Sand Queen Part 8

aDid you like my present?a April says then.

Oh G.o.d, she forgot. She never opened it. She has a hard time keeping track of things these days. Time. Objects. People.

aYeah, hold on a sec.a Tucking the phone under her chin, the soldier opens her bedside drawer, takes out the little pink box and pries off its lid. Inside is a mood ring and one of those woven friendship bracelets that kids make all the time at school.

aI love them!a the soldier says, cramming the ring on her swollen finger. Luckily the ring is adjustable. aThe ring fits real well and itas so pretty. Did you make the bracelet all by yourself?a aYeah, but Lizzy helped me. She made the middle and I made the ends.a Thatas when the soldier remembers what happened the last time she saw April. How she came home from war broken and hurting, unable to stop the faces and the blood. How she took her dadas gun from its sacred place in the sideboard and shot out the dining room windows because those faces were staring in. Kormickas face, the jerk-offas face, Mr. al-Juburas face. How April huddled in the corner, screaming, because she didnat understand that her sister was only trying to protect her. How the dad threw the soldier into the car to take her here.

aHey, April?a she says quietly. aIam sorry I scared you like that when I came home. You know I wasnat well, right? You know I love you and will never hurt you? You know that, donat you?a aPoo, you didnat scare me. Iam not a little kid anymore. Iam eight years old now!a s.h.i.t. The soldier forgot her sisteras birthday, too.

aWhat coloras your mood ring right now?a April says then. aMineas red. I think that means Iam happy.a The soldier closes her eyes. She canat talk because sheas crying. Crying and crying, and she canat stop.

[ KATE ].

SO, THEY ARE killing our men in that prison! I knew it! As soon as the interpreter began to talk, I knew that soldier girl had lied to me. Why have I allowed myself to believe her? Now I am sure she fabricated the message from Zaki. How could anybody be so heartless?

All the way home with my companions, after the McDougall woman has chased us away as if we are no better than stray dogs, I mull over what I have learned. The prisoners are rioting, no doubt because they are being starved and beaten. The Americans are shooting them, murdering them, yet they do not even know the names of all the dead. How can little Zaki survive this? And poor Papa with his heart? If they have survived at all.

What fools we have been, my companions and I, coming to this prison day after day with nothing but photographs and prayers. We should have been coming with guns.

But as soon as I enter the house, bracing myself to tell Mama this dreadful news, she rushes at me in a panic. aQuick!a she cries before I can speak. aCome!a I run after her into the bedroom. Granny is lying there rigid, her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth stretched and gaping. I seize her hand, as bony as the corpse of a bird. Her pulse is nothing but a faint fluttering.

aWhatas wrong, Naema, whatas happened to her?a Mama asks, her eyes pleading.

aI think sheas had a stroke,a I say, touched by her faith in my meager knowledge of medicine. aShe needs a doctor right now!a aGo to the neighborsa"go quickly and get help!a I place Grannyas frail hand on her chest and run next door, where I find Abu Mustafa working his vegetable garden, trying to cajole some sign of green out of the baked blond earth. He looks up in alarm as I fly toward him, straightening his old body with a wince. aWhatas the matter, child?a aWe need a doctor! My grandmotheras dying!a He gazes at me pityingly. aDonat you know, daughter, that our doctors and teachers fled months ago?a aWhere can I go then? Isnat there anyone here who can help?a He shakes his white head. aYou must take her to the hospital in Umm Qasr, if it hasnat been bombed. You have your fatheras car, I believe. Do you know how to drive?a aYes, but we have no petrol.a aCome.a He leads me around to the back of his small, yellow-mud house and points to a five-gallon tin. aTake this. I hope itall be enough.a aBut surely you need it? And I canat pay you for it, at least not yet.a He lifts his hands in resignation. aYour grandmotheras been our neighbor and friend for fifty years or more. Huda and I have no need of this petrol. Where are we going to go at our age? No, take it, and donat argue.a So now I find myself clutching the wheel of our battered old family car, just as Papa did only a few weeks ago, making my way toward Umm Qasr. Mama is in the back, holding Granny in her arms and trying to keep her comfortable, but my poor grandmother has no idea where she is. Her eyes roll and her breath comes out in rattling gasps. Mama can barely contain her panic as she murmurs prayers and verses from the Quraana"I even hear her urge Granny to pray for forgiveness from Allah, as the dying must do, although Granny is much too far gone to pray for anything. As for me, I cannot help but wonder if there is any point at all to what we are doing, if we will ever reach this hospital or even find it operating if we do.

