Читать книгу Breaking Point - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

“TIME FOR YOUR trial by fire,” SEAL Chief Hampton said, gesturing for Baylee-Ann Thorn to follow him out of Operations. Hampton had met her CH-47 helo from Bagram Air Base. As he walked with her from Ops toward the SEAL compound, he told her how it was always below freezing in the morning despite its being a day in June in Afghanistan.

Bay tried to quell her nervousness. They traversed deeply rutted Humvee tracks outside Operations. Camp Bravo, an FOB, forward operating base, was thirty miles from the Pak, Pakistan border. It housed all types of black ops groups. Hampton led them toward a small concrete one-story building located near the edge of the CIA and black ops complex.

The Afghan sun was rising above the sharp, high peaks of the Hindu Kush Mountains. Bay was glad for the desert cammies and her soft cap since it was so cold. She removed her wraparound sunglasses as the chief of Alpha Platoon pushed open the door for her. Bay took a deep, steadying breath, feeling as if she were about to walk into a firefight.

Inside, she halted, unsure where to go. Looking to her left, she noticed seven SEAL shooters sitting and talking among themselves. They looked as if they’d just finished a patrol, sweaty, dusty and tired-looking. She felt exactly like them, flying out of Iraq and leaving her Special Forces, a team stationed near Baghdad, for this outpost.

“Follow me,” Hampton said, giving her a smile of encouragement.

Bay felt slightly better, ignoring her exhaustion and following the tall, wiry Navy chief to the front of the large room. As soon as Hampton arrived, all talking stopped and the seven SEALs sat alert and focused. There were large wooden plyboard tables pushed off to one side. To her, they looked like planning or mission tables where the black ops SEAL team would plan their patrols. The SEALs sat on a few wooden bleachers at the other end of the room.

The room quieted as three Navy SEAL officers, who ran the platoon, entered the area from another doorway. Bay stood off to one side with Hampton as Lieutenant Paul Brafford, the OIC, Officer in Command, strolled up to the center. Every man in the room wore a beard in order to fit into the Muslim culture. Two other officers followed him into the silent room.

“Gentlemen, two days ago we lost Steve, our 18 Delta combat medic and sniper.” His voice turned heavy. “It’s a loss we didn’t want to see happen, and I know we’re all upset about it.” He sat down on a four-legged stool, hooking the heel of his combat boot on a lower rung. “What I’m about to tell you is top secret. And Chief Hampton is going to be passing around a paper that you will sign, ensuring that this will be kept that way.”

There was a murmur among the shooters, who collectively looked at the woman standing beside their chief. They rested their safed rifles, muzzle down, across their legs or chest.

Brafford said, “Unbeknownst to us, there has been an ongoing initiative called Operation Shadow Warriors. It is an experiment created by the Joint Chiefs of Staff to see if women, who are adequately trained for combat, can be successful under combat conditions. This operation has been ongoing for three years now, in Iraq and Afghanistan. You will read and agree to what you’re signing. Basically, it says you won’t ever speak a word about having a woman assigned to our platoon.”

Bay saw the collective shock on the SEALs’ faces. Chief Hampton passed the papers among them. Bay was interested in how the SEALs operated. There were three SEALs on the first bench, three on the second bench. On the last bench near the rear bulkhead or wall sat one lone SEAL. She was good at interpreting facial expressions and body language. Bay noticed the anger and disgust in the faces on the first bench of SEALs. They wanted nothing to do with her. The second bench of SEALs looked surprised. Bay saw something else in the expression of the SEAL who sat by himself. Interest. Curiosity. No judgment. At least, not yet.

Bay felt her skin prickle as the lone SEAL’s green eyes narrowed speculatively, assessing her. He had a square face, strong chin, wide-set eyes and was deeply tanned from being out in the elements. His black hair was dusty, longish and reminded Bay of a raven’s wing. He was tall and she felt coiled energy around him. His right hand rested relaxed across the rail system on top of his M-4 rifle. Even though he appeared to be at rest, Bay noted the tension in his broad shoulders. There was nothing casual about this shooter.

Bay was used to relying on her intuition, which was finely honed by her years of living in the Allegheny Mountains with her hill family. This man was lethal in ways she couldn’t imagine. Yes, SEALs, as she understood them, were at the tip of the black ops spear. They went out on patrol or a direct action mission and moved into harm’s way. SEALs were intent on taking out HVTs, high-value targets. Bullets were going to fly when they entered the picture. Still, there was something about the lone SEAL that touched Bay’s fast-beating heart. If she hadn’t been so tired and stressed at being thrown into this awkward and unexpected situation, she might have picked up more about him.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Brafford said, “you’ve read it. Now sign your life away so we can move on.”

