Protecting His Own

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Yes. But…”

  “Uh-oh…”

  “Yeah,” Morgan said, trying to soften his expression, “there’s more to this mission than just you going in with key personnel, a map and ideas, Sam. As you know, we have a survivalist group running around out there. You’ve heard about them, right? The Diablos?”

  “Yes. They murdered two marine helicopter pilots a couple of weeks ago, didn’t they?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “That puts them on my list.”

  “Mine, too.” Opening his hands, he added, “And that’s why I’m sending in a Recon team with you. Things aren’t safe out there, Sam. These survivalists hit and run. We don’t have enough marine personnel available to cover the L.A. basin and hunt them down. They move from one area to another, although it does look as if they have a base of operations. We just haven’t located it yet.”

  “Too little manpower to do so,” Sam agreed. She placed her coffee cup on the desk and clasped her hands on her knee. “Okay, so I handpick a small team of people to, first, find good sites for these three medevac tent areas, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And this Recon team is my big, bad guard dog, protecting me and my people while we reconnoiter the area to find what locations work best for helo landings and takeoffs for patients needing hospital care here at Camp Reed?”

  “Yes, but we’re widening our scope of hospitals, since the navy CH-53E Super Stallions we just got on board have a helluva lot longer range and carry more fuel. We’ll be flying patients to hospitals north and east of Los Angeles, as far as San Francisco.”

  “Well, that’s good news. We’re totally overwhelmed here and can’t do more than we are presently.”

  “You know that more than anyone, Sam,” Morgan said grimly. “I’m surprised you’ve done as much as you have. You’re a magician.”

  Sam smiled. “Look, I know this is a picky point, but I am in charge of this new operation, right? All of it?”

  Moving uncomfortably, Morgan held her flat stare. He knew what was coming. “Sam…you’ll need to share the power and decision-making process with the captain who heads up the Recon team.”

  “What, exactly, does that mean?”

  His stomach clenched. From the short time he’d known her, Morgan knew Sam was a gung-ho, take-charge and take-no-prisoners kind of woman. She was a natural leader, a damn fine one. His own experience told him that Sam would balk at the idea of someone of the same rank being “boss” over her. She wouldn’t take kindly to the situation.

  “It means,” he said gently, “that there may be times when Captain Gunnison may have the final decision instead of you, Sam. It would be in the area of safety,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I want you and your team safe. He and his men are trained for that. You’re going to have to work with him and vice versa. You might not be happy about it, but you’re going to have to base your decisions about the medevac areas and so on on his perceptions of the dangers.”

  Morgan saw her rear back, surprise on her face. Her green eyes widened enormously and then narrowed to slits. Trying to avoid a blowup, he said, “I know this isn’t what you want, Sam. But under the circumstances, I can’t, in all good conscience, turn you loose out in the field with those survivalists roaming around like a pack of wolves. It’s a volatile, dangerous situation. The last thing I need is you to have wounded or dead. I’m looking to you to create the medical model for each of these areas. The epidemic is already flourishing out there. A lot of people are dying. Medevac stations should have been set up weeks ago, but I had to battle the top brass to get this plan in the works.”

  “Tell me I heard wrong, Morgan. You said Captain Gunnison?”

  “Yes. Why? Do you know one another?” Morgan guessed the answer to that by the look on her face, and his gut clenched.

  “Do I know him?” she drawled. She threw her hands upward. “Do I know this arrogant, know-it-all, I’m-right-and-you’re-wrong marine? Oh, brother, do I! One of his men got hurt in a Recon mission here at Camp Reed about six months ago, and he was the biggest pain in the arse in Emergency. I happened to be on duty when the guy was flown in, with Gunnison at his side. Talk about a mother hen, Morgan. Gunnison was in my face, demanding that his man be taken care of immediately, ahead of other emergency cases that were a helluva lot more severe and life-threatening.”