Umm Qasr is only five kilometers from Grannyas house, but the drive takes hours. The road is clogged with American tanks and trucks, sometimes blocking both lanes, sometimes roaring so fast down the wrong side I have to swerve the car wildly to escape with our lives. No traffic lights are working because of the lack of electricity, and everybody is so frightened that their cars careen in all directions with no order at all. And then a chain of convoys drives by, forcing us to the side of the road to wait. We have to sit immobilized under the ferocious sun, our fear for Grannyas life mounting while one enormous American truck after another rumbles past, belching fumes into our faces.

Mama keeps trying to force water down Grannyas throat, but we can both see her life ebbing away with every minute we are delayed. Yet each time I try to pull back onto the road, the soldiers in those convoys wave their guns at us and shout until the veins stand out in their sunburned necks.

Those soldiers. They look so inhuman standing up in their gun turrets, leaning out of their windows, weapons bristling, their bodies hidden behind sungla.s.ses and helmets and those ugly camouflage uniforms that match nothing. What do they want with us that they look like this? What do they think we have done to them?

Finally, after nearly two hours, a break appears between convoys and I am able to pull back onto the road and continue our drive. The air is thick with dust and fumes, yet I can see women working the fields on either side of us, bent double in their black abayas as they dig and pluck at the dusty ground. What do they find to grow in all this desiccation? Children stand by the side of the road, their bellies distended with malnutrition and hunger, their legs scabbed and spindly, their clothes ragged, begging the soldiers for food. Some even run right up to the American trucks, so close I fear for their lives. Are these the people the Americans have come to help? If so, how does it help to drop bombs on their houses and imprison their sons and fathers? To destroy their villages, already so poor, and slaughter their babies? To murder them and not even know their names? Is this the way to liberate a people from a dictator? Or has the world gone mad for the taste of oil and blood?

When, at last, we reach the outskirts of Umm Qasr, I am shocked yet again, for here, too, is pandemonium. Cars stuffed with impossible numbers of people clog the road, blasting their horns. Camels lumber through the traffic, their thin legs in danger of being crushed. Pedestrians fling themselves between vehicles. Donkeys and carts become entangled in fenders and car wheels. I have to weave through all these people and animals, trucks and carts as best I can, praying I hit n.o.body. And all around me the crowd presses inward with a frenzy I do not understand.

Peering through the dusty windshield, my shoulders tense, my neck craned and aching, I steer the car painstakingly toward the hospital. But as I approach, the crowd only grows thicker and the confusion worse. We are forced to a stop in a jam of vehicles, all pointing in different directions, with no lights or policemen to tell us how to untangle ourselves. I lean out of the window and call to my neighboring driver, aExcuse me, sir, but whatas going on here?a aA team of British doctors has arrived at the hospital to help,a he calls back. aMy baby has shrapnel in her chest. Sheas dying!a And then I understand who it is that surrounds me. A father carrying a blood-smeared infant, tears rolling down his careworn face. A boy, limp and emaciated, pus oozing from the gashes on his leg. A dust-covered pickup with an unconscious teenaged girl in the back, her chest and neck charred and blistered. All about me are the wounded and dying, the victims of cl.u.s.ter bombs and machine guns, of mines and explosives, of poisoned air and filthy water. And, like Mama and me, every one of them is frantic to reach the hospital and those British doctors before it is too late.

[ NAEMA ].

WHEN I GET back to the tent after my long day of pointless waiting for Jimmy, I find Yvette home from her latest convoy, pacing the aisle, wired, hungry and p.i.s.sed. aI canat eat this c.r.a.p,a she says soon as I walk in, kicking her MRE across the plywood floor. aIam going to the PX to get some other kind of junk food. Wanna come?a aBut itas almost dark.a Iam glad to see her back in one piece, but I donat feel like being with anyone right now, not even her. All I want to do is lie down and block out what happened with Jimmy.

aDonat be such a p.u.s.s.y! Almost dark. s.h.i.t.a She glares at me with her big eyes. aCome on, Freckles. Iam starving.a aAll right. Jesus.a Sighing, I turn to follow her.

