The Seal’s Baby

by Rogenna Brewer

  Mike shook his head over the maps. “We’re just wasting time here. We need a visual on the layout of the camp. Number of guerrillas. Types of weapons. Modes of transportation, including to and from this island. There’s that small settlement to the south, and the network of dirt roads running through there. It could be they’re interacting, even living among the villagers.”

  Doc stepped over to their table. “Holden seems to be stable right now. But I should stay with him—”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” Mike said. “But we’re going to need all the firepower and every able-bodied man we can spare.” He sensed Hannah’s growing unease from the opposite end of the table. “There’s the possibility of other American and Filipino hostages aside from our four-man crew.”

  “Every able-bodied man?” Ajax nodded toward Hannah in an unspoken signal to Mike.

  “I can still shoot.” Boomer hobbled closer.

  “I’m counting on that,” Mike said. “You’ll have to stand watch here. I don’t want to draw too much attention by calling in another chopper until we’ve located Parish and the others. Doc, you’ll stay with Spence. Keep him stable until we can get him the hell out of here.” That left seven SEALs, including himself, to get the job done. Webb would be an additional asset. Hannah was his one liability. He knew she wasn’t going to like his next order. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Stanton, extraction point Echo is just above this ridge. Give us until dawn and then call in the cavalry to get you out of here. If we’ve secured the prisoners, we’ll be waiting for our ride at extraction point Sierra Whiskey. Webb, you’ll be coming with us.”

  The men gathered their gear.

  Worst case, they might need a lift out of Hotel Zulu—the hot zone.

  “Move out,” he ordered. Webb, Ajax, Itch, Nouri, Hazard, Sandman and Don Juan Costas exited the bunker—in that order, leaving Holden with Doc Brady, Boomer and Hannah. Doc had the only automatic weapon in the bunker, and Mike wanted to ensure there was a handgun for each of them. Keeping Holden’s weapon, he checked his own 9mm Glock and chambered a round. He handed it to Hannah.

  She let him get all the way out the bunker door before she said anything. “Commander.”

  He’d been hoping to avoid this.

  His waiting men moved ahead of them. “You’re staying,” he said. She stuck like dog doody to the sole of his boot until he had no choice but to turn around and confront her.

  “Every able-bodied man,” she said. “We’ve rehearsed this exact scenario in training.”

  “Do I have to state the obvious?”

  “You’re changing the rules.”

  “The rules always excluded you, Stanton. We just let you play. SECNAVINST 1300.12B, paragraph 5a. Direct Ground Combat Rule. ‘Service members are eligible to be assigned to all positions for which they are qualified, except that women shall be excluded from assignment to units whose primary mission is to engage in direct combat on the ground as defined…’Do you want me to define paragraph 5b?”

  “You’re forgetting the exception, Commander. ‘Women Officer Aviators may be permanently assigned without restrictions to all aviation squadrons regardless of type mission,’” she quoted OPNAVINST 1300.17, paragraph 3f. “That includes combat.”

  “I don’t have time to debate Navy regs, so I’m just going to pull rank.”

  “Commander. It’s my crash. My crew. My mess. I’m going to clean it up.”

  “Fine,” he said.

  Her momentary shock gave him time to act.

  A quick knee to the back of hers and he dropped her to the ground. When she was facedown in the dirt, hands behind her back, he wedged his leg between her thighs.

  “You want to go? You’ve got thirty seconds to get out of this hold.”

  “Get off me!” she demanded.

  “Twenty-five. And I ain’t even trying.”

  She struggled beneath his weight.

  “Fifteen.”

  “I hate you!” She spit out dirt with her words.

  “I don’t care how you feel about me. This is not personal.” Lifting her head by her hair, he bent to whisper in her ear. “This is the position you’re going to find yourself in if you’re captured. Am I making myself clear? Because unless you can prove to me you can fight your way out of it, I’m not letting you go, no matter what you say. So just cry uncle now!”

