Angela pressed the door buzzer, hoping she would not find Ana sitting at her desk. Their second-in-command was notoriously impatient when it came to paperwork, and she had been trapped at HQ for two weeks straight. That Ana seemed restless ever since she returned from leave did not help matters. The doctor was about to propose a humanitarian mission that would necessitate more time at the table for Ana. She would need every sliver of goodwill to push her proposal through.
The door slid open, and Angela strode through to find Ana pacing up and down the office with a phone pressed to her ear. Ana paused, gaze falling to the datapad in her hands, and gestured towards the table. Angela nodded and moved further in, listening to Ana speak rapidly into the phone. The entire conversation was in Arabic – the only word she recognised was 'Fareeha' – and the sniper did not sound too happy. Exasperated, even. Stifling a sigh, Angela set her datapad down on the sleek wooden desk, wondering how to deal with her vexed superior. That was when the picture of Fareeha caught her eye.
Ana's personal tablet lay at the edge of the keyboard, its screen filled with a photo of her daughter. Angela cocked her head, shifting over for a better look. She had not seen Fareeha in almost seven years. The last time she saw the younger Amari was when she covered the fifteen-year-old with a jacket, as she slept on the couch in Ana's office. That slim, peaceful figure from her memories was nowhere to be found in the picture before her.
Fareeha stood tall, chin held high and now-broad shoulders straight. She was dressed in standard-issue military PT kit, the dull grey chain for her dog tags peeked out from under the t-shirt's round collar. The defined contours of her biceps filled out the sleeves nicely – a sign of dedicated training. Her shoulder-length hair was now worn in a pixie cut. But the most striking difference was in her face: any remainders of baby fat had been worn smooth, emphasising the definition of her jaw and cheekbones. The softness in her eyes was replaced with firm resolve. She was now a striking copy of Ana – or at least, a younger Ana. Without the tattoo.
"She joined the army three weeks ago."
Angela jumped at the sound of Ana's voice, spinning on her heel to face the woman standing beside her. The corner of her eyes crinkled in amusement at Angela's shock and her subsequent effort to gather herself. Taking a discrete breath, Angela watched the sniper set her phone down on the table.
"No wonder you've been looking tense," Angela commented.
Ana heaved a sigh, settling back in her chair. "As if dealing with our problems is not enough. Now I have to worry for this one as well."
"I'm sure she is doing fine."
"She is," Ana said flatly. "My friend tells me she has been performing well. Almost frighteningly so."
"Oh? Then it would seem she takes after you." Angela had intended it to be a compliment, something to lighten Ana's mood. But at the sight of the tired gaze, she wondered if she had made a misstep.
"I should hope not."
The doctor stood uneasily beside Ana. "Did you not want her to enlist?"
"No. I tried to stop her, but she ran out before I could do anything."
"But why stop her? Joining the military is a family tradition, is it not?"
"It is also the best way to get killed," Ana said. "You understand that, don't you?"
Of course she did. How many soldiers had she lost, watching them take their last breaths while her hands were still slick with their blood? The image of Fareeha lying on makeshift bedding, lips pale and cracked as she bled out flashed past Angela's eyes. She held her breath unconsciously, recalling a teenage Fareeha running around the base with Jesse's serape tied around her neck like a cape. Fear rose unbidden for the girl she had not seen in years, who was now grown and on her way to the frontlines. Her eyes fell to Fareeha's photo again, feeling a sudden urge to somehow pull her out of the screen, and talk her out of her endeavour.
Ana's fingers lingered at the side of the tablet, before pressing the button to lock the screen. Fareeha's picture winked off, releasing Angela from her pall. She looked over at Ana, returning her silent gaze in a moment of shared understanding. Then the sniper reached for her datapad, breaking their connection as she looked over the summary of Angela's proposal.
The doctor collected herself, rounding the table to sit in the chair opposite Ana. She wanted to say something, anything that would set Ana's mind at ease. To set her own mind at ease. But there was nothing. Fareeha had chosen to fight. There was nothing they could do to change that now. The best she could do was pray for the woman's safety, and hope they would be able to meet again.