Bay stood next to the AOIC, a tall, lean second lieutenant, Reed Latham. The AAOIC, an ensign, Pete Scardillo, watched and listened. The chief had told her the SEALs were instituting a new officer training template. The AAOIC was a recent graduate and officer, but he’d be going out on every mission with the SEAL shooters, learning the trade. Latham critically watched his SEAL shooters. They were all enlisted men, Bay knew. Like her. Would they accept her or not? She’d worked with Marines and Army Special Forces in Iraq over the past three years. She’d heard about the clandestine SEALs, who had an awesome reputation of being a deadly force behind the scenes. Now, for the first time, she was getting a personal and up-front look at them. There was a lot of muttering and grumbling among them.

Hampton moved through the group, took the signed papers and walked over to the AAOIC and handed the sheaf to him. The chief then came and stood at Bay’s side.

The tension in the room amped up. Bay felt every pair of SEAL eyes on her. She wanted to cringe inside her cammies and hide. This wasn’t going to go down well. She could feel it.

“Chief,” Brafford said mildly, “would you like to finish up introducing our new doc and getting her assigned a mentor?” He eased off the stool.

“Yes, sir,” Hampton said.

All three officers left through another door. Bay tried to appear relaxed, but her heart was pounding now, with adrenaline leaking into her bloodstream. She watched Hampton take the stool with accustomed ease, his hands resting relaxed on his thighs as he regarded his men.

“I want to introduce you to your newest team member, Petty Officer First-Class Hospital Corpsman Baylee-Ann Thorn. She’s a combat corpsman. She’s been trained for a year by the Marines at Camp Pendleton and knows the drill on being a shooter. Plus—” he looked over at her “—she’s going to be one of our medics in our platoon. You’ll find her competent. And I know that all of you are going to have to be flexible about having a female in our midst. I feel sure you guys can handle it. Be gentlemen and understand that because she’s a medic, your life is in her hands. Got it?”

Bay saw a lot of unhappy faces in front of her. They didn’t want a woman around. She could feel their anger, surprise and distrust of her being an outsider to the tight SEAL team. Swallowing hard, Bay kept her face carefully arranged. Somehow, with the chief’s help, she was going to have to make this work. The SEALs were a badass group. None of them was smiling. All but one, frowning.

“Doc, why don’t you come up here and introduce yourself? Tell the guys a little bit about yourself,” Hampton invited, gesturing for her to step forward.

Oh, Lord, give me strength. Doc was the nickname every combat corpsman was called in the military. Bay stepped next to the chief. “Good morning,” she said, “I’m Corpsman Thorn. I know my first name is a mouthful, so most folks call me Doc or Bay.” She fearlessly met their black, flat stares. “I know this is an odd situation, but I promise you, I won’t become a liability. I’ve been working for years over in Iraq with Marines and U.S. Army Special Forces. I know the drill.”

Hampton intervened. “Well, I can tell you that Doc is a very humble person. She isn’t going to brag on herself.” He smiled a little over at Bay and then shifted his attention to the team. “Doc Thorn is the first woman to ever be allowed to go through and graduate from Army 18 Delta combat medic training. Almost two-thirds of the Army Special Forces guys who go through this eighteen-month course fail. But she didn’t. She’s used her skills for the last two years in Iraq combat situations and hasn’t lost a man yet.”

All the SEALs looked at one another, doubly shocked. The 18 Delta combat medics were the golden hour in a field of combat. They saved lives that regular combat medics were not trained to do. Nearly all SEALs who were medics were graduates of 18 Delta. The looks on their faces turned to grudging respect.

* * *

GABE GRIFFIN SMILED a little to himself. Chief Hampton was smart. Bay showed her humbleness and yet nailed the disbelievers in the team with the one thing that counted: a damn good medic who could save their sorry ass if they got shot out on a patrol or mission. About half the SEALs sat back, seriously digesting the info. Baylee-Ann Thorn’s soft drawl wasn’t quite Southern, so he wondered where she was from. He liked her husky voice, her confidence as she stood relaxed in front of the group. For a medic, she was a good height and weight. Bay, as he decided to call her, was probably around five feet ten inches tall. In a firefight, this woman could haul a SEAL to safety if she had to. Adrenaline would make up the difference.

Still, as Gabe listened to her background, he was struck by how innocent Bay looked. She had light brown, slightly curly hair, pulled back into a riotous ponytail. With intelligent blue eyes, a nice mouth and kind-looking face, she wasn’t typical of a combat SEAL. She wasn’t beautiful. Rather, natural and at ease with herself and who she was. Gabe liked her easygoing nature, and as he studied his team, he saw a couple of the guys losing their bristling demeanor.

