by John Ringo
"If any of my men give you a hard time, or are looking in an offensive way, tell me and I'll do something about it. Like kick his ass. But . . . there are going to be looks. There might even be comments. If any of them are offensive, tell me or the chief and we'll deal with it. I'm Lieutenant Reynolds, by the way, Charlie Platoon, SEAL Team Three."
"Lieutenant?" Babe said, handing the IV bag to Britney and walking over to him. "Can I say something?"
"Yes, miss?" the lieutenant replied.
"Thank you," she said, and wrapped her arms around him.
Before they knew it, all the SEALs were being hugged and kissed.
"Ladies," Reynolds said, after a bit. "We have a job to do and we can't do it if we're so distracted we don't know what day it is. So, thank you, too, and kindly let Roman and Meat go."
"Which one are you?" one of the girls asked, hanging on Roman's arm.
"Roman," he replied. "Petty Officer Third."
"Oh, the gay one?" the girl said and giggled. "Well, if you ever want to try the other way, I'm a Kappa Alpha at UGA. We're right on Millege, you can't miss the house. Come on by any time."
"But, I'm not . . ." Roman said as the girl walked away.
Meat Three wrapped his arm around the confused petty officer's shoulder and led him out of the room.
"Face it," Meat said, giving his shoulder a hug-shake. "These girls have been traumatized. There's nothing that they'd like more than a gay rescuer, so they can feel safe. You lucky dog."
"I'm not gay," Roman protested.
"Pity," Meat Three replied.
"Meat, Roman, Sherman," the OIC said, coming out of the torture bunker. "Top-side. Watch for a counterattack. Simmons, Vahn, there's apparently a ventilation shaft back there," he said, pointing down the corridor. "Go check it out. Ghost had rigged an IED in it, but it got triggered already. See if you can rig another. Oh, and everybody give up your rations and spare canteens."
"Why?" Simmons asked, dropping his assault pack.
"Because the girls have had no food and no water for a while," Reynolds replied. "Share and share alike. Take a look around and see if you can find a sink. But watch your ass, there's apparently some chemical munitions spilled around here. Make sure the water's not contaminated, use your strips."
"How's Ghost?" Simmons said. "It's actually Ghost, isn't it?"
"Apparently," Reynolds replied. "You know him?"
"Knew him," Simmons said. "He was a senior team guy when I joined Charlie Three. He quit and went over to training. I heard he'd ETSed."
"Well, he's here, now," the OIC said. "Get to your jobs. We're not out of the woods, yet. Sherman," he added, reaching in his assault vest and handing the SEAL a satellite radio. "Call in. Tell them the girls are secure, Ghost is severely wounded, one of the girls is in a bad way. Ask that they control the JDAMs from satellite and Predator since we're going to be down here. And find out when we can expect extraction."
"Got it, sir," Sherman replied, turning for the entrance.
"Meat, Roman, cover him," the OIC finished, turning back into the room.
"Lieutenant?" one of the girls said. "I'm Bambi. Well, Britney, but . . ."
"I understand, miss," the lieutenant replied, trying to look her in the eye. She had perfect breasts, small but very well formed. And . . . blue eyes. Nice face. Shit, this was too much.
"Amy said that Ghost said that there's a bag over in the room across the hall," she said, pulling on his arm and ignoring the looks. "There's something in it for the President. She said it was contaminated; I don't know what that means."
"I do," the lieutenant said, allowing himself to be led. When they reached the door, Bambi . . . Britney bent down and pulled out a flare, sparking it to light, and gestured to the leather case.
"I thought I saw it before," she said. "He sent me in here to get plastic to put on one of the wounds on his chest."
The lieutenant walked to the sample case and touched it gingerly. It was wet, as if washed down.
"Any idea where he got the water?" the lieutenant asked. He pulled a strip of material out of a pouch and rubbed it on the outside of the case.
"No," Britney replied.
The test strip said that the outside of the bag was clean. He was sorely tempted to open it and find out what was inside.
"Bambi," he said, unthinkingly. "Could you leave the flare here and step out of the room?"
Britney nodded and set the flare on the floor, then backed out of the room.
