Danger Close (Shadow Warriors) (2 page)

“What?”

“It worked. Lance Corporal Gardener stood here practically in tears, begging her sloppy, overweight uncle, saying she loved the WLF more than she did her parents.” Louise smiled tightly. “Couldn’t have said it more eloquently myself. Gardener’s a textbook case—she’s taken everything I’ve taught like a good field soldier and made a belief out of it. I was proud of her.”

I’d like to get my hands on Gardener
, Kay thought. Lisa Gardener had animation, spunk and, yes, even the fire that Kay prized so much. But she was an unfinished soldier. She needed polishing and she could bring it out in her. And then Kay scowled, her eyes turning black. Gardener was inseparable from that bitch, Fremont. If only there were some way to isolate Gardener—get her off by herself and then Kay would see who would prevail. She could mold Gardener into a top-notch warrior.

“Yeah, Gardener’s profile-perfect,” Kay agreed.

Louise turned and handed Kay several papers. “The troops get liberty next week. There are a few of them I don’t want to leave the barracks area.”

“You mean women that might bad-mouth us to any reporters trying to hang around the EM club at San Onofre?”

“Precisely. There are five. I want you to come up with adequate excuses for their parents, boyfriends or whatever so they don’t show up here at Camp Pendleton expecting to see them.” Louise rubbed her forehead. “I can’t afford to have the few disenchanted ones spill their guts to a visitor—or those damned reporters. I want this transition to Thailand to go smoothly. We need all the positive press we can get.”

Kay perused the list. “Well, we don’t need to worry about Fremont—she’s an orphan. If I were a parent, I wouldn’t want her, either.”

“The other four have family, though,” Louise pointed out. “Draft a letter to them.” Her blue eyes turned cold. “Use some kind of logical excuse, duty section or whatever.”

“Right.” Kay frowned. “You know, this isn’t going to sit well with any of them. Especially Fremont. Damn, that bitch is dangerous. She’s the only one of the five malcontents we’ve not been able to punish for insubordinate behavior.”

Irritation turned Louise’s bow-shaped mouth downward. “As soon as we get over to Thailand, Fremont’s ass is yours. You’re right—she’s too much a loner,—definitely not a team player.”

Lane opened the left bottom drawer. There were fifteen files there in alphabetical order. Her best women. Women who had one or more talents or traits that would help make WLF history and press. She allowed her fingers to stop momentarily over a file marked Fremont. The next one was Gardener. Too bad Cathy Fremont was such a damn fine shot with the rifle. Over the course of the past three months, she became known as the Valkyrie. At weekly press conferences orchestrated by Louise herself, several of the enlisted women had enthused over Cathy Fremont and her abilities. Corporal Penny Amato told the press the women dubbed Fremont with the title of the Valkyrie because she was always at the right place and time to help others of her platoon. Like the heroic warrior handmaiden of the Norse god, Odin, Fremont had a knack of picking up the pieces or helping out her sisters in need.

She’d like to relegate Fremont to a lesser position, such as a rifle woman, in a squad. Instead, she’d been forced to give Cathy Fremont a squad of her own. After all, she was the oldest woman in the WLF enlisted rank and she had two years in the Marine Corps as a Military Police person. Why the
hell
had Fremont volunteered? It left Louise uneasy; it always had.

She tapped her index finger on Gardener’s file. Sergeant Bell, their D.I., said Fremont joined because her close friend Lisa Gardener had volunteered.

“Fremont’s a good squad leader,” Kay admitted grudgingly. “Damn good. In fact, the best we’ve got. Maybe she’ll settle down once we’re over there. Personally, I think she’s here because of Gardener, not because of any great belief that women can be competent combat soldiers.”

“The minute she strays out of the guidelines I’ve set, I want you on her ass.”

“Don’t worry,” reassured Kay. “She’s one tough broad, but I’m tougher. I want to be the one to knock that chip off her shoulder.”

