One man’s voice raised above the other guards. The rest fell silent.

The hair on Mike's arms stood at attention. All the shouting, he’d expected that. The sudden quiet was alarming.

Tom grunted.

Mike stopped at the berm beside the road and faced the compound, hands up. He noted the machine guns in the two closest corner towers were manned and pointed at them. In the high center tower, it looked like the guard had some sniper weapon aimed at them.

A guard challenged them. His voice and poor attitude were firmly directed toward them.

Mike shouted back. “Hello, we’re here to see Captain Amadulah. We’re Americans.”

This made the guard lean in and over the tower wall.

“If we only had a camera. The look on his face,” Tom whispered.

“Shh.” Mike raised his voice. “We’re Americans. We’re here to see Captain Amadulah.”

The guard drew himself back, turned, and looked over the inside of the wall into the compound. He listened to someone inside. Mike couldn’t distinguish any words, not that he’d understand them. The conversation went on for what Mike thought was an exceptionally long time.

Tom started to fidget next to him. “That’s a lot of talking they’re doing. If I know Afghani body language, I’d say that guy in the tower isn’t on our side.”

“It doesn’t look that way.”

They heard a shout from inside. That ended the discussion. The guard touched his chest and said a few more words. Mike was pretty sure it translated as it’s God’s will. The guard turned toward the gate and shouted down to someone else inside.

The gate opened, and two Afghanis walked out. Their AKs pointed toward the strange, dirty Americans but held low, not quite at the ready.

“They don’t look too happy about having to come out here.”

“No, they don’t,” Mike said. “Let’s give them our winningest smiles and keep our arms up.”

One of the guards stopped in front of them while the other walked behind them. The man was more intent on looking behind him than keeping an eye on them. The man in front spoke to them, waved his gun toward the fortress, and stepped out of the way.

“Phase one complete. We got our invite.”

“Keep smiling.” Mike looked back then at the guard behind them. “We’re Americans. We’re…”

The man shouted at them and waved his gun.

“Okay, we’re moving, we’re moving.”

“Not much for small talk, is he,” Tom said.

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They passed the guard, and both Afghanis fell in behind them.

“The way these guys are acting, they’re afraid of something. I wonder if we jumped from the frying pan into the fire?”

“You know,” Tom said. “I was starting to feel good. We didn’t get shot, someone inside wants to talk to us, and you go and say something like that.”

“Sorry, buddy.”

The gate closed behind them. Their two guards walked around them and joined more men, their AKs pointed at the two Americans.

The two stared at the twenty men, and the twenty stared back at them. None of the Afghani's looked familiar. The men stood there, not uttering a word, their eyes taking in his and Tom’s every move. The silence made Mike uncomfortable, so he decided to break the ice. “We’re Americans. We’ve come to see Captain Amadulah. Can one of you fine young gentlemen take us to him.”

The Afghani’s met his query with a harsh silence.

Tom whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Cricket, cricket.”

Mike shook his head at Tom. “We’re Americans…”

“Baseball and apple pie-loving Americans.” The voice came from behind the line of guards.

Mike couldn’t see who was talking.

“You know,” the unseen man said. “When I woke up this morning, I thought to myself, I wonder if I’m going to see two dirty, filthy Americans today. And what do you know, here in the middle of nowhere, you come to my door.”

Mike and Tom looked up. A man walked from behind the guards up wooden stairs and stood on a platform that overlooked the compound.

Mike squinted and put his hands to his face to cover his eyes from the sun. The sun’s brightness was directly behind the man as if he planned it. Maybe he did, Mike thought.

“You two are the sorriest-looking excuses. What kind of Americans are you?”

Tom smiled. "The best kind."

Whoever was up there, Mike knew it wasn’t Captain Amadulah. This man was too young, and his voice was too raspy.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Sorry,” Mike said. “I can’t see you with the sun, and I don’t recognize the voice.”

The man jumped to a lower platform and to the ground.

Mike’s eyes widened. “Farid! The last time we saw you, you were returning to Europe to complete your schooling.” Mike laughed and held out his hand.

Farid took it and shook it vigorously. “My friends. It’s been a long time. I didn’t think I’d ever see you two again.”

“I didn’t think we’d ever be back.”

Farid turned to a grinning Tom. “Mike, you’re still hanging around with this loser.”

Tom laughed. “Frankenstein, it’s been a long time.”

Mike laughed with the two of them. Tom gave Farid his nickname the first time they’d met. Farid was home for summer break from boarding school. He and Tom were instant friends. They were both a couple of wise asses. The nickname Tom chose for him was due to Farid’s long head, high forehead, and short black hair.

“Bring it in.” Tom reached in for a hug.

“Whoa, big boy.” Farid put his hands up and pushed Tom back. “You two smell like Afghani goats, well worse, actually.”

The three of them chuckled.

“It’s been a long day and a half.”

“It’s a story I’m looking forward to hearing.”

“What’s up with your voice?” Tom said.

Farid pulled the scarf down from around his neck, exposing a nasty scar. “I got shot in the throat about a year back when our troubles here started.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Tom said. “How are your brothers?”

Farid’s face turned red. “Dead. Killed by the people trying to take our wealth and land.”

“Sorry for your loss,” Mike said. “How’s the old man?”

“Sick.” Farid looked at the ground for a moment. “Dying. It’s God’s will.”

“I sent word you two were here. He’ll want to see you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Mike said. “But, we want to see him.”

“Hmm. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

“Some food and water would be nice, too,” Tom said.

“Whatever you need. As you know, Afghani hospitality is a trademark of our people.”

“If we could impose on you for one more thing,” Mike said.

“Of Course.”

“On the other side of the berm, we came out from are two more Americans from our group. They could use some food and a bath, too.”

Farid stoked his short beard for a moment. “Mike, you never cease to amaze.”

“That’s what I do.”

“Another surprise.” Farid smiled. “Not a problem, the more the merrier, as they say.”