Reynolds picked it up, pushed the door closed and then set it on the pile of boxes in the middle of the room. Then he set the sample case on the ground where the light would fall in it, took a breath and opened the case slowly. What he saw made him blow out his breath in an explosive: "HOLY FUCKING SHIT."
"Are you okay, Lieutenant?" Britney called, knocking on the door.
Reynolds closed the case gingerly, trying not to breathe and hoping he wasn't getting hit by neurotoxins, and then opened the door back up. When he took a breath there was a faint whiff of sulfur and that actually made him happier. The contamination was probably mustard or maybe phosgene, which wasn't going to kill anyone at that level of concentration.
"I'm fine," Reynolds said, grinning and trying not to laugh. "Do you have any idea where the material in this case came from?"
"No," Britney said.
"Okay, we'll figure it out," Reynolds replied, dropping the case and hugging her. "Sorry, I'm just . . . tickled."
"What's in there?" Britney asked, surprised by the emotional response from the officer who had been so correct so far.
"A surprise," Reynolds said, grinning. "I've got to go."
He walked to the stairs and made his way up the pile of bodies to where Roman and Meat were covering Sherman, who was hooked into the satellite radio. The radio was smaller than a brick phone, with an internal directional antenna and a headset.
"Who's there?" Reynolds asked, squatting down and still grinning.
"Admiral Hayes," Sherman said, covering the mike. "Want to talk?"
"Got your camera?" Reynolds asked, pulling the mike away and jacking the earphone into his ear.
"Yes, sir," Sherman replied, shrugging off his assault pack and pulling out the small video recorder. "I got some shots of the bodies on the stairs but not of the girls."
"STARBASE, SIERRA ONE, OVER," Reynolds said. "Apparently, Agent Ghost wanted to give a present to the President. I totally agree. But I think you should see it, first. We're preparing for video uplink."
"Copy SIERRA. This is STARBASE Actual," the admiral said. "Be advised that the NCA may be monitoring this conversation and video linkage."
"Oh, I don't think he'll mind, sir," Reynolds said happily. "Sherman, back off. The inside of the case is contaminated. Mustard, I think, low concentration, but I'm going to hold my breath when I open it."
"Okay, sir," Sherman said, handing him the camera, which had been plugged into the satellite link, and backing away.
"Here goes," Reynolds said, taking a breath and then opening up the case with his left hand while shining the low-light camera with a very faint blue light at the case.
"HOLY SHIT!" the President shouted. "Yes! Yes! YES!"
"Oh, man," Brandeis said, shaking his head. "We have got to get this guy a medal. Barring that, one hell of a lot of money."
"Put me in contact with them," Cliff said, looking over at the communications technician.
"You're on, sir."
"SEAL Commander."
"SIERRA Six?" Reynolds asked.
"This is the President. I hate doing direct contacts, I don't want to be LBJ in Vietnam. But I have to ask. That is who I think it is, right?"
"As far as I can tell, sir," Reynolds replied, nervously. Knowing the President might be listening and actually talking to him was two different things. "We were told that Ghost wanted it to be a personal present to you."
"How is he?" the President asked.
"Very badly hit, sir," Reynolds said. "He's
lost a lot of blood and he's probably got major internal bleeds. We don't have blood with us, just IV's. We're trying to keep him stabilized but . . ."
"Okay," the President said. "The girls?"
"Better than I expected, sir," the lieutenant admitted. "Some of them are nearly catatonic, but most of them seem to be holding it together pretty well. Ghost had a few of them helping him and they're particularly good. One of them took some hearing loss when we dropped a JDAM near the entrance, but she's otherwise okay. She was holding the door when we got here and nearly killed my point. Shot the NODs right off his helmet. Another one was apparently chucking grenades for him. I think, maybe, fighting back was kind of good therapy."
"I don't know about times, but somebody's on the way," the President said. "You just hang tough, SEAL. Damned good job. I want to see all of your team at the White House, or maybe Camp David, as soon as you get back to the states. Camp David, that way you don't have to dress up."
"Yes, sir," Reynolds said.
"And don't lose that bag," the President added. "And try to find the rest of him."
