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Eight year old Roshanna Taylor is visiting her best friend Yagana Raqam in Tajikistan when a guerrilla attack shatters her life. Healed by secretive Russian doctors, Rosh returns to Utah only to have Asia's resurgent violence follow her home. She will need all her determination, newfound skills, and luck to survive in a world of adult intrigue.

This manuscript is about two-thirds complete, and will top out at around 110,000 words. I have enough material outlined for a sequel, or perhaps a trilogy.

Chapter One

4 April 2021 (Easter Sunday)
Tajikistan

Astride a desolate ridge, weaving among boulders decorated by hardy lichen, a line of soldiers moved. Dressed as wildlife refuge rangers, each carried a heavy pack. So early in the year, only the vagaries of global climate allowed them onto these snowy heights.

To the south, twenty thousand foot peaks lined the borders with Afghanistan and China. Tunnels delved beneath, but these guerrillas followed an obscure trail. In every direction, proud mountains caught the pastel light of the rising sun.

The ragged file trudged northwest; up, down and around the jumbled topography, with little energy to spare for the view. NATO forces ruled the skies, making discretion essential. Despite simmering dissent, the guerillas hadn’t contacted their base in three days.

Finally, almost a mile below, appeared a valley transformed by human hands. A village came into sight, and upstream from it, an elegant compound. Amid tumbled rock stood an oasis of civilization. In the distance a pond, lush grass, and a flowering orchard skirted a low-slung palace.
Picking their way with care, the long file began its descent.

4 April 2021
Dushanbe, Tajikistan

Major Samuel Taylor paced the situation room. NATO deployment charts covered every wall, taunting him with their confident assumptions. His eyes ached from the teeming city’s caustic smog, which fit his mood perfectly.

“Kelly,” Samuel said, “you’re the best intelligence officer I’ve known in twenty years in the Army. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll believe it.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t believe it.” Samuel halted beside the tactical board. “Neither do you.”

Captain Kelly Buford tapped the board’s smartpaper map. “Even if you’re right, what are we supposed to do? We’re two hundred fifty miles away. Those mountain passes are almost fifteen thousand feet high. You really think the kids are in danger?”

“I do now.”

“I’d hate to give President Maxon the impression we started a war just because you’re an overprotective parent. She’s still pissed at you for not wanting to return a state visit.”

Samuel slammed his hand down, scattering note paper. “It’s not even in the same category. The Raqams visited Utah, which hasn’t seen a pitched battle in almost two hundred years. Despite all the political back-slapping, this ‘peace culture’ Raqam keeps touting is no more viable than that doll of Roshanna’s. The President had no right to ‘suggest’ I bring my children here.”

“Roshanna and David are with Raqam’s own girls. If there was any danger he wouldn't stay at these talks, no matter how important they are. At the very least he’d send reinforcements to the country palace.”

“Can he trust his own troops? Revolutions happen all the time in these pipsqueak countries. With so many factions there’s no telling whose side anybody’s on.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Take action, and I want substantial force.”

Kelly rubbed his dark, shaved head. “Our battalion’s on the far side of Shaymak. That’s a good forty minutes from the palace compound, assuming they made it up that excuse for a road at full speed.”

Samuel grunted. “Fat chance. Colonel Morton would need a coded directive from God Himself to move the 780th today.” He enlarged the smartpaper map. “There’s a British engineering detachment at Tokhtamish, but they’re supposed to be even more peace-loving than us peacekeepers.”

“Not according to them.” Kelly hummed the opening notes of God Save the King.

“Let’s round up some troops and fly out there.”

Kelly doffed a nonexistent chauffeur’s cap. “Do you wish me to requisition an armored flyer, or shall I ready the Lear jet?”

“Very funny.” Samuel hated references to his inherited wealth, though if a private jet were available, he’d have bought it on the spot. “Let's move. We’ll inform NATO from the air.”

* * *

4 April
near Shaymak, Tajikistan

Roshanna Taylor gazed at the view. Outside the picture window a verdant lawn sloped down to a pond. A dozen white swans hardly disturbed the reflection of the panorama beyond. On the pond’s opposite shore, the orchard was laden with sunlit blossoms. From its far edge mountains sprang up, and up, until their peaks were wreathed in scudding clouds.

