Gabe conceded she had a point. He was watching Hammer’s face, the SEAL in deep thought about Bay’s words. “You’re right,” Gabe admitted. “But among us, it helps us put you into perspective. And maybe, for some of the guys who were questioning whether you had the goods or not, knowing your father was a Marine Corps sniper could have swayed them a little sooner into trusting you as a shooter.”
Bay rubbed her gritty, damp face. “Y’all are right,” she muttered with apology. “Where I come from we know people by their acts and actions. My pa can’t give me his sniper talents. I have to earn the skills through training and hard work.”
Hammer chuckled. “Yeah, that’s basically true, Doc. But you got a mean eye for a target. You have your pa’s genes in you. If I’d known what I know now, I’d never have bet that hundred bucks against you.”
Feeling grateful that Hammer wasn’t poking fun at her or being rude, Bay felt another level of anxiety dissolve. The red-haired SEAL was regarding her with newfound respect. “Squirrels are mighty hard to shoot,” she said, smiling a little and sifting the dirt through her hand. “My pa taught me the basics of tracking, camouflage and shooting, but the rest was up to me.” Her smile faded as she assessed the team. “You guys need to understand, we ate what we shot. If I couldn’t hit what I was shooting at, there was no food for the table that night.”
Hammer stood, pulling the boonie hat a little lower on his brow. “When you going to get her dialed in on CQD, Griffin?”
Gabe stood up. “When we get time.”
“Well, I’d like to help train Doc in. I’m really good at close-quarters defense.” He held up his meaty hands, calluses on the edges of each of them.
Bay stood with the rest of them. “CQD?” She turned and looked up at Gabe. “Hand-to-hand combat?”
He nodded, picking up his M-4. “Yeah, it’s called Close Quarter Defense, something you need to know. Did the Green Berets ever train you up on that?”
“No.”
Hammer shook his head and muttered, “Sissies.”
The rest of the SEALs chuckled and they all walked off together toward the camp.
Bay strolled at Gabe’s side, watching her step and where she was going. The earth was chewed up badly because sometimes the Taliban would send mortars flying into the area in the dead of night. “Why do I need to learn that?” she demanded.
“In our business, we’re often outnumbered. We can’t get good ground asset intel of how many Taliban are in a given area. Sometimes we’re searching through houses in a village and things turn bad. We try not to shoot and kill someone if we can take them down with our other methods. We call it controlled violence. If a woman, child or elderly person is in the room, but unarmed, we don’t shoot. We’re looking for the bad guy with a weapon. Them, we will shoot.”
Bay grimaced. “Am I going to be clearing rooms?”
“You will, in time,” Hammer said. “Not right now, because you don’t know our methods or how we work as a team when we do it.”
“I think I’d like to just be a medic.”
Hammer snickered and looked back at her. “Doc, you’re on the front lines with SEALs. There is no safe place. You need to know how we operate so you don’t get shot in the process. We can’t protect you out there if we’re doing a house-to-house search for an HVT. We want you alive, not dead.”
Grinning, Bay said, “Hammer, the only reason you’re concerned is that you wouldn’t get any more cookies that my mama made.”
The team erupted into good-natured laughter. A new sense of camaraderie was born.
CHAPTER TEN
“BE CAREFUL OUT there tonight?” Bay asked Gabe as he got ready to board the Night Stalker piloted MH-47 Chinook helicopter winding up on the apron at Ops. It was already dark and the sniper op with Hammer had been given authorization. The chief felt Bay needed more time to acclimate to the platoon before being thrown into a sniper mission. She knew the two SEALs would be dropped below a ridge far above the village where the three new Taliban rat lines had been discovered. The villagers didn’t want the Taliban in their valley; all they wanted was to be left in peace to farm and survive.
Gabe heard the worry in her tone as he straightened from tightening the knife sheath containing a SOF knight on his left thigh. They stood just outside Ops, waiting for the crew chief of the Night Stalker helo to give them the signal to board. There were no lights and he couldn’t see as well as he could hear her tone. “We’ll be okay.”
Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, Bay suddenly felt anxiety. She knew Gabe was a good sniper and had four deployments under his belt. She worried about Hammer, too, who was running to make the helo, having gotten delayed by the Chief Hampton back at HQ. The smell of aviation kerosene fuel was in the air as the MH-47 spooled up. Reaching out, she gripped his left arm. “Just be safe, Gabe. Okay?”
Gabe gazed down into her deeply shadowed face, her eyes fraught with fear. His arm tingled where her fingers touched the material of his cammie sleeve. When she removed her hand from his sleeve, Gabe felt as if he’d lost something special. Unquantifiable.
He sought and found her fingers, squeezing them. “You worry too much. It could be a quiet night out there. We never know....”
* * *
BAY SAT IN Chief Hampton’s office with him, listening to the radio chatter. It was 0200 and she was fighting dropping off to sleep, her head resting on her arms at the corner of his desk.
“Why don’t you go hit the sack?” Hampton said to her.
Rousing herself, Bay pushed strands of hair off her face. “If I’m going to be doing this work, I want to understand how you guys operate.”
Hampton pulled over another report to read it. “Okay, but you’re going with us tomorrow morning to that village. I’d like you sharp, Doc.”
Bay sighed. She didn’t want to tell the chief that she was personally worried for Gabe’s safety. That comment had no place here. Rubbing her hands on the thigh of her cammies, she pushed the chair back. “Okay...”
“Blue Bird Main, this is Blue Bird Actual. Over.”
Bay stopped breathing for a moment as Gabe’s low voice came over the radio.
Hampton answered, “Blue Bird Actual, this is Blue Bird Main. Over.”
“Two tangos coming down the northeast rat line carrying sacks. Probably fertilizer. Am I authorized to take them out? Over.”
Bay released a breath as Hampton’s face went expressionless. Her fingers curved into her palms. Two Taliban had been spotted coming down the rat line. If they were carrying large bags, it was usually fertilizer, which was used to create IEDs. Her heart began a slow pound.
“Blue Bird Actual, can you wait to see if there’s anyone else coming down that trail? Over.”
“Roger, Blue Bird Main. They have half a mile before they reach the bottom and are in the valley. Over.”
“Blue bird Main, let’s wait and see.”
“Roger.”
Hampton scowled and put the radio down on his desk.
“Do you suspect others?” Bay asked.
He rubbed his face. “Usually, when the Taliban is bringing in loads of fertilizer, there’s a group of them. Not just two. And usually it’s on a caravan of camels or donkeys. Sometimes on the backs of men instead. Just depends.”
“So you’re wanting Gabe and Hammer to wait and see?”
“Yeah. Because if there’s more coming over that ridge, they’re all armed. If Gabe and Hammer shoot those two, it can create a hornet’s nest with the ones they don’t see. We have no idea of what kind of force is out there and what they might be up against.”
He picked up another radio and called for a Predator Drone to be sent to the GPS coordinates where the two snipers were in their hide, concealed from the enemy’s view.
Bay heard the CIA guy on th
e other end who handled the drones out of Camp Bravo. One would be sent on station in thirty minutes. The crew was outfitting it with missiles right now. There was worry in the chief’s eyes as he ended the transmission.
“What does that mean?”
“It means—” Hampton sighed “—that the drone isn’t going to be on station soon enough to be eyes in the sky to help us out. I want to know if the rest of this Taliban group is on the other side of the mountain. If Gabe fires, they’ll spot the muzzle flash.”
“And that’s not good,” she whispered, her heart beating harder. “How close to that path are they?”
“A thousand yards,” Hampton muttered.
Just then, LT Paul Brafford popped into the office. Brafford was barely six feet tall, black hair and blue eyes. He was married with three children, Bay had found out the other day. Brafford carried photos of his three kids and his wife in the upper Velcro pocket of his Kevlar vest. She was touched to hear that.
Bay stood to give the officer the chair, hoping he’d let her stay.
