Border Wars

Chapter 1

Late January

The doorbell rang, and India Army Major Balkar Singh Podar strolled over to answer it. The purple turban tightly wrapped around his head set off his slightly swarthy face and braided beard. He pulled open the door to greet a visitor with a similar skin shade and an expectant smile upon his face. The visitor wore an overcoat and form fitting, thin leather gloves as protection against the Midwest January weather. His right hand remained inside a rather deep coat pocket.

Ah yes, said the apartment dweller, I have what you want—a tie tack flag of India for your collection. Please come in while I go to get one.

Thank you, Major Podar. I’ll wait right here.

The Major turned to fetch the small curio. As he did, the visitor quickly shot forth his gloved left hand to grasp the major around his mouth from behind and pull him backward off balance. The visitor’s gloved right hand came out of his coat pocket holding a long, military looking knife. He plunged the point several inches into the side of the major’s neck. He wrenched the knife forward and then back. This action insured critical veins and arteries were severed, as well as the major’s trachea. Unlike a throat slashing, there was very little blood spray from the wound. Instead, the preponderance of the blood rushed into the victim’s windpipe in a classic, silent sentry kill.

The assassin supported the major’s body until his struggles ceased and then eased him down onto the floor of his living room. Leaving the knife buried deeply in the side of the victim’s neck, he pulled out a flag tie tack of his own from his coat pocket and dropped it on the floor. It had a white stripe, a white star, and a white new-moon imprinted on a green background—the flag of Pakistan. He noted some blood had splattered onto his coat sleeves, so he quickly pulled his arms out of the sleeves, turning them inside out as he did so. Folding the coat inside out over his arm, he quietly shut the ground floor apartment door and exited the stairwell into the night.

The major’s wife, Harleen Kaur Podar, and their four-year-old daughter, Manpreet Kaur Podar, returned from an International Spouse Club social function an hour later. Their frantic screams could be heard throughout the apartment complex, drawing out neighbors from several stairwells to see what was going on. This included Major Daud Khan, the Army officer from Pakistan, Azra Daud, his wife, and Mansur Khan, their four-year-old son and playmate of Manpreet. They lived in one of two third-floor apartments in the next stairwell. Harleen looked up and met the eyes of the Pakistani couple. She stopped screaming momentarily, looked closer at the knife sticking out of the side of her dead husband’s neck, and then widened her eyes as she made a connection.

That’s a Pakistani Army bayonet! she yelled. You killed my Balkar! You killed my husband!

Azra, who had just returned with Harleen from the social function in the Podar’s car cried, No, he couldn’t have! I woke him up on our couch. He was sound asleep when Mansur and I returned just now.

Harleen looked down at her dead husband’s body while she tried to shield her little Manpreet from the grisly sight. Her eyes were drawn to a bit of color on the floor. Knowing better than to touch anything, she knelt down to stare at the small piece of jewelry. "The Pakistani flag. You killed him!" Harleen arose and launched herself at Major Khan, trying to scratch out his eyes. He fended her off as gently as he could while protesting his innocence. In the distance, police sirens neared the apartment complex. Several neighbors surrounded the Pakistani officer until the police could make an appearance. They were classmates, officers from other countries in the group. Several noted the smell of alcohol on his breath, most uncommon on an Islamic. Their wives separated the two women and their children and tried to calm all of them. The police piled out of their squad cars and came running to the scene. It promised to be a long, emotional night.

Chapter 2

Early January

Retired Military Intelligence Lieutenant Colonel Enos Hobson sat in a waiting room chair while his just-arrived International Officer (IO), Infantry Major Daud Khan, filled out rental forms at the counter of the apartment complex’s office. Enos had been gently coaxed into becoming a Leavenworth IO Sponsor by his daughter, Samantha. She had said, We were treated so nicely on our overseas tours; it’s time we paid forward to pay back.

Huh?

You know what I’m trying to say, Daddy. Don’t play stupid on me in hopes you’ll get out of an obligation.

Lord, she’s as cunning as her mother, Enos thought as he began to pay attention to Sam.