Yes, Bay certainly had a nice voice. The kind of voice you’d want around if you were bleeding out and going to die in two and a half minutes. You’d believe anything Bay told you because you trusted her and trusted her incredible training. Gabe wondered if her personality would be able to tame the animals in this squad of eight shooters. They all sat alert on their benches, listening closely to what she had to say.

Chief Hampton looked at the team. “Thanks, Doc,” he said. “I want to welcome you to Alpha Platoon. Do you animals have any questions for her?”

“Yeah, I sure as hell do,” Hammer, who sat on the first bench nearest them, snarled. “Just what the hell was the Navy thinking? Putting a woman in our platoon? I don’t care if this is some top-secret op or not. It’s insane.”

Bay winced inwardly at the tall SEAL’s angry comment. He had disgust in his eyes. She felt his emotions strike her.

Hampton sighed. “Hammer, stand down. This is not her fault. Doc did volunteer for this experiment. Keep in mind this op has been ongoing for three years and it has been very successful.”

Hammer glared at the chief, challenging him. “Have there been any other bitches assigned to a SEAL squad?”

“Knock off the disrespect,” Hampton growled. “The answer is yes. And you wouldn’t have heard about it through the grapevine because every man signed that waiver, promising to never speak of it to anyone. Not even to other SEAL squads or platoons.”

Hammer lifted his chin. “She’s going out on our patrols with us?”

“That’s what a doc does,” Hampton replied in a reasonable tone.

“That’s friggin’ babysitting, Chief!” Hammer protested loudly. “It’s not like we don’t have enough on our hands watchin’ out for the tangos, the goddamn IEDs and the rest. Now we have to watch out for her ass, too? She’s a major distraction and that can get us killed.”

Bay put her hand out and briefly touched the chief’s shoulder. “Chief, if you would allow me?”

Hampton shrugged. “Go for it.”

Gabe sat back. Bay Thorn’s blue eyes narrowed slightly and her wide, soft mouth thinned. He was surprised she’d take on a SEAL, expecting her to hide behind the chief and let him do the fighting for her. That impressed him.

Bay met Hammer’s black glare. “I have never worked with SEALs, that’s true. From what I’ve heard about you guys over the years, y’all are heroes in my eyes.”

Gabe watched the team preen to a man, as if stroked by her long, narrow hand. They were warriors. And they had the confidence and training to rightfully feel that way about themselves. It was always nice to hear someone consider them heroes and tell them to their face, however. He watched Bay with fascination, wondering how she was ever going to handle this male alpha wolf team.

“The chief was right. I am trained for combat. I also have a yearlong immersion course in Pashto. I hope to be of help in different ways to you. I’d much rather be a terp, translator, for you, or another gun in the fight, than have to save your hide once you took a bullet out in the field. But I can do that, too. Like you, I’m multiskilled and consider myself an asset.”

Opening her hands, Bay said, “I come from hill people. I was born in the Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia. I grew up barefoot, learned to hunt in the woods starting at age six with my pa. My mama is a hill doctor and she’s saved many people’s lives and delivered a ton of babies. I know how to track, shoot and heal. I hope you’ll let me prove myself over time. I promise, I won’t be a pain in your collective butt. I will never put any of you at risk for me. Instead I’m trained to take the risks for you.”

The sincerity in her eyes and voice deeply affected Gabe. He looked around and saw about half his team bought her explanation. The other half didn’t.

“Okay,” Hammer said, “so you’re a friggin’ hillbilly. So what? What did you do, shoot squirrels and possum for your mama’s soup kettle?”

A snicker went through some of the team.

Hampton opened his mouth to chastise the squad, but Bay cut him a glance. He closed his mouth.

Giving the SEAL a loose smile, she said with humor, “Yes, I’m hill stock, for sure. And it’s true what we shoot, we eat. Squirrel ain’t all that bad,” she teased, dropping more into her dialect. “Tastes a little like the dark meat of a chicken or a wild turkey.” She saw Hammer’s eyes fill with disgust.

“We don’t need no hillbilly in our squad. Hell, I’ll bet you can’t hit the broadside of a barn!”

Gabe roused himself. He saw Chief Hampton ready to pounce on Hammer. He didn’t take guff from any of them, and Hammer was way out of line. “Hey,” Gabe called to Hammer, “why don’t you ask Doc what her longest shot was to kill an animal?”

Bay blinked. The SEAL in the back had a feral grin on his face as he challenged Hammer. What was this guy up to? She felt protectiveness emanating from him toward her. It was nothing obvious, but she picked up on his energy, anyway.

