December, two thousand-one, in an unnamed village in Afghanistan.

  They'd taken it from her, after a long and grueling war of attrition.

  Likki was still alive, to her credit, but she was so low on ammunition and supplies that she didn't have any hope anymore. Her little camp in the hills near her village was a shell of its former self. The villagers didn't want much to do with her anymore either. After all, she made their life difficult.

  Some of them remembered what she'd tried to do, and encouraged her. The woman had died, though, as had the man she'd spoken to that day. The Taliban came back, more than once, and after the third or fourth try, they finally decided to start killing villagers again.

  That was when Likki started using the technical against them.

  They never managed to figure out where she'd concealed it. Likki had found a spot which reminded her a great deal of the little nook tucked between buildings back in Helsinki—a gap in the hills where the ground dipped down sharply, almost unnaturally so. She drove the technical up there, and covered it up with netting she'd painted herself to camouflage perfectly into the hills.

  When the heavy gun opened up, only the muzzle flashes could give it away, and the Taliban were too busy ducking for cover to spot her.

  But it ran out of ammo eventually. She'd been protecting the village for eight months when it went dry. After that, she had to get closer, using her huge supply of AK-47s (and the ammo the Taliban so courteously left behind every time they tried again) and the various trenches and dugouts she'd built.

  Likki had a lot of time on her hands.

  The villagers provided her food and water, and a couple even talked to her occasionally, but for the most part, she was a ghost. To Likki, it was deeply ironic—she'd become one of those she'd always feared, a specter looming out of the shadows and the secret places, striking where one least expected.

  She never gave anyone in the village her name. Likki feared that if her name started spreading, the Obštšak might come back for her. They'd always considered her valuable, sending her on some of their most difficult tasks—and worse, she knew things. Likki had intimate knowledge of their inner workings, gained painstakingly over the years. She knew they'd want her back.

  Likki was never going back.

  By October, she was running low on everything, and the villagers weren't very happy with her either. The Taliban, recognizing how hard it was to take her little village, had opted just to cut the whole place off. None of the kids were going to school anymore, they weren't trading with anyone. The whole place was isolated and lonely.

  She wondered why that was a problem. They certainly seemed self-sufficient.

  It didn't matter. Around the end of the month, the Taliban came back. Likki wasn't caught off-guard, but she just didn't have enough left to use. She was down to the last few magazines for the AKs, along with a couple hundred shots for her own rifle. Likki dreaded when she had to switch to those. She'd always been planning to save her rifle for an escape, possibly across the border. The technical still had gas, since she hadn't moved it in months. If she could get the engine started, she could run.

  But she'd promised the girl and her mother. Even though they were both dead, she was going to protect this village.

  Her old clothes had started to fall apart. One of the villagers graciously gave her a black outfit, long and flowing. They'd long-since realized she was a woman, despite her initial appearance, and it seemed to set a few of them on-edge.

  Likki didn't care, as long as she could keep protecting them.

  But she couldn't.

  The village was claimed, and the Taliban added it to their collection. Likki was forced to stay in hiding, and though a few of the villagers managed to sneak her food every week, Likki knew it couldn't last.

  December began, and Likki was on the verge of giving up. She barely had anything left. Rifle and an AK strapped to her back underneath the black outfit and ammunition in her pack, Likki went down to the village. She intended to get as much food as she could before setting off, avoiding the Taliban patrols and the police as much as possible.

  It didn't work out as she intended.

  She'd made it into the village when the engines started to roar. Likki looked around, expecting to see the usual complement of Taliban trucks—until she remembered they were already in the village. These weren't pickup engines either, these were louder.

  A loud thump echoed off the hillside. Canisters landed at the edge of the village, billowing white smoke. Taliban soldiers turned to engage, but they were shredded down by precise rifle fire. As Likki ran inside the nearest building and up the stairs, the engines started to get louder.

  She reached the top and found a perch, a set of wooden poles extending out over the side of the building with a blanket draped over time. Likki laid down on top, rifle within arm's reach but still concealed, watching the soldiers roll in.