The PX is a good twenty minutes from here across the base, and since the walk is dangerous for females, we hold up our rifles and keep our eyes peeled. The tents look like animals crouching in the darkening shadows, their sides heaving in the wind like theyare breathing. The blades on the concertina wire glint in the twilight, sharp and jagged. The airas filled with its desert whistling and the creepy cries of the prisoners. Itas like walking through the land of the f.u.c.king dead.

For most of the way Yvette grumbles and swears about one thing or another while I tramp beside her in silence, only half listening. aYou know we got the s.h.i.ttiest d.a.m.n base in this whole sandpit?a sheas saying. aThose other FOBs I go to, like Mortaritaville and Scania? They got chow halls, computers, Ping-Pong tables. d.a.m.n. Just half an hour away from here thereas a base with all that good stuff, while wea you listenina?a I grunt.

She looks over at me, her skinny little face blending into shadow. aYouare mighty quiet. Whatas up? More s.h.i.t with Third Eye? Or is Teach giving you love trouble?a Like everybody else, Yvette thinks me and Jimmy are an item now. Sheas always ribbing me about it.

aI told you, weare just friends,a I answer. Although it looks like even that isnat true anymore.

aWell, girl, all I can say is, if a friend of mine looked at me like Teach looks at you, Iad be wetting my panties.a aItas not like that! Heas a nice guy, thatas all.a aAnd for that matter, the way you look at him.a aGive it a rest, will you?a aOh. Excuuuse me.a aLook, Iam sorry. Iam just tired.a Yvette glances at me. aIam your buddy, Freckles. If you canat talk to me, who you gonna talk to, huh? You can trust me not to blab, you know that. But donat treat me like Iam Third Eye, and donat treat me like Iam some b.i.t.c.h out to get you, okay?a That touches me, and for a moment Iam tempted to tell her everything. What I did to Naemaas dad, how I feel too filthy ever to accept Jimmyas love. But then I throw that thought away. If I told Yvette what I did, Iad lose her, too. She wants to be a medic and put wounded people back together, not grind their faces into the sand and love every minute of it.

aYouare right,a I say quietly. aIam sorry. But I swear itas true. Me and Jimmy arenat involved like that. Never have been.a She doesnat answer. But I know she still doesnat believe me.

Weare in sight of the PX by now, which is nothing but the open back of a truck and a couple of civilians selling junk food, pirated DVDs and knockoff watches made in China. (Theyall sell you p.o.r.n and pills and their sisters too, from what I hear.) A few guys are there already, and when we walk closer I see who they are: Kormick and his usual sidekicks, b.o.n.e.r and Rickman. I stop in my tracks.

Yvette keeps walking a few steps before she notices. aWhatas wrong?a She looks back at me.

aCan we wait till those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds leave? I donat want to talk to them.a aBe a soldier, baby. Donat let aem worry you.a But the shakingas started up again and my hands have gone cold. aI just donat want to deal with those jerks right now. Letas go.a aNo, man, Iam hungry! Donat be so yellow.a She strides off without me.

Iave never told Yvette what Kormick and b.o.n.e.r did to me, or to Third Eye, either. She doesnat know that if I go up to those f.u.c.kheads voluntarily, theyall think Iam asking for more.

I stand there, shivering. All of me wants to turn around and run. But, like Yvette said, Iave got to be a soldier. I canat let them make me hide and shake every time I lay eyes on them. I have to get over it.

So I pull out the knife on my belt and flick it open. Holding it behind me, I take a deep breath and force myself to walk up to them.

aHey, look, Sarant,a b.o.n.e.r says. aItas Pinka.s.s coming to say h.e.l.lo.a aPinka.s.s and Bonya.s.s,a Rickman adds with one of his r.e.t.a.r.ded guffaws.

aWhatas your problem, c.o.c.ksucker? Your p.u.s.s.y hurt or something?a Yvette says to him calmly.

Kormick ignores all this. But he stares at me, his mouth pressed into a tight angry line. This is the first time weave faced each other since I reported him to Henley. I grip my knife harder, trying to control the shivering.

aSo,a he says. aItas Specialist t.i.ts Brady. How you doina this lovely evening, Specialist?a aFine,a I mutter.

aGood, good.a He turns to b.o.n.e.r. aKeep an eye on Bonya.s.s here. Me and t.i.ts have a little business to take care of. And Private Sanchez?a he says to Yvette. aDonat use that language with my soldiers, if you donat mind. Itas vulgar, even coming from a fine little lady like you. Come on, t.i.ts. This way.a aIam staying here.a My voice comes out weak and quivery. Still, I said it.