"Will do, sir," Reynolds replied.
"Cut this and clear us, I've done enough damage . . ."
"I think he's clear," Admiral Hayes said. "I have to add, good job. How was the drop?"
"Not something I want to do again, sir," Reynolds admitted. "We nearly were mid-aired by an F-15, had a SAM fly by, an air-to-air, watched portions of the dogfight from the good seats, if you know what I mean. We lost two of our meats on the way down from effects from the F-15. Their chutes deployed, but I don't know where they are or if they're alive or dead."
"We'll get SAR in there, too," the admiral said. "And dial out the Predator to look for them. Security situation?"
"The JDAM must have convinced them we were serious, sir," Reynolds responded. "We had some contact on the way in, very light, brushed it aside, and no counterattacks. ETA on reinforcements?"
"According to the Air Force, we've dug a hole through their SAM belt and CAP is refueling. As soon as they're refueled, the 101 will move to your position by helo. Say an hour or so. Egress Ghost and the wounded girl first, then the women, then your team, then the 101 will pull out."
"Roger, sir," Reynolds said. "Sir, be advised. The ladies are completely unclothed. Respectfully request . . . well . . ."
"The 101 is supposed to be bringing spare clothes," the admiral said.
"Thank you, sir," Reynolds replied. "Anything else, sir?"
"Nope," the admiral said. "I'm looking at the take from the Predator and you're right, nobody seems to be sticking out their head. There was an armored column headed for your position, but the Air Force savaged it and it turned back. Fingers crossed, we're looking good."
"I'll go tell the ladies, sir," Reynolds replied. "SIERRA six clear?"
"STARBASE out," the admiral said. "And make sure you bring the bag."
"Okay, ladies," Reynolds said, walking back in the room. "God willing and nothing goes particularly wrong, our reinforcements should be here in about an hour. When they get here, we leave. And they are bringing clothes."
That elicited applause from the girls and he smiled.
"I'd like to cover some details of the exit," he said. "We're going to put Ghost and Rachel on the first chopper. There are medics standing by. I'd like a couple of the ladies who have been with Rachel to accompany her, so figure out who they are. Then we'll get the rest of you out of here. The stairs, in case you haven't seen them, are covered in bodies and body parts. We're not going to have time to clear that; you'll have to walk on the bodies, so prepare yourselves. We'll station someone on the landing with clothes so you don't have to walk out in the open in your . . . current condition." He looked around and cleared his throat.
"This might be the wrong time to say this and the wrong thing to say, but please don't let what happened to you turn you into . . . something you don't want to be. We went through a lot to get here and secure the position. I won't get into the whole story except to say that we had to drop through the middle of a dogfight overhead and I lost two of my men when we were nearly hit by an F-15 fighter. We came here to rescue, Ghost fought to rescue, what you . . . were. Nice, decent, lovely young ladies who were just . . . getting on with your lives. This experience is, yeah, going to scar you. But when you get to thinking that all men are horrible assholes because of what you went through, or some friend tells you that, or some therapist tells you that, or some professor tells you that, or, hell, you run into some guy who is an asshole, think about us, too, and Ghost. If you turn your backs on the good guys . . . well . . . we'll still come for you whenever you need us, but it will take all of the joy out of what we do, what we've done. This is . . . what we live for. In the end, you ladies are what we fight and die for. Don't turn your backs on us, too."
He nodded at the group and then walked out of the room.
* * *
"Sergeant Major Gunther, Third Batt, Rakasans," the NCO said as he neared the entrance followed by a group of soldiers carrying BDU tops in their arms. "We brought clothes."
"PO Roman," Roman said. "My L-T wants us to hand them out as the girls come up. We've been around them for a couple of hours now, they're used to us." His jaw flexed and he shook his head. "Try to get your guys to not ogle."
"Already covered," the NCO said tightly. "Where do you want them?"
"Meat," Roman said. "Grab an armful and station yourself on the landing. You're about to be very popular." Meat grabbed the first two armfuls and headed down the stairs.
"We've got enough choppers to lift all the girls and the team," Gunther said. "Then the choppers will turn around and pull us out."