  “And he got into an argument with you on it?” Morgan could see where this was going. He’d been right: these two were oil and water, and would never mix. But he was so strapped for personnel. What he couldn’t tell Sam was that Gunnison, the executive officer of the Recon company stationed at Reed, was the last man available to pull for this five-man team. Everyone else was assigned to another area. Morgan was stuck. He hadn’t known about this earlier confrontation between her and Gunnison. He hadn’t anticipated this kind of reaction from Sam. Damn.

  “Argument?” Sam said lightly, derision in her husky tone. “Let’s put it this way, Morgan—I was nose-to-nose with this arrogant SOB out in the passageway. I told him I was in charge of E.R., not him. He had the balls to say it didn’t matter, that his man’s injury took priority.” Sam laughed sharply and shook her head. “When Gunnison wants something, he’ll move heaven and hell to get it. When I refused to treat his man right away, he went over my head—stormed out of E.R. and went to my direct superior, Commander Talkins. Fortunately, Talkins didn’t side with him, and put him in his place. But Gunnison called over to his company commander, Major Branson, to raise hell and have pressure put on me to deal with his marine’s injury.”

  “Oh, boy…” Morgan murmured.

  “Yeah, no kidding. And you’re assigning this guy to me and my team? Morgan, I’m sorry, but I don’t ever want to deal with that dude again. He’s bullheaded. He won’t listen to reason. I can just see the kinds of hell I’ll go through out there with him. Besides, he’ll see it as a way to get even with me for not making his marine’s injury a top priority, and he’ll stick it to me. I know his type. I don’t need the hassle. Just let me go out there and do my job, okay? That I can do. And well.” Besides, the death of her fiancé, Captain Brad Holter, who had been a Marine Cobra helo pilot, was enough for Sam to deal with. Since her loss two years ago, she avoided marines. Having to work closely with Gunnison wasn’t going to be easy, emotionally, for her. He would remind her all over again of the magnitude of her loss.

  Rubbing his chin, Morgan sat back, trying to think. The noise outside his door intruded. People rushed up and down the passageway, always in a hurry. Radios crackled and voices spoke in haste. Everyone at Logistics was under pressure; the tension was palpable.

  “Okay, Sam, I’m going to level with you,” he said finally, sitting up and pinning her with his gaze. “We have no other Recon teams left. They’re all out in the field, providing protection in the other areas. Area 5 has none. It does have a marine fire team, but that’s not enough, since it looks as if the Diablos, the survivalist gang, are a major problem in that area. For all we know, they may have their base there. There’s no hard evidence of it, but it appears to be a possibility.”

  “Okay,” Sam murmured, “so you’re telling me I’m stuck with Gunnison, right? He’s the last man on earth I’d want to deal with on this mission, yet he’s my partner in this?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Morgan said apologetically. “If I could, I’d give you another team, Sam. Honest to God, I would. But this is beyond my scope to change. I think, right now, that we need to focus on what’s really important here—setting up medical sites to handle this emerging epidemic. Somehow, you and he are going to have to overlook past insults and injuries, take the higher ground here and get along.”

  Quirking her lips, Sam said, “I can do it. But can he? Honestly, Morgan, he’s a trip. He thinks he’s God on earth. His men worship the ground he walks on. Gunnison thinks that everything he says ought to become law and then some. This guy does not know how to compromise or even delegate.”

  �
��I hear you,” Morgan said unhappily. “Look, here’s what I can do, because I have you written in for a helo flight tomorrow morning at 0600 with him and his team. I can call Gunnison in, read him the riot act, give him a paternal talk about getting along with you and letting past history go for the sake of saving people’s lives.”

  “Good luck,” Sam murmured. “Oh, hell, Morgan, I understand you’re caught between a rock and a hard place. My E.R. has been in that position since the earthquake occurred. Let me go gather my team, okay? Can I get a delivery of medical supplies, to bring with me to fight the epidemic?”

  “Thanks, Sam. You’re special. You really are. I’m going to try and get Captain Gunnison to realize that about you. Sure, get your list of supplies together and bring it over to me. I’ll contact the loadmaster down at the airfield and make sure you get what you want on board that chopper later today. It’ll be a Sea Stallion, by the way, so it can hold extra cargo as well as people.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. Shaking her head, she gave him a wry look. “Never a dull moment, is there?”

