Born of War by Anderson Harp

through the water like a ghost. She was made for silence. She stood out for the ability of not being seen.
    â€œThe Zumwalt is heading our way. She will stay out of the Persian Gulf but will do her sea trials to the south, near the Gulf of Aden.”
    A ship of such size could not be kept a secret. As she passed any other vessel or merchant ship, the crews would be pulled up on deck to see the strange new sight.
    â€œWith ISIS fighting to our north, others may wish to take advantage of our attention being distracted. We will need to keep an eye on everything, particularly as North Africa remains unstable and our friends continue to try and link up with each other.”
    NavCent did have a full plate. And events were leading it towards deeper waters.

C HAPTER E IGHTEEN
    T he old man stood outside the medical tent with a small, bony boy standing next to him. The child was leaning on the old man like a grandchild might lean on his grandfather. Karen Stewart was cleaning a deep cut on the foot of a woman when she noticed the two waiting to be seen. She was amazed at the people she had already met in the short time that she had been there.
    Karen would put a stitch or two in the foot. DuBose had told her that no numbing injection was required.
    â€œSave that for the more serious injuries.”
    What do you mean “more serious”? She looked at the cut. It was from a piece of metal, which was rare in this part of the world. The woman had limped and walked for miles to get to the clinic and was being seen only because her husband had come with her. He was a suspicious man and stood outside the tent as Karen treated the wound.
    The woman did not budge at all as the needle of the suture entered her leathered skin.
    Just like a pit bull dog. Karen remembered from camp as a teenager once that a dog had wandered into the row of cabins. It was also cut deeply. All of the girls screamed as it lay down under a planked step to the cabin.
    The dog’s owner showed up and apologized for the dog. He was trying to calm the counselor with promises that the dog would never come this way again. It was wounded after cutting through a barbed-wire fence that caught him in just the wrong way.
    While the counselor kept the others calm in their cabin, Karen snuck outside the cabin entrance and watched the owner. He pulled the dog out by its collar. It was a pit bull dog. He lifted it up and placed it on the top step. The man pulled out a small kit, threaded a string in a needle, and started to sew up the wound. The dog lay there without flinching. It was impervious to pain.
    DuBose was on the other end of the tent helping a woman with a difficult birth. She had been bleeding for some time. It was not likely that DuBose would save either the woman or her child. Her screams penetrated the entire medical camp. Bleeding was the one thing that a patient’s will could not stop.
    â€œMataa, can you see what the old man needs?”
    She had one assistant who helped with the patient load. It had already become clear to her that they could work from dawn to dusk and never catch up.
    â€œPeter, do you need some help?”
    â€œNo, it is Allah’s will.” Peter wasn’t being sarcastic. He had already taught her how the people who lived in this valley thought. Karen had cried for a day when the first child was lost. And Peter pulled her aside.
    â€œAsk the mother what she thinks tomorrow.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo, really, it is a part of your education.”
    Karen sat down next to the mother, who was laughing and smiling the next day as she played with a young daughter near her cot.
    â€œI am so sorry,” Karen said with tears in her eyes.
    The woman had a strange look on her face as she talked to two others who were sitting on the ground nearby. Her reaction to Karen’s tears mystified Karen.
    Mataa interpreted some of the woman’s words.
    â€œShe says that ‘it is.’