The LT gestured to the chair. “Keep sitting, Doc. I can hear standing up.” He smiled a little.
“Thank you, sir.” Bay sat down, the officer next to the desk, arms against his chest, talking with Hampton.
“We got close air support nearby, Doug?”
Hampton nodded. “Yeah, we have a B-52 circling on a racetrack at thirty thousand feet.”
“Okay, call it in and tell it to stay on the racetrack. If we can’t have a drone on station, they’ve got to have some kind of protection if the rest of the Taliban force is on the other side of the mountain.”
Some relief flowed through Bay. A racetrack was a term used to mean a bomber or fighter jet was loitering in an oval flight pattern at high altitude above the area in question. That way, they were quick enough to respond with rockets, bombs or missiles if the SEALs were threatened.
The B-52 pilot came up on transmission and Brafford spoke directly to the pilot, apprising him of the situation. Were there more Taliban coming over that ridge? Bay tried to sit quietly and not show any emotion. Right now the two SEALs were speaking in low tones, as if nothing were out of place; as if they did this all the time. It was routine.
“Blue Bird Main, this is Blue Bird Actual. We’ve spotted ten more Taliban on the upper portion of the path. Over.”
It was hard for Bay to breathe. Gabe and Hammer were three thousand feet away from this heavily armed group of Taliban! Even though they were well hidden, if things went south, the whole mission could erupt into one hell of a firefight. She glanced up at LT, who was scowling. Brafford took the radio from Chief Hampton.
“Blue Bird Actual, this is Blue Bird Main. How close to the valley floor are the first two? Over.”
“They’ve got about five hundred feet until they reach the valley. Over.”
Brafford pulled over the satellite map that had the three newly discovered rat lines outlined in red. “You’re situated above the path closest to the most southern village? Over?”
“Roger.”
Hampton shook his head. “That’s not good. What if those guys get too close to that village?”
Brafford nodded, his expression deeply pensive. “Make a call to the Apaches over at the Black Jaguar Squadron. Get two of them out there pronto. I don’t want to drop five-hundred-pound JDAMs on that group. It’s just too close to the village. It will scare the hell out of everyone, and that’s not want we want if it can be avoided.”
Bay knew the village was pro-American. She understood the LT’s wise decision. Apaches could go in and perform microsurgery, take out the bad guys and not cause havoc or destruction to the friendly village. The people would be banged out of their sleep, for sure. And probably badly scared, but .50-caliber bullets instead of five-hundred-pound bombs going off this close to their homes were a better choice. Plus, it would keep the two snipers from danger close drops of bombs, if they had been were used. And Bay knew from experience that many men were killed by “friendly fire.”
Brafford got on the radio to Gabe and gave them orders to remain where they were, be eyes on the ground and follow the movement of the Taliban and not to engage the enemy at this point. They had range-finding Night Force scopes that could see through the dark and GPS so that the intel could be fed directly to the Apache helo’s avionics that would be coming on station shortly. It was a quick ten-minute flight across a mountain ridge to that valley. Bay drew in a slow breath, glad that Brafford wasn’t going to have them engage the large force of Taliban. It would be two against twelve.
“Blue Bird Main, this is Blue Bird Actual. We’ve now got twenty Taliban coming down that path. All carrying heavy loads. Got three donkeys loaded with sacks. Probably all fertilizer. Over.”
“Roger, Blue Bird Actual. Apaches on the way. Switch comms so we can hear you talking them into the target. Over.”
“Roger, Blue Bird Main. Switching over now....”
Bay remained glued to the chair, barely breathing, for the next half hour. The snipers had coordinated the entire dance between the Apaches and the Taliban. She sat riveted as the women pilots from Black Jaguar Squadron came online, speaking directly to Gabe. Their transmissions were short and to the point.
