Abbas heard the elders of the village whispering excitedly over the officer’s last statement. Turning, he saw them eagerly nod over receiving such a gift. His tribe had suffered severely for years beneath the Kabul government, the Russians and now, the Taliban. Drilling a look into the captain, Abbas growled, “My people have died without the help of our own government. They do not care whether we exist. If not for a Sufi brother and sister who are medical doctors who visit our village twice a year, many more would have died.” He jammed a long, thin index finger down at the hard brown earth where he stood.

“The United States of America is trying to change that,” Gavin told him in a persuasive tone. “We are here on a mission of mercy.” He walked toward the boxes, printed in English and Pashto. “Come and see. This is not the Kabul government nor my government. This is from the American people who do not like to see anyone’s children die. Look at the gifts from my people to your villagers. There is clothing, blankets, food and medicine. All we ask is to be able to distribute it and have our medic help those who ask for medical attention.”

Abbas walked commandingly over to the bounty, his lean shoulders squared, head held at a proud angle. He reached out with long brown hands and placed them on the tops of several of the cardboard boxes. Walking around the fifty cartons, he stopped, read the Pashto lettering on one and then moved on. The rest of the elders came to his side at his gesture. Gavin watched the group of men carefully read each label and check out the gifts.

Gavin turned and to Nike spoke quietly, “Listen, I need a favor. There are women here who need medical attention. Abbas isn’t about to let Robles touch any Moslem female since it’s against their religion. Can I volunteer you to help him?”

“But I don’t have any medical training,” Nike whispered.

“Doesn’t matter. Robles will teach you the basics.”

She saw the pleading in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone with my lack of experience.”

“Don’t worry, that won’t happen.”

Abbas strode over and gave Gavin a brusque nod of acceptance. “Allah is good. The gifts are indeed welcome, Captain Jackson. Shukria, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, malik sahib,” Gavin murmured, touching his heart and bowing his head respectfully to the elder.

Mouth quirking, Abbas looked directly at Nike and jabbed a finger toward her. “And this is the woman who will help Dr. Robles?”

Gavin didn’t want to correct the elder. To do so would be a sign of disrespect. Besides, it would humiliate Abbas in front of the others and he had no wish to destroy what little trust he had just forged between them. “Yes, sir. Captain Nike Alexander will assist Dr. Robles, if you wish. With your permission, she will care for the women and girls of your village.”

“I wish it to be so,” Abbas said in a gruff tone. “My wife, Jameela, will bring her a hijab to wear over her head. She must respect Islam.” He folded his arms across his narrow chest. “You are welcome to remain here and help my people, Captain Jackson. We are a peaceful tribe of sheep-and goat-herders. I will have my second-in-command, Brasheer, help you.” He eyed Nike. “This woman is not allowed among your men. She will remain at our home. My wife will give her a room and she will remain in the company of women and children only.”

“Of course,” Gavin murmured, and he explained that Nike would be a transiting visitor because the helo was down. “You are most gracious,” he told Abbas, giving him a slight bow of acknowledgment. “We would like to stay as long as you need medical help.”

“I approve. Captain, you shall honor me by being my guest at every meal. We will prepare a room in our house for you. Your men will be housed at the other homes, fed, and given a place to sleep.”

“Thank you, malik sahib. You are more than generous. We hope our stay improves the health of your people.” Gavin could see the hope burning in the old man’s eyes. As an elder, he carried the weighty responsibility for everyone in his village. It wasn’t something Gavin himself would want to carry. Abbas must realize what these gifts would do to help his people. And he knew he was weighing Taliban displeasure over it, too. The Taliban would punish the village for taking the offered supplies and the old man took a surprising risk. With such humanitarian aide, this village might become less fearful of the Taliban and provide information to stop the terrorists from crossing their valley in the future. For now, no one in the villages gave away that information.

Gavin finished off the details of where the boxes would be taken and stored. All his men could speak Pashto. Robles was as fluent as Gavin and that would work in their favor. The other elders took over the management of the boxes while his A team became the muscle to carry the cartons toward the village.

Gavin watched as the elders left, parading the groups of carriers and boxes back into their village like conquering heroes. “Do you know any Pashto?” he asked Nike.

“I have problems with English sometimes and I’m Greek, remember?”