Louise sat back down, poring over another report, which gave the latest marksmanship scores. She wanted to issue a press release praising those women who had shot so well earlier in week. At the top were the names: Fremont, Gardener, Ingram and Cassidy, one of her second lieutenants. “Right now I want everything quiet, Kay. No rough stuff. Try to refrain from punishing anyone else from now on.” Ingram was indispensable when it came to meting out well-deserved punishment. But at times she got carried away and Louise couldn’t afford her captain that privilege any longer.

“I hear you loud and clear, Major.” She stood and smiled. “Still, I’d like to see the look on Fremont’s face when she finds out she ain’t going nowhere on liberty next week.”

“Frankly, there are more important items on my agenda,” Louise went over to one wall where a detailed map of Thailand was tacked up. She looked at Hills 121 and 126 where the U.S. regiment would reside. From there, in a fan shape extending toward the Mekong River, bordering Laos and their camp, were the corridors. She ran her finger to Echo zone, the last section and flank. “I want this area for Delta, our WLF company, but I don’t know who Colonel Mackey is going to assign it to.”

Kay stood at her shoulder and frowned at the map. “Echo is a rough, almost nonnegotiable jungle area. Why do you want it? The other zones are flatter and more accessible.”

“Because we won’t have to interface with the Marine regiment except on our one flank. I can have a free hand in patrolling it. Since there’s nothing beyond Delta except a no-man’s land, contact with the enemy will be higher.”

Kay glanced at her. “You think the Laotian Army is going to choose rugged terrain over easier routes running through the rest of these corridors?”

Louise smiled. “You remember Vietnam and how all the generals thought the NVA would use the easiest routes of attack and retreat?”

“Yes.”

Satisfaction showed in her face. “The LA are Vietnam-trained insurgents. It’s my military guess they’ll take to Echo and beyond just to avoid the rest of the regiment’s patrolled areas.”

Kay wasn’t so sure. “If you’re wrong—”

“I’m right.” Louise jabbed at Echo on the plastic-covered map. “Now all I have to do is maneuver Colonel Mackey into letting me have it.”

“That’s going to be tough to do. As much as he hates us, he wants to keep Delta safe so he can protect his own ass.” Kay grinned. “After all, if we lose Delta, his career is dead in the water.”

“I’ll get the bastard his first general’s star out of this whether he wants it or not,” Louise countered grimly. “Dismissed.”

Kay came to attention and did a smart about-face and left the office.

After Kay left, Louise continued to look out the office window. The day was drawing to a close, the rays of the sun streaking across the barren landscape like long, shadowy fingers. One hundred and twenty women—a full company—to prove that women could be battle-hardened warriors equal to any male and so many fine lines to tread. The pressure closed in on her, but she couldn’t allow herself the emotional privilege of giving into it. She had to just keep going, sticking to the plan she had formed two years ago. Louise glanced toward her desk. Under lock and key in a thick notebook was her blueprint for the WLF.

While in Thailand with Marine Force Recons, a black ops group, or Recons, Louise had spent her spare moments scribbling out a game plan for a sixth branch of service, an all-female service, from rear support functions to forward duties involving combat. The U.S. had agreed to support Thailand against the Laotian and Cambodian infiltration by the Communists by sending over a Marine regiment. Arms sales were blossoming over in the Middle East and the Pentagon, who had forecast the next war would be in the Middle East, did not want this Asian conflict to grow.

Colonel William Mackey was in command of the regiment slated to go over to Thailand, including her woman’s company. Based upon two years’ previous experience with Mackey, Lane knew he would try to pigeonhole her women into some innocuous activity instead of letting them get a fair trial at combat.

Well, she wasn’t going to stand for that. Mackey would try to use her troops as mere perimeter guards instead of allowing them to actively patrol against the insurgent Laotians. Screw him, she thought savagely, sitting down and gripping her pen so hard her fingertips whitened.

For the first time her life, she knew what hate could do. Her emotions could easily destroy all her carefully laid plans. No, she’d have to control them around that grizzled male who was a throwback to the Neanderthal age. God, but that was going to be hard. Her mama had preached, “Control your emotions and you control your destiny.” But Louise’s reaction to Mackey was like a thunderstorm with a tornado hiding behind it. No, she’d neutralize him early by a well-placed call to her contact in the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Louise knew that by next week the “word” would filter down to Mackey and his crew. She, and she alone, would control the WLF.

