POCKET CHANGE
by Sharon R.
Chapter Nineteen
Teetering on a Limb
The early morning chopper ride was anything but scenic as they flew in and out of low hung, gray clouds. They were buckled in but with the doors removed to allow for the mounted machine guns, the downpour of rain pelted the occupants, the closest thing to a shower they had seen in weeks - albeit a cold shower.
With Carter seated in the middle between Luka and a soldier he was at least spared the brunt of the cold wind, if not the rain. The force of the forward motion pressed his agonizingly sore back against the metal seat back, a bar poking right up against his spine. He could do nothing but sit back, hold on and hope that the weather would not be the end of their escape. The swirling air matted his wet hair and as he put his hand to his face to wipe the now wet grime away from his eyes he took inventory of his roughly bearded jaw line and sun soaked taut skin. He felt as though he had aged twenty years, but up in that chopper being tossed around in the storm, time stood still momentarily. Although he had faced fears he would have never imagined and witnessed crimes against humanity that were a way of life for that culture, he still felt connected to the people - a need fulfilled. The girl and her father, the nurses - Chibon and Agunda - Joseph's children, their priorities in life were each other and their families, something he had so missed. Even Mbuto's father. Mbuto…
Glancing to his right he noticed Luka holding on as well, trembling in the bitter wet air. But Luka just looked out the door - his own way of escaping. They left Chicago on opposite ends of a magnetic life pole. Although they were still vastly different people, they could now walk side by side. He had learned a lot about Luka while they were together. The wall was down, but Carter still felt distanced from him and wondered what, if anything, Luka had gleaned from him on their journey. He wanted to ask Luka what he was thinking but just didn't have the energy and instead leaned his head back and closed his eyes hoping to stave off the current bout of nausea as the chopper bumped and jolted above the tree tops.
His body shivering from the cold rain, Luka stared out of the side of the big open military helicopter. For a moment - just a moment - he embodied his former life in Croatia remembering the training missions he took on helicopter gun ships. The clouds dripped from above like fingers reaching all the way to the ground, only occasionally allowing the dense green from below to peek up at them. Luka's heart was heavy with a burden he had placed there himself - a burden of guilt. He had left Joseph behind to become just another dead body in the jungle to be feasted on by critters while Toomay and the children blended into the fleeing masses of left over souls. Even the bodies they had passed on the side of the road were being given burials, their corpses covered with lime. And Mbuto…
As they started their rocky descent Luka checked on Carter. Eyes closed, he was finally resting. Carter's face had been wiped free of the muck that had accumulated exposing just how pale he had become. Luka reached up to check his carotid pulse. Upon feeling Luka's hand on his neck Carter opened his eyes and sat forward a bit. He took Luka's hand and gently returned it to its owner, pausing slightly as if to give thanks.
The two were escorted out of the chopper by the soldiers and wrapped in wool blankets. They were at an old abandoned air field now used for discreet military and business travel. A few small propeller airplanes were parked in the distance, but most of what they saw was the cracked cement tarmac with weeds peeking through and a couple of abandoned buildings. No village nearby that they could see, certainly not a city. With no enclosed building to take cover in, Carter and Luka were hustled into a wide open hanger populated with even more refugees. One of the soldiers took pity on Carter, sticking close by him.
"You have a name?" Carter asked as he allowed the man to steady him at one point.
"Othiamba."
"What are these people waiting for?" Luka asked the soldier.
"Nothing. They crossed the border hoping to find a refugee camp."
"There is no camp?" Carter asked.
"No." Othiamba handed them bottles of water. "Our government has no more resources to care for them, so they shut down most of the camps. Besides, the terrain between our two countries is very dangerous. It would not be prudent to entice them to come here. I guess they are waiting for the weather to clear." But they were there.
Luka knew the answer but asked anyway. "To go where? What will happen to them?"
"Don't know. They come and go."
With a shrug of the shoulders the soldier escorted the doctors towards a small office area. The refugees lined the walls of the hanger on each side of Carter and Luka as they made their walk down the center. One man, a woman, then another and another approached the doctors hoping that they were the ones to get them to a camp. Surrounded by a variety of ages and sizes all asking for one thing or another, they were overwhelmed by the sheer need of these people.
"I'm sorry, Je ne comprends pas, " Carter, gently, sadly told an old woman. "I don't understand. I can't help you." His hands held by hers to her chest, he was powerless.
Somewhere in the mix came a declaration. "Américain, ils sont américain!"
With that they were rushed by the rest of the homeless, countryless people, at least those that were able. Pleading faces, sad eyes were all trained on the two battered and exhausted men, neither of whom in a normal situation would have looked remotely like trustful diplomats. How sad, they thought, that after being held captive and tortured for weeks these people still viewed them as being better off than they. All they could do was put a hand on a shoulder and return an equally desperate smile. Before long the two soldiers intervened, ordering the refugees back to their spots on the floor.