The International Officer Program at the Command and General Staff College (CGSC) has need of Leavenworth sponsors for international officers coming into the winter CGSC class. Many of them come with their families, although the ones from poorer countries come as geographical bachelors. Each officer gets three different sponsors: a military sponsor, who makes sure the Army’s bureaucracy doesn’t overwhelm him; a Kansas City sponsor, who makes sure he and his family get shown around the big city and its society; and a Leavenworth sponsor, who makes sure his family has a place to live, a car to get around in, clothing appropriate for the changing seasons, necessary licenses and paperwork requested, and school registration for the children. Sponsors introduce them to the community, make them part of their extended family, and provide a social network for them while away from their country.

Wow, you sure have that patter down.

Samantha winked, That’s what you get when your favorite daughter is majoring in communications and is interning at the Public Television Station.

Ok, so who do I have to see about this?

I already signed us up at the Chamber of Commerce. Our orientation briefing will be at the Community Center tomorrow at 7PM. LTC Dodd, the Director of the International Officer Program, and his operations Officer, Major Williams, will tell us all about it.

Pretty confident about talking me into this.

Of course, Sam smugly replied.

Now, Enos was squiring Major Khan around. The used car lots were next. Enos suddenly pricked up his ears when he heard Major Khan ask an interesting question of the apartment office lady. Tell me, is the officer from India living in this complex?

As a matter of fact, he is. He and his family live in Building 16301, stairwell ‘A,’ apartment 101. You will be in the next stairwell, ‘B’ of that building on the third floor in apartment 302.

Ah, thank you so much. I must go introduce myself and my family to him and his family.

And that was just about as subtle as a train wreck. As is often the case, he’s here to spy on the opposition as well as to be a student.

Enos had done his homework, once he learned from what country their officer and his family was coming. Pakistan and India had been at each other’s throats literally for years over the border district of Kashmir. They had both developed nuclear capabilities because of that very conflict, so it didn’t surprise Enos that both officers would be keeping a sharp eye on one another.

That afternoon, Enos was successful in finding Major Khan a clean used car that seemed to be in good shape. Then, it was off to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to get him and his wife Azra driver’s licenses. After he led the new family over to their new, furnished apartment, he promised Sam would come that evening and take Azra shopping for food and supplies. It was agreed that Enos would take Major Khan to the Community Center’s swimming pool and gym for a workout on the morrow. The next day in the locker room, they were disrobing for the pool and Enos had the opportunity to see that the Pakistani officer was a warrior—bullet wound scars on his torso front and back.

Where did you pick those up?

Khan made light of the signs of combat, On the top of the world in the border mountains of Kashmir. I was a lieutenant platoon leader at the time on a patrol with some of my men. We were ambushed, and I was shot. My platoon sergeant pulled me out of that fire fight and saved my life.

And you were shot by…?

The Indians, of course.

So, will that be a problem between the Indian officer and yourself while you are here?

Oh no, there was nothing personal in the ambush. It was just war. We’d have done the same to them had we gotten the drop on them first.

So, do your injuries bother you in any way?

No, I was lucky. Nothing vital was damaged. Oh, I feel it in my ribs and back when the air pressure changes quickly, like when a major weather front approaches. I also lost a fair amount of use of my right hand and arm; however, I’m left-handed, so no serious problem. Other than those, I’m ok.

This conversation would play itself out repeatedly in Enos’ head later on.

Chapter 3

An Important Question

The next day was Saturday. Enos was enjoying goofing off. He had been busy all the past week taking the Khan family around and getting them settled. The night before, he had invited them over for dinner and relaxation afterwards. Samantha had played the perfect hostess, providing an excellent meal that she had bought at a local grocery’s deli section and reheated. Enos got the impression that Azra might be the same kind of cook from some of the things she let slip.

This rice dish is delicious, Samantha. Was it difficult to make?

Oh no, Azra, not at all. I’m sure you cook much better entreés.

Azra looked away in embarrassment. Ah…no, our cooks usually do that. I have never had to cook anything.

Oh…I see. Well, to be totally honest, I didn’t cook this either.

No?

No, I bought it from the grocery’s deli section already prepared. All I had to do was heat it up. I must confess, my mother and grandmother do all the cooking at our house. I’ve been too busy studying at college to find time to learn. Frankly, Daddy is a pretty good cook. I might have starved here otherwise.