  She went limp. He let go of her hair.

  “Five, four, three, two and one.” He sat back on his haunches. “You’re staying. And that’s an order, Commander, with all the weight of the Uniform Code of Military Justice behind it.”

  She rolled over and slapped him hard across the cheek. He didn’t flinch.

  “Ouch.” Itch flinched for him. “Didn’t see that coming.” He raised his voice with a fair amount of sarcasm. “Enough, Mac, let’s go!”

  “If you’d’ve hit me with a closed fist,” Mike said to Hannah. “I might have reconsidered.” He pushed to his feet. “You fight like a girl, Stanton. That’s my point.”

  As it was, he had a hard time leaving her. The bunker was relatively safe. But the only place he could guarantee her safety was right behind him. He’d protect the mother of his child with his last breath if he had to.

  HANNAH STEPPED outside the bunker. It was still dark, but the stars overhead were starting to vanish one by one. Boomer was standing watch and snubbed out his half-smoked cigarette, probably thinking she was going to give him a hard time about it, like she usually did.

  “Got another one of those?” she asked.

  Boomer patted down his pocket and tapped out a cigarette. Hannah put it to her lips, cupping her hands to protect it from the slight breeze as he lit it.

  “How’s Spence?” he asked, putting away his lighter.

  He’d fallen back asleep after a period of unrest. “Quiet now,” she said, exhaling the smoke.

  “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I have a lot of bad habits you don’t know about, Boomer.” She handed back the cigarette after that single drag. She didn’t smoke, and he hadn’t had anything more than Tylenol for the pain his leg must be causing him. Now was not the time and place to change her gunner’s bad habits.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “I’ve got to answer nature’s call,” she said, moving away from the bunker.

  “Should I go with you?” His normally deep voice cracked like a teenager’s, and he cleared his throat. “Commander McCaffrey gave me explicit orders not to let you out of my sight—”

  “I don’t think he meant for you to watch me that close,” she reassured him. For all she knew McCaffrey meant exactly that. He wasn’t who she thought he was.

  He’d challenged her authority and questioned her ability to do the job—all in front of the men. Sure, she could wallow in the aftermath of the crash, second-guess herself. But she’d made a judgment call when she’d flown in to save his ass, and she’d made a judgment call when she’d shot Wray. Men in her position did that all the time and weren’t treated like second-class citizens for it.

  Following the trail, Hannah fought the palm fronds that slapped her in the face. On top of everything else, McCaffrey hadn’t asked one question about their daughter.

  Her timing could have been better?

  What about his timing?

  She yanked down on the two-way zipper of her flight suit, yet another reason to feel inferior. She had to strip down just to pee.

  Hannah was putting things back in place when she heard the first shot ring out.

  FOUR HOURS LATER Mike was still rubbing the sting from his cheek. No time to stop and ease his bruised ego. They’d had to hoof it to reach the other side of the island in time for a predawn rescue.

  The structure looked very much like a prisoner-of-war camp left over from WWII. The vines had grown up around the barbed wire, dragging it down. At least half of it was laid flat out. The rust would do more harm than the barbs that crumbled at a touch. Salt and sea air had done its damage.
/>   “Ambush?” Itch asked from right beside him.

  Mike flipped up his NVGs. It was too quiet down there.

  Hannah had been positive Sergeant Wray was leading her crew into some kind of ambush. For everyone’s sake he hoped the sergeant turned out to be one of the bad guys. Mike had his doubts about that. Still he had his men take every precaution as they moved through the dense undergrowth. They’d lost the element of surprise yesterday and could very well be walking into a trap today.

  Still he was rather disappointed to discover the guerrillas’ base camp didn’t even boast so much as one alert sentry. The few men on guard duty strolled the grounds or chatted casually.

  The one remaining dilapidated tower wasn’t even in use.

  In spite of its age, it was obvious the camp had been taken over as some sort of Tango training facility.

