Shadow Warriors: Breaking Point Part 3

"It sure is," Hampton said quietly, holding the SEAL's angry glare.

"Then I want to talk to the LT about it," Hammer growled. "I'm not done with this, Chief. And I don't like that you're not handling it. That's your job."

"I did my job, Rettig. You just don't like my answer or my solution." Hampton's voice dropped. "This is bigger than you, me or the LT. This woman is highly trained in many areas, and none of us can say we don't want her and discharge her from this squad just because of gender prejudice."

"That's a bunch of c.r.a.p," Hammer snarled, walking back and forth in front of the chief, his thickset shoulders bunched with tension. "I don't care what the Pentagon cooked up." Hammer stopped and jabbed an index finger at the door. "That woman is trouble. And I guarantee," he grated, breathing hard, "she is gonna get one or more of us killed because she's not a SEAL!"

Hampton straightened a little, holding the angry SEAL's gaze. "And what if I told you, Rettig, that there have been other women in other SEAL teams before this and that hasn't happened? That they've worked very effectively in those teams without causing casualties? Matter of fact, they've saved men's lives. And some of the women have lost their lives, as well, but not because of inept.i.tude. They're in firefights all the time right along with the men."

Shaking his head like a bull getting ready to charge, Hammer rasped, "I don't believe you."

The other three SEALs eyebrows went up collectively on Hammer's challenging grate. It was one thing to be p.i.s.sed off, but you didn't call your chief a liar to his face. The three of them exchanged uneasy glances with one another.

Doug Hampton's face turned hard. Hammer was pushing his weight around. If he'd been LPO, he'd have taken him out back and pounded some sense into his head. But Hampton was the man in charge of the entire platoon and wielded plenty of power. The buck stopped with him. Gabe wondered how Doug was going to handle Hammer, directly challenging his authority, his face beet red.

"Rettig," Hampton said, standing up, "it's time you and me had a little chat outside."

Hammer scowled, no doubt because his superior was six feet three inches tall, thirty-five years old and in top shape. He had five deployments under his belt and knew more about fighting in Afghanistan than just about anyone. Hammer turned and looked at his three friends to see if they wanted to join him. They all backed off, their hands held up, a sign that Hammer was on his own.

Wiping his mouth, Hammer growled, "And if I don't?"

Hampton shrugged nonchalantly. "Then I'll beat the c.r.a.p out of you right here in front of them. Your call, Rettig, because you've outlived your welcome with me."

"Aw, dammit, Chief!" Hammer spun around and huffed and puffed around the room. He kept giving the chief furtive looks, trying to figure out what to do. How to back down gracefully and not come to blows.

Hampton was slowly rolling up the sleeves on his cammies to just below his elbows. "Ready?"

Gabe hid a smile. Doug Hampton could be a d.a.m.n intimidating and dazzling manager with a recalcitrant SEAL when he had to be. Gabe was glad he'd had four deployments with Hampton to know he was manipulating the h.e.l.l out of red-faced Hammer.

"Look," Hammer said, holding up his hand, "I'm not about to fight you, Chief."

"Well, then," Hampton said in his reasonable tone, "you're just going to have to make an att.i.tude change, Rettig." His voice hardened as he strode up to the SEAL and got into his face. "Because," Hampton ground out, "you're going to work as a team. That's what SEALs are all about. You will" he jabbed his index finger into Hammer's chest "-make every effort to get along with Doc. And I won't say this again, because next time...if there is a next time...I'll kick your a.s.s. Got it?"

"Yes, Chief," Hammer breathed, his voice deflated, "I got it."

"Good," Hampton murmured, easing away from him. He stepped back and began to slowly unroll a cuff. "I don't know why you don't think she can't fast-rope."

Hammer gave him a shocked, quizzical look.

"As a matter of fact, I think you should get to know her a bit more. Now, I agree, Doc is a very una.s.suming, quiet woman who wouldn't think of bragging on herself in any way, shape or form. She acts like a SEAL. Humble. Never talks about herself or what she's been trained to do." Doug rolled down the other cuff. "I read her personnel file, Rettig." Hampton lifted his chin and stared hard at the SEAL. "She learned fast-roping at Camp Pendleton. The women who went through that one-year immersion combat course learned a lot of black op methods, including kill box routines and CQD, close quarters defense training. Yeah, maybe she's a little rusty on fast-roping, but she's got her special gloves, she's got the strength and I know Gabe will refresh her if that's what your team has to do on a particular mission."