Smaller windows stood open to admit a fragrant breeze. Rosh wished her room at home had such luxuriant Persian carpets. At the limit of her vision she could see people walking along a rugged slope. Usually they were behind things, so she couldn’t be sure how many.

“It’s so pretty here, Yagana,” Rosh told her friend. “Daddy said those mountains are twice as tall as the ones back home. Can we have a picnic up there?”

“It used to be too dangerous,” Yagana Raqam said. “There were bandits and land mines. Now Papa has made peace, and we want everyone to visit.”

Kneeling, Rosh lifted a doll onto the window sill. While the palace compound had no big, ugly walls, she knew it was well guarded. “See, Trooper Troll? Yagana’s daddy made his country all better. We’ll have to change your outfit if you want to go mountain climbing.”

Yagana frowned. “Doesn’t Troll like the clothes Berukh made for him?”

“Oh, he does.” Rosh eyed her doll, then the bodyguard who stood at the entrance to the playroom. Troll wore a perfect replica of the man’s Presidential Guard of Tajikistan uniform. “Your sister does good sewing. I want to take a picture.”

Rosh grabbed a digital camera and took several photos of doll and guard. “To climb mountains, Troll will need an, umm, outdoorsy outfit.”

“Let’s ask when Berukh gets back. She’s down in Shaymak, visiting her-” Yagana smiled through lifted fingers “-new boyfriend.”

Rosh clasped her hands. “He’s very handsome.”

“Is he?” came a voice from the door.

Rosh and Yagana erupted in a storm of giggles. Berukh Raqam had entered while they were talking.

“He sure is,” Rosh said, putting on a bold face. “When I’m eighteen I’ll have a handsome boyfriend, too.” She picked up her doll. “Troll will clobber any guy who tries to get fresh with me.”

Now it was Berukh’s turn to giggle with embarrassment. She untied her head scarf, revealing glossy black tresses. “That’s better. Those village oldsters are so restrictive.”

“They sure are,” Yagana chimed in.

The older girl joined the two eight year olds on the floor. “Roshanna, our people were once Zoroastrian, then Buddhist, then Muslim. These religions speak of harmony, but here that promise has rarely been fulfilled.”

Rosh nodded solemnly, hoping to impress the older girl with her understanding.
“When my father negotiated a peace,” Berukh went on, “it wasn’t just between warring factions. It had to begin at home, between spirit and body, husband and wife, parents and children.” A small grin appeared. “Even between boyfriends and girlfriends.”

Yagana rolled her eyes.

Rosh knew her friend was annoyed by such grownup talk, but for the Taylors it was customary. Bishop Gutierrez, at their church in Salt Lake City, often gave sermons about strong families.

“Yagana,” Rosh said, “today is Easter Sunday. Not the Russian one, but in America. It’s about peace. Daddy has been in lots of wars. They’re so terrible he doesn’t ever want to talk about it.”

“The NATO peacekeepers have helped us a great deal,” Berukh said. “Major Taylor’s unit won a special commendation from my father.”

“Thanks for the palace uniform, Berukh. I got Trooper Troll from my grandpa Taylor. He was a brave soldier in Viet Nam. Can you make Troll a mountain climbing outfit? He wants to climb the, uh . . . ” She waved at the window.

“The Little Pamir mountains,” Berukh supplied. “Very few of the world’s ranges are taller.”

“Awesome,” said Rosh. “I’d hate to see the big ones.

* * *

Major Taylor asked the NATO flyer’s tactical computer for an update.

“Hey,” Kelly said, “it’s just gonna say, ‘same as five minutes ago.’”

“This reminds me of Afghanistan.” Samuel gave an exasperated sigh. “If these locals were Christian they’d quit bickering and watch TV for the holidays.”

Kelly winced. “Don’t ever let a base weenie hear you talking like that. I’ve been to about fifteen sensitivity orientations this year. If NATO ever deploys in Oz they’ll have us dancing in pointy shoes right along with the munchkins.”

“Makes me glad I spent half the year stateside.”