  “I only have visual on a dozen Ts,” Nouri whispered through his comm while setting up his high-powered rifle and scope. “There were at least twice that many when the helos went down.”

  “Maybe we’re that lucky and they’re that stupid,” Ajax said in hushed tones.

  “We’re not that lucky.” Mike trained his NVGs on a guarded barracks in the distance. “But it does look like they’re that stupid. They’re holding them all in one building—that should make our job easier.” He laid out the plan, giving each man specific instructions.

  “Mac,” Nouri whispered into his mike.

  Mike returned his attention to the camp.

  The vine-covered main gates swung open. Three rusted Chevy trucks carrying at least a dozen men rolled into the center of camp, then stopped. The men started unloading, none too gently, a stretcher from the back of the second vehicle.

  Mike took a deep breath and pushed his NVGs into place.

  “They found them,” Itch said. “They’ve got Holden. Boomer can barely stand on his broken leg, but they’re prodding him along. Doc doesn’t look like he’s in any better shape—he must have put up quite a fight.”

  Mike leaned back against a tree, unable to look. “And Hannah?”

  “She’s the only one still on her feet.”

  Mike used his NVGs to zoom in enough to see the bruises on her cheek. She’d put up a fight and continued to resist their efforts to drag her along. The male prisoners were taken to the building with the rest of the crew, but the two guards on either side of Hannah were taking her down a different path.

  As they dragged her, Mike didn’t even need his imagination to guess what they planned to do. The two creeps began to play a game of hot potato with Hannah, pushing and shoving her between them, but she fought back.

  She said something. The taller of the two slammed the butt of his automatic rifle into her gut, and she doubled over. The other, an eager fellow, removed his belt. He folded it in half and when she tried to stand upright, he slapped her across the face with such force that it knocked her to the ground.

  Mike almost lost it. He was about to lose everything.

  “I can take the shot,” Nouri said, sighting down the scope.

  What he left unsaid was that he’d be giving up their position and rescue plan—because they all knew it. Not all his men were in place yet. If Nouri took out the first Tango the second could send up an alarm to the lazy guards who hovered nearby. Hannah might even be caught in the crossfire.

  Or Nouri could take out the first bad guy, maybe even the second and give her a chance to get free. But what about the other captives? If that was a man down there, even in a similar situation, there would be no debate. They’d stick to the plan.

  Nouri waited for his call.

  Mike hesitated. He never hesitated.

  “The guy just dropped his pants,” Itch murmured. “She’s flat on her back. I think his intent is pretty clear.”

  Making it all that much harder for Mike to do what he had to do.

  “Take the shot, or not?” Nouri asked again.

  “Is she fighting back?” Mike asked, even though he knew the answer.

  “No,” Itch confirmed.

  Because he’d taken all the fight out of her?

  Mike took out his frustration on the nearest tree trunk. Dammit, he wasn’t going to do her much good if he fell apart. But he didn’t have a chance of rescuing her and the others if he got all his men killed.

  “Not.” The whispered word rang like a hollow point bullet in his ears. “Stick to the plan.”

  He’d been wrong to leave her behind. But what if this was the wrong call? He couldn’t ask his men to risk their lives, but heaven help him, he couldn’t stand by and watch her be raped, either.

  “Two,” he spoke to Ajax over the comm. “Plan B. I need to take care of some personal business.” He scrambled down the hillside, toward Hannah.

  “Mac, hold,” Hazard advised.

  Hazard, ever the voice of reason, stayed him. Mike paused long enough for the SEAL to tell him the sane thing would be to stick to plan A. Insane would be to put the rescue of one over the rescue of eight.

  But Itch’s play-by-play began again, “She’s just been playing possum. Calypso is kicking some serious ass.”

  Mike let himself take a peek as he continued to work his way down the incline. One of the Tangos had decided he needed a knife to get his point across to Hannah.

  Using his own strength and the element of surprise against him, she’d used that knife on the man’s partner, the guy with his pants down around his knees. Then she broke the knife welder’s wrist.

