Hammer stood quiet and tense, disbelief written all over his face. He didn’t move. “No, Chief.”
“Well,” Hampton said, sadness in his voice, “we lost Billy three days ago. Yesterday, Doc showed us she can hit the broad side of a barn. Frankly, I’m ordering Gabe to get her up to speed on sniper tactics as fast as he can because, dammit, she can consistently hit a target. And there are no more snipers we can get our hands on anywhere in the SEAL community right now. I can’t even get a straphanger. There just aren’t enough of them graduating through SEAL sniper school. It’s a rough course and most are washed out in the process. So we are looking at her as our backup sniper. I haven’t told her that yet, but the LT wants it done pronto. She’s a gun in this fight, Rettig. And you should be damn relieved about that.”
Gabe watched Hammer’s face drain of color. The SEAL knew when he had been bested. Doug Hampton was a quiet sort, and no one ever wanted to back up on him. He was deadly when cornered, and Hammer had just discovered this fact. Keeping his face unreadable, Gabe saw Hammer snort and turn away, striding toward the door.
“I didn’t dismiss you,” Hampton said.
Hammer halted and slowly turned around. “Yes, Chief.”
“You treat Doc like you would any newbie rotating into our platoon. Got that?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“And if I have to spell that out to you again, Rettig, I’ll be writing you a one-way ticket out of this platoon. Got it?”
Mouth twisting, Hammer muttered, “Yes, Chief. I got it. May I be dismissed?”
Hampton moved his shoulders as if to rid them of tautness and nodded. “In a minute.” And then he looked at the three other SEALs standing in front of him. “Any of you have something to add to this little chat before chow time?”
All three shook their heads, suddenly nervous under the chief’s dark, assessing look.
“I want all four of you, after chow, to take all the supplies and gear out of that tent next to Gabe’s tent. Doc is going to use it.” Hampton raised a finger and added, “I expect that place to be 4.0 when you’re finished. She deserves a clean tent like anyone else coming into our platoon. Questions?”
They quickly shook their heads, more than ready to escape the chief’s riled state.
“Dismissed.”
Gabe watched the four of them quickly leave. He turned back toward Doug after the door closed. “You handled that well,” he murmured, walking up to him.
“Dammit,” Hampton growled. “I knew this was coming.”
“You think Rettig will go behind your back and bitch to the LT?” Gabe asked, sitting on the stool near the chief.
“He’d better not,” Hampton said, moving his fingers through his dark brown hair. “If he does, the LT will hand him his one-way ticket before I get a chance to do it. We can’t afford this kind of divisiveness in our ranks. No way....”
There was worry in Hampton’s gray eyes.
“Anything I can do other than what I am doing?” Gabe asked.
“No. Doc is safe with you, thank God. LT and the AOIC are thanking their lucky stars you intervened on her behalf yesterday morning.”
Gabe chuckled a little. “Hammer was ganging up on her. I don’t put up with unfair advantages.”
“Nor do I,” Hampton said, scowling. “But you handled it like the LPO you are. The LT was pleased.”
Taking the compliment, Gabe said, “I’m happy to mentor her. She’s a sharp lady.”
“Far sharper than Rettig will ever be,” Hampton said. “He’s a damn fine SEAL, but he’s too territorial. That’s going to get him in deep trouble someday, and it damn well isn’t going to happen on my watch.”
“He’s a handful at times,” Gabe agreed, “but out on patrol, I wouldn’t want anyone but him around. You saw how well he shot yesterday. He’s sniper trained and he’s a damn good shot. We need every gun we can get in those fights.”
Sighing, Hampton patted Gabe’s shoulder. “I know. He’s a good SEAL, just misguided with his prejudices sometimes. If I hadn’t landed on him with both feet, he’d have taken control of the situation.”
“So, you’re going to unload our supply tent for Doc?” Gabe asked, wanting to get off the subject.
“Yeah, I talked with LT about it last night. They are very impressed with her, Gabe. Frankly, so am I.”