Kormick steps up close enough for me to smell him. aAre you bucking a direct order, soldier, again?a Yvette looks from him to me, and suddenly she clicks. I see it happen in her eyes, the switch from dark to light. aSarant?a she says quickly, moving up beside me. aSFC Henleyas orders are that we canat separate for no reason, so Iam afraid Specialist Brady is unable to leave with you. Apologies.a She takes my arm and we walk away fast.

aGet back here, you f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.hes!a Kormick yells after us, but we keep moving, sure heas right behind us. We donat run, not wanting to attract attention, but we walk fast as we can. My ears are roaring so loud with fear I canat hear anything else. I expect to feel Kormickas hand clamp down on my shoulder any minute, his rifle stick into my neck. But I donat dare look behind me once till we get all the way back to the tents.

When I do, heas nowhere in sight.

aI canat believe it!a Yvette sputters when we stop. aI canat believe he talks to you like that!a She points at the knife in my hand. aYou better put that away, girl, afore you hurt yourself. You were gonna use it on that m.o.f.o, werenat you?a aIf I had to, yeah.a I shove it back in my belt. My hands are trembling so bad I can hardly get the d.a.m.n thing in.

aYou okay?a Yvette says, looking at me hard.

I nod, turning my eyes away from her.

aWhy you shakina like that, then? Listen, you better tell me what happened. This s.h.i.t looks serious.a aIt doesnat matter.a Iam still avoiding her eyes.

af.u.c.k that. Of course it does. Look at me.a I do. Her hands are on her hips and sheas staring at me, her little face grim. aCome on, babe. Spill it out.a So, at last, I do. Kormick, b.o.n.e.r, even Henleya"I tell her the whole sorry story.

aThose low-down motherf.u.c.kers!a she says when Iam done. aI knew there was something going on. No wonder youare so jittery, girl. What about Third Eye? They doing this s.h.i.t to her too?a I canat betray my promise to Third Eye, even now. But I do say, aYouave seen how sheas acting. What do you think?a Yvette frowns at her feet a moment, kicking the toe of her boot against the sand. aI tell you what I think,a she says at last. aI think you and me better go to the EOO and get this s.h.i.t stopped right now. If anybody tries to shut you up again, they got me to deal with this time. And weall start with what I witnessed tonight.a aBut the EOO wonat listen! You know the officers care more about covering some sergeantas a.s.s than protecting any of us females.a aLook, before it was just you against Henley and his homeys. This time thereas two of us, weare going to a different officer, sheas a female and n.o.body has a f.u.c.kina thing they can pin on you. Letas go.a aNow? But itas so late.a aYeah, now. Before we talk ourselves out of it. Come on Kate, you know this is right.a Iam not so sure I do, but I follow her anyhow, two voices inside of me arguing the whole way. Oneas saying Iam only going to get myself into more trouble and bring Yvette down with me, because thereas nothing a platoon hates more than a tattletale. The otheras saying hereas my chance to help Third Eye at last; hereas my chance to stop being a yellow-bellied, p.i.s.s-a.s.s coward.

We find the EOO sitting behind a plywood table in her makeshift tent office, looking as bored and hot as the rest of us. Her name is Lieutenant Sara Hopkins and I donat know her at all, even though sheas half of all the female officers in our entire company.

My experience with female officers up until now hasnat been too good, to put it mildlya"at boot camp, AIT or here. Every one of them has been a ruthless, ambitious b.i.t.c.h ready to cut down any other female who got in her way. So I donat feel exactly encouraged at the sight of this one. Sheas tall and narrow and tidy, with a heart-shaped face and big brown eyes. And her dark hair is pulled back so flat and shiny it looks painted on, like the head of a wooden doll. She makes me realize how dirty and scrawny Iave become, all bones and sunburn. Nails bitten, camos stinky, nerves shredded. A total f.u.c.king mess.

After weave saluted, given our names and ranks and all that other rigmarole, I tell her my story. Itas torture to have to describe it to a stranger again, although not quite the torture it was with Henley. Still, itas hard to look her in the face as I tell it, because even while I go through everything thatas happeneda"b.o.n.e.r punching me, Kormick attacking me in the shacka"I keep thinking, You couldave fought back harder. You couldave been tougher. You gave the wrong signals, admit it. What kind of a soldier are you, anyway? And Iam sure this officer is thinking exactly the same thing.