  He staggered back in pain, and she wheeled around and gave him a roundhouse kick to the chin. The man’s head snapped back. For good measure, she picked up his weapon and hit him again with the butt end. Armed and more dangerous than ever, she dragged the bodies to the open space under the nearest building.

  By the time Mike reached the camp, more men were heading toward her. She rolled under the hut. He came from the opposite side. He heard her soft intake of surprise and saw the knife blade an instant before recognition crossed her face.

  He pressed his finger to his lips.

  She nodded, and he stared into her eyes. The guard rounded the building and moved on to the next.

  “All clear,” Itch called through his mike.

  “Copy,” Mike whispered back. “Plan C. We’re going to create a diversion inside the camp. Calypso and I will steal one of the trucks and disable the rest.” He turned to her. “I don’t have to ask if you’re up for this.”

  Hannah went soft inside. The last thing she needed to do right now. McCaffrey wasn’t acknowledging her as a woman, he was acknowledging her as a comrade.

  Silently they used the spaces under the buildings to get closer to the trucks. There was more activity at this end of camp. At one point they had to enter one of the darkened buildings.

  A map-strewn table was covered with important-looking documents. McCaffrey snapped a couple of quick pictures and gathered up some of the papers, spreading the rest around to make it look untouched.

  A whispered warning in his comm alerted McCaffrey, and he alerted Hannah just as steps mounted the stairs. They hustled into a back room. McCaffrey climbed out the window, signaled all-clear, then hauled her after him.

  They could see the trucks from where they were. Hannah didn’t know how they’d get to them with so many men standing around. She ducked when a loud boom at the opposite end of camp sent the guerrillas running to see what was happening. Two of the men were instructed to stay behind.

  McCaffrey signaled for her to stay put as he sneaked up behind guard number one and made quick work of him. He wound his way around the back of the truck toward the other guard.

  The guy made a sudden move away from the tail-gate and toward McCaffrey’s position.

  Hannah stepped into view. “I need some help here.” She waved at the guard. He pointed his weapon and motioned her away from the truck. McCaffrey stepped up behind him with his K-bar, and seconds later the guard slumped to the ground. She saw a flash of regret in McCaffrey’s eye
s—one he probably hadn’t wanted her to see.

  But then he became the brisk professional once again. He searched the bodies for keys. None. “We’re going to have to hot-wire it.”

  He rigged two of the three trucks with C-4, then they scrambled into the third. Since they needed quick over pretty McCaffrey reached for the screwdriver from his web gear.

  In the instant he would have ripped into the ignition, Hannah flipped down the sun visor, and the keys fell in his lap. The look on his face was priceless. She decided not to tell him she’d seen her driver stow the keys there.

  He drove at breakneck speed toward the building where the crew was being held. Out in the open they drew attention. And gunfire.

  Hannah fired back.

  “Take the wheel,” McCaffrey shouted as he skidded to a stop. He opened his door, firing cover as his men dragged the injured to the truck. She got a quick head count. They were leaving with two extra. Either the SEALs had taken prisoners or they’d rescued hostages.

  Fired on from all directions, Hannah drove through the maze of bullets and men and around the two remaining trucks toward the gate while the SEALs fired back. A second explosion rocked the camp as the trucks exploded, stopping at least half of their pursuers.

  Hannah swerved to avoid hitting a man in the road. From the corner of her eye, she watched him raise his weapon.

  Mike took him out. “Let’s not stop for any more pedestrians,” he said. “Or the gate.”

  Hannah floored it, crashing through the gate in a tangle of razor wire and vine.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NAVAL AIR STATION NORTH ISLAND

  Coronado, California

  SO MUCH FOR CAMARADERIE. She was getting her ass chewed in debriefing. And McCaffrey was doing most of the gnawing. So it surprised her when he paused long enough to pour a cup a coffee, took his usual sip, then handed it to her without a word.