Gabe laughed again. “You three looked like an act of God had just taken place out there on that shooting range yesterday. Like a female Moses just arrived in a chariot in time to save your sorry asses.”
Hampton had the good grace to look sheepish. “Who knew? In her records, she shot expert at Pendleton in all weapons—pistol, rifle and M-4 grenade launcher. None of us realized how good she was, though. It blew us away.”
“Me, too,” Gabe admitted. “I don’t think Doc knows how talented she really is as a combat soldier.”
“Yeah, she’s really unassuming, isn’t she? A quiet mouse.”
Shrugging, Gabe said, “Well, at least she’s not like ego-busting Hammer.”
“You’re right,” Hampton said, settling his hands on his narrow hips. “We should be grateful for that. The LT has a call into the Special Forces captain she worked with over in Iraq. We want more dope on her. And once we know, I’ll pass it on to you. I think she’s very skilled in a lot of areas we’d never expected her to be. I’d like to know the breadth and depth of her combat experience.”
“Maybe Doc is just like the other women in that top-secret op, but we’ve just never had the knowledge to know how they are trained. They could all be like Doc.”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out. She graduated top five in her class of forty women. They’re a bunch of Amazons.” He grinned. “Don’t tell Doc I said that. I don’t want to get in hock with General Maya Stevenson. She’s an Army general heading up Operation Shadow Warriors. She has a reputation of getting into your face so damn fast you won’t live to tell about it.”
“Not a word I’d use around Doc.”
Hampton grinned. “We really don’t know what Doc is made of yet, and we need to find out. The Pentagon is expecting weekly reports on her.” He clapped his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “Since you’re her mentor, you’ll be writing up a weekly report and sending it on to me. Once I read it and make comments or whatever, I pass it up the chain of command to LT. From there, it goes into a black hole in the E-ring of the Pentagon.”
Groaning, Gabe shook his head. “I don’t mind mentoring, Doug, but damn, a weekly report? Can’t you cut me some slack?”
Hampton smiled evenly. “No can do. It’s all yours, thank God. But I am going to invite myself along every once in a while on the next few missions to make sure Hammer and those other three fall into line. I won’t have him splitting the team.”
“I don’t know what Hammer will do,” Gabe said. “One thing for sure, if he tries anything stupid out there with her, he’ll answer to me. And I won’t be nice and invite him outside to beat the hell out of him. I’ll take him on the instant it happens.”
Raising one eyebrow, Hampton nodded. “Good. She’s to be treated like any newbie. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t care if they razz or tease her, but anything beyond that—”
“I have her six, Doug. Don’t worry about it.” Six was a term used by the military when an enemy plane flew up behind an American pilot’s plane and was getting ready to shoot it down. It meant Gabe would protect Bay, should it come down to that.
Hampton gripped his shoulder. “You’re in the breech, but I wouldn’t have any other SEAL in that sorry position. Can you go help the guys get that tent fixed up for her today?”
Gabe eased off the stool, his M-4 in a sling across his chest. “No problem.”
“You going to sit her down and show her patrol tactics and formations?”
“First thing on my list,” Gabe promised. “After evening chow.”
As Gabe stepped outside in the heat of the afternoon, he waffled. Should he go find Doc? Invite her to the chow hall? Part of him wanted to, but another part didn’t. Still, he was her mentor and that had him walking down the dusty street between the many tents to go find her. Even after his conversation with the chief, Gabe felt nagging worry about the confrontation with Hammer. He sincerely hoped the SEAL would fall into line. Doc didn’t deserve his misguided prejudice.
So far, Doc had shown all of them she could shoot. That, in and of itself, was a phenomenal shock. A good one, and Gabe grinned to himself, chuckling over yesterday’s competition. Hill people might appear to be plain and unassuming, but Gabe had learned early on they were smart and possessed backwoods common sense that would dazzle everyone.
