class trip was to theUN building in New York. We were supposed to go toWashington, but New York is closer to Winfield, andtherefore the trip was cheaper. But I remember being veryimpressed with the building and the people. But thought atthat time that with so many intelligent people talking out theirdifferences, how could they have failed so badly? Well, now Iget to pay the price for that failure.
After what seemed like several hours of standing in the freezing cold, we were divided into companies, then units,and squads. I was loaded into an armored personnel carrierwith seven other soldiers, all men, and rolled out of theairport. Sitting on long benches, facing each other, not oneperson spoke, all newbie's just like me, trying to get reality tomesh with their internal world model, and so far I was havinglittle success. The inside of the carrier was utilitarian metalpainted light beige, noisy and stuffy, with no windows. It wasimpossible to see where we were going. To control freaks, Isuppose it would be maddening, for me, it helped add to thedeniability.
We stopped, and everyone was rousted out to standbehind the carrier, where I was slapped with reality onceagain. We were standing in a town of sand stone buildingsand dusty streets, men in traditional dress, and even a fewwomen standing across the street staring at us. Actually, atme mostly, maybe they knew what I was thinking, or maybeit was because I was the only woman. All during training Inever once thought about what we were actually training todo, but it was an utter shock to be standing out in the openwith the people whose country you were occupying staringback at you. This was no longer a picture in NationalGeographic. The fact that this was real started seeping intoevery crack of my brain.
Four of the men were separated out, and the rest of uswere motioned back into the carrier. There was a little part of me that was hoping we would get hit by a rocket, and this wasas far as I would make it, but I tried to push that thought awaybecause I didn't want the others in the carrier to die. After anhour, we stopped again. This time we were in open desert. Iwas relieved, but this was just a potty and stretch break.Trying to find suitable cover for that activity in the opendesert helped me understand why women were not made forcombat. Finally, I had to settle for half canceled half honorsystem, but I was not getting back in that thing with a fullbladder.
It was at least another two hours before the next stop. Thefour of us got out in another town; again, men standingaround staring at me as our safe haven drove away, leaving usalone. A sergeant came out to meet us, herding us into alarge, three story, gray stone building that bordered the opensquare where we first stood. Inside, the building had a widecenter hallway that went front to back with rooms off to thesides. The personnel inside were a mix of soldiers and nativesin traditional clothing. There was a woman at a desk in thewide center hall, her burqa concealing every bit of her, exceptthe hate for me in her eyes.
The men were ushered down the hall towards the back ofthe building, while the sergeant marched me into a large roomon the right that had been converted into makeshift officecubes, and planted me in front of a lieutenant. I saluted, andhe gave a quick disgusted salute back as he was trying to get someone on a radio phone. He must have gotten through,because he shouted into the receiver,
YOU ARE READING
Heart of Assassin
ActionThe Heart of Assassin Millicent Abigail Willard was pulled out of the college math class she was failing to be told that her father killed himself after losing his job. When she returns home she is attacked by two men who steal her father's computer...