Hammer scowled. "You've got to be kidding me? She can fast-rope?"

Hampton glared at the SEAL. "I wouldn't kid you, Rettig. Doc doesn't know our tactics and patrols, but she's a quick study. If I were you, I'd be thrilled pink she was a.s.signed to us. Has it been lost on you that if your sorry a.s.s gets pumped full of lead out there, she's the one who's going to try and save your sorry, prejudicial a.s.s? And she's a linguist. Won't it be nice that you can get her to talk to the local farmers in these villages? And that she'll not only understand what they're saying, but give us accurate translation? You know how bad Afghan terps are? I find it refreshing she's here and can translate for us. Furthermore-" Hampton slowly pulled the Velcro closed around each cuff around his thick wrists "-the LT and I are jumping up and down for joy she's been a.s.signed to us. Right now there are no SEALs available to fill our open slot. We're d.a.m.n lucky to have gotten her or we would be operating a man short, down a sniper, and I d.a.m.n well don't want to go there. Do you?"

Hammer stood quiet and tense, disbelief written all over his face. He didn't move. "No, Chief."

"Well," Hampton said, sadness in his voice, "we lost Billy three days ago. Yesterday, Doc showed us she can hit the broad side of a barn. Frankly, I'm ordering Gabe to get her up to speed on sniper tactics as fast as he can because, dammit, she can consistently hit a target. And there are no more snipers we can get our hands on anywhere in the SEAL community right now. I can't even get a straphanger. There just aren't enough of them graduating through SEAL sniper school. It's a rough course and most are washed out in the process. So we are looking at her as our backup sniper. I haven't told her that yet, but the LT wants it done p.r.o.nto. She's a gun in this fight, Rettig. And you should be d.a.m.n relieved about that."

Gabe watched Hammer's face drain of color. The SEAL knew when he had been bested. Doug Hampton was a quiet sort, and no one ever wanted to back up on him. He was deadly when cornered, and Hammer had just discovered this fact. Keeping his face unreadable, Gabe saw Hammer snort and turn away, striding toward the door.

"I didn't dismiss you," Hampton said.

Hammer halted and slowly turned around. "Yes, Chief."

"You treat Doc like you would any newbie rotating into our platoon. Got that?"

"Yes, Chief."

"And if I have to spell that out to you again, Rettig, I'll be writing you a one-way ticket out of this platoon. Got it?"

Mouth twisting, Hammer muttered, "Yes, Chief. I got it. May I be dismissed?"

Hampton moved his shoulders as if to rid them of tautness and nodded. "In a minute." And then he looked at the three other SEALs standing in front of him. "Any of you have something to add to this little chat before chow time?"

All three shook their heads, suddenly nervous under the chief's dark, a.s.sessing look.

"I want all four of you, after chow, to take all the supplies and gear out of that tent next to Gabe's tent. Doc is going to use it." Hampton raised a finger and added, "I expect that place to be 4.0 when you're finished. She deserves a clean tent like anyone else coming into our platoon. Questions?"

They quickly shook their heads, more than ready to escape the chief's riled state.

"Dismissed."

Gabe watched the four of them quickly leave. He turned back toward Doug after the door closed. "You handled that well," he murmured, walking up to him.

"Dammit," Hampton growled. "I knew this was coming."

"You think Rettig will go behind your back and b.i.t.c.h to the LT?" Gabe asked, sitting on the stool near the chief.

"He'd better not," Hampton said, moving his fingers through his dark brown hair. "If he does, the LT will hand him his one-way ticket before I get a chance to do it. We can't afford this kind of divisiveness in our ranks. No way...."

There was worry in Hampton's gray eyes.

"Anything I can do other than what I am doing?" Gabe asked.

"No. Doc is safe with you, thank G.o.d. LT and the AOIC are thanking their lucky stars you intervened on her behalf yesterday morning."

Gabe chuckled a little. "Hammer was ganging up on her. I don't put up with unfair advantages."

"Nor do I," Hampton said, scowling. "But you handled it like the LPO you are. The LT was pleased."

Taking the compliment, Gabe said, "I'm happy to mentor her. She's a sharp lady."

