There Are No Words

Chapter 11A

YouTube source for Sixteen-hand Reel dance video: Mountaintag. (2015). Sixteen-hand reel. Riverdance crew. Web Search 23 January 2020. Website: https://youtu.be/Dz7AZZ8Uz8E.
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Walker

On my hands and knees, I'm checking out the ground for possible posts. We need some kind of makeshift perimeter around our camp. A little protection from local insurgents who want to get too close to our camp. We've only been in this area for a little over 2 days. With reports from up North that unlogged movements are taking place, the gang's on edge. If we can do anything to settle their nerves, it'll be helpful.

Surprises from the enemy are never good. We already have a look out situation in place. We have some of our team strategically placed around the area armed and at ready. If someone threatening gets too close, we should be able to head them off before they can do any real damage to the people taking refuge in our camp. Still, you can never be too prepared.

I glance back in the direction of our camp and can see a few of the women and their children milling around. Some of them are wounded pretty badly. The hardest part about this assignment is seeing the kids suffer.

A friend of mine had once been on duty protecting a village from the Taliban, when the men there began insisting on medical treatment for themselves first. The women and children were supposed to wait and hope they could be seen, despite their injuries. It was made clear that the health of the village men was to be prioritized. This is a mentality I'll never comprehend. How can you look at an injured child and turn away medical help for them? To put yourself before a dying child? I'll never understand. Then again, I think to myself, I will never understand selling children either, something we're here to prevent and put a stop to as well.

Out of the corner of my eye and from where I'm kneeling I can see Candace. She's part of our Female Engagement Team, or FET, as it's nicknamed. The women in this area are not allowed to speak with my male counterparts and I. The FET, though, have made a huge difference in our ability to gather intel and to find ways to improve living conditions for the people of this area.

Candace is bending over to pick up a fallen blanket. There's a small woman in the chow line who Candace is helping. The woman's holding an infant on one of her hips. He looks to be about eight? ten? months old. I'm not sure. He could be older, what with the malnutrition I've seen, but there's no way to tell for sure.

The woman is having difficulty managing both the food and the baby. As Candace stands up to hand the woman back her blanket, she adjusts her rifle and asks to take the woman's plate from her. Candace catches my eye and smiles. I nod my chin to acknowledge her.

Candace turns back to the woman and they move forward together in the line. The woman picks out what she wants from the trays for her and her child. I can tell that most of what she chooses is for herself; the baby is still pretty young. Since the woman is most likely breastfeeding, I hope she gets her fill. She'll need it to take care of her child. As she nears the end of the chow line, I'm glad to see the woman take some powdered mashed potatoes and corn hash. Hopefully, some of that will make it into the baby's mouth as well.

Even in this dismal setting, and with the cuts and bruises that adorn their faces, most of the people in our camp seem happy to be here. Once we get this place more stable, we'll head out. We have some serious matters to manage a little further North. For the next day or so, however, we'll be setting this place up and keeping it secure until our relief arrives. I'm glad to help. It feels good to do something like this.

While I'm digging with my trowel, a light tune carries across the yard. Not much, just a light instrumental ditty someone is playing on an old radio. It's obvious that the children like listening to it. They're smiling as they eat. Some even seem to relax a little, while they wait to be tended to by the medic in the corner. As I work, and let the music accompany me in my task, I think back to the last ceili my mom organized over at the Irish-Scottish club. Jenny was there of course. The whole neighborhood came. Well, most of them, anyway.