But then she surprises me. aThis is appalling!a she says. aYou should have come to me weeks ago.a aI know, Maaam. Iam sorry.a aHave you told anyone else about this? The chaplain or anyone?a aNo, Maaam.a She frowns down at her desk a moment. aIam going to follow this up, donat worry. Itas too late to do anything tonight, but Iall look into the appropriate measures and send for you. Iall do my best, soldiers, to make sure these men donat get away with this.a I can hardly believe my ears. aReally? I mean, thank you, Maaam. Ia I appreciate it.a aMe too, Maaam,a Yvette says enthusiastically.

aWell, we canat let a few bad apples bring down the morale of the whole company, can we?a the lieutenant says brightly. She stands up, comes around to the front of her desk and shakes our hands. aAll right, you can both go now. And Specialist Brady, I know this wasnat easy for you, so I commend your courage and persistence here.a aThank you, Maaam.a Iam even more amazed.

aYouall be hearing from me. Meanwhile, I suggest you keep this to yourselves.a aYes, Maaam.a We thank her once more, salute and leave.

aWow!a I say as soon as weare out of earshot. aSheas incredible!a aYeah, didnat I tell you? Why didnat you go to her before?a aaCause I didnat believe itad do any good. You know how most females are around here. I thought shead just tell me Iam a s.k.a.n.k and send me away.a aNot everybodyas out to get you, you know,a Yvette says with a chuckle. aYou need to relax, babe.a I look at her sideways, then I smile too. aThanks for doing this, Yvette. It was real good of you.a aHey, no problemo. We females gotta stick together, right?a aYeah.a I pause. aYvette?a I say then, kind of shy. aIave been thinking. Whena"ifa"we get home safe, you want to room together? Like, find a house somewhere and share the rent?a She turns and looks at me, her face tiny under her helmet. aYou for real? I thought you were gonna go home to your family and fianc and s.h.i.t.a aNo, Iam not doing that anymore. I want to move somewhere Iave never been and share a house with you.a A huge smile spreads across her skinny face. aYeah. Okay. Thatad be cool.a After our visit to Lieutenant Hopkins, nothing much happens for a couple of weeks. Yvette goes out on her night convoys and comes back too p.o.o.ped to talk. Third Eye lies on her rack, staring at the ceiling, her face blank as a concrete block. Macktruck keeps up his usual filth. I hear nothing from Hopkins or anyone else about my report. And Naemaas dad never shows up again in my compound. But the thing that really hurts, hurts so much it overwhelms everything else, is that Jimmy wonat go running with me or visit me in my tower anymore. Heas polite in the Humvee to and from our shifts, but he acts like he doesnat know me or even like me much now. And maybe he doesnat.

I wait for him anyway. Canat help it. Every morning and all the way through lunchtime, when he always used to visit, I hold my breath in the hope heall come. Every afternoon too. I spend more hours scanning the edge of the compound to see if heas going to appear around the corner than I do watching the frickina prisoners. And I keep thinking I do see him, because on windy days, when the sand and moon-dust are swirling around in great billowing clouds, itas easy to see the shape of a human being even when there isnat one. Itas like the air is full of ghosts, only itas daytime and youare wide-awake.

July ends and August rolls in, the days grinding along one exactly like the other. Without Jimmyas visits to look forward to, Iave got nothing to wake up to but dread, and nothing to do all day but sit alone in my tower, wondering why I never see Naemaas dad and how the h.e.l.l I can find out what happened to him. Meanwhile, inside of me, a black ooze of hopelessness is spreading through my organs like a poison. And nothing I do or think can stop it.

At the end of one of those long, empty days, I find Yvette in our tent, covered in dust and sand as usual, but jiggling with excitement. aFreckles!a she says when I walk in. aCome here.a She lowers her voice so no one can hear us. aI just got word from Lieutenant Hopkins. You and me need to report to NCO quarters right now. I think we got some action at last, girl!a aRight now?a aYeah.a She puts her hands on her tiny hips and c.o.c.ks her head sideways. aWhatas wrong? Ainat you glad? Isnat this the thing you been waiting for?a aI guess.a But I canat make myself care anymore. Itall all be a lot of ha.s.sle for nothing, Iam sure of it.

