Danger Close (Shadow Warriors) (20 page)

Eight days
, Jim told himself.
Eight days and we can get out of this hell hole and live and act like human beings
. He found himself eager to share that discovery with Cathy.

“HEY, CATHY!” Chesty stopped at her hootch. His eyes were bloodshot like hers as he squatted down in front where she lay. Cathy sat up, her eyes puffy with sleep. They had gotten in off a ten-thousand-meter night patrol as dawn was barely crawling over the horizon, and she had hit the sack, exhausted.

“Yeah, Chesty? What’s wrong?”

“Did you hear? Ban Pua is getting the hell shelled out of it. An unexpected LA drive is tryin’ to push the ROKs back to the hills. Man, here we are, less than twenty-four hours away from R & R and they’re liable to cancel it if this thing heats up too much. So don’t go packing your duffel bag yet, hear?”

Instantly, Cathy was alert. “The hill is getting attacked?” Her heart began a slow, heavy pound of fear.

“No, the village,” he corrected, giving her a worried look. “You know, the place where you and the Cap helped deliver that baby.”

Biting back a cry, Cathy threw off the blanket, rummaging around for her hat. She scrambled out from beneath her hootch. The village itself was being used as a war zone. “Thanks, Chesty.”

Chesty slowly rose and watched her jog toward Alpha CP. “Sure,” he muttered, shaking his head. Damn, if he hadn’t been down in the CP with Gomez earlier, he wouldn’t have heard the reports coming in on the radios.

Cathy tore into the CP, her boots thunking sharply against the wooden flooring. She jerked off her cap, out of breath and halting at the wall of radios and operators. “Is it true?” she gasped. “Is the village of Ban Pua getting shelled?”

One radio operator nodded soberly. “Yeah, they started shelling them right after dawn,” he volunteered. “Right now, the ROKs are calling in arty and air, trying to push the LA out of the village itself.”

Cathy clenched her fist, jagged fear ripping through her. “Where’s Captain Boland?”

“He’s over at regimental right now, Corporal. He and Captain Greer are helping plan some defensive attacks with the Colonel in case the ROKs ask us for assistance.”

Regimental was a good mile away. Panic ate at her. What about Sirikit and her baby? Were they safe? Had they gotten out before the LA had attacked? She looked down at the red-haired radio operator.

“What about the civilians in that village? Did they get out?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a hot LZ over there right now and I can’t just call over and ask for a status report for you or I would.”

“Thanks, Private,” she murmured, turning and jogging out of the tent. First, she’d have to get permission from Arnley to go to regimental to find Jim.

Twenty minutes later, she was back at her hootch, cleaning her rifle.

“Hey, El Gato, what’s wrong. You look like the world just jumped on you,” Gomez teased.

Cathy continued to clean her rifle and tucked her lower lip between her teeth. God, why did she have to be so obvious? Had Gomez heard that Arnley had turned down her request to go to regimental H.Q.? Her fingers trembled as she began to clean the bore of the rifle.

“I’m okay,” she lied.

Gomez scowled and hunkered down in front of her hootch and observed her closely.

“We all heard Ban Pua’s under attack. I’m sorry. It’s
el niño, sí?
”

She concentrated on the cool metal parts now held in her hands. “Yes, the baby.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Gomez came down and sat at the entrance. “Listen to me,” he said in a lowered voice, the smile no longer in his eyes or on his mouth. “I saw how much the
niño
meant to you. To the captain. It is hard in war,
sí?
You’ve been here how long? Three months? You die a little more each day, El Gato.
sí?
Your best friend is blown away. Another dies in your arms. You see innocent Thai people and children hurt or killed—”

“Stop it!”

Gomez held her wavering stare. He spread his hands out in a gesture of peace. “I cannot undo what has been done, El Gato. Just know that I will be here for you. If you need someone…to just talk to, I’ll be here.” He rose, gave her a worried look and then climbed out of the area, disappearing over the curve of the cratered red hill.

Tears blurred Cathy’s vision and she fought against the fist of rage, frustration and grief that threatened to engulf her. More than anything, she needed Jim. The baby…Sirikit…were they dead?

Trying to short-circuit all her panicked feelings, Cathy cleaned the bore, oiling it and wiping it dry with a soft cotton cloth in robotlike motions. That was all that mattered, doing something and not remembering.

BOLAND LANDED back at Alpha close to midnight. Two Cobra gunships were heading toward Ban Pua as a replacement for another one that had been shot down. He’d hitched a ride in a Huey Medevac that gave him a quick lift back to his area. There was slowness to his normally economical movements as he pulled off his cap and entered the tent and bunker facilities. The day had become the mire of a nightmare with the LA attacking Ban Pua. And an hour didn’t go by when he didn’t think of Cathy, the baby and the effect the news he bore was going to have on her. Did she already know? She had to. He glanced over at the radio operator on duty.