"Have fun sitting on this patch," Roman said. "It's no fun. We need two stretchers."
"Incoming," Gunther said, looking over his shoulder. "Medics! Stretchers!"
"Okay, good stick whoever did it." Specialist Calvin Thomas was a pretty good medic in his opinion. He was an EMT in New York on September 11, 2001 and volunteered for the U.S. Army on October 1, as soon as they were sure there wasn't anything left to do at Ground Zero. He'd seen his share of shot-up bodies, both in New York and since. In his expert medical opinion, the guy on the floor should have already been dead. On the other hand, he'd seen people survive that should have died. And people die that should have lived. You just never knew. "Any idea what type he is?"
"O pos," Chief Adams said.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Adams said. "I know him like a brother."
"Good," Thomas replied. "Let's get him on the stretcher. Then I'll run some blood and intubate."
Ghost was lifted onto the stretcher as the medic pulled out a unit of O positive blood. Since almost anyone could take O pos, he had carried it down to the room just in case. He had other types in a cooler in the chopper. He put a blood pressure cuff on the guy's arm and shook his head at the reading.
"Okay, easy with the stretcher," he said to the four infantrymen that had accompanied him into the bunker. "And keep your eyes on where you're going, not the view."
"The girl goes, too," Chief Adams said. "And the two girls with her. Her name is Rachel, I don't have a last. No idea of her medical. Call the two girls with her Bambi and Thumper."
"Ooo-kay," Thomas said, shaking his head. "Lift away, boys."
The stretchers were carried, carefully, up the stairs and then across the open area to the waiting choppers. Bambi and Thumper each gave Meat a quick kiss and then donned the BDU tops, buttoning them hurriedly. They barely had time to scramble into the chopper before the pilot revved the engines and lifted off the ground.
"Is he going to live?" Britney asked.
"Maybe," Thomas said. "His blood pressure is so low, though," he added, giving the liter of blood a squeeze. He had one more liter of O-pos and after that he'd be pumping in water where blood should go.
He slid an oxygen tube up Ghost's nose, then a breathing tube down his throat. He ran a cervical collar around his neck, for what
good it would do, and checked the bandages.
"SEALs," he muttered, looking at the tampons and pads. He put pressure bandages on each of the wounds, right on top of the field expedient bandages. When he was done he checked for a pulse again and blanched.
"Crap," he muttered, pulling out a field defibrillator.
"Can I assist?" Bambi asked.
"You trained?" Thomas asked. "Not right now. Clear." He placed the pads on Ghost's body and set the sensor in place, hitting the on button of the defib kit then sitting back.
"Aren't you supposed to . . ." Thumper said.
"Wait."
"Checking for pulse," the machine said in a female voice. "No pulse. Charging, charging, stand clear, CLEAR." There was a sharp whine from the machine and Ghost's body jerked but didn't arch convulsively. "Checking for pulse. Pulse forty-five."
"It does it all," Bambi said. "I've never used one, but I've heard of them."
"I'm leaving it in place," Thomas said, going back to his bandaging. The liter was about out, so he changed it for a fresh one and ran another IV, after three sticks, to start a standard glucose drip. Anything to get the damned BP up. "Crew chief! How long?" he yelled.
"Twenty minutes," the crew chief yelled back over the thunder of the chopper. "There's a field station set up."
"He doesn't need a field station," Thomas snapped. "He needs a damned class one trauma center. If we can't get some more blood in him, his heart is going to collapse."
"No pulse," the machine said. "Charging . . ."
"Miss, we have to go now," Reynolds said as carefully as he could. He'd hardly noticed the girl in the back of the room, huddled in the corner, until the rest of the girls were filing out. She had a blank stare that he'd seen in seriously shell-shocked firefight survivors. He knew she wasn't seeing him, except, possibly, as a male shape.
"Chief," he called. "See if Babe is still around."
"I'm here, sir," Babe said. She was still stark naked but seemed to hardly notice anymore. The SEALs, despite the lieutenant's warning, had been solicitous to a fault. Yeah, they looked from time to time, but not in a bad way. Like Ghost, she felt she could trust them. But the girl in the back corner clearly could not. If she even noticed.