aCome on, babe. They said itas an order, so we better move our a.s.ses.a aAll right. Itas not going to do any good though.a On our way, Yvette gives me a pep talk. aListen, I know things get pretty d.a.m.n discouraging around here. I know itas hard to believe in Army values or anything they taught us when this company and this war are being run by a bunch of know-nothing m.o.f.os and pervs. But you gotta have faith, yaknow? You gotta keep trying. Otherwise you sink, baby. You sink clear down to h.e.l.l. So I want to see that fightina spirit I know you got in there, okay, Freckles? You promise me?a I have to smile at that. aYouare too much, you know that, Yvette?a When we reach the NCO quarters and report our business to the grunt standing guard, we get a surprise. Instead of being sent over to report to Hopkins, like we expect, weare ordered inside to see sucka.s.s Henley.

as.h.i.t,a Yvette whispers on the way. aI donat like the smell of this at all.a Once weare inside, we get an even bigger surprise. Lieutenant Hopkins is there after all, sitting next to Henley behind his plywood desk and looking as polished and perfect as ever. She gives us each a formal nod. Relieved, we salute her and stand at attention.

aAt ease,a Henley says, his Daddy Bush lips white and tight. I bet the d.i.c.kwadas been practicing that phrase since he was eight years old. I can just see him as a pudgy little brat barking it at his army of toy soldiers while his mommy feeds him cookies. aI have orders here that pertain to the both of you,a he goes on. aSpecialist Brady and Private First Cla.s.s Sanchez, you are both ordered to move out at oh six hundred hours tomorrow on a convoy up to Baquba. As outstanding soldiers, you have been selected for the honor of being a.s.signed to a shooter mission. There will probably be a promotion for both of you at the end of it.a We stare at him. A shooter mission? Thatas what they do to soldiers to punish them! It means you pull security for convoys. Not like Yvetteas been doing, riding in a middle truck somewhere, but right in the front or at the very rear of the whole convoy, sitting in the pa.s.senger seat with your weapon sticking out the window. It means youare the first line of defense, the first to take fire and the first to get a body part blown off if you hit an IED. It means, in our case, that Henleyas trying to get rid of us.

aSergeant, is this meant to be punitive?a Yvette blurts.

aIam surprised to hear you ask such a thing, Private,a he answers coolly. aAs said, itas a vote of confidence in both of you. You should take it as an honor.a I glare at his sun-dried face, and then at Hopkins, whose own face is as smooth and hard as the sh.e.l.lacked hair on her head. Is this the best she can do with all her sympathy and understanding? Sheas a lieutenant; she outranks Henleya" what the f.u.c.k happened here? Did she believe Kormickas bulls.h.i.t about me trying to seduce him? Did she buy that graffiti about me being a Sand Queen? Or is she just another Army b.i.t.c.h looking out for herself by keeping other females down, like I feared all along?

aMaaam,a I say desperately, apermission to speak frankly?a aDenied,a she replies, avoiding my eyes. aWeave heard quite enough of your frank talk, Specialist. Both of you, dismissed.a Weave got no choice but to salute and leave.

As soon as weare out of the tent, Yvette explodes. aMotherf.u.c.kers! I canat believe it! No wonder she told us not to tell anybody else! I bet Henley has something on her. f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h!a I let her fume for a while without saying anything. Iam too overwhelmed. These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are sending me and Yvette on a suicide mission. And itas my fault.

aNURSE? WHAT DAY is it?a The nurse puts the breakfast tray down by the bed. aItas Monday, honey-pie. Says so right there on that newspaper.a The nurse has to know by now that her patient canat look at newspapers. Any more than she can watch TV.

aWhatas the date, though?a aOctober twenty-two. Know what that means, honey? Means you kept your bed dry a whole week now. Means you getting better. Now move your little b.u.t.t. Therapy starts in twenty minutes.a If itas October 22nd already, the soldier realizes, sheas been rotting in this place for five whole weeks.

The soldier waits while the nurse bustles about, then as soon as sheas left, climbs gingerly out of bed to dress. Jeans, sneakers and a faded blue T-shirt from home. She chooses the shirt because nothing is printed on it at all. No corporate logo, no asinine jokes. No U.S. Army. Over that she puts on a denim jacket. Time to execute her plan.

She brushes whatas left of her hair, still thin and limp from Iraq, stuffs her toilet articles in her backpack with the rest of the things she packed the previous night, and adds the cash she sneaked from the ATM in the hospital lobby. Then she swallows a bunch of painkillers so she can walk, packs them too, and pokes her head out the door. n.o.body in sight.

