Veiled Freedom Read Free Page B

bandoliers, wrapped around rifle barrels, even tucked behind ears.
    But Willie had witnessed these local allies charging suicidally into enemy entrenchments, even with American bombs crashing down all around them. If he was so sick of this war after a few weeks, what had it been like for them to live decades—for many, an entire lifetime—of unrelenting fighting and death? Simply to have survived in this country required courage and fortitude seldom required of Willie’s own compatriots.
    Freedom was another matter.
    Catching Willie’s eye, a fighter barely into his teens raised a flower-festooned AK-47 from the next pickup. “Is it not glorious? We have won! We are free!”
    Willie had divested himself of sentimentality before he’d ever made it through basic training. So it had to be the cold winter breeze that stung his eyes, dust gritting in his teeth that made him swallow. Willie had never doubted the value of his current mission. Nor even its ultimate success. Serving his country was a privilege, spreading freedom an honor worth these last difficult weeks.
    But not even his rigorous training had prepared him for the brutality and ugliness of combat. The ragged chunks of flesh and bone that had once been human beings. Even worse, the screams from broken bodies that still held life. Too many of them his own comrades.
    Yet scarcely two months since plane-shaped missiles had slammed into the heart of his own homeland, the people of Afghanistan were taking to these very streets to celebrate their liberation. Even now his countrymen were touching down to raise the flag over Kabul’s long-abandoned U.S. embassy compound. Okay, so everything hadn’t run as smoothly as their mission training. Maybe there’d been mistakes. Maybe even today. But at least those raucous dancing mobs with their music and kites and the battle-wearied fighters in the pickups behind him finally had a chance for real freedom.
    A chance he’d helped to give them.
    You can tell your kids their prayers have been answered, Willie composed a mental reply to that bright, smiling young face. It’s all over but the mopping up.
    The thought prompted him to lean forward, tapping the driver on the shoulder. “You’re heading back over here after the embassy run, right? Do me a favor and check on that kid for me. Make sure whoever’s hauling them up to Bagram delivers him in one piece. Some of the muj are a little trigger-happy.”
    The translator turned his head after he maneuvered between a rubble heap and a pothole. “I am sure the commander will have given orders for anything you have asked. He is very happy with you.”
    â€œHappy?”
    â€œBut of course! Because of the property you have secured for him. The finest residence in the Wazir Akbar Khan. The commander has desired it for his own possession since before the Taliban. And now because of your weapons, it is his at last. We will move our headquarters here this very day.”
    Willie went rigid in furious comprehension.
    â€œHey, easy, man!” The blond soldier’s arm was an iron-hard barrier, his voice low and warning. “Back off. It’s not his doing.”
    Willie’s grip tightened to white knuckles on his M4 assault rifle. “We’ve been had!”
    â€œHey, it’s not the first time, and around here it sure won’t be the last. Are you that naive? This is war. Their war. We’re only advisers, remember? And that doesn’t include refereeing property disputes.”
    That his teammate was right didn’t temper Willie’s mood. The crinkle of paper reminded him his fist wasn’t empty. The envelope was a crumpled mess, and only now did he notice the rusty smudge blurring what had been a return address. He wouldn’t be answering this fan mail. Which was just as well.
    Willie tossed the wad of paper over the side of the jeep, the adrenaline rush of this afternoon’s victory