Daud’s eyes widened, "Really, Enos, you cook?"

Certainly, I’ve found knowing how to cook a necessary survival skill in this household. Sam stuck out her tongue at Enos and rolled her eyes.

But cooking is women’s work, Enos. Surely you can hire servants to take over such onerous tasks.

Actually, Major Khan, I enjoy cooking occasionally. You will discover that not many Americans can afford servants. Plus, we tend to be either self-reliant like myself or slaves to the fast-food industry.

Major Khan and Azra glanced at one another, embarrassed that they may have committed a social blunder. It was obvious to Enos and Sam that the Khans came from much higher social strata. Trying to salvage the moment, Azra inquired of Sam, Tell me, where can I find reliable child care for little Mansur?

Since I don’t have children or my own family yet, I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of knowledge in this area. Daddy?

Azra, there is an excellent childcare facility on post. Plus, I understand there are reliable teenagers who may be available for babysitting. Who did you use back home?

Oh, Mansur had two nannies, as well as numerous maids, house boys, and gardeners to watch over him.

I see…well, you might find nanny services in Kansas City; however, in Leavenworth it’s not likely.. We tell the CGSC students jokingly that they’re here for the best year of their lives. Who knows, you may enjoy more togetherness as husband and wife and Mom and Dad while living under very different conditions. It promotes bonding, which can’t be such a bad thing.

Perhaps you are right, Colonel Hobson, but, Azra looked worried.

In all, it had been an interesting evening of cultural discoveries for all concerned. The only negative incident was when little Mansur discovered Sheba, Enos’ Rhodesian Ridgeback hound and her puppy, Sampson, out in the garage. Mansur totally ignored his parents’ chidings and continued to pull their ears and hitting at them with his little fists while laughing his spoiled little head off. Enos quickly rescued the dogs by locking them in the garage away from the little terror. Mansur had to content himself by striking matches he found in the kitchen. Sam had to do the rescuing that time, since Mansur’s parents apparently didn’t believe in disciplining their child.

Finally, the evening was over, and the Khans departed Enos’ unusual blue domed house. That went well, don’t you think, Sam?

It was ok, except for their little monster. Babysitters will need to be warned.

***

With the ice and snow of January outside his house and yesterday’s hard workout at the community pool, Enos contented himself with a weight lifting and stationary recumbent bicycle workout in his own recreation room. Now he was sitting in front of his wood-burning stove, sipping coffee and reading the Kansas City Star. Sam wandered in from her room, yawning and heading for the kitchen and the coffee pot. She poured a mug, adding sweetener and cream, and sat beside her father.

Hey there, Pumpkin, what are your plans for the day?

I thought I’d do the wash and plan out my schedule for next week. Tonight, Tom and I are going to a mystery dinner put on by a theatre group at the Micro-Brewery Restaurant.

That sounds like fun.

Yes, I always have fun with Tom.

Tom Borden was Leavenworth’s Fire Marshal. The Hobsons had met him when Enos became involved with tracking down a murderous arsonist called the Firebug the previous summer. Despite Tom’s melted-wax features on the left side of his face from a horrific fire accident, Sam had fallen hard for him and vice versa. With Sam’s return to Leavenworth after completing her senior year coursework at Indiana University, their relationship had continued to grow, much further than Enos suspected. Her internship down in Kansas City, the last hurdle between Sam and her graduation, meant for a long commute and longer work hours. This pretty much relegated their dating opportunities to the weekend.

How about you, Daddy?

"Evidently the Khans and the India officer’s family are getting together at their apartment to socially bury the hatchet for the year. I’m pretty much off the hook socially until next Friday when the military sponsor’s family will be hosting a small party for the Kansas City sponsors, the Khans, and me. I think I will just take it easy this weekend. Oh, Isaac and Brenda and Maude and Reverend Green are coming over tomorrow at noon. You and Tom are invited.

Ok, Daddy.

The rest of the day was just what Enos needed—restfully quiet. He even managed to sneak in a nap, that is, until the telephone rang in the middle of the afternoon.

Enos Hobson speaking.

Hello, you beautiful, honorable man, came the dulcet