Talking to visitors, Morales glanced around the hospital room and spotted two of the team’s interpreters.
Blade and Mustafa stood there, looking as if they were afraid to walk inside. Morales quickly waved them in. He wanted to talk to them.
“Hey, how are you doing?” he asked.
They told him they were trying to recover from the battle and wanted to pay their respects to him. They also were in Bagram to pick up CK’s body and bring it home for burial.
After the battle, CK’s corpse was taken to the morgue at the air base. Now his friends had to claim it. They wanted to make sure he had a proper burial. It was a solemn moment. The terps knew CK’s mother would be distraught. Blade had been his best friend and would take care of arrangements. CK took the job to help his family.
CK had tried to become a terp a few years earlier, but was rejected because he looked too young. He was just a teenager, but lied about his age, saying he was in his twenties. His baby face gave him away.
Morales knew CK hadn’t been afraid to risk his life. He died fighting alongside Special Forces. He wanted so badly to be a Special Forces soldier. And he might have died because he was wearing an American uniform. A sniper had been targeting soldiers wearing the tan desert camouflage.
Morales could tell the terps were grieving. They talked for a few more minutes about CK. It was a way for everyone to deal with the grief. He told them CK was a great interpreter and that he was in a good place. A place without wars.
A few minutes later, it was time to leave. The terps said good-bye. It would be the last time Morales would see them. The next day he was flown to Germany—the first step in his long recovery.