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Wrath's Pit
Chapter 10, Part 1

Chapter 10, Part 1

Intelligent, dynamic, bold, humorous, and more described Captain Amadulah. In Mike’s experience, few equaled the man, and fewer still of his countrymen were his equivalent. It’d been ten years since he’d last talked to the man, but this person sleeping on a metal framed bed covered by a thin, off-white sheet had to be someone else. Even while asleep, Mike could sense the man’s torment before him. How could this man be the same Captain Amadulah Mike had known?

Amadulah suffered tragedies, the war with the Soviets, betrayals, the loss of a wife, and more. Later, he endured more hardships in building his family business. When Mike had met him, that was all mostly past him. Amadulah was always optimistic about life and the adversity he’d gone through. He barely had a harsh word for anyone. Mike could hardly believe what his eyes told him. Deep down, it unsettled him. What happened? A frail, decrepit man resting on an old army bed frame, would that be Mike one day? It was hard to get his head around what could have broken his friend, Ten years ago, Amadulah was a middle-aged man with long black hair and a short salt and pepper beard, the man propped up by pillows, now wore a long white beard that rested on a brown cotton sleep shirt, long white hair stuck out from a sleep cap, on his face coke bottle lenses in thick black frames magnified his eyes. What could have turned a vibrant middle-aged man into a barely recognizable, tired, sick old man?

A breeze blew through the window beside the bed, disturbing the thin cotton drape. Captain Amadulah’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open, the only sign he hadn’t passed. The look on Tom’s face mirrored how Mike felt. Farid reached down and pushed the drape off his father’s shoulder, a grim sadness on his face. The three men looked at each other with a wordless understanding. Fraid’s eyes watered, and they all looked down, uncomfortable with their emotions.

The drape blew across Captain Amadulah’s face, and he opened his eyes, turned to look out the window, and nodded to an unheard rhythm. Farid motioned them to sit in the chairs around his bed.

Amadulah turned at the sound and then focused again out the window. The eyes were what Mike couldn’t fathom, even behind the thick lens. His friend had lost his lust for life. This man had fought the Russians, Warlords, and the Taliban. He had raised great kids, sent them to school in America and Europe, and they had come back to their father. This was a man he had trusted, with whom he had broken bread and helped out of dangerous situations. Mike had even gone so far as to have his friends in Europe check on Amadulah’s kids while they were in boarding school. The stark, unfocused man before him wasn’t the man he had known. Whatever tragedy may have occurred, it couldn’t have been the same as losing Paul, could it? This shell of a man shook Mike to his core.

“Father,” Farid said lightly. “They’re here.”

“Hmm.” Captain Amadulah raised his head to see the five sitting beside his bed. He tried to sit up but was too weak. Farid came to help, but Amadulah waved him away and reached out to Mike for help.

Mike took his dry, slender hand and gently lifted Captain Amadulah to sitting. Before Mike realized what had happened, Amadulah pulled him down and embraced him. Mike dropped his head, the wavy, white hair under his eyes. This was not what he had expected. He heard a soft weeping noise on his shoulder. He sneaked a look at Tom. The surprised look mirrored his own

Farid was even more stunned at the sorrowful, barely audible sob.

He tenderly patted the old man on the back, not knowing what else to do. All the times, the two of them had sat in the watchtower and watched the sunset as they talked. It was time away from the war. Their conversations about general things, life, tough times, and good times. Amadulah had told him, as with his children, his father had sent him to the United States. He'd gone to South Carolina for his studies. Hearing Captain Amadulah speak English in a slight southern drawl had always amused Mike. If he had been born in the States, Captain Amadulah would easily have received a full scholarship from most universities. But, being the son of a wealthy family, even for Americans of that time, it wasn’t a necessity. Money got him in, and hard work produced a four-point zero GPA in agriculture and business. The man had always longed to return to the States. His second visit was as an officer in the Afghani Army to attend officer and then infantry training at Fort Benning, Georgia. War and family responsibilities had prevented him from going back.

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Slowly, Captain Amadulah pushed away. Mike was quick to readjust the pillows so he could sit up comfortably.

Amadulah took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. He pointed to Farid. “Get your sister.”