As soon as the Apaches arrived, they had thermal avionics capability to spot human body heat down on the ridge below. In a matter of minutes, the Apaches moved in like a wolf pack and destroyed the line of Taliban strung along the rat line. Even more surprising, Bay heard the one pilot report fifteen more Taliban coming up on the opposite ridge slope. All told, thirty men were using the path. If Gabe had fired that one shot at the first two leaders, there were twenty-eight other Taliban who probably would have dropped their bags, pulled out their AK-47s and gone out to hunt those two SEALs down and try to kill them.
Wiping his mouth, Brafford said, “Good night’s work, Doug. Get the Night Stalker in there to pick them up.”
Hampton nodded. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
GABE WAS WALKING through Ops, carrying his sniper rifle over his left shoulder when he saw Bay walk in. It was 0340 and his heart unexpectedly opened. There was a serious look on her face. Hammer was at his side.
“Hey,” Hammer called, “by any chance are you meeting us to give us some more of your mother’s cookies?” He grinned widely.
Bay laughed and shook her head. “Nah, but I wanted to meet you guys and see if you were okay.” She saw the heated look Gabe gave her. Instantly, she felt a deep relief within her. Both SEALs had green-and-black face paint on so that they would blend seamlessly into the night around them. She walked out of OPs with them into the freezing night air, hands stuck in the pockets of her winter jacket.
“What did you think?” Gabe asked as they walked toward the SEAL compound.
“Riveting. Scary as hell,” she admitted. “Did you guys know there was that many Taliban coming up the opposite ridge?”
“No,” Gabe admitted.
“Not good odds,” she muttered.
Hammer said, “The LT and Chief aren’t going to throw us under a bus out there, Doc. We know when the Taliban are bringing in fertilizer to restock their bomb makers in this country, they usually pack it in on camels or donkeys. Sometimes, like tonight, human pack animals bring it in.”
“You were the eyes out there on the situation,” she agreed.
“Helluva light show. Those Apaches whaled the tar out of those guys,” Hammer said, impressed.
“We’ll be going back out at dawn,” Gabe warned her, glancing down at her. Bay was somber, her lower lip thinned. “I’m sure the whole squad will go out.” He looked over at Bay. “It’s called a sensitive site exploitation, a fancy description for the fact that we’re going to search every body to try to find identification, maps or any other intel they might have been carrying on them.”
“Gruesome work,” Bay said, not excited at all about the prospect.
“You ever done it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I’d eat a light breakfast, then, tomorrow morning,” Gabe advised.
Bay remained with the two SEALs through the entire debriefing process after they returned. She saw how tired they were, but they had to file individual reports, write them up out in the planning room and give them to Hampton, who read them and asked more questions. By the time they were done, dawn was crawling up on the horizon. Hampton was busy getting the entire squad ready to fly out at first light on a CH-47 Chinook.
Gabe walked with her over to the chow hall. He was starving. She seemed pensive. “You okay?”
“Yes. It was tough to be in the chief’s office listening to you.”
He snorted softly as they entered the chow hall, the line already getting long for those wanting breakfast. “Hammer and I weren’t exactly thrilled with the prospects of JDAMs being dropped dangerously close to us if the LT decided to use the B-52. I’m glad he opted for the Apaches instead. They’re hell on wheels.”
Bay picked up a tray and handed him one. The odors of breakfast made her mouth water. Yet she remembered Gabe’s warning. “I’m just glad you two were all right.”
He saw some of the usual glimmer she had in her blue eyes returning. “You’re a worrywart, you know that?” He smiled down at her. Her cheeks flushed pink. Gabe might not be able to do anything other than appreciate her as a woman right now, but this still fed him and he felt his heart opening powerfully toward her.
Bay thanked the cook behind the counter who ladled some biscuits, gravy and grits onto her tray. Hampton had warned her they would be out on that ridge all day. They quickly passed through the line and found a table where the rest of the SEAL team was chowing down.
As she and Gabe took the last two chairs opposite each other at the table, Bay felt relief. Deep relief. It bothered her that she was becoming emotionally involved with Gabe. Hadn’t she learned her lesson in Iraq? She’d fallen in love with Jack Scoville, another medic, over a nine-month period. And she’d resisted him, too. But to no end.
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