Near El Qaa, LebanonD
espite the head-to-toe drape of the hijab and a dark ankle-length dress Maj. Ariya Zana felt naked. She had reluctantly buried her AK-47 along with her uniform and equipment under a pile of rocks, and she was now armed only with her wits and the small poniard dagger in its goat-skin sheath strapped to her right calf with a piece of cord. She had rarely been without a rifle or pistol since she was old enough to load and fire one. The stolid touch and feel of weapons gave her a certain reassurance that helped overcome the fears that were an ever-present part of the life she lived.
Zana re-checked the area to be sure her precious weapon and personal effects were safely hidden and then began to walk in a westerly direction down off the hill she’d climbed after slipping
