No Place for Females

Chapter Eleven

Amir looked at the woman lying on the ground, her trousers covered in blood. One bullet from his rifle had been enough to take her down. This was the translator, he was sure of it. No other Afghan woman would dare to wear pants. Now, if he could just get her body out of here, his day—his life—would be perfect.

She coughed and gurgled. He was amazed that she wasn't dead yet. Such a shame. Alive, she would have been an excellent intelligence gain. As he bent to lift her body, a bullet tore into his shoulder.

Holy fuck!

Years of abuse at the hands of his brother had trained Amir him not to scream when pain pierced his body. Doling out torture was Asif’s forte; he was cruel and efficient. Amir silently thanked him as he choked down a cry and slammed himself against the wall to get out of the line of fire.

He had to fight the urge to try to take down the Marine. It was too risky. Marines moved in pairs; there would be two of them at the very least. While bullets didn't scare him, he was not stupid. Today was not a day to die. He had too much unfinished business.

As he took off down the other hall, ready to shoot anything that got in his way, Amir wondered if he was pushing his luck. All of these gifts from Allah had made him giddy. Would his pride be the end of him? He vowed he would get out of here or he would eat his own gun. Being taken alive was not an option.

He heard yelling in English and he knew it was the Americans, running to the woman. They had no idea who he was or what he was, and that was how things should stay. If he was caught, his government would label him Al-Qaeda and deny all knowledge of him. He’d shipped off to Guantanamo Bay to rot for the rest of his days. Laila would never know what had happened to him. His son would grow up without a father. Even worse, Asif might take him in. Amir couldn’t allow that to happen.

He knew that the front gate was no longer a viable escape route. That meant finding another way out of the compound, and fast. The number of Marines would double before too long, and there would be nowhere to hide. And, with every moment that passed, Jacobs was getting further away.

###

"Maria! Maria!" Ben called, his eyes darting around.

The man who’d shot her was nowhere to be seen. He could be lurking in the shadows, ready to blow Ben’s head off, but so might any number of insurgents. Ben’s instincts took over and he sprinted towards her.

She was covered in blood and her eyes were closed. She didn't move when he touched her. It was getting darker, and Ben could still hear gunfire throughout the compound. The threat of danger was everywhere, and not only was he risking his life, he was risking that of Jones. It was wrong and he knew it. Maria didn’t deserve to die. What’s more, she was his only hope.

In the dim light, she appeared very pale.

Oh no, he thought. Please, no. He ripped off his gloves and searched for a pulse. Beneath his shaking fingers, he felt a slight movement. Her pulse was so weak that he wasn't sure if it was his own erratic heartbeat or hers.

He pulled several gauze bandages from his first aid kit and he looked for the source of the blood. He lifted her up and saw the bullet wound in her left shoulder. He heard her moan softly and his began to beat faster.

 As he pressed gauze into the wound, Jones came over with an irritated look on his face.

"Save it," said Ben. "She's alive, but barely. I don't know how long she's got, but we gotta get her out of here."

Jones said nothing, but Ben knew he was pissed. As Jones radioed Morelli an update of their situation, it dawned on Ben that his growing desperation had begun to affect his reasoning. He was going to be in a world of shit, and Jones might even rat him out to Morelli. This was the kind of thing that could get a lot of guys killed. However much loyalty Jones had towards him, Ben knew that Jones had greater loyalty to the unit as a whole. Getting guys killed for stupid reasons was unacceptable.