Debutante
Ghalia al Ghul, a debutante of a different sort.
Precious
When the last man of our twelve-strong platoon exited the cave, I was ready to give up. Not only had we not discovered our potential allies, but we hadn’t even found a single clue as to their possible location. I approached my horse with a heavy heart.
“Let us return to the city,” I said to the leader of the troops, in my broken Arabic. “I must return to the colonies to report that I have failed.” I meant the United States, of course, but I knew my present company probably would not share in my patriotism. In the Arab world, it was safer for me to call my home country “the colonies.”
“Very well, O Sheikh,” he responded. He spoke quickly, also in Arabic, and the men prepared their gear. AK-47 rifles slung, they all took their horses by the reins and headed down the hillside. I brought up the rear, along with the mission guide, Al-Badawi. Al-Badawi was a highly esteemed Bedouin mercenary commander, and I would recommend him to anyone who needs his particular skill set.
“There is a vehicle waiting for us about four miles from here. It will take us into Aden, and from there you will be whisked away to Arabia. It is far too dangerous for you to remain here in Yemen. Once we have arrived in Aden, you will board a helicopter and be on your way. If something should happen and I can’t get you onto the chopper, there is a dhow prepared and ready to escape along the coast. But don’t worry about it—I will get you to that helicopter.”
Our troop followed the pathway back down toward the moonlit desert floor, and I had the feeling that we were little more than insects exiting from cracks in the mountain. Just then there was movement up ahead of us. A horse screamed and slid on the rocks. Then there came a collective, panicked wail of fear. I’ve never again heard men make such a sound, not to this very day. Finally, I heard the roars of something, multiple creatures, and I heard the hammering of AK-47 machine guns as our platoon opened fire. Al-Badawi commanded, “Get down, Doctor!” He thrust the reins of his horse into my hand and charged toward our men. I didn’t have a weapon other than a belt knife, so there was little that I could do. I pulled the horses behind a large boulder and sat there with them.
The AK-47s quickly caused whatever was attacking to lose interest in us. The monstrous roars began to die down, and then they ceased altogether. Unfortunately, my hired soldiers began to quit attacking as well. I would find out shortly that no one was left but me and Al-Badawi.
The pops of the automatic weapons faded away and I left the horses where they stood. I eased down the slope. I called out, “Al-Badawi?” Finally, I saw him walking back in my direction.
“We’ve lost the whole team.” His voice was grave. “We must hurry so that we might have the hope of a proper Islamic burial. The things put up a fight, that’s for sure. But we did too, and I don’t see any remains, except for the remains of my brothers. It’s like they were hit by a juggernaut. Only the jinn can inflict such damage.”
I picked up a recently dropped AK-47, and right then we both heard a noise. Paying no more attention to the rules of the battlefield, I pulled out a flashlight and illuminated the rocks. About 25 feet away, on the side of the hill, was another cave. I headed in that direction.
Al-Badawi walked alongside me, weapon at the ready. “Hold this position,” I ordered. By the light of the moon, I could see him nod in the affirmative.
I ducked my head and entered the cave. The atmosphere and odor inside were what can only be described as rancid. At the back of the small cave, I saw what I thought I had heard. Lying, beneath a ragged portion of a burial shroud, was a baby girl. She was crying. I dared to look at her face, and there was nothing horrific to see. She was as pink as a Caucasian newborn. So it was true. Their children can take the form of any living creature that comes near them.
I picked the child up and brought her out into the night air. Al-Badawi took just a little peek at her but did nothing else. He made no move to help or harm the baby. “Is this why you’ve come?”
I answered, “Not exactly, but she’ll have to do. She’s very valuable to us. What’s the female name for valuable?”
“Ghalia,” said Al-Badawi. “In Arabic, it means valuable and precious.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Little one, you shall be called Ghalia. Al-Badawi, I have a helicopter to catch.”
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