After shifting her onto the mattress, he hopped off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Sloane blinked. Huh? First? What the hell did that mean?
She doubted highly that she was pregnant. Every six months she received a birth control injection. Unless the smart-ass SEAL in the bathroom had combat-ready semen, he wasn’t going to make this seaman pregnant.
An hour later, Sloane laced the sneakers she’d found in the bottom of the bedroom closet. They flopped loosely on her feet, but she’d take that over thistles any day. With their bellies full, two backpacks filled with provisions, and a good night’s sleep regardless of the wild and crazy sexfest, they were ready to proceed.
Sloane tossed her pack on the floorboards and jumped in the passenger side of the truck. When Damon closed the driver’s door after hopping behind the wheel, she asked, “How far do you think we’ll get before they intercept us?”
He set the GPS inside its holder on the dash and turned it on. “I’m betting all the way.”
“To San Diego?”
He shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. “Nope. We’re headed for the Palomar H ranch.” He pointed at the GPS screen. “We’re on the east face of the mountain. We’re going to take the backroads and climb the crest, and head to the west side where the ranch is located. They’ll have a phone, and that’s all we need to put a stop to this.”
“I need to call my parents.”
He nodded. “I know you do. First call we’ll make, okay?”
“Okay.”
She grabbed the seatbelt, pulled it across her torso and clicked it into the buckle. “Let’s do this.”
“Sloane.” He wrapped his hand over hers. “I’ll have you home by nightfall. I promise.”
She smiled at the faith he had in himself and her. They’d given her the right safe word but if things went as Damon planned, she’d never have to use it. She worried more than ever as to what might happen to her SEAL once they were off this mountain. He’d killed that piece of garbage who raped her, but did the deadly force Damon used equal the act? Though the military had come a long way, she doubted they’d agree the soldier’s death was warranted.
Damon navigated the trail through the trees until they reached a wider dirt road meant for vehicular traffic. The truck bounced on uneven ground as she kept a watchful eye ahead and behind them, driving with the window open to hear another vehicle’s approach. They only had ten kilometers to go. She prayed Randeen and Winston had made it off the mountain already. It didn’t matter to her who blew the whistle as long as someone did.
* * * *
Winston crouched with Katy hunched behind him.
“Are we making a run for it?” she asked.
He placed a finger to his lips and scanned the trees. Randeen was hidden forty feet to the left of them with Eliza close by.
They put six more kilometers behind them since leaving Lt. Stone and his partner Sloane. They’d avoided three search parties, but it meant taking cover for the night.
The highway lay on the other side of a tangle of trees ahead of them. Everyone was on high alert. Their trek had slowed for the last half kilometer, taking more care, eyes everywhere, watching for sensors or lines to give them away. Nothing was excluded from the realm of possibilities.
Winston gripped Katy’s hand and stood up. Working his way toward the treeline, Randeen and Eliza joined them.
“Ah fuck, there you are,” Petty Officer Gibbons, a SEAL from Team Five, jumped off a rock he crouched on, hidden behind a low hanging branch.
They all halted.
“What the hell, Gibbons?” Winston said, nudging Katy behind him.
“Been waiting for one of you guys to show up.” Gibbons’s eyes paused on Eliza. “Girls look like they’re tired.”
“What’s going on, Gibbons?” Randeen asked.
“You have to come back with me. All of you,” Gibbons ordered.
“We’re getting the women out of here,” he said, pulling off his camo jacket and tossing it on a rock. Sweat covered his body and slid down his spine in a stream.
“Road’s blocked several miles in each direction. They put up Closed Due to Construction signs at both ends. No one’s coming through here except the soldiers patrolling it.”
“Then we walk to get past it.”
Gibbons expression strained. “If you don’t come back, the rest of them will die, including Cindy.”
“Is that your partner?”
Gibbons nodded.
“We don’t give in to threats or negotiate. You know that.”
Gibbons stepped in front of him. “I know that’s easy to say when your partner is standing beside you. They will kill them.”
Winston shook his head.
“One last exercise, that’s all they want, and then we all go free.”
Fairy tale endings didn’t happen in their world. Deception did. Winston wasn’t going to risk the girls’ safety. “And you believe that? There’s causalities on both sides, Gibbons. This exercise is not an exercise anymore, its civil war. The CIA does not want the details to leave this mountain. Either they plan to kill all of us or gag us in some way. Randeen and I will be back, but the women are leaving.”
Gibbons’ shoulders sagged and he lowered his head. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry, Winston.” He raised eyes filled with regret. “The General was going to kill her…I couldn’t let that happen.”
Within seconds the ambush was complete, and even though they had two weapons, the twenty others pointed in their direction would mean certain death. He squared a deadly gaze on Gibbons. Would he have done the same if it had been Katy?
“Put down the weapons,” one of the soldiers ordered, advancing with several others.
Katy took a stand beside him. Randeen shot a glance his way, and he returned a short nod.
Torn from his grip, Katy screamed. Winston attacked the closest soldier, bringing him to the ground and taking out three more. Too many, at least six, swarmed him before they pinned his face in the dirt. He heard the sound of chopper blades, probably landing on the highway.