  “Not in an emergency of this magnitude,” Morgan agreed quietly. “But you’re the right person for this mission, which we’re calling Operation Rescue. You access area 5. You find three locations for medevacs. You have Captain Gunnison call in the coordinates to me, and I’ll make them happen within twenty-four hours, to give those poor folks some intervention. Maybe then,” he sighed, “we can nip some of this epidemic before they start raging.”

  “Humph,” Sam groused, standing. “Bad water’s the reason for many of these health problems. I know the helos are flying in as many cases of water as they can. But there are too many people out there, Morgan, and not enough clean water. They’re going to drink questionable stuff rather than die, and that brings on cholera, typhus and a whole host of other uglies.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir,” he said, smiling. Getting up, he thrust his hand across the desk. Sam’s grip was warm and firm. “Thanks. For everything. I’ll talk to Gunnison today.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she released his hand and growled, “Oh, yeah, that’s like telling a pit bull not to bite. Good luck, Morgan. You’re gonna need it with that stiff-necked marine.”

  Chapter 2

  February 2: 1500

  Captain Roc Gunnison scowled, opening and closing his right hand as he sat in his executive officer’s cubicle at the Recon company barracks. Morgan Trayhern had just left and Roc still had a bitter taste in his mouth from his meeting with the venerable ex-marine and head of Perseus. Glaring at the bulkheads, which were covered with photos chronicling his four years at Annapolis, his rise through the ranks of the Marine Corps and the awards he’d received for innovation within the reconnaissance arm of it, he quirked his lips.

  Before he had time to ponder the situation, Sergeant Buck Simmons entered and came to attention. The twenty-six-year-old redhead was a hell of a noncom and Roc was glad to have him as a member of his five-men Recon unit.

  “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

  “Yes. At ease, Buck. We’ve got a mission.” Roc saw surprise followed by an almost feral gleam of pleasure in Buck’s eyes.

  “Really, sir?”

  Smiling grimly, Roc said, “I know you’ve been antsy, Buck, and wanting to take a ride outta this place.”

  “Yes, sir, I would!”

  “Well, you’re getting your wish, but I don’t know…” He stopped short. As an officer, Roc couldn’t let on to the politics of the situation. The enlisted people under his wing couldn’t know that he was seething with anger over being stuck with Dr. Andrews on this mission. “Anyway,” Roc growled, lifting his head, “get the team prepared to saddle up at 0530. We’re taking a Sea Stallion into area 5.”

  “Are we going after Diablo?” Buck leaned forward, his lips curling back to reveal his teeth, like a wolf anticipating jumping a quarry.

  “Kind of…” Roc muttered. But not really. He wanted to say, We’re playing babysitter to that pain-in-the-arse doctor we had a run-in with six months ago, but he didn’t. “We’re going to be protecting a group of medical people coming in to canvass the area and set up three medevac stations. The epidemic is breaking out all across the basin, as you probably know. We’re going in to make sure the Diablos don’t get to the medevacs before the people can get help.”

  Frowning, his thin red brows bunching, Buck rubbed his chin. “Are we going to be baby-sitters, sir?” The words came out with a distinct distaste.

  Roc’s grin was twisted. “Now, Sergeant…we do what we’re ordered to do. This is an important logistical step in getting the people of the L.A. basin the help they need. We’ll be playing a key role in makin’ it happen.” Roc saw Buck’s green eyes narrow.

  “Well, sir, maybe after babysittin’ duties, we can kind of nose around for Diablo on our off-hours?”

  Roc’s grin widened. “All things bein’ equal, Sergeant, yeah, we might be able to do that if circumstances dictate. But for now, get the team squared away today and ready to push off at 0530—at pad Bravo at the airport tomorrow.”

  Coming to attention, Buck said, “Yes, sir!” He did an about-face and quickly left the cramped office.

  Moving to the map of the quake zone, showing the entire southern Los Angeles area divided up into quadrants by Logistics, Roc studied area 5. But his mind wandered back to that redheaded witch of a woman doctor he was going to have to tangle with—again.