CHAPTER FIVE
BAY COULD HARDLY contain her excitement as the Chinook helicopter landed at Bagram Air Base near noon. Chief Hampton had ordered Gabe to take her to the U.S. Navy Supply Terminal to get outfitted with SEAL gear and weapons. As they disembarked out the rear of the helo into the sunlight, the heat was stifling. Bagram Air Base sat a bit north of Kabul and it was all desert. Just like Iraq.
Gabe seemed to know his way around, guiding her through the Helicopter Operations Building and requisitioning a beaten-up white Toyota pickup truck from a Marine sergeant friend of his outside the doors of the busy place. The airstrip was alive with helo activity. An enormous C-5 Air Force transport was landing at the fixed-wing operations and runway area. Apache combat helicopters were trundling toward a takeoff point with a full load of rockets and Hellfire missiles on board. The noise and activity were high and constant. It reminded Bay of a busy beehive.
They arrived at Naval Supply, a large warehouse on the other side of the base. Bay had been at Bagram only one other time, and that was the flight into Afghanistan from Iraq. The landing had been at night, so she never realized just how big this base was.
Gabe parked the truck out in front of the warehouse and climbed out. Like everyone else, he carried a weapon, an M-4 rifle he had in a sling across his chest. A SIG Sauer 9mm pistol rode low in a drop holster on his right thigh. On his left thigh was a SEAL SOF knife in a sheath. As she met him and walked into the air-conditioned building, she was proud to be at his side. SEALs stood out from other military personnel. Maybe it was the gear they wore or the confident way they carried themselves. Or both.
Gabe halted at the main counter and handed the Navy yeoman, a young woman in her early twenties, a requisition slip. She read it, looked from him to Bay.
“SEAL gear for a woman?” she asked, unsure.
“Yes,” Gabe said. The yeoman frowned, scratched her blond head and shrugged. He wasn’t going to tell her anything if she started to pump him with questions.
“There’s no women’s sizes in SEAL gear. You know what section the gear is in?” she asked him.
Gabe nodded. “I just need you to sign that and I’ll take her down there and we’ll collect her gear.”
Bay could tell the yeoman was flustered. She was sure other women came here for military gear, too. Especially military police women. The look in her eyes, however, was questioning the SEAL gear order. Bay followed Gabe down a wide aisle where pallets of supplies were piled up nearly to the ceiling.
“You’ve done this a few times,” she said as they walked beside each other.
“A few.”
“I thought that yeoman was going to faint.”
He smiled. “It’s a little unusual for a female to show up needing SEAL gear—you have to admit that.”
Bay nodded and scanned the area. “I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived at Camp Bravo. It was nice of the chief to get me the gear I’ll need in order to work with your team.”
Gabe halted in the clothing section. “I just hope we can find a size that fits you,” he muttered, looking through the cammies. “You’re going to have to wear a man’s uniform.”
Shrugging, Bay moved over and looked through the sizes, her fingers moving quickly through the hanging desert cammies. “I’ll survive.” She grinned over at him.
This morning when Gabe had found her at the chow hall eating breakfast, he seemed subdued, preoccupied. Had something happened earlier? If so, he hadn’t said anything. Still, Bay could feel the energy around him as she always felt around people, places and things.
“I think these will fit. Let me try them on.” She pulled a pair of cammies off the rack and took them to a fitting room.
Within an hour, Bay had her cammies, a set of good desert boots, H-gear harness, jacket, cold-weather gear and a rucksack. Then Gabe took her over to the Navy Armory, nearby.
Bay stood looking at the rifles and pistols setting on racks behind the counter. “Why are we here?” she asked him. She patted her M-4 across her chest. “I have everything I need, don’t I?”
“Well,” Gabe hedged, “not quite.” He turned and noticed the confused look on her face. For a second, he felt blinded by her natural beauty. It unnerved him. “The chief wants you to get a .300 Win Mag.”
“What?”