Hammer nodded. “Damn good question, Doc Thorn. What’s your best shot out in them thar woods?”

A number of the SEALs chuckled as he mimicked her dialect.

Bay shrugged. “I bagged an eight-point buck at twelve hundred.”

Half the SEALs burst into laughter, their collective guffaws echoing around the room. Bay frowned, saddened that they didn’t want her in the squad. Except for the SEAL in the back and maybe three other guys who were impressed with her medical training. The SEAL in the back was looking directly at her now. Their gazes locked. She felt the intensity of his slitted green gaze, a one-cornered smile appearing on his weathered face. In that moment, she felt the full power of his invisible protection.

When the laughter died down, Gabe called, “Doc, was that twelve hundred feet or twelve hundred yards?”

Hammer twisted around. “Oh, come on, bro! You know damn well it has to be feet, not yards! What fairy-tale world are you livin’ in?”

Bay suddenly understood what the SEAL was doing. She gave him a nod of thanks for having her back in this melee. Shifting her gaze to Hammer, who was dramatically rolling his eyes, she remained serious. “I sincerely apologize to y’all. I thought you knew I meant twelve hundred yards.”

The room went completely silent. Gabe lowered his head and hid his smile. Finally, he swallowed his grin to surface and he called out, “Hey, Hammer. You got wax in your ears? Did you hear her say yards, not feet?” He enjoyed Hammer’s glare as he twisted around and stared at him.

Snorting, Hammer jerked his head toward the woman standing relaxed, her hands clasped in front of her. “No friggin’ way, sweetheart, have you shot anything, much less hit anything at twelve hundred yards. That’s sniper-quality shootin’ and I don’t care how long you ran around barefoot in those woods growing up shooting squirrels out of trees—no woman can hit anything at that range. Not one.”

Chief Hampton sighed. “Doc? I know you’re pretty wiped out by the flight from Iraq, but are you up to a little range shooting this afternoon? You need to zero in your rifle, anyway.”

“Of course, Chief. My pa began teaching me to shoot at age six. We didn’t have any boys in our family, and I was the oldest girl, so I learned to do what the boys did.”

Hammer shook his head. “What a load of shit.”

“We’ll see,” Hampton murmured. He straightened and looked over the group of men. “What kind of rifle are you wanting to use, Doc?”

Bay heard the wry humor in the chief’s tone. “Well, sir, if someone has a .300 Win Mag, I’d like to try my hand at that. Of course, with their permission.”

Hammer howled with laughter, leaning over, his hands against his belly. Everyone in the front row joined him. The SEALs in bench two were seriously digesting her request. The Win Mag .300 was one of the rifles used by the SEAL snipers. The SEAL in the back stood up. He picked up his ruck sitting on the bench beside him.

“Chief, I’ll loan her my Win Mag to settle this,” Gabe called.

Surprised, Bay watched as he stood and slowly walked toward her. He had a loose kind of walk, a man with confidence to burn. There was a rifle strapped to the outside of his rucksack. This SEAL was a sniper, no question. Bay saw humor lurking in his eyes as he approached her with his boneless grace. He immediately made her think of the mountain lions she’d seen stalking prey. It was that kind of silent, lethal walk.

Gabe halted a few feet from her, set his ruck down on the concrete floor. He leaned down and pulled open the Velcro straps that held his sniper rifle in place. Pulling it out of the straps, he said, “Here you go, Doc. I’ll be your spotter if you need one. I’m Gabe Griffin, by the way.”

When their fingers met as he handed over his rifle to her, Bay gulped. The SEAL was tall, probably six feet or more. There was warmth in his green eyes as he smiled down at her. She took the rifle, allowing it to hang, barrel down, beneath her left arm and rest against her hip. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “And I could sure use your help with this beautiful rifle.” Her voice turned soft with humor. “I’m used to my dad’s Winchester to bring down game. This one is a lot different feeling. Lighter.”

Gabe turned, standing beside the combat medic. Hammer was giving him a look of utter disbelief. “Hammer, let’s meet out at our shooting range, say at 1300?”

“You got it. You’ve picked the wrong side of this contest, Griffin.”

Shrugging, Gabe said, “Hey, I was born in Butler, Pennsylvania. I grew up with a few hill people who lived up in that neck of the woods. They were all crack shots.”

“A hundred bucks says she can’t hit any target at twelve hundred yards,” Hammer said, grinning over at his buddies.

Gabe rested his arms across the front of his H-gear around his chest. “I got a hundred that says she can nail the target dead center every time.”