One woman with a distant look in her eyes caught Luka's attention. One of the few who did not rush the men, she had a small child at each side and an infant in her arms. She cradled her swaddled baby and rocked back and forth on the hard cement floor. Squatting down in front of her he asked her if he could help.
"Je suis d'un médecin. Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" He flashed his warm smile hoping to bridge the gap.
She said nothing but averted her gaze away from the far off that she had been fixed on and looked coldly into Luka's eyes. Gently, he lifted the blanket from the baby to examine it.
Carter couldn't drink the water without feeling nauseous but did manage small sips here and there. The soldiers were getting irritated at Luka for stopping their trek to the more comfortable office area and tried in vain to get Carter to continue without him.
"Just… just wait." Carter looked on as Luka gently spoke with the woman.
After placing his blanket around one of the children, Luka stood and walked back to the awaiting trio. "The baby is dead."
"Don't you think you should tell her?" Carter whispered.
With frustration and exasperation no longer fueled by guns and whips, lack of food or water, Luka threw his now empty water bottle at the wall next to him and went into the office. "She knows."
Carter was last to get moving and stood staring at that insignificant fractured family. One of the little girls laid her head on her mother's lap and gazed at Carter with the same blank expression as her mother. He let his head, weighted by his condition as well as emotion, tilt sideways as he sighed, furrowing his brow as he took in the wretchedness around him.
Inside the office they were given chairs to sit on as well as more water. Carter turned his chair and straddled it leaning over the chair back. His water by his side, he could only look at it as he rested his head atop his hands. Music would have been good, he thought. Better than the shuffling of feet, coughs and occasional child's cry from the main hanger area.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to Pakwach."
Luka and Carter both picked their heads up as they heard the first American voice since leaving Chicago. Entering the office with a satellite phone by his side was the elusive hitch hiker from the chopper.
"This isn't Kampala?" Luka puzzled.
"No, this is as far as the military choppers can go." He was clean, well slept and fed. "My name is Bob, and I'll be with you until we can get you to Germany where state department officials will meet you." He was wearing cargo pants and a casual, well worn, button down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. "I'm sorry the accommodations aren't any better, but considering your previous situation I would guess that creature comforts are not a priority."
"You knew we were coming?" Luka asked.
"It was a last minute scramble. We knew your release was imminent but had planned on you being delivered closer to Kinshasa. That's where our plane was waiting."
"Who is 'we'?" Carter cleared his throat.
"But, as it turned out the group holding you made arrangements on this end. So here I am." Bob leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he looked out the window at the weather, starting to clear.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, Bob…?" Luka fished for his last name.
The man smiled smugly at Luka. "If there's anything you need, just let me know. I'll see what I can do." He seemed almost annoyed that he had pulled this assignment as he kept glancing out the window as though trying to escape the smell the two doctors brought with them.
"I need some medical supplies for my friend here."
"Yes, I'm aware of that and I believe that they will be waiting at our connection point in Kampala. As soon as the weather clears we'll be boarding that plane over there, and… there's the pilot now." Bob stood and walked to the door of the office, waving the doctors along with him.
"Is Kampala a large city, with a hospital?" Carter quizzed the man. "Refugee camps?"
"Yes, it's the capital city and there are hospitals. In fact it's the only place in Uganda right now equipped to, or willing to, handle refugees. Getting there by land is the only problem. We've been experiencing some…" Bob paused to find the word, "…situations I'd like to avoid on the Karuma-Pakwach Road."
Half way out of the hanger Carter stopped the group and pointed at the woman with the three children, only two now alive. "I want them to come with us, get help in the city."
With a patronizing laugh Bob finally turned and gave the doctors his full attention. "Look, John…"
"His name is Dr. Carter," Luka said to the man quite seriously, "I don't think we know you well enough yet to be on a first name basis."
Bob rolled his eyes and squared his jaw smelling another situation he would just as soon avoid. "Dr. Carter, your humanitarian work here is done. My job is to get you to Germany and not play games doing it."
"Well," Luka sparked up, "if you want to complete your job then you'll let that family go with us on this leg of the trip." Bob was not impressed. "Because if they don't go, neither do we. Right Carter?" The two looked at each other nodding in agreement. "I mean, we could stay here."
The two rambled with each other sarcastically trying to make their point with Bob.
"Bob said they have a hospital," Carter matter-of-factly went on.
"I could find work here."
"Sure, while I recover. Gosh I hope they are equipped to handle my condition."
"Ouch! That could be a problem."
"Would hate to be the one to break the news of my death here to GW."
"You know the president?"
"Well, Senior and Bar, actually."
"Really?"
"My family hosted a $5,000 a plate fundraiser for him."
"Five thousand? That's impressive."