  “What the hell kind of karma do I have?” he muttered out loud, turning back to his desk.

  “Sir?”

  Turning with surprise, Roc saw Lance Corporal Ted Barstow, also young and also part of his team, standing expectantly in the doorway. “Yes, Barstow?”

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Er…Sergeant Simmons sent me up to ask if you want demolitions loaded with our equipment. He said this was a milk run, not a real mission. We’re babysitting?”

  Wryly, Roc smiled to himself. He leaned against the edge of his green metal desk. “We’re protecting. And yes, load everything. We’re going in as a Recon team prepared for any and all possibilities.” He saw Barstow’s triangular face light up with enthusiasm. Barstow was their demo expert, the guy who set the claymore mines and anything else he could get his hands on to blow up the enemy. Barstow was like a mad scientist, always fiddling with chemicals to see what would happen. A couple of times he’d had his hair and eyebrows singed, playing around with volatile concoctions. What Barstow should do was go to college and take classes, but the Oregon native didn’t take to schooling. He had grown up in the Cascade Mountains, was an outdoors kid who hunted for food for his family’s table. After barely getting his high school diploma, he’d joined the Marine Corps and had found his niche in the Recon marines.

  “That’s great, Cap’n! I’ll get on it, sir!” Barstow turned and trotted down the hall, his boots thunking on the wooden floor and creating a loud echo in the nearly empty barracks.

  Roc smiled again, his spirits momentarily lifted by Barstow’s visit. The kid was sharp, and eager. Everyone on his team was like that, and so was he. Gathering up the papers on his desk, he put them in his out basket. It was time to get moving. Roc was glad to be heading into the field at last. He’d been feeling restless and antsy as this earthquake mission got off the ground. All around him, Camp Reed hummed with activity. It was the hub of a great web that stretched in every direction, bringing in supplies to save lives.

  Major Carson, his commanding officer, had needed Roc here at the base to help coordinate the Recon teams that were already out in the quake zone. Roc had been in charge of planning and logistics for the teams. Now it was his turn to go out in the field, which was what he lived for. Working in an office wasn’t his idea of fun. It was a special hell.

  Stepping into the hall, he headed to his locker, where he kept his M-16 rifle, pack, flak jacket and helmet. He would oversee the preparations for tomorrow morning’s liftoff. All their gear would be brought to a central
location to be loaded on a Humvee for transport today. And, he wanted to acquaint himself with the airport facility so there would be no screwups. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly time for them to take the Humvee over to the airport. Buck would make sure their team was at the pickup point, Roc was sure. That’s how eager they all were to cut loose from this place and do what they did best: field operative work.

  As he pulled the flak vest over his desert utilities and pressed it shut, Roc felt his heart squeeze in anticipation of the coming confrontation. Dr. Andrews was no weak sister. She was formidable, as he’d found out when Private First Class Louis West, a nineteen-year-old on his team, had injured his leg during an exercise. Roc had never run into such a strong, bullheaded woman. And she hadn’t budged from her position. He’d lost that first battle with her, and his ego still smarted.

  “I won’t lose this time,” he growled, settling his helmet on his head. Allowing the straps to hang free, he adjusted the goggles perched atop the camouflage-colored headgear, then reached for his pack. If Andrews thought she was going to tell him what to do in the field, she had another think coming.

  The truth was, Roc would much rather send his team out on a scouting and reconnaissance mission, to try and locate the Diablos. There wasn’t a marine on the base who hadn’t heard how the gang had ruthlessly murdered two pilots weeks earlier. In his heart, Roc longed to go after them. No one killed marines and got away with it. No way. Even though his wasn’t designated a hunter-killer team, Roc dreamed of finding the survivalist gang and settling the score once and for all.

  As he hoisted his sixty-pound pack onto his shoulders, settling it in place on his rangy frame, a thrill shot through him. Fieldwork. It was something he loved. He’d trade indoor time for outdoor any day of the week. Despite the fact that he’d have to put up with sourpuss Andrews, the day was looking brighter already.