“Yes, Father.”

Mike sat in his chair and felt Tom tapping his foot out of sight of the old man.

“You, Mr. Tom, keep quiet over there.”

Tom sat back in his chair.

Amadulah smiled. “I may look like a broken-down old man, but my mind still works. And I know you well enough to know what you’re thinking, so pipe down.” Captain Amadulah’s lips straightened as Farid and a woman covered head to toe in a black burka entered the room.

The woman walked between the chairs and sat on the bed next to her father. She ruffled the pillows, but he pushed her hands away.

“Sit down next to your brother.”

“Yes, Father.”

Mike's interpretation of her voice was respectful of her father, but there was sadness, too.

It irritated the old man. “And take that ridiculous thing off your head.” He turned to Mike. I love my people and my country, and I am a good Muslim, but sometimes we take things a little too far.”

Mike heard Al and Tom try to suppress a chuckle.

Wide-eyed Julia watched as the woman beside her removed the cloth covering her face and head.

She was in her twenties with almond skin, long black hair, and dark, intelligent eyes.

“What’re you looking at, blondie?”

“Niki!”

The woman looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry, Father, but why are these Americans here?” She looked up and glared at their guests.

“They’re here because my prayers have finally been answered.”

She scowled but remained silent.

Eyebrows arched, Farid turned to Mike and Tom.

The sly smile on Amadulah’s face, along with the “answered prayer,” was… interesting. Mike focused on Amadulah.

“I’m sorry, my friends. I indulge my children and allow them to speak freely to me. A lesson Niki took to the extreme while studying in America.”

“Hmm,” came from the young woman’s throat.

“We should get back to this answering of prayers thing,” Mike said.

The old man nodded. “It’s true I have prayed to Allah daily for you to return. I sometimes came close to losing hope, especially in these hard times, but when I realized it, my belief became stronger. In his wisdom, Allah listened. He brought you here, now. When my family is most in need. Forces from my past have risen from the ashes to try and kill my family and take everything we own.”

He reached his hands out to his children, who took his hands in theirs. “My son and daughter know some of this but are lucky enough not to know everything.” He leaned back, his hands in his lap.

Mike inhaled to speak, but Amadulah cut him off.

“I’ll start from the beginning. Some of it, you know, some you don’t. The CIA recruited me and others to fight the Russians. Our various Mujahideen units caused considerable hardship to the enemy.” He reached out a hand to Mike, who gingerly took it. “The story ends one way or another. In the next day or two, we’ll all be dead, or my enemy will be.”

Mike nodded, not knowing what else to do or say.

“The story between those two points, the beginning and the end, will be of interest to you. You see, I was responsible for your brother’s death.”

Rage ripped through him. Mike tore his hand away, kicked his chair back, and sent it into the wall. Standing over the old man, his hands opened and closed into fists, an overwhelming animal desire consumed him, take revenge on this withered old man. He’d been ready for a long story of woe, how, by the grace of God, blah blah, blah. Face red with rage. He glared down at the sick old man. He’d known something had been wrong those years ago. This wasn’t the vindication of his suspicions. It was betrayal.

Amadulah’s children moved to intervene, but their father stopped them.

Mike leaned forward and looked through the thick lenses at the old man’s eyes.

“I wasn’t there. I did not pull the trigger. But, I’m as guilty.”

“How’s that?” Mike said between gritted teeth.

“The day I wanted you to marry my daughter.” He nodded to the young woman standing between Farid and Julia. “That day I’ll never forget.”

Mike turned to the woman. He’d had a suspicion it was her but hadn’t been sure.

The emotions on Niki’s face changed as rapidly as Mike’s had a moment before. The concern of a protective daughter turned to confused recognition and defiance.

Tom turned from Captain Amadulah, his head rotating from Mike to the young Afghan woman and back. He might have laughed if circumstances had been different. Instead, he was poised for violent action but without a sure target. He wouldn’t be able to hold Mike back and wasn’t sure he should.

The old man tried to reach out. Mike pulled back. Captain Amadula put his hands in his lap, fingers interlaced.

“It wasn’t betrayal,” Captain Amadulah said. He looked at his two children. “It wasn’t.”