Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip

CHAPTER 37

Aasif Kohistani stepped into Sandra’s new quarters at the edge of Bazarak Village and took a seat in the corner to watch as the village doctor treated her leg wound, which was now badly infected. Gangrene had set in, and she was in grave danger of losing the leg entirely. Badira sat in a chair beside the doctor with a clay bowl of maggots, which the doctor was placing into the wound one by one with a pair of elongated forceps.

“Why the maggots?” Kohistani asked, feeling repulsed by the sight of the insect larvae squirming about in the gangrenous flesh.

The doctor’s name was Khan. He was not much older than Badira, and he resented the HIK presence in the village, though he knew there was nothing to be done about it. “This is the only way for me to remove the rotted tissue,” he said. “They will eat the dead flesh, and leave the living flesh alone. She is fortunate that you arrived here when you did.”

“So she will survive?”

“I believe she has a chance,” Khan said, “but you should send for stronger antibiotics. All we have here is simple penicillin, which may not be strong enough. This infection is bad. She has a fever and there is the serious danger of her catching pneumonia. If that happens, she will probably die because she is too weak to fight that kind of infection.”

“I will try and send for better medicines,” Kohistani said, “but you should plan on making do with what you have. Soon this village will come under a great deal of American attention, and that may make it difficult to get supplies.”

The doctor became even more unsettled, and some of his contempt began to show. “You’re saying they already know she is here?”

Kohistani was amused by the courage of Khan’s open contempt. From time immemorial, doctors had gotten away with disrespecting authority at times when regular people simply could not. “They will soon if they do not already,” he said easily. “Do not be concerned. We Hezbis are very strong here, and the Americans will know they can’t mount a rescue mission without forcing us to kill her. We have them by the testicles this time, and we’ll be rubbing their noses in dung for many weeks to come.”

“They will cut off all supplies to the village,” the doctor warned, turning his attention back to his work.

“And then we will cut off her fingers,” Kohistani said matter-of-factly. “And then her toes… her hands and feet. So you see… they will have no other choice but to leave the village in peace… so long as you can keep her alive.”

Khan dipped a strip of muslin into a greenish liquid, squeezing out the excess before laying it over the wound to keep the maggots in place. “May I suggest then,” he asked, “that you use some of that influence to get some stronger antibiotics… and not just for her?”

“Make a list,” Kohistani said with a smile. “I will see what can be done.” He got to his feet and left the room.

Khan looked at Badira, the shape of the veil over her face telling him that she was missing most of her nose. Her eyes were beautiful, however, and he could not help smiling at her, though it was a sad kind of smile. “Whose idea was it to turn her into an opium addict?”

“Mine,” Badira said. “There was nothing else to give her.”

Khan smiled knowingly. “She’s probably going to die, you know that.”

She nodded.

“But we will do what we can for her,” he said.

They noticed that Sandra was awake now and watching them talk. Her eyes were glassy and sunken slightly in her bruised and sweating face.

“Ask her about the pain.”

“Are you in pain?” Badira asked.

Sandra nodded and closed her eyes. Badira had told her of the American assault on Waigal Village, thinking it might boost her spirits to know that her people had not forgotten about her, but the news of the near rescue had had the opposite effect, and Badira was regretting having told her, for it was clear the American woman was on the verge of giving up hope.

“I will tell the women to brew her a special tea,” Khan said. “See that she drinks it. Keep her hydrated and feed her three times a day. I will tell the women what foods to prepare.” He was about to rise, then paused. “And lie to her, Badira. Tell her that negotiations are taking place to facilitate her release. Otherwise, she won’t fight to stay alive.”

“Perhaps it’s better that she dies,” Badira ventured. “Her suffering has been terrible, and it’s likely to go on and on… and the Americans will come, despite what Kohistani believes… eventually, they will come. They always do, and when they do, many villagers will die.”

“Yes,” Khan said, getting up from the chair. “They will come, but not until they have exhausted every other option, and by then Kohistani will have achieved his goal. His plan is intelligent for his purposes. He will make the Americans play his game — make them believe there is a chance to win her release without violence. Not until after many weeks of being made into fools will they realize he has no intention of ever returning her alive. He has but one purpose: to make the Americans look weak. That will strengthen the Hezbi image all around Afghanistan and bring more fighters to their cause.”

“He shared this with you?”

Khan shook his head. “Kohistani shares his thoughts with no one. This is what I believe will happen.”

Badira was not accustomed to the company of a man who confided in her as an equal. “Where did you go to school?”

“I went to medical school in Pakistan,” he said. “I was born here in Bazarak. I returned home to care for my parents in their old age. They were both very sick at the time. After they died I thought to return to Pakistan, but in the end, I decided to stay. This was a peaceful village before the Hezbi took it over. Perhaps it will be again… if it is the will of Allah.”

“Perhaps,” she echoed, willing herself to ignore the strange feeling of warmth in her loins which she had never known before.

“And you?” he asked. “Where did you go to school?”

“I was also educated in Pakistan.”

Khan retook his chair. “May I ask about your nose?” he said gently. “Did you displease your husband?”

She nodded, fighting the tears that suddenly began to build behind her eyes.

“He’s dead now?”

“Yes,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears.

“Allah be praised,” he said with a smile.