A few minutes later, they were manhandled into the helicopter. Katy crawled onto his lap and buried her face in his neck. “It’s okay, baby.”
“I slowed us down. My ankle. I’m sorry.”
“No you didn’t,” he said into her hair. “I could have carried you twice as far and twice as fast. This isn’t your fault.”
The chopper landed and the two couples were muscled off the craft then dragged to the muster area where they’d spent their first night of the exercise. The cage doors opened, and the soldiers rallied the remaining couples into a line. Their grim expressions told Winston containment hadn’t been easy.
“What’s next?” Randeen spoke out the side of his mouth.
“Won’t be good,” he said. Katy squeezed his hand. “Whatever it is. We can do it, Katy.”
They stood there, seemingly to wait for someone. Eventually, the General presented himself, strolling as if on a leisurely Sunday afternoon walk. Behind him, a soldier muscled a heavy plastic container, lugging it with a firm grasp on each end. Two feet deep by two feet across. He followed the General who stopped in front of him and Randeen.
“Nice to see you rejoined the fold,” the General said, at the same time a large cigar flopped in his mouth, gripped between his teeth. He chortled. “I guess you SEALs are opposed to smoking.”
Winston glared at the piece of shit wearing the uniform with stars tagged on his collars. “Not if it means you’ll die faster.”
“Ho-ho. Wit, even after spending three days in the wilderness. Bet your little ladies aren’t as energetic as you.”
“We’re fine,” Katy spouted. “But I demand that I be allowed to contact N.A.B Coronado and my Officer in Charge.”
“You demand.” The General leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Do you, now. Well, I’ll tell you what will happen. You give me your safe word, and you and Winston here can go home in a comfy air-condition
ed vehicle right now.”
“Is that so,” she hurled back.
Winston wanted her to stop talking. The General was obviously baiting her, but she didn’t see it. Nor did he believe for a second they’d make it back to Coronado. They’d be lucky to make it to the highway alive, but more than likely trussed up and stored somewhere until the exercise was over.
“Katy,” Winston said sharply. “He’s not letting us go. Don’t waste your breath.”
“Front and center, young woman,” the General ordered.
Winston held her by the shoulders. “No. You got something up your sleeve. You pick me.”
The General’s brows arched as he lazily looked down the line of SEALs, one Marine, and their partners. “I don’t think that’s your call, Squid.”
Two soldiers tore Katy from his grasp while another soldier kicked the top open on the container he’d lugged to the party. Katy screeched and stepped backward, seeing what was inside, but a soldier gripped her arm and dragged her closer.
The General stepped nonchalantly to the container and leaned over. “Looks nasty.” He pulled the cigar from his lips with two fingers and blew out a plume of smoke. The Red Diamond rattlesnakes inside slithered in a tangled, rattling ball. The General replaced the cigar between his teeth and smiled at Katy. “I hope you’re hungry? But first you gotta catch one.”
Katy’s eyes were huge with fear. “I’m not sticking my hand in there.”
The General jerked his head. Two of his henchmen grabbed Winston and yanked him from the line.
“On your knees,” one yelled, and kicked his legs out, sending him to the ground. The General nodded again, and the barrel of a weapon dug into the back of his head.
The General’s brows rose. “Either you pick your dinner, or Winston eats a bullet for his.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Cresting the top of Palomar Mountain, Sloane relinquished the perpetual knot in her stomach to appreciate the view. “Gorgeous. Wish I was camping, versus running like a scared rabbit.”
Damon sat in the driver’s seat, seemingly relaxed with one hand on the steering wheel, his foot easy on the gas pedal as they bounced on the uneven road. “A scared rabbit doesn’t mouth off to a Four-star general, like you did.”
“He thinks his rank earns him the privilege of treating others like shit. If he was playing fair, I’d rub his prehistoric thinking in his face.”
Damon’s brows arched for a moment. “He’s not the only one who believes women don’t belong in combat.”
Sloane shifted in her seat, the seatbelt secured across her chest, biting into her boob. “You better not be one of them.”
He gnawed on his bottom lip.
“Oh, come on!”
Damon shrugged. “I haven’t decided. Years ago the Marine Corp did a study—”
“But—”
“Don’t interrupt me, Sloane,” he said harshly, putting his SEAL instructor voice back into play.
She did have a tendency to do that when they argued. Crossing her arms and turning to stare out the dust-coated window, she listened. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
“The study showed that all-male units performed better. They were more lethal, able to evacuate casualties faster and in less time. During cross examination, men were better at avoiding injuries, hitting targets and quicker at climbing over obstacles. There is no question men are built stronger than women, Sloane.”
“It was not an independent study. Like the General, the administration had already decided on an outcome. They geared it to their own ends. Just like the four-star dirtbag who chose you for this exercise, but without the deadly force he’s implementing. Women have passed the Marine Corp’s minimum test level for years now.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean they perform on average with the abilities required consistently, and especially during combat.”
“Women have surpassed the Ranger’s physical requirements.”
“A few, not the masses, and they’re not in a battalion. They ended up in SYOPS or some other support department.”