A gust of wind buffeted the flyer. One of the dozen soldiers aboard, mostly Army Rangers, groaned. A mountain saddle passed beneath, and the narrow highway dropped like a strand of coiled spaghetti. Deep shadow hid its lower reaches.

“This turbulence is enough to make an condor airsick,” Kelly said. “But I’d really hate to be on that road down there. Amazing they got it built at all.”

“Not exactly a four lane interstate, but it beats the heck out of goat trails.” With damp hands, Samuel twisted the hem of his uniform shirt. “Yesterday I’d have said all was right with the world. At least Petra had to stay home, and little Gail didn’t want to travel. But David and Rosh were so excited.”

“Yep,” Kelly said. “No impersonal hotel for the Raqams. I hear they took up all four of your guest rooms. Must’ve been security out the wazoo.”

“Petra was a nervous wreck.”

“Keep it in perspective. Yagana loves Rosh. Thanks to Emily they’ve been online pals for a couple years already. I mean, talk about friendly. If that Berukh were a couple years older I’d ask her out myself. Anything she asks me, it’s a full-blown case of yes ma’am.”

“I hear you, old man, but the gal’s already taken. Been dating a strapping young village lad. Rosh gave me all the details on the comm not two hours ago.”

“Sure wish I had such great inside sources.” Kelly chuckled. “Going on dates, huh? Berukh must be this country’s number one feminist, at least since her mother died.”

“Maybe peace really has broken out in Central Asia.” Samuel almost forgot to be nervous as the flyer lurched again. “Be there in ten minutes, and then we can relax.”

* * *

A commotion erupted at the door. The bodyguard stepped aside as David Taylor burst into the playroom.

“Kapow!” David pointed a thumb-and-finger gun at his younger sister Roshanna. “I’m a mountain bandit. Bang, bang, you’re dead.” He looked as if destroying the room’s handcrafted fixtures would be a great achievement.

Rosh said, “David, quit it.” Stupid boys.

David ran to the window. “My liberators are descending from the mountains even now.” He spun about, brandishing his finger gun. “Braaap! Machine gun attack!”

“David,” said Berukh, “I’m in charge here today. You must stop. Our country has seen enough of war.” Her English carried the accent of an expensive British tutor, along with a softer drawl acquired from Yagana’s nanny Emily.

“Why, are you gonna tell your mommy?” David sneered.

“I’m sorry, Berukh,” Rosh said. “My brother is such a jerk. Daddy shouldn’t have brought him along.” He knows their mommy got very sick and died. The realization brought a surge of anger.

Rosh jumped up and accosted David. “You dumbhead! The minute Daddy left you started teasing everybody. If Emily was here she’d cream you.”

David held her off with one hand. “Emily went home to Idaho, and all we have now are servants and fancy-pants guards.” He thumbed his chest. “They’re under orders not to mess with us special guests.”

With a furious effort Rosh kicked him in the knee. As he flinched she told him, “Serves you right.”

“Oooh, such wicked talk,” David said, face ashen.

Rosh ducked, bracing for the inevitable retaliation. When it didn’t come, she uncovered her head and peeked sideways. The bodyguard had a firm grip on David’s arm.

“Get you later,” David hissed. He twisted free and went out, trying not to limp.

Berukh nodded to the guard, who whispered into his radio. They’d keep a sharp eye on the errant boy.

“Please don’t tell Papa,” Yagana said to Berukh. “You either, Lt. Murad,” she told the guard. “We can handle brats like him.”

“Yeah.” Rosh gave Yagana an elaborate handshake they’d learned. “Girl power wins again.”
“Roshanna,” Berukh said, “his behavior is disgraceful. I should not have gone out this afternoon. When our fathers return we’ll go to Lake Sarez. David can go sport fishing. Perhaps that will divert his energies.”

Rosh nodded. “Hope so.”

“Me, too,” Yagana said. “Want to play?” She brought a doll house from the closet and positioned it near the window. Outside, a rising wind stirred the pond, breaking up the image of the mountains. In an elegant line the swans headed for shore.

“Daddy said to travel light,” Rosh said. “I only had room for my most favorite doll, so I’m glad you have a lot.”