"Far sharper than Rettig will ever be," Hampton said. "He's a d.a.m.n fine SEAL, but he's too territorial. That's going to get him in deep trouble someday, and it d.a.m.n well isn't going to happen on my watch."

"He's a handful at times," Gabe agreed, "but out on patrol, I wouldn't want anyone but him around. You saw how well he shot yesterday. He's sniper trained and he's a d.a.m.n good shot. We need every gun we can get in those fights."

Sighing, Hampton patted Gabe's shoulder. "I know. He's a good SEAL, just misguided with his prejudices sometimes. If I hadn't landed on him with both feet, he'd have taken control of the situation."

"So, you're going to unload our supply tent for Doc?" Gabe asked, wanting to get off the subject.

"Yeah, I talked with LT about it last night. They are very impressed with her, Gabe. Frankly, so am I."

Gabe laughed again. "You three looked like an act of G.o.d had just taken place out there on that shooting range yesterday. Like a female Moses just arrived in a chariot in time to save your sorry a.s.ses."

Hampton had the good grace to look sheepish. "Who knew? In her records, she shot expert at Pendleton in all weapons-pistol, rifle and M-4 grenade launcher. None of us realized how good she was, though. It blew us away."

"Me, too," Gabe admitted. "I don't think Doc knows how talented she really is as a combat soldier."

"Yeah, she's really una.s.suming, isn't she? A quiet mouse."

Shrugging, Gabe said, "Well, at least she's not like ego-busting Hammer."

"You're right," Hampton said, settling his hands on his narrow hips. "We should be grateful for that. The LT has a call into the Special Forces captain she worked with over in Iraq. We want more dope on her. And once we know, I'll pa.s.s it on to you. I think she's very skilled in a lot of areas we'd never expected her to be. I'd like to know the breadth and depth of her combat experience."

"Maybe Doc is just like the other women in that top-secret op, but we've just never had the knowledge to know how they are trained. They could all be like Doc."

"I don't know, but we're going to find out. She graduated top five in her cla.s.s of forty women. They're a bunch of Amazons." He grinned. "Don't tell Doc I said that. I don't want to get in hock with General Maya Stevenson. She's an Army general heading up Operation Shadow Warriors. She has a reputation of getting into your face so d.a.m.n fast you won't live to tell about it."

"Not a word I'd use around Doc."

Hampton grinned. "We really don't know what Doc is made of yet, and we need to find out. The Pentagon is expecting weekly reports on her." He clapped his hand on Gabe's shoulder. "Since you're her mentor, you'll be writing up a weekly report and sending it on to me. Once I read it and make comments or whatever, I pa.s.s it up the chain of command to LT. From there, it goes into a black hole in the E-ring of the Pentagon."

Groaning, Gabe shook his head. "I don't mind mentoring, Doug, but d.a.m.n, a weekly report? Can't you cut me some slack?"

Hampton smiled evenly. "No can do. It's all yours, thank G.o.d. But I am going to invite myself along every once in a while on the next few missions to make sure Hammer and those other three fall into line. I won't have him splitting the team."

"I don't know what Hammer will do," Gabe said. "One thing for sure, if he tries anything stupid out there with her, he'll answer to me. And I won't be nice and invite him outside to beat the h.e.l.l out of him. I'll take him on the instant it happens."

Raising one eyebrow, Hampton nodded. "Good. She's to be treated like any newbie. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't care if they razz or tease her, but anything beyond that-"

"I have her six, Doug. Don't worry about it." Six was a term used by the military when an enemy plane flew up behind an American pilot's plane and was getting ready to shoot it down. It meant Gabe would protect Bay, should it come down to that.

Hampton gripped his shoulder. "You're in the breech, but I wouldn't have any other SEAL in that sorry position. Can you go help the guys get that tent fixed up for her today?"

Gabe eased off the stool, his M-4 in a sling across his chest. "No problem."

"You going to sit her down and show her patrol tactics and formations?"

"First thing on my list," Gabe promised. "After evening chow."

As Gabe stepped outside in the heat of the afternoon, he waffled. Should he go find Doc? Invite her to the chow hall? Part of him wanted to, but another part didn't. Still, he was her mentor and that had him walking down the dusty street between the many tents to go find her. Even after his conversation with the chief, Gabe felt nagging worry about the confrontation with Hammer. He sincerely hoped the SEAL would fall into line. Doc didn't deserve his misguided prejudice.