“THERE’S NO way in hell I’m approving Delta to operate outside my infantry regiment zones, Major Lane.” Mackey, clenching the cigar between his teeth, stared at her down the long table filled with officers who were under his command. His gruff voice sounded like a combination of sandpaper and rocks in a tumbler. Built like a pit bull, his eyes narrowed in his lean, hard face. The Marine officers present had learned to keep a stoic face around Mackey. But the second lieutenants—green to the political arena—sensing the charged atmosphere, shifted anxious looks across the table at one another.

Major Lane, aware that she looked like a crisp, military version of a brunette Barbie doll, sat at the other end of the table. A tight-jawed Ingram sat at her right, glaring at Mackey’s unwavering gaze. Four other lieutenants sat next to Ingram looking like steely-eyed female versions of Amazon warriors.

Louise forced a plastic smile, the one she often used with great success on the press. Ruthlessly, she allowed her senses to tell her what she needed to know. Like a wild animal whose five senses were razor honed, Lane picked up on Mackey’s veiled nervousness. Sweat beaded his brow. Louise allowed a hint of a smile to touch her lips. Not many men could hold her icy gaze when she chose to blast them with one of her frigid glares. No, she’d been in the Marine Corps long enough to have cataloged all her deliberate body movements to achieve the maximum desired effect on the other party. Yet her heart was pounding so hard against her ribs she wondered if Kay could hear it. Leaning forward, hands clasped on the table, she spoke with terse authority.

“Colonel Mackey, I’m well aware that a single company never operates independently in a unit of this size. I’m not intending to completely disengage the WLF from your regiment. When you read my proposal—”

“I read it, Major. Your first choice of deployment is one of our primary defense zones.”

“There were two other locations proposed,” Louise added.

“I’m not finished, Major,” Mackey continued darkly. “You also requested the area occupied by Delta be off-limits to men. This is unacceptable, Major Lane.” Mackey’s eyes flashed. “Not only is inefficient, it’s destructive to the morale of the whole regiment. In case you’ve forgotten, the primary modus operandi of any military unit is its teamwork and cohesiveness. Then, if we’re attacked, and we will be, we can stand together and repulse the enemy.”

“I don’t need to be given an officer’s candidate school lecture on strategy, Colonel.” Louise heard a few shuffles of feet beneath the table and clearing of throats. Nervous young lieutenants. Her eyes narrowed, the smile fixed on her lips. She could feel the dampness in her palms. “I want my women separate from your men. Of course, my clerks and supply people will work with the men in the rear area. I only want Delta company and the space it occupies within the infantry regiment designated off-limits. I want my troops focused and intent upon why they are over in Thailand. Their job is to patrol, not to mingle. This whole effort is about killing and dying. It’s not a social club.”

Mackey didn’t particularly want those women around his Marines anyway. God only knew what they might do once they landed on Thai soil. He didn’t want rabid, half-cocked females going around endangering his men or screwing up his plans for stopping the Laotian influx. “Major, I’ll accept the off-limits designation. But I want you to understand that no operations by Delta are to be initiated without prior authorization from my command post. Is that clear?”

Tapping his fingers on her proposal, Mackey promised himself she’d take the zone he designated or else. He couldn’t afford to lose two in a row to the bitch—not in front of his staff.

“Yes, that’s clear,” she said. “Not only that, we’ll naturally share any intelligence we gather with your S-2 section.”

Louise relaxed, knowing she’d won. She could still feel Mackey’s animosity toward her and her officers. They had been welcomed to this command strategy session like the Black Plague.
Tough
. She catered to no one but herself. Her women were ready. Her officers were the best. Now, to show this bastard that her women could stand up to combat conditions as well as his own highly touted Marine regiment.

“Initially, I expect you to allow my specially chosen men to work with your company, Major.”

Mackey’s words caused Louise to start. What game was he playing now? She slowly unclasped her hands and sat back in the chair. “Why would I want to do that, Colonel?”