  As she watched their movements—organized, efficient, brutally effective—Likki mentally revised her assessment of the Taliban men she'd always been fighting. Those weren't soldiers. These were soldiers. They wore tan uniforms, rolling in on humvees, with teams working in tandem to quickly clear buildings. A few were shouting in Pashto, instructing the locals to take cover.

  Likki hadn't learned much Pashto yet, but she recognized that phrase.

  The soldiers swept through the village. Likki kept her rifle out of sight, afraid they might shoot if she seemed to be armed. She didn't look like any of the Taliban soldiers—of course she didn't, she was female—but she still knew how trigger-happy people could get under pressure. Better to stay low on her little perch, black clothes against the black sheet she'd laid down on, and wait for the sweep to finish, for the soldiers to leave her village again.

  Someone shouted an order in English.

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  Likki hesitated. If they were speaking English… were these Americans?

  Another shout in English. Her ears were ringing from the gunfire—she'd forgotten her earplugs, and hadn't thought to put them in while she was still crouched out of sight. She couldn't understand them yet, but it was definitely English.

  The wailing started up again, just as it had every time a firefight broke out in the village. They hated it. They just wanted to live in peace. Likki knew some of them blamed her staying around as the reason they weren't left alone. She also knew that if she left, they'd be bothered more, and besides—she didn't have anywhere else to go.

  She waited. The gunfire began to die down. American soldiers were shouting more orders—and she was sure they were American now, they kept saying it over and over—telling Taliban soldiers to surrender, asking the locals to help, taking control. Likki listened close, trying to pick out a leader, gather any information she might need.

  The door to her building banged open. Likki was up above the second floor. She peered through the cracks of her perch, watching the soldiers clear the home. They moved up through the stairs smoothly, clearing the left, right, everything.

  One of them looked up.

  Likki made a split-second decision and didn't move. She let her rifle sit out of sight. She didn't grab it.

  It saved her life.

  The soldier shouted at her in Pashto—either to get down or to hide, she wasn't sure.

  "I speak—" Likki said, then immediately coughed. A huge cloud of dust had wafted past, filling her throat. She cleared it and tried again. "English."

  The soldier hesitated. "What's your name?"

  She hesitated. If her name got out…

  He lowered his rifle a little. "You ain't Afghani, are ya?"

  "No. I'm not."

  "Huh." He let his rifle swing on its strap, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. "How'd you get all the way out here?"

  "It's a long story." She glanced around. "Is the village secure?"

  "Yeah, all green." He shrugged, a weird grin on his face. "You know what you look like?"

  "What?"

  "A rook. You look like a rook perched up there."

  "...I don't know that word."

  He screwed up his face a bit, like he was thinking hard. "It's a bird. Black bird with a pale white face stickin' out. Just like your pale-ass face." The soldier shrugged again. "Fuck it, I'm no goddamn poet. You comin' down or what?"

  "...I have a rifle."

  "What?"

  "If I come down, I will be armed. Please tell your men not to shoot."

  "...Ain't my men." He frowned. "I gotta take any weapons I find. Nobody armed while we're here."

  "I will not surrender my weapon to anyone. I am not a threat to you."

  The soldier shook his head. "This is above my damn pay-grade. I'm gonna call an officer, okay? He'll make the call." He twisted one of his shoulders forward and clicked a button on his radio. "Yo, LT. Buildin' six, got a non-local who won't come out. Can you get in here? Over."

  "I copy, Corporal. On my way."

  They waited in silence, Likki's hand still prepared to snatch her rifle up in an instant. The soldier was glancing around the room uneasily, his hand clenching around the grip of his own rifle every few seconds. He was still coming down off the adrenaline rush. Likki recognized it from her old days of working with men like him.

  This man was more professional, but he was the same as the rest. A heated warrior, a fighter, a passionate killer. He would become enraged, infuriated, frustrated, distracted, and any number of other emotions. This man was just like all the others.

  The lieutenant arrived, in the same uniform, but with a few extra radio antennae and other equipment. "What's going on?"

  "Got a woman up there. She ain't local, speaks English better 'n you LT. She says she's armed and won't give it up."

  His commanding officer looked up. His eyes were soft blue—almost baby-like. Likki remembered them distinctly for many years later. He did not seem like a soldier, even though she saw him fight and kill as viciously as any of the others many times.