“I’m going to see what cook is preparing today,” Berukh said. “We’ll have supper in an hour.”

* * *

“Five minutes on the dot,” Samuel said, “and checking again.” A feeling of dread seized him. “Christ almighty, would you look at this? Possible troop movements in Kudara and across the western border in Uzbekistan. As of four minutes ago, Chinese forces in Xinjiang upped their readiness. They have good intel on our side of the mountains; do they know something we don’t?”

“Sam, those border militias slog back and forth all day long. Doesn’t prove a thing. The locals won’t take action unless their warlords say so, and we just saw ‘em all sitting on their asses back in Dushanbe.”

“Kelly, the last thing I want to say right now is ‘I told you so.’”

“You’ve never had to before.”

* * *

With a wet thump, a ball of mud splattered the window. Dark rivulets bisected the landscape. Curious, Rosh peered out. As she’d suspected, David was already moving up from the pond with a second handful. He was panting from the altitude, and hobbled by her punishing kick, but his expression advertised his determination. From a short distance away, a group of swans observed.
The second mud ball impacted with a ‘crack’ audible through the thick glass. Lt. Murad strode across the room to investigate.

“David put a rock in that one,” Rosh said. “He’s really gonna get it now.”

The bodyguard motioned the girls away from the window.

“It’s just David,” Rosh whispered, not sure why she was being so quiet. “Hey, I thought your helpers were supposed to be watching him.”

“Do what the guard says.”

Yagana spoke so firmly that Rosh scurried to obey. Yagana needs guards, the American girl reminded herself. There used to be danger. Even so, she leaned back for one more peek out the window.

David had veered off, carrying his third load of mud toward the swans. Bet he saw Murad looking. The swans, having encountered her brother already, backed away.

David threw the mud ball. One of the swans exploded in a cloud of white feathers. A fan of blood and body parts appeared on the grass, pointing toward the bird’s last position.

A split second later a sharp crack echoed across the landscape, reminding Rosh of nearby thunder. She let out a startled yelp. Yagana popped up to see what had happened. Outside, David stared for a moment, then walked toward the dead swan.

“No, David, run away!” Rosh cried, but knew he couldn’t hear her.

Lt. Murad spoke into his radio, then herded Rosh and Yagana into the doll closet.

“Why did he stick us in here?” Rosh’s voice quavered.

“Papa told me about secret passages. Maybe we can get away.”

Opening the closet door a sliver, Rosh saw the guard retrieve two guns from his post near the door. She’d been called an ‘Army brat’ before, and rather than getting upset, simply accepted it as true. She’d never fired a gun herself, but recognized Murad’s weapons as a rifle and a shotgun.

A second guard entered the playroom, gun in hand. A single bang sounded. Startled, Rosh drew back from the door.

The window exploded. Both guards hurled backward in a shower of glass. The heavy closet door bowed visibly. Holes appeared, but it stopped most of the shrapnel.

Rosh’s ears rang from the noise. Smoke and dust wafted in, making her cough.

The first thing Rosh heard was frightened wailing. It went on and on, then thickened into gasping sobs. Only when she ran out of breath did she realize she’d been listening to herself.

The next thing she heard was Yagana, crying softly. “You okay?” The closet was dim, with only mottled light from the shrapnel holes. “Yagana?” She hugged her friend, seeking comfort. Her arms shook so hard she almost couldn’t manage it.

“I’m okay. They killed our swan. And my guards! Why did they . . . ” The girl looked at Rosh. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” Rosh felt nothing but a throbbing numbness. “Where?”

“On your face. Move to the light.” Yagana brushed Rosh’s blonde curls aside. “There’s a cut above your eye.”

“I’m scared.”

“We have to help David,” Yagana said, her voice firm.

“We’d better hide.” Rosh backed into a dark corner. “They might blast us again.”

Yagana swore. Rosh knew it without understanding Tajik.

“Not yet, Rosh. We can all hide, but you have to help out first. Girl power, remember?”

Rosh sniffled and wiped her nose. “Got to be careful.” She peered through one of the holes. Both guards lay motionless. The flying glass had taken a terrible toll. “Is there a secret door in here?”