Moving quickly, she heads down the empty white corridor and into the back elevator. Sinks to the ground floora and sheas free. Easy as that.

Parking lot. Sun. Dazzle. She puts on her shades and works on remembering that sheas not in the desert anymore. The October air helps, cold, with a cheek-slapping wind. She walks out of the hospital grounds as fast as she can with her wrecked-up back and neck.

Bye Dr. Pokera.s.s. Bye Betty Boop and the rest of you loser ladies who think youave got it so tough. Bye the whole sorry-a.s.s bunch of you.

She heads for a bus stop, concentrating on making it down the road without flipping out. A plastic bag flaps in the wind, caught underneath a fence, and she flinches, eyeing it uneasily. Sheas already breathing too hard and her backas cramping. So she starts a prayer in her head, a prayer sheas been saying to n.o.body for weeks now, since Jesus and the rest of His clan seem to have stopped listening: Let me forget, please let me forget.

The only person at the bus stop is an old woman in a baggy tan raincoat who pays the soldier no attention. There isnat a shelter or even a bench, so the soldier has to wait out in the open. The back pain is shooting through her worse than ever, in spite of the painkillers, and the coldas penetrating her flimsy jacket. She puts her pack on the ground and sits on it stiffly, watching a coffee-stained Styrofoam cup roll down the road in the wind.

At least she knows where sheas going. What she doesnat know is whatas going to happen when she gets there.

The bus doesnat come for half an hour, and by the time it does her head is light and woozy, sheas shuddering with cold and her nerves are zinging like breaking guitar strings. Itas the first time sheas been out on her own since she got back from Iraq, and every time a car drives by she cringes. When a garbage truck bangs somewhere behind her, she barely manages to stop herself from dropping to the ground. She goes back to praying. Please donat let me hear any cars backfiring. Please donat let me hear a shout or a scream. Please donat let me see a soldier.

Inside the bus, she does the same thing: prays to n.o.body. She prays looking out the window while the bus chugs and creaks through the streets. Prays staring down at her hands, which are still shaking. Prays when a young guy with short hair and an angry face gets on. Prays that she can keep herself together, not lose where she is, not p.i.s.s her pants. Not hurt anybody.

The bus rattles through the back streets of Albany. Red-brick blocks and half-empty strip malls, dollar stores and gated liquor-shop windows. Overflowing garbage cans. Fat people struggling in and out of cars.

Finally, the bus moves into the suburbs. Itas better here, peaceful. She leans her forehead on the window and looks out with relief, letting the fall colors wash over her. Red sugar maples. Yellow bushes. Heaps of orange leaves in the gutters. It looks so good after the brown desert and relentless white of the hospital that it makes her eyes sting.

The bus stops on a corner and two pa.s.sengers climb on: a teenage girl in skintight jeans and a baggy gold sweater, and a middle-aged woman wearing a short black skirt and high-heeled white boots. The soldier has no idea if what theyare wearing is cool or s.l.u.tty, fashionable or cheap. Sheas been in a time warp and come back to the future.

The teenager flings herself into the seat in front of the soldier, sticks wires in her ears and starts nodding her head to the tinny music seeping out from her earphones. Her long ponytail, brown and wavy, dangles over the seat back, swinging from side to side as she nods. The soldier stares at it, mesmerized. Back and forth, back and forth. She feels a powerful urge to take out the penknife in her pack and cut the f.u.c.king thing off.

She sits on her hands to stop herself, shuts her eyes and starts praying again. Please donat let me do something dumb. Please donat let me screw up. But most of all she prays this will work out. Because if it doesnat, she has no idea what sheall do.

[ PART THREE ].

CONVOY.

[ KATE ].

aYOU CLEANED UP your rifle real good last night, I hope?a Yvette says the day of our new mission. Weare standing outside our tent in the morning twilight, shivering with sleep deprivation and nerves. aIt better work smooth girl, acause out on that convoy itas all youare gonna have between you and Hajji.a aDonat worry, I got it.a I pat myself over to make sure Iam complete: Kevlar, night-vision goggles, dog tags, flak jacket, utility vest, canteen, knife, ammo clips, grenades, M-16 cleaning kit, gas mask, gloves, JSLIST (compressed suit to protect me from being melted alive by a chemical attack), casualty card, medevac card, rules of engagement card, code of conduct card, riflea and most important of all, a packet of Skittles I can suck on so I wonat have to drink or p.i.s.s.

