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by Tanya R. Whitney
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The patrol climbed the rocky terrain toward the mountaintop. Sergeant Clyde Wessler was in the lead position. With a six-foot-four frame, square jaw, his pale blue eyes contrasted deeply with his browned skin. He had been in this barren world for nearly a year now. Every day it was the same thing, walk the dusty, dry goat paths up and down the mountains looking for the group of raiders that constantly barraged the base with mortar fire and surrounded it with improvised explosive devices. His bunkmate Corporal Paul Gates, a freckled face farm kid from Nebraska, was at the rear. Ahmed, their interpreter, held the reins of their pack animal, a donkey the Chaplain jokingly named ‘Cheeks.’ The rest of the team had rotated in a couple of months ago and were learning the terrain. The team was headed to a remote village across the mountain gap to confirm intelligence reports.
As Clyde looked up the path toward the top, he caught a flash of color. Giving the signal for the others to halt and seek cover, he crept up a little further on the path. Using the rocks as cover, Clyde moved around to the west side of the mountain. He edged up the side to where he had seen the snatch of color. Realizing what it was, he shook his head and radioed the rest of the team to follow. Settled into a low rock outcropping nestled a bed of flowers.
The brightly colored flowers stuck out against the desolate mountainside. The purple petals contrasted with the dull browns and grays of the rocky terrain. Paul laughed when he saw what had caught Clyde’s eye.
“This here is the deadly iris lily. Watch where you step gentlemen. It might bite you.” Paul told the others as they grinned.
“Can it, Paul.” Clyde retorted. “You know it’s unusual for these flowers to be growing here. You would have done the same thing. Besides,” Clyde looked at the others, “Never believe anything you see is harmless. Especially in these mountains.”
Clyde leaned over and gently reached out with his gloved hand to grasp a delicate bloom by the stem. Tenderly snapping the stem, he plucked the flower, looked it over, and then placed it in his bag.
“Whatcha gonna do with the flower, Clyde?”
Clyde looked over at Paul. “Probably nothing. Just nice to have a piece of beauty in this godforsaken country for a change.”
They continued on the trail to the village at the top of the next hill. Clyde hated going on patrol, but it had to be done. He was sweating even with patches of snow still on the ground. The emotional toll of being on patrol didn’t help. The raiders had the advantage, of hiding in the mountains. One never knew if the villagers would welcome you or cut you down where you stood. Before reaching the top of the last hill before the village, the team halted. Clyde removed a blue scarf from his pack. Placing it around his neck, he would stand out against the drab shades of the mountains, but hopefully, it would show the village chief the team meant no harm to the villagers.
***
Moska stood at the table trying to put the pieces together. She hated doing this, but they were afraid of the raiders that came through the village looking for anyone who had helped the soldiers. She wished she could find a way to keep the explosive devices from working. However, if she didn’t do as the raiders said, they would destroy the whole village and kill everyone. They had killed her parents three years ago when her father refused to join them. It was a warning to the others to do as they asked if they wanted to continue to live. Moska thought she heard a sound and looked out the window of her room to see someone coming through the pass. A donkey loaded with packs was flanked by two soldiers. Several other soldiers followed behind. Her gaze strayed to one of the soldiers. A beautiful blue scarf flowed in the mountain wind around a soldier’s neck. It was a scarf her grandfather had traded to one of the soldiers for tobacco. The man wearing it now was not the same one as before though. This man was a big man, the biggest man she had ever seen. She ran to her grandfather.
“Baba there are soldiers coming through the gap. One wears the blue scarf.”
“I know Moska. I saw them. You stay inside with Musa. I will talk to them.”
The soldiers moved slowly toward the village, their eyes searching all around for danger.
***
“What do you think, Clyde? Looks too quiet.” Paul whispered into his radio from the rear of the patrol.
“We’re being watched. Stay alert.” Clyde instructed the patrol.
Clyde and their interpreter continued forward while scanning the area. They moved cautiously toward the village. The patrol spread out as they reached the perimeter of the village. Clyde and the interpreter moved forward to a nondescript hut where they were told the village chieftain lived. The interpreter called out in the local language for the chief. An elderly man came into the doorway. He had a long white flowing beard reminding Clyde of Santa Claus. Behind him, in the shadows, Clyde noticed a young girl anxiously watching the soldiers. She stayed in the hut as her grandfather walked out to greet the men. Her little brother rushed past before she could grab him. He was curious about the soldiers, as they rarely came to their village. The old man stopped the boy with a stern look. Ahmed offered greetings to the village chief while the soldiers kept watch.
Paul reached into one of the bags tethered on Cheeks and pulled out a soccer ball. It was a universal greeting, as everyone in this part of the world had a passion for soccer. He tossed the soccer ball to the boy and watched as he started kicking it around. The old man and the interpreter continued to talk as Paul entertained the boy with the soccer ball.
“The chief says we are welcome though he is uneasy,” the interpreter relayed to Clyde. “They have been warned by the raiders against helping the soldiers.”
Clyde nodded to the old man with respect. “Tell him we’ll be on our way soon. When did the raiders last come through?”
The interpreter questioned the chief, then turned to Clyde. “Three days ago. They come every other week or so. From there.” He pointed to the mountain top to the left.
“Looks like our intel is correct for a change.” Clyde retrieved a package of tobacco from the pack on the donkey and handed it to the chief. “Tell him we appreciate his letting us rest here and it’s not our intent to bring harm to his village.”