“I think so.” Yagana prowled around, shoving aside boxes and feeling the closet walls and floor. “Here’s a handle!”

They both pulled, but the trap door would not budge.

“It’s too heavy,” Yagana said, and left the closet.

Rosh darted after her, reluctant to be alone. The Persian rugs were squishy with blood. She tried not to look at the mutilated bodies.

David was still there, lying on the grass. Blood streaked his arms and legs. The other swans were gone.

As the girls watched, a servant with dirty clothing ran across the lawn and snatched him up. David struggled feebly, then went limp. They disappeared from sight, headed down toward the village.

“He’s hurt,” Rosh said, and moaned with pain and anguish.

“David’s alive, okay? Our brave servant has rescued him. We must go.”

“Tell your daddy to give that guy a medal.” Rosh turned away. “Let’s go find Berukh.”

“Last year we found a cave up on the hill. We can hide in there.”

The doll house was smashed, but Trooper Troll stood where they’d left him, beneath the window. Rosh picked him up, then ran from the playroom. The hateful sound of explosions followed.

* * *

“A what?” Samuel was shocked to the core.

“An emergency in Shaymak, sir,” said the NATO comm officer. Digital radio made the man’s voice crystal clear.

“Details, if you would.”

“We have reports of an attack on the American encampment near Shaymak. Stand by . . . reports coming in from four . . . no, five other posts. Also from our Uzbek and Kyrgyz headquarters.”

Kelly told Samuel, “Somebody else better fly this thing while we find out what’s going on.”

“I should have warned them.” Samuel switched on the intercom. “Any of you guys rated to fly this crate?”

“I am, sir,” came a voice from the rear. “Lt. Clifford Yang, new in country.”

Kelly hurried to the rear to strap himself in. As they passed he told Yang, “Hell of a welcome.”
“Holidays,” Samuel told Yang. “It would have to be Easter Sunday. When I got my appointment to West Point, my Grandpa told me about a little dustup called the Tet Offensive.”

The NATO comm officer came back on. “Too many reports to handle, sir. I’m on fifteen channels now. Can I let the computer handle it?”

“Go ahead.”

“Switching ov–” There was nothing but static.

Samuel tried to reconnect, but Dushanbe was off the air. He told Yang, “Going direct to stateside.”
Seconds later Samuel was downloading reports from the Pentagon. Emotions roiled, but outwardly he kept an icy calm.

Samuel addressed the Rangers. “Men, we’re in for a hot landing. Looks like a stealth missile took out part of our HQ in Dushanbe, and every one of our bases in three countries is under attack. That includes our battalion at Shaymak. No ID on the hostiles yet.”

The soldiers said little in response. They needed no display of bravado to prove themselves, to Samuel or anyone else.

“As you’ve been briefed,” Samuel went on, “we’re headed for the presidential country residence to evacuate civilians. I’ve received no new orders, but we may move to reinforce our units instead.” He didn’t mention that, up to this point, he’d been acting on his own authority.

* * *

Rosh and Yagana darted into the long, granite-floored main hallway. Ornate furniture lined the wide corridor. Some pieces had been overturned; a few were smashed entirely. Far down, near the kitchen, another guard lay sprawled.

“Berukh went to the kitchen, right?” In Rosh’s eyes, the dead guard filled the hallway like something from a nightmare. I better act brave.

“Be very quiet,” Yagana said. “Hide quickly if anyone comes.”

The girls made their way toward the kitchen, creeping between hiding places. Outside, the sounds of battle died down. Soon all they could hear were their own furtive movements. Rosh wasn’t sure which was worse, the noise or the silence that followed. She almost shouted for Berukh, then at the last moment reminded herself to keep quiet.

From the other end of the hall, beyond the playroom, came the sound of a door opening. Footfalls reverberated.

The girls ducked under a small table and watched a man enter the corridor. Rosh knew the common NATO uniforms, and his was unfamiliar.

Fear transfixed them as the soldier approached. Booted feet almost brushed the tablecloth as he passed. A few paces along he did an about-face and looked directly at the table.
“You there,” he said in Tajik, drawing his handgun.

“Don’t shoot!” Yagana said in the same tongue, and crawled out. She put her hands up, then began to sob, covering her eyes with grimy fists.