Yvette watches me a moment, then pulls the crucifix I gave her over her head and hands it to me. aHere, take this back. Itall do you more good than all that s.h.i.t.a aNo, I want you to keep it,a I say, still shivering like a cornered mouse. aItas yours now.a aBut this is your first time outside the wire, babe. You need all the Jesus you can get.a I push it firmly back into her hand. aNo, you deserve it more than I do. You shouldnat even be doing this mission. Itas all my fault.a Yvette clucks her tongue, hangs the crucifix back around her neck and straps her Kevlar over her bony little head. aNothingas your fault, Freckles. Come on, letas go.a She flings her arms around me, gives me a squeeze, then scoots off to the motor pool quick as a sparrow, as if the eighty pounds of gear strapped to her body weigh nothing at all. I lumber after her, my neck and back already throbbing.

The way it turns out is this: Yvette gets put in the Humvee that guards the head of the convoy, right in the line of f.u.c.king fire, while Iam put in the one that brings up the reara"the convoyas a.s.shole. Between us are twenty tractor-trailers and a middle gun truck, but n.o.bodyas in as much danger as Yvette. Please, I pray to Momas crucifix, please look after my friend.

Our mission, as t.u.r.dface Henley explained, is to escort those trucks, most of which are driven by untrained, underfed, non-English-speaking civilians, nearly three hundred miles up the Highway of Death to Baquba, a city just north of Baghdad. There, weare supposed to unload whatever the h.e.l.l is inside them, spend the night at a base called Camp Warhorse, then drive back again. Thatas how most of us so-called soldiers spend our time in this war: as a frigging delivery service.

When I reach my a.s.signed Humvee, I climb into the front seat, still jumpy as h.e.l.l. This is a whole different kettle of c.r.a.p than what Iave been used to. The jerk-offs and scorpion-tossing detainees are nothing compared to whatas out there beyond the wire: Mortar sh.e.l.ls filled with shrapnel designed to tear a human to shreds. Rocket-propelled grenades capable of blowing off your hand in a blink. Homemade bombs strong enough to blast a Humvee and all the suckers inside it into itty-bitty pieces. People with AK-47s who hate me. And the only armor I can see is the Vietnam-era flak jacket Iam wearing myself, which is useless against those same AK-47s or anything else Hajji might send my way.

My driver turns out to be this gigantic sergeant called Nielsen, with a huge slab of a face the color of salami. His eyes are pink with moondust irritation and he saw the backside of forty a long time ago, but at least his body looks strong. He grunts in surprise when I climb in. aWhat the f.u.c.k did they send me a girl for?a aaMorning to you, too, Sergeant.a I pull the condom off the end of my M-16 (condom courtesy of Jimmy, back when we were still talking) and drape it over the rearview mirror, just for the h.e.l.l of it.

Nielsen chuckles. aBetter than a rabbitas foot, huh, Specialist?a he says. Then he s.n.a.t.c.hes the condom and kisses it.

Wonderful. Another frickina nutball.

I settle in and try to get comfortable. Not that comfortable is something anybody can be in a Humvee. Whoever designed those things couldnat possibly have had a human body in mind. For one, the shocks are so bad that driving in the desert feels like being dragged over rocks on a cafeteria tray. For another, like I said, the Humvees are always stuffed with so much c.r.a.p you have to sit with your knees folded up around your ears like a frigging gra.s.shopper.

Just as Iave found myself a half-bearable position, the convoy shakes awake with a roar of engines and begins to rumble slowly out of the motor pool in a long, snaking line. The sun rises as we approach the camp entrance, turning up the heat like an oven dial, and through the dust I can see a clump of thirty or so civilians standing outside the wire, same as when I worked there. I look for Naemaa"Third Eye told me sheas still turning up every daya"but I canat see her. Again I feel her dadas head under my foot, see the blood clotting on his smashed face, hear him struggling to breathea No point thinking about that now. No point in thinking about anything, for that matter.

Once weare out on the highway, the noise is ear-numbing, all those sand-clogged engines and broken shock absorbers grinding and clanking and shrieking. The stink is powerful too, the trucks farting their fumes right into my face, and being in the rear, I have the pleasure of breathing it all in. I pull my scarf over my nose but I can still smell and even taste the oil and diesel and soot. Within minutes Iam covered in a greasy black crust, like an overcooked pizza.

I stick my weapon out the side window, tell my zinging nerves to shut the f.u.c.k up and hunker down to my job.