Hooting and hollering broke out excitedly among the team. SEALs got easily bored, and a rifle competition whetted their weapons appetites. There was heavy betting going on, mostly against the new doc. Chief Hampton raised his hands.

“You just got back off a twelve-hour patrol. Get cleaned up, eat, write up your reports and we’ll meet at the shooting range at 1300.” Chief looked over at Bay. “You all right with this, Doc?”

Bay kept a serious face. “Yes, sir, I am.”

“I’ll collect her winnings,” Gabe told the chief, his grin widening. His team was in for one helluva surprise, he hoped.

“On that note,” Hampton said, sliding off the stool, “I’m assigning you to be her mentor, Gabe.”

More hollers and laughter broke out in the room. Hammer was gloating. “Glad it wasn’t me having to train in a cherry!” he yelled at Gabe. “You poor sorry son of a bitch.”

Gabe took the gibing good-naturedly. Cherry was a slang term for the new guy coming into the squad. He saw Bay give him a confused look.

“That means,” he told her, “I’ll integrate you into the team. It will be my responsibility to show you the ropes, teach you how we patrol. Stuff like that.”

Relief fled through her. “That’s great, Gabe. Thank you.”

Hampton gave Gabe a hard look and lowered his voice. “Give the team time, but don’t take any shit off any of ’em, either. She’s our medic. They shouldn’t care if it’s a man or woman saving their ass. Understand?”

“Yes, Chief, I do,” Gabe replied, reading between the lines. Gabe knew half the team wasn’t happy about having a woman assigned into their ranks. The only thing to do now was for her to earn their respect. Turning, he looked down into her wide, innocent-looking blue eyes.

“Can you really hit a deer at twelve hundred yards?”

Bay remained humble. She lowered her voice so only he could hear her. “Actually, I’ve dropped a couple of deer at fourteen hundred yards, but I didn’t want them thinking I was tellin’ them a big windy.”

Gabe picked up his ruck and slung it over his shoulder and gave a soft chuckle. “Come on, I need to show you where our shooting range is located.”

Grateful he didn’t hate her as half the team did, Bay carried his sniper rifle easily beneath her left arm. The rest of the SEAL team was up, walking toward the doors with them. There was a lot of laughter and ribbing going on. Mostly about her. Bay had been hazed before and tried not to take it personally.

As they left the building, Gabe Griffin at her side, the sun had risen more, taking off the chill. Automatically, Bay slipped on her sunglasses, just as he did. At eight thousand feet on a mountaintop, the sunlight was brutal. Without sunglasses, it would be hard to see enemy at times, especially in the glare. That could cost them their life.

“Down this unnamed street,” he said, gesturing down a row of tan canvas tents sitting up on plyboard platforms.

The SEALs split up, going their separate ways. Most would put their weapons in their tents and then hit the chow hall, starved. Gabe took her over to his tan-and-gray tent he shared with Phil Baker. He decided to use the tent next to his. “Doc, this is a catch-all tent for our equipment. You’ll find SEALs are real good at getting creative. I’ll rustle up a cot for you after we eat.”

“May I give you back the Win Mag? I want it kept safe.”

“Sure.” He took the weapon and placed it on his cot inside his tent. Gabe questioned why he wasn’t upset about training in the newbie, man or woman. Because of his recent divorce, he’d stepped down as LPO, lead petty officer, of the team. He’d asked the chief to assign it to Philip Baker, who was content to take over the position. The chief probably figured this was a good way for Gabe to get back into the saddle as LPO at some point in the future.

Knowing Chief Hampton as he did, going on fourth deployment with him, Gabe understood he was a wily people manager, got that he was hurting. Focusing on a newbie would take his mind off his cheating ex-wife. Gabe wasn’t at all sure, however, that dealing with another woman right now was a smartest decision, but Hampton had good insight into people and situations. Lily, his ex-wife, had broken his trust, broken his heart and broken any good feelings he had toward women in general.

In a way, he felt sorry for Bay, because she seemed sweet, unassuming and terribly innocent. Maybe looks weren’t everything, Gabe decided. He’d fallen for Lily’s blinding beauty, and look where it got him. When he emerged from the tent, Bay was waiting for him. She had an M-4 looped in a black nylon sling across his chest and right shoulder. He took her rifle and laid it on his cot next to the Win Mag. “Let’s go eat,” he said.

As they walked down through the avenues of tents toward the chow hall, Gabe knew Baylee-Ann Thorn had just stepped into a pack of alpha males who didn’t tolerate incompetence of any kind, at any level. They were hardened warriors who knew what it took to survive, and right now half of them had their new doc in their gun sights. Could she stand the heat in the kitchen? Could she measure up or not? They’d find out soon enough.