Rosh crawled out and stood beside her, clutching the doll under one arm. It was happening too fast to react. Which, a part of her understood, could sometimes be a good thing.

“You are the American girl,” the soldier said in English. “You two will come with me.” He holstered his gun and seized one girl with each hand.

“Drop your weapon!” came a woman’s voice, from the direction of the kitchen. “Those girls aren’t going anywhere.”

It was Berukh, though Rosh hardly recognized her. The older girl was filthy, with what she didn’t want to know. Blood spattered her torn clothing, and her voice was husky with strain.
Wild-eyed, clutching a pistol with both hands, Berukh stared at the soldier. He raised his hands in surrender. Thus freed, Rosh and Yagana backed against the wall.

“Betrayer. Mardekeh. Dream killer,” Berukh said, then shot the soldier, and kept firing until she ran out of ammunition.

A young man appeared behind Berukh. Slowly he lifted her gun from unresisting fingers. The older girl didn’t move, or acknowledge him. She kept staring at the dead soldier, with eyes almost as lifeless as his.

The young man put an arm around Berukh. Rosh recognized him as her boyfriend from Shaymak, but couldn’t remember his name. Gently he led her back the way they’d come.

At the corner, the boyfriend finally spoke. “Go. Be off.” With his free hand he made a shooing motion. Only then did Rosh notice he was wearing the same uniform as the soldier Berukh had killed.

Rosh and Yagana turned and ran, all the way to the main entrance, then around to the back of the palace. They encountered no one.

“I better call Daddy now.” Rosh held up an arm, showing Yagana the watch that doubled as an emergency comm device. She activated it, then listened for a response.
Static emerged from its tiny speaker.

“They are, what is the word, jamming it,” Yagana said. “It is easy to do in these deep valleys.”

“Stupid thing!” Rosh flung it to the ground.

Before them rose the shrub-covered hill where Yagana had found the cave. Clouds darted across the sky, fleeing the low sun.

“Daddy will come get us,” Rosh said. “He’ll find out, even if they jam and jam.”

“He should hurry.”

The girls started up the hill.

Even with medicine and a week’s acclimation, Rosh was soon gasping for breath. “Where’s . . . the . . . cave?”

Yagana tried to help her along. “At those bushes. You can’t see it unless you crawl underneath.”

It took them several minutes to climb two hundred yards. The clouds lowered until wisps began to obscure the palace below. Just in front of the cave was a barren patch. Exhausted, Rosh dropped to her knees and crawled the last few yards. Forgotten, her doll lay on the ground. She hardly noticed the blood on her knees. Yagana plodded alongside.

Rosh reached the bushes and looked beneath. The opening was hardly wide enough for a child. “Yagana, it’s dark and scary.”

“I went in before.”

From down by the palace a shout arose.

Yagana said, “A man is pointing at us.”

Rosh raised her head far enough to see. A group of soldiers came running in response to the shout. It looked like they were arguing.

All eight started up the hill. As they got closer, Rosh saw they wore the same new uniform. Then clouds obscured the view, but not the voices of the approaching enemy.

“Hurry,” Yagana said.

Rosh shimmied under the bushes. Dry twigs ripped her clothing. There was a single gunshot. Yagana screamed in agony. Once more she cried out, then fell silent.

Hemmed in, Rosh couldn’t turn around, and backing up was unthinkable. She craned her neck, dreading what she might behold. Yagana was jerking, her body twisted unnaturally. Rosh thought she could hear a heartbeat, pounding so hard it would surely burst. They shot her.

The terrors of the narrow cave were outweighed. Rosh inched forward until rock surrounded her. She kept going, away from light and possible discovery, until she was completely enveloped in darkness. Finding she could sit, Rosh pulled in her legs and hugged herself. Why did they hurt Yagana? Who did it? I hope they can’t find me in here. I’ll find them, get them.

She raged on, unwilling to admit that such a vow was hopeless for a child. Exhaustion and the altitude sapped her vitality. Slumped against the rough cave wall, reality faded. Rosh began to dream about home, and violin lessons.

© 2006 by Paul Carlson