“That’s my point, Damon. The few, and those few who want to accept the challenge, should be allowed to test themselves. It’s not just brawn that makes a warrior. My dad is extremely intelligent, and it was that intelligence, the ability to think ahead or like the enemy, that allowed him to conquer the enemy.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you but the SEALs, like other special warfare operators, endure endless physical tests. We’re trained to ignore pain. I’ve been on missions where I truly didn’t think I had the strength to complete the mission. A woman can’t handle that level of exhaustion.”
She shook her head. “Sure, I won’t argue that if you and I arm wrestled, you’d win. I’m not going to dispute that missions during combat involve upper body strength and most women aren’t as strong as men.”
“It’s not just strength. It’s will.” He grinned, dialing back the heat on their conversation. “That mark around my navel you so loving traced with your tongue last night…”
Sloane rolled her eyes.
“Which I hope you do again—is the result of electrocution. I was detained with three of my teammates. It was during my first year in the teams after graduation. We were cornered in an insurgent takeover. For five hours, I endured pain even the SpecOp training won’t touch.”
Damon stopped the truck where a break in the trees allowed them to see down the mountain and across the rolling hills in every direction. The source of water evident, where the green growth had a shot of survival in the dry landscape.
He turned in his seat to gaze into her eyes with meaning. “Those fuckers turned the volts so high it was like being shocked by hydro wires. I dug too deep, nearly lost my mind, just to hang on to a spark of life.”
She swallowed thickly, trying to imagine how anyone could endure that level of pain.
“You want my honest thoughts on women in combat. They don’t belong on the front line. Women are beautiful creatures. Some—like you—make men stronger because of your femininity. It’s in my nature to rescue those who are imprisoned, held against their will. I’ve trained for it, I lived it and now I train others. Men like me who have it in their nature to battle against tyranny until death or victory. Those are the men who make the cut. If we lowered our standards, we’d be doing Special Operators a disservice. Basically, sending them to their death.”
With each word he uttered, Sloane’s arguments lost all their motivation.
“There’s a reason only a small handful of women ever attempted the training back in 2017. The standards weren’t lowered, although some maintained they were. A thousand men a year attempt the BUD/s program. Only a couple hundred make it all the way through. Hell Week is designed to test a man’s will. Those who succeed are the best. The exceptional.”
She nodded. “I agree, they are, but to ban women again, is to take a step backward in time.”
Damon unscrewed the cap on the water bottle he’d plucked from the cup holder and took a long swallow. He offered the bottle, but she declined.
“There’s a right and a wrong way to deal with this issue,” Damon said. “The General might prove his point, but I keep asking myself if this exercise has an ounce of merit.”
“How can it?” She emphasized each word. “I didn’t enlist to become a SEAL. None of the women on the exercise, except for maybe that woman in the Marine Corp who was already attempting the Marine Recon course, is trained to deal with the bus he threw us under. Do you think any panel of politicians or military administration would see it as a fair, independent assessment of women in combat?”
“No. But you said it wasn’t about the women. It’s about the men. If we can complete a mission partnered with a female.”
“It’s not about the men,” she growled.
“Regardless, we’re going to stop this.”
Tires crunching dry ground on the other side of the hill they’d just crested alerted them to company they probably didn’t wan
t to see.
“Shit.” He threw the truck into drive. “Hang on.”
The right-hand side mirror revealed a flash of Army green. Damon accelerated, pinning her back in the seat. The truck slid around a corner, sending the rear wheels fishtailing to the left. Too damn close to the edge and a vertical drop-off.
“They’re catching up!” she said tightly and hunkered lower in her seat. She gripped the padded door handle as he drove down a steep incline, the road narrowing and trees encasing them on both sides. Far reaching limbs slapped the windshield and pine needles flew inside the window, peppering her face.
Damon’s gaze kept flicking toward the GPS.
“Can I help?” Her pulse beat wildly. The Army Jeep vaulted over the rise behind them, all four wheels off the ground before it thumped back onto the road. The tires bit into the rocky base closing the gap.
“No.”
“How are we going to get out of this?”
“Not sure yet.”
Oh, Jesus help them. A string of shots from a weapon punctuated the air. One or more tagged the tailgate, making a twanging thud.
“How far do we have to go?” Sloane looked at the GPS. She could see them moving along the track on the tiny screen. The little mark showed their destination, but the speed at which he drove and the undulating movements of the truck made it impossible to read the distance.
Damon took the next sharp curve in the road at over forty miles per hour. The tires slid on the gravel, out of control. She muffled the need to squeal. He rotated the steering wheel left, then right, to gain control. She didn’t blame him for not answering, his concentration on keeping them racing forward trumped being wrapped around a tree.
Her neck snapped with the quick correction he made, keeping the truck on the gravel road. Every time the soldiers rounded a curve, she and Damon gained more distance.
“We’re close,” he finally answered. “The next blind corner, I’m going to slow down. You’ve got to jump for it, Sloane. Tuck and roll. Get to a phone. I’ll keep their attention on me.”
Code Name_War 0f Stones Page 22