He tried to get his mind back on task. “You really impressed the LT and chief out there yesterday with your shooting, Doc. We’re short a sniper in our squad, and he’s hoping you’ll agree to train in with me on sniper ops. As a backup,” he added. Her eyes widened enormously, her lips parted as she digested his words. “Want to add this to your training résumé?” Gabe sincerely hoped she’d say yes.
“But I’m not a trained sniper, Gabe.” Bay protested quietly, keeping her voice down because the warehouse was filled with military men and women. “I haven’t gone through sniper school. Won’t the guys think—”
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” he parried quietly, holding her unsure stare. “Chief decides. If he feels you are qualified, sniper school or not, Doc, he’s not going to waste whatever skills you have out there on coming missions.”
It made sense to her, but it was still a shock. “Okay,” she said, shrugging. “I’ll try, but no promises.”
“You’ll be carrying the Win Mag on some missions but not all of them. It just depends on the type of op, but you’ll have to carry it outside on your rucksack like I do. It’s more weight.”
Gazing up at the four Win Mags standing on the rack, she nodded. “It’s not a problem. I carry sixty to eighty pounds of medical gear on my back already. I’m a mobile operating unit.” She turned and looked up at him. His face was unreadable, those green eyes dark and thoughtful looking. “I can do it.”
Gabe called over a Navy personnel man and produced another requisition slip.
Bay was excited about the Win Mag. It brought back happy memories with her father. She wondered obliquely if he was looking over her shoulder as she was given the rifle. Moving her fingers across the fiberglass stock, she heard Gabe asked for a SIG Sauer pistol. She raised her head and saw one produced by the Navy guy behind the counter. Frowning, she laid the rifle on the counter.
Gabe picked up the pistol, checked it out and was satisfied. He turned, handing it to her butt first. “You’ll wear one of these, too.”
Stunned, Bay stared down at the specially made German pistol. “But...” She gulped. “Oh, I can’t, Gabe.” She held up her hands and took a step back. “Only SEALs are allowed to wear that pistol. It’s specially made for them. Even I know that.”
Gabe seemed surprised at her reaction. “That’s true, but you’re with our team now. You need to always wear it wherever you go. It’s never not a part of your daily gear you wear, Doc.”
Panic ate at Bay as she stared at the pistol. She hesitated.
“What’s the problem?” Gabe demanded.
Licking her lower lip, Bay said, “I want to fit in, Gabe. Not stand out. Half those guys don’t
want me around. I—I didn’t go through SEAL training. By all rights, I haven’t earned the right to wear a SIG. It just seems like a slap in their faces, to me. That I’m pretending to be something I’m not.”
Gabe laid the SIG on the counter, understanding her concerns. There was genuine anxiety in her blue eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “Look, Doc, what you don’t understand yet is where we patrol, the missions we undertake. We’re in harm’s way all the time. You can’t have enough weapons and ammo on you, believe me.” He wanted to leave his hand on her shoulder but forced himself to release her. “You’re worried Hammer and his guys are going to ride you about wearing it, aren’t you?”
Nodding, Bay chewed on her lower lip. “It will be one more thing they’ll hold against me. They’ll accuse me of—”
“Bay,” he said, purposely using her name to get her to focus, “read my lips. The chief wants you fully equipped. If you don’t look like a SEAL out where we patrol, that’s not good, because the Taliban we have to deal with sometimes will only respect us because we are SEALs. Got it?”
His logic was sound. Bay felt a shiver where he’d unexpectedly touched her shoulder. “Okay, I guess I can take it....”
Gabe picked up the black nylon drop holster and said, “Lift your arms away from your waist.”
Taken aback, Bay realized he was going to place the holster around her waist. For the next few minutes, Gabe made sure the drop holster fit correctly. Pulling the two Velcro straps just tight enough around her thigh, he wanted the pistol to ride just above her knee.
“There. How does that feel?” Gabe handed her the SIG. The SEAL pistol had no safety on it.
Breaking Point Page 5