"Hey," Carter turned to Othiamba, "you guys know if the mainstream media gets here often?"
"In the movies, Bob, you people seem to always know lots of different languages. How about some Croatian? I could translate for you. Sranje karanje picka pusac kurca pisanje jebac majke sise supak."
Carter looked on, amused. "Now, that's impressive, Dr. Kovac."
"Stop," hands on hips the man was not happy, "You two are real comedians, aren't you? I'm sorry, but this is not the way it works."
"What are you? CIA operative? My guess is that we'll get out of here with or without you - Bob." Carter took on quite a bit of assertiveness. "Now, either we do this our way or not at all. I don't think getting this family to Kampala is too much to ask for from, by now, two well known freed Americans. Huh?"
With a reluctant nod of Bob's head, the two soldiers spoke with the woman and escorted her and the children with the rest of the men out onto the tarmac.
As Luka helped Carter bring up the rear they marveled at their new talent. "By the way," Carter asked, "what is it that you said to Bob back there?"
"You don't want to know."
"Oh, I do, I do."
"Another time, John."
A small plane ferried them from Pakwach to the capitol of Kampala. The plane normally flew in supplies and was obviously using this flight to its full advantage. Boxes and crates of food were scattered on the floor around the family. The soldiers stayed together in the back, leaving the doctors and Bob to the only seating off the floor: a crude bench seat that folded down from the wall. The bumpy ride made both doctors queezy. Bob, who rolled his eyes at the two, seemed to be used to it, or maybe he just a had a rock gut. Carter eventually leaned over and placed his head on his arms draped over his lap.
Luka noticed Carter's lack of enthusiasm for the ride and checked his vitals. This time Carter didn't object. His pulse was racing and he had a fever. Lifting up the back of his shirt, Luka saw the open, rotting wounds for the first time in a couple days and was stunned that Carter could have gotten as far as he did. On the other side of Carter, Bob couldn't help but see the open, infected remains of the torture as well as bigger older scars.
"What are those old ones from?" he asked Luka quietly.
"A psychotic patient tried to kill him."
"Refugee camp or Congolese prison?" Bob asked not sure if he really cared.
"Chicago emergency room."
Even tough guy Bob closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of commiseration.
Once there, Bob and Othiamba had to bear most of the load of Carter's weak body as they were transferred to an awaiting jet. Each step of the way they were rushed along as though a few minutes more would make a difference in the grand scheme of things, as Luka hung back chatting with the crew of the plane they had just arrived in as well as some on lookers.
Stopping at the bottom of the steps Carter put his arm around Bob's shoulders. "Bob, I'd like to thank you for your assistance. I assume that you'll get this family the proper help that Americans are known for."
"Dr. Carter, I'm to deliver you to the hands of the state department in Germany."
"So you've told us." Carter looked up at the outside of the jet and pointed to the fancy logo. "See that? This is a private jet and I'm going to go out on a limb and not invite you aboard. If its money you need…"
"No, no money, but…"
Luka jogged to the jet and helped Carter up the steps. "Turn around Bob and wave." Luka and Carter smiled and waved at the people standing at the other airplane watching them, including a couple of photographers. Bob hesitantly joined them, lowing his head and obscuring his face behind Luka. "Those wonderful people are very grateful to you for what you will be doing for our little family here."
"Thanks again." Carter stepped up into the plane and signaled the co-pilot standing back with him to pull up the stairs. "We'll make sure to tell the media back home what a fine job you did. They'll want to do a big story on the family, so you better get them all buffed up. See you around, Bob."
"God," Bob snickered and mumbled to himself, "I hope not."
At the last minute, Luka was handed a bag of medical supplies. Once in the air, he set up a crude IV and after a few very uncomfortable tries, got a line started on Carter's frail veins.
"Are you sorry you came?" Luka asked.
"No. I don't regret what I have done; only what I haven't done."
Luka gave him a smile understanding Carter's tribute to Joseph but it went unnoticed as Carter looked back at the papers he was reading.
"Ten thousand." Carter read aloud. "Ten thousand children forced to become mini warriors in the Congo."
"Where'd you get that?"
"The State Department papers. They were in my pack."
Luka sat back and tried to reassure him. "You know Carter, there are a lot of people who want to do good. There is still goodness out there. Don't let what happened to us and what we saw taint you." Carter continued to stare at the papers. "Even Jules, huh? He let us go after all."
"He didn't just let us go," Carter smirked. "Did you see the jet? It's an Emerson-Hasche jet."
"Yeah, so? Maybe they do a lot of business here."
Carter's head still hung low. "Emerson-Hasche Corporation doesn't do business in Africa. It's a subsidiary of SJK Industries. My grandfather was the major stockholder, and now my father and I are." Carter crumpled up the page he was reading and threw it on the floor. "We were liberated from our captors by a board of directors who authorized payment."