So far, Doc had shown all of them she could shoot. That, in and of itself, was a phenomenal shock. A good one, and Gabe grinned to himself, chuckling over yesterday's compet.i.tion. Hill people might appear to be plain and una.s.suming, but Gabe had learned early on they were smart and possessed backwoods common sense that would dazzle everyone.

CHAPTER FIVE.

BAY COULD HARDLY contain her excitement as the Chinook helicopter landed at Bagram Air Base near noon. Chief Hampton had ordered Gabe to take her to the U.S. Navy Supply Terminal to get outfitted with SEAL gear and weapons. As they disembarked out the rear of the helo into the sunlight, the heat was stifling. Bagram Air Base sat a bit north of Kabul and it was all desert. Just like Iraq.

Gabe seemed to know his way around, guiding her through the Helicopter Operations Building and requisitioning a beaten-up white Toyota pickup truck from a Marine sergeant friend of his outside the doors of the busy place. The airstrip was alive with helo activity. An enormous C-5 Air Force transport was landing at the fixed-wing operations and runway area. Apache combat helicopters were trundling toward a takeoff point with a full load of rockets and h.e.l.lfire missiles on board. The noise and activity were high and constant. It reminded Bay of a busy beehive.

They arrived at Naval Supply, a large warehouse on the other side of the base. Bay had been at Bagram only one other time, and that was the flight into Afghanistan from Iraq. The landing had been at night, so she never realized just how big this base was.

Gabe parked the truck out in front of the warehouse and climbed out. Like everyone else, he carried a weapon, an M-4 rifle he had in a sling across his chest. A SIG Sauer 9mm pistol rode low in a drop holster on his right thigh. On his left thigh was a SEAL SOF knife in a sheath. As she met him and walked into the air-conditioned building, she was proud to be at his side. SEALs stood out from other military personnel. Maybe it was the gear they wore or the confident way they carried themselves. Or both.

Gabe halted at the main counter and handed the Navy yeoman, a young woman in her early twenties, a requisition slip. She read it, looked from him to Bay.

"SEAL gear for a woman?" she asked, unsure.

"Yes," Gabe said. The yeoman frowned, scratched her blond head and shrugged. He wasn't going to tell her anything if she started to pump him with questions.

"There's no women's sizes in SEAL gear. You know what section the gear is in?" she asked him.

Gabe nodded. "I just need you to sign that and I'll take her down there and we'll collect her gear."

Bay could tell the yeoman was fl.u.s.tered. She was sure other women came here for military gear, too. Especially military police women. The look in her eyes, however, was questioning the SEAL gear order. Bay followed Gabe down a wide aisle where pallets of supplies were piled up nearly to the ceiling.

"You've done this a few times," she said as they walked beside each other.

"A few."

"I thought that yeoman was going to faint."

He smiled. "It's a little unusual for a female to show up needing SEAL gear-you have to admit that."

Bay nodded and scanned the area. "I didn't know what to expect when I arrived at Camp Bravo. It was nice of the chief to get me the gear I'll need in order to work with your team."

Gabe halted in the clothing section. "I just hope we can find a size that fits you," he muttered, looking through the cammies. "You're going to have to wear a man's uniform."

Shrugging, Bay moved over and looked through the sizes, her fingers moving quickly through the hanging desert cammies. "I'll survive." She grinned over at him.

This morning when Gabe had found her at the chow hall eating breakfast, he seemed subdued, preoccupied. Had something happened earlier? If so, he hadn't said anything. Still, Bay could feel the energy around him as she always felt around people, places and things.

"I think these will fit. Let me try them on." She pulled a pair of cammies off the rack and took them to a fitting room.

Within an hour, Bay had her cammies, a set of good desert boots, H-gear harness, jacket, cold-weather gear and a rucksack. Then Gabe took her over to the Navy Armory, nearby.

Bay stood looking at the rifles and pistols setting on racks behind the counter. "Why are we here?" she asked him. She patted her M-4 across her chest. "I have everything I need, don't I?"

"Well," Gabe hedged, "not quite." He turned and noticed the confused look on her face. For a second, he felt blinded by her natural beauty. It unnerved him. "The chief wants you to get a .300 Win Mag."

"What?"