Wickerman Cove

Part 2: The Rescue

Now

One of the good things about US Marine field gear was that it was warm at night. In the Malian desert, that was a good thing. They were keeping low, fanned out as they worked their way around behind a low bank of sand and stones as they approached the collection of huts. The guntrucks and technical equipment outside confirmed they were in the right place – bearing the three-line emblem of the God's Great Northern Militia.

Stephanie and Sgt. Mike Young were the only Marines on the raid. The others were native Malian troops, led by the heavyset, bearded lieutenant Ascofare and the lean sergeant Sidibe, who whispered to things that she couldn't see.

Then again, nobody was in line for a promotion over this – they only found the village because of the kid. Steph had always sucked at names but she thought the girl was called Adja.

She shouldn't have been here. She belonged with her mom and sisters a hundred miles to the south, but that's how it was. Steph and Ascofare's team had persuaded them to turn in some Taliban who were training nearby.

It was going great, until the Christian fundamentalist militia that her CIA contacts definitely hadn't been arming decided that they needed some wives. The Taliban didn't have any women, but they were more than happy to point them towards the village who had just ratted them out.

Now, with the eyes of the world watching, Ascofare was trying to undo the damage. He'd pretty much let Steph and Mike come along as an act of charity, although the official reason was to observe the platoon in action after their new training. They'd found Adja in the desert when they were unpacking the gear – heading straight towards them, like she was on rails, a blank, haunted look on her face.

She didn't talk anymore, but she knew where the bastards were.

The Malians didn't even look at her, except for Sidibe, who grinned as Steph fed the kid candy, at least when he thought she couldn't see.

Young was less understanding. "Jesus, will you stop doing that?" he said, pushing the words out through gritted teeth.

Steph rolled her eyes and fed the kid the last of the hard candy she'd found in her hip pack. "Kid's lost ten pounds," Steph said, keeping her voice low. "Don't start any bullshit. Have you seen the others? Just because she's one of the Arma, they won't even look at her."

Mike shook his head. "It ain't that," he said, moving away.

"Okay, kid," she said, grabbing Adja by a painfully bony shoulder. "This is it for you. You aren't going any further. You remember how to get back to camp?"

Reluctantly, Adja nodded. She didn't move.

"Hey," Steph said, silently checking her rifle. "You're not safe just because I'm here. You head back, and keep out of sight of the village. I shouldn't have let you get this close. You'll be okay."

The kid still didn't move. Steph sighed. She waved Young over. "Young," she said, barely above a whisper for fear of being overheard by a sentry. "You've come this far, but if you don't want to be part of it, you can take the kid back to camp. We shouldn't just let her go into the night anyway."

Young stared without answering for a moment, looking straight through Adja girl the same way the Malians did. "Ma'am? Can you run that past me again? Explicitly. Who is it exactly that you want me to escort, and where?"

Steph pointed at the kid. Young stared. It was a close-run thing whether she could really give him an order here – neither of them were exactly operating officially. "Look, we're about to make contact with the enemy. Mike, it isn't time for this – if you don't want to be part of the raid, fine. You can take the kid back to camp. Someone has to."