  "Hello…" He trailed off, glancing at his man.

  "Rook," the corporal supplied with a shrug.

  "...Rook," said the lieutenant, looking back up at her. "Where are you from?"

  "Finland," Likki replied honestly. She believed it a safer choice, in case they quizzed her, and it wasn't so unique as to trail back to her old employers very easily. After all, they weren't from Finland.

  "Finland?" blurted the corporal.

  The lieutenant shot him a look to shut him up. "And what are you doing out here?"

  "Protecting this village."

  "...Uh-huh."

  "Sir," said another voice. A third man had just walked in, with even more radio equipment stacked on his shoulders. "Talked to one of the locals. We found out why this village held out so long. Wasn't rebels or nothing. They said they had a ghost protecting them."

  The lieutenant stared at him, dumbfounded—then, in unison, all three looked up at her.

  Likki nodded.

  "You held off the Taliban, solo, for ten months?" asked the lieutenant.

  "I did."

  "Why?"

  She hesitated. She didn't want to answer, of course, and there was no chance she was about to tell them the truth… but if she said nothing, she wouldn't get to leave.

  And that was the goal, now. Likki wanted them to take her with them. This village was either going to be held by the Taliban or the Americans. It would never be peaceful again, and even if it were, Likki didn't belong here. She longed for the cold, for snow, for home. The Americans were her best chance to get there.

  "I'm trying to go home," she answered, a truth she could share.

  They glanced at each other, obviously dumbfounded.

  "This is the weirdest fuckin' hearts and minds mission I ever been on," muttered the radio man.

  "Well, she's technically the mission, ain't she?" said the corporal. "We wanted to know why this fuckin' place of all places held out so long. She's it. Can't we pay her back for all that?"

  "I have to call this in," said the lieutenant. "Jameson, with me."

  The two left, leaving Likki with just the corporal again. He leaned against the wall and pulled out a cigarette, lighting up. After taking a drag, he offered it to Likki. She shook her head—she'd tried cigarettes once, a few years ago, but they only made her feel sick. The corporal shrugged and leaned back again, taking another deep drag.

  "So, Rook," he asked casually. "How the fuck do you hold a village on your own for ten months agains the whole goddamn Taliban?"

  "Patience."

  He chuckled. "Damn straight. But seriously?"

  Likki hesitated. She genuinely considered telling him—but an instant later, she saw something. A woman was sprinting down the road into the village, completely covered up. Likki knew everyone in her village.

  This woman wasn't one of them.

  The Americans had started moving toward her. The villagers knew better, and started to shout warnings, but the Americans didn't understand them. Likki had to act.

  She grabbed her rifle. The corporal started to react, but Likki had already taken the shot.

  The bullet struck right in the running woman's chest. An instant later, she exploded.

  Americans dove for cover. The corporal ducked inside their building, though he was quite safe. Shrapnel peppered the walls near the explosion, but to Likki's relief, no one had gotten significantly wounded—American or villager. She'd protected them all, once last time.

  She carefully set her rifle back down again, hoping she hadn't just ruined her chances to leave.

  "Report!"

  "The runner was a suicide bomber, LT. Not sure who took the shot, over."

  The corporal glanced up at her. Likki nodded.

  He grabbed his radio. "LT, come in."

  "Go ahead, corporal."

  "Rook got her."

  "..Say again, Corporal Gearhardt?"

  The corporal grinned. "Tell my sergeant we got one more in our humvee tonight. No fuckin' way are we leavin' without her." He glanced up at Likki, now—as she would be known for years to come—Rook. "Come on down. Bring that rifle and whatever else you got."

  Likki started to move, cautiously at first, but the corporal seemed genuine. He smiled again, offering an arm to help her down from the perch with rifle still in hand.

  "You're with us now."

  For an instant, Likki believed him. As she climbed down, casting aside the thick black clothes for her old garments and following the young corporal back into his humvee, Likki looked to the sky again. It was getting darker now, and the stars were just barely beginning to shine in the sky. She found her star once again, and wished for her, just as she had the previous year.

  She wished that this December would be better than the one before it.