The interpreter and the chief started conversing again. Clyde noticed the girl in the background. He moved toward the doorway where she was hiding. He reached into his bag and pulled out the flower. Though he knew it wasn’t proper in her culture, he held the flower out to her. For only a second, he looked warmly into her eyes.
“Lutfan, please.” Ne nudged the flower to her.
“Tashakur,” she whispered in thanks.
He glanced away to make sure no one had seen his actions. Thankfully, the old man was watching the young boy with the soccer ball and hadn’t seen Clyde give the girl the flower. Clyde glanced her way once more, smiled at her, then turned and walked toward the boy playing with the soccer ball.
***
Moska watched as the man with the blue scarf walked toward her brother, Musa. Moving back into the hut where no one would be able to see, she broke into a huge smile while hugging the flower to her chest. She couldn’t believe the handsome soldier had given her a beautiful flower. Moska knew it was wrong. If anyone found out, she would be punished. Moska didn’t care though. Quickly muting her expression, Moska hid the flowers in the folds of her dress as her grandfather came back into the hut.
“Moska, watch for your brother. The soldiers will leave soon. I am going to Dadvar’s to share the tobacco.”
“Yes, Baba.” Moska moved to the window she had stood at earlier. The pieces of the explosive device lay there on the table waiting to be put together.
Her grandfather headed down the village trail. Moska looked across the sparsely covered field to see her brother talking and laughing with two of the soldiers. The soldier who gave her the flower was among them now. He still wore the beautiful blue scarf she had seen earlier around his neck. He kicked the ball around as Musa chased it and kicked it back. She stood there watching him though she knew she shouldn’t. She had seen soldiers before, but for some reason, this one called to her heart. He was so different from the men in her village. The only males left were children and the elderly. All the young men of her age had been either killed by the raiders or had joined them in fighting the soldiers. Moska was happy to be unmarried because her grandfather needed her to take care of Musa and him. Most girls her age were already married with children. With her grandfather, she had some freedoms. He was strict, but not abusive.
***
Clyde felt eyes watching him, but not in the sense of feeling danger. He glanced around with his eyes until he connected with the young girl watching him from the window. They both knew it was wrong but neither could look away. They were locked in an unspoken communication across the open field. She shyly smiled back at the soldier with the blue scarf. She could be punished for making eye contact with a man, much less one of the soldiers. She couldn’t help herself though.
***
“Boof!”
Clyde’s head reeled back from the force of the soccer ball hitting him. He had forgotten the young boy and the soccer ball. The boy laughed as he ran to grab the ball.
“Hey! No fair. I wasn’t watching.”
Clyde grinned as Musa dribbled the soccer ball around him. Clyde heard the faint tinkling of laughter come from across the field. He wanted to talk to the girl, but it was forbidden. It had been so long since he had seen anything so beautiful in this desolate land. She reminded him of delicate wildflowers found in the fields of home. Varied colors that glistened in the morning dew and swayed gently in the breeze. He had been in this colorless country so long those images were fading. He would always remember her though. On long lonely nights and days of patrolling, he would remember her hazel green eyes glittering in the bright sunshine. The wisps of long, straight hair as black as the night that escaped her headscarf. Her melodic laughter at her brother’s antics with the soccer ball. If only things were different.
Clyde checked his watch and then motioned for his men to prepare to move out. “Okay guys, time to hit the road.”
The boy stopped and looked forlornly at the men getting ready to leave. He hung his head as he brought the soccer ball to Clyde. Clyde knelt to Musa’s level and waited for the boy to look up. Clyde tapped the ball and then pointed to the boy, signaling that it was his ball now. He didn’t need an interpreter to translate the joy in the boy’s eyes. He ruffled the kid’s hair and rose. Clyde signaled for the patrol to move out. He took one more glance at the window where Moska had been standing. He placed his hand over his heart and nodded his head. She raised her hand slightly in a gesture of goodbye.
Clyde thought to himself as they crossed over the mountain. Every so often, amid the death and destruction of the war, they came across a sliver of grace and elegance. Though Clyde understood she wouldn’t stay that way. Life would overtake her innocent smile. Maybe she would be able to ease her suffering by remembering the gift of the flower, a rare beauty budding in the arid, infertile soil of war.
***
As they passed out of the village, Moska watched as the soldier removed the blue scarf and put it into his bag. He blended in with the landscape and it wasn’t long before she lost sight of them. She set her hand on the table and the sharp edge of the wiring mechanism bit into her skin, reminding her that she had to finish the device before the raiders came back. She did what she had to do to keep her village safe. She had already lost her parents. They had threatened to kill her grandfather and her brother if she didn’t do as they said. This time would be different, however. Before, Moska never gave thought to the people killed by the explosives she built for the raiders. Now she would always wonder about the handsome young soldier. She knew they never stayed, and they rarely came back. If only things were different, but circumstances beyond their control dictated the way things were. She sighed and picked up the pieces of the device to begin working on it once more.
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Tanya R. Whitney retired from the United States Army in 2010 as a Master Sergeant after serving over 27 years. From Sorrento, LA, she began writing poetry a few years ago as part of her PTSD therapy. Her poetry primarily deals with her military service, but she has also written other pieces. In 2018 she was selected at a Gold Medal winner for the National Veterans Creative Arts Festival in the Creative Writing poetry category. She has won several poetry competitions and has had individual poems published. She has also had several short stories accepted for publication. Along with her published poetry book, A Soldier’s Journey Home, she has individual poems and short stories published in several anthologies to include Reach of Song 2020, Treasures Found in a Cedar Chest, Sandcutters, Ink to Paper Volumes, and Tears O’er A Tin Cup.