Mackey bit down hard on his cigar. He knew Lane would want to work independently of any male influence. She was taking a high risk. On one hand, if her women did well, which he doubted they would, Lane could crow to the press about her success. On the other hand, if some of his veterans were acting as teachers and guides to help initiate the women to combat field conditions, Lane wouldn’t be able to steal all the thunder for herself. She’d have to share it with a man, God forbid. And, he knew from direct experience, Lane didn’t share her victories with anyone. And no one was left alive to share her defeats, so no finger could be pointed at her for screwing up.

“Common practice is to insert knowledgeable officers or enlisted personnel with new recruits, Major. It cuts down on needless loss of life out in the bush. I have several officers and sergeants who are combat experienced from Central America. They can show your women the ropes.”

“Your generosity is gratefully acknowledged, Colonel Mackey, but I’m going to decline your offer. I spent nine months in Thailand myself with your Recons. I’ve transferred that knowledge to my officers and noncoms.”

Fire blazed in Mackey’s eyes as he stared across the table at her. “But you aren’t the one going out in the bush to lead those women, Major. Your job is to sit back and command.”

“Which I intend to do. We won’t need sheep dog shepherding by your Marines. Now, about the placement of Delta?”

Mackey wasn’t going to lose this one. He glowered at her. “I haven’t made any final decisions on it yet, Major. You, like the rest of the company commanders here, will be apprised of your placement once we’re inserted.”

Mackey had to forcibly swallow the rest of what he wanted to say. It wouldn’t be wise to blow up at her in a general meeting such as this in front of all his officers of lesser rank. No, over in Thailand, he’d square off with Lane on a one-to-one basis, out of earshot of everyone. Then, he’d tell this Amazon a thing or two, and she’d damn well better fall in line.

Rankled by a previous call from General Green, the Marine Corps JCS, Mackey knew his hands were tied to a great extent. If he wanted a general’s star next year, he had to play the political game. The word was that Lane was to be given carte blanche, or else. In one way, Mackey was going to derive savage satisfaction watching Lane’s women cut to pieces in the first month over in Ban Pua. If she sustained too many spectacular losses, Congress would haul her ass Stateside anyway. It could ruin his career, but all he had to do was to make sure that her mistakes didn’t reflect on his being in charge of the regiment. And the WLF idea would be disbanded and lost to history.

In a bizarre twist of fate, Mackey found himself trapped. If Lane screwed up, his general’s star could go down the tubes and he’d be drawing his pension in a year. If she did well, his star was assured. Lane had him by the balls, one way or another, but Mackey had to maintain a semblance of control over her or she’d step all over him. Dammit, anyway!

Louise looked over at Kay and observed her tight, angry expression. Kay was controlling her temper. She wondered briefly what was happening back at Camp Pendleton. By now, her sergeants were giving her women liberty. All but five of them, Louise corrected herself. She hoped that Sgt. Bell was keeping an eye on those five, particularly Penny Amato and Cathy Fremont. When they were together, their heads bowed together and their voices barely above a whisper, Lane always got uncomfortable. Those two were capable of cooking up an insurrection against the WLF.

THE SUN FELT good on Cathy’s face. She stood with her hands thrust in the pockets of her woodland jungle-green and gray utilities, soaking up the quietness. The two-story barracks behind her were silent. There was no song or cadence from the D.I.s, no roar of Humvees or other vehicles. The constant pop of M16s in the distance at the firing range had been silenced. She opened her eyes. This was the calm before storm, Cathy decided. In another week, they’d be in Thailand.

She took a deep breath, grateful for the silence, the first she’d had in three months. Being alone was healing for her. She had been alone all her life and found it a companion against the outer world that chaffed at her like a raw sore. She had used fishing and, later, hunting in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon, to escape the suffocating circumstances of the foster families she had to live with. A soft smile eased the tension from her mouth and she allowed her shoulders to droop as she ambled slowly away from the barracks. The yellow ocher of the dirt puffed and rose as she idly scuffed the toe of her boot across the desert surface.

