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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
(First section.)

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 love to see the biggest ones."

© 2006 by Paul Carlson

[Technical note: In this working draft, I've used 'miles' and 'feet,' rather than Asian/military metric terms.]