The only peace Cathy could ever remember had been when she was alone. Some of her best memories were of sitting beside a small mountain stream rushing over immovable boulders, watching the water shower into sheets, sunlight behind the veil creating rainbow colors. She had loved hiking with a backpack when she was a teenager. The fifth foster family she lived with had acquired responsibility for six adopted children. At age thirteen, Cathy, who was the oldest, was taught about rifles, tracking down a multitude of edible wild game and killing them. Cathy still remembered vividly the first buck she had killed with Paul, her foster father. They had waited just inside the tree line of a long meadow still covered with a blanket of low-hanging fog. It was barely five-thirty in the morning when Cathy had spotted the lordly white-tailed buck with a twelve-point rack of antlers on his head. His band of six does followed him as they skirted the meadow like ethereal ghosts. She had felt sharp nudge of Paul’s elbow into her arm. It was a silent order for her to raise her .30-06 and shoot the buck. She hadn’t wanted to. Her stomach knotted, her throat grew tight, palms sweaty and her heart pounding like a sledgehammer in her breast. Through the rifle scope crosshairs, the buck looked magnificent, too beautiful and proud to send a rifle bullet through his shoulder to his heart and snuff out his life. There was another jab, this time directly into her ribs.

Cathy released her held breath, squeezed the trigger and fired. The buck took two startled steps forward, looked toward her, his huge brown eyes wide with amazement and then he crashed to the ground, dead. Cathy had cried. Huge, gulping, tearing sounds riddled the meadow as she walked toward the buck with her pleased foster father. Paul explained a deer was a cheap source of meat for their table. The meat would be stored in a freezer. She should feel proud to contribute to the family. Cathy stopped, still feeling that old pain and guilt. She remembered dropping the rifle in the yellowed, late November grass and kneeling down. She had thrown her arms around the still warm carcass the buck and buried her head along the graceful curve of his soft neck. He was too beautiful to kill, no matter what the reason.

Paul had jerked her up by her shoulder and shaken her until her teeth rattled. He lashed out at her for crying. A deer was an animal, nothing more. It was food for them. She had no right to cry. What was wrong with her? Was she more moved by animal being slain than a human’s need to survive? And when Paul thrust the hunting knife into her hands to teach her how to gut and clean the carcass, she had vomited afterward. She had quit crying because Paul threatened to slap her and she couldn’t stand physical brutality. Those two hours would always be etched in her memory.

She’d learned that day to listen to every instruction, following them correctly the first time, every time. That was how Cathy approached life from age thirteen on. The killing of the buck had taught her a new, perhaps better way to deal with life’s harsh reality and pain: stifle it. Because of the praise she’d received for the kill—for providing for the family—she became an excellent hunter who could track, stalk and kill. Little did she realize that all those skills she had learned as a teenager would serve her in later years. Only this time, it would be to hunt down and kill human beings.

Cathy watched a small lizard scuttle between clumps of sagebrush, noting his light-and-dark-brown pattern that made him blend into his environment. She wished she had that camouflage capability. It seemed no matter where she positioned herself in life, she stood out like a sore thumb. In high school, she had been an ugly duckling: tall and gangly with a cover of freckles across her high cheekbones and nose. For some reason, Mother Nature had been uncoordinated in her development through her teenage years. Certain parts of her body had matured more rapidly than others. Her lips were full and disproportionate to the rest of her somewhat narrow face at that time. Her eyes were wide and green. That was when the few friends she had began calling her “Cathy,” because her eyes were the first feature anyone saw and were slightly tilted. She also had a Cathy’s quiet self-sufficiency.

In college, her features evened out. The lankiness had given way to feminine curves. Her breasts were still small, but Cathy had always considered that a blessing. While juggling a job as a paramedic on night shift and going to school during the day, she was constantly thin but always in fairly decent physical shape. After three years of coping with the demands of work and school, Cathy had exhausted even her powerful reserves. Too tired of fighting to earn enough money for her schooling had made her vulnerable to Lisa’s suggestion to join the service. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Now, college looked pretty good compared to her stint in the WLF.

They had signed up for three years in the Marine Corps. And because of her paramedic abilities, she wanted to become a nurse. Lisa didn’t want to lose Cathy’s friendship once they joined, so she took medical training along with her. From there, they had graduated at the top of their class. Cathy was even able to continue to pick up night courses in nursing from a local college off base. For once, life was rewarding her, and it felt damn good.