“Get Corporal Cathy Fremont up here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim entered his office and halted, looking at the display of maps surrounding him. His shoulders slumped and he rubbed his watering eyes. How was he going to tell her? He rummaged around in one drawer of his desk, drawing out a small flask of brandy he kept for just such occasions as this.

Boland wasn’t sure if it was the thin light overhead that made her flesh appear sallow and washed-out looking. Cathy came quietly, as he expected. A ribbon of pleasure thrummed through him: her hair was loose and free, making her look so damned feminine despite the rumpled utilities she wore. But it was the fear in her dark green eyes that made him tense. He matched her grimness and motioned her into the cramped quarters. Pouring her a shot of brandy, he handed it to her.

“Drink it,” he ordered.

Cathy stared down at the amber liquid, the shot glass trembling in her fingers.

“I’m going to need it?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed the fiery blaze of brandy, stunned as the knots miraculously disappeared inside her.

Boland downed his, sucking air between his teeth in the aftermath. He placed his shot glass next to hers on the desk.

“You know Ban Pua’s under attack?”

“Yes.”

He winced inwardly, hearing the strain in her husky voice. Jim wanted to close his eyes, hold her and pretend they weren’t here, that they weren’t caught up in this goddamn war. “A ROK major I know confirmed that the central portion of the village was leveled with mortar and rocket attacks by the LA earlier today.” His mouth thinned as he held her gaze.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?”

Jim hesitated, wishing somehow to blunt the anguish he saw hidden in her eyes. She was rigid, as if holding in all those emotions that were mirrored in her face.

“Yes.”

“Cap’n Boland?” the radio operator called.

Irritated with the interruption, Boland snapped, “What is it?”

“Regimental. Colonel Mackey, sir. It’s urgent.”

Swearing softly, Jim took two steps toward Cathy to somehow neutralize her grief. “I’m—”

“They were innocent,” she stammered, her voice high and off pitch.

Stunned by the emotion in Cathy’s voice, Jim reached out to touch her arm. She drew back, her lips compressed and eyes wounded with anguish.

“Stay, I won’t be long—”

“N-no…I can’t….”

Boland watched as she turned and walked out of the tent, swallowed up by the darkness.

THERE WAS a stark contrast between southern Thailand and the red dusty hills of the east Cathy had lived in for the past four months.
Escape
. For five days she could escape to a seaside resort of Hua Hin, southwest of Bangkok on the Gulf of Thailand. The ocean…God, how she had missed the ocean. It was life. It was like her: moody, unpredictable, unfathomable and never giving up its secrets.

The glittering white sand and blue of the gulf stretched below them like a dream. The coast of Thailand was a thick jungle of palms, coconut and teak stands. Brilliantly painted birds were colorful against the dark green foliage. Cathy stared, anxious for the helicopter to land at the white stucco resort so that she could embrace that calm, glasslike ocean. If she could only get into the emerald-and-turquoise-colored water, allowing it to close around her, she would feel that immediate womblike embrace she needed so desperately.

Disembarking, Jim walked with his team up to the Hua Hin Railway Hotel, which was surrounded by swaying palms and a lush assortment of bushes and a plethora of colorful flowers. He sensed Cathy’s withdrawal from him and the rest of the team. She was like a grenade whose pin had been pulled. He knew it was only a matter of time before she exploded over the raw grief and loss of Sirikit and her baby son. If Mackey was counting on R & R to cement their relationship, Boland knew differently. Cathy was in no mood for anything and he couldn’t blame her. Neither was he. Swinging up the steps into the plush hotel, he motioned for his team to go to the desk and sign in. He had other duties to attend to. There was paperwork to fill out on their arrival and the manager to talk to.

Cathy watched as Jim disappeared down a hall and told herself it didn’t matter. She tried to ignore his concern and the tenderness she saw in his gray eyes when he finally caught and held her gaze. She refused to respond, because if she did, that deluge of ugly feelings and tears would occur.

Room key in hand, she left the team and headed up the carpeted stairs toward the second floor where she would be staying. Throwing her dark green duffel bag on the cream-colored carpet, she closed the door and looked around. Was she in a dream? Had she walked out of her nightmare and this was reality? The hotel was an old colonial style with big rooms, high ceilings and a veranda. A fan moved lazily overhead, stirring the scent of humid gulf air with the heavy fragrances of nearby orchids and citrus trees that sat below the room.

The room was ivory colored, the furniture French Provincial with baseboards of painted gold. As Cathy slowly turned around, her combat boots sinking into the carpeting, she thought this room was straight out of Cinderella with all its feminine appointments. There were floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened out to the veranda. Potted palms in ornate ceramic pots sat at each end. A small rattan settee looked inviting and Cathy wondered where the mint juleps were. What was real? What was not? Cathy didn’t know any longer, shock setting in. Right now, all she wanted was a hot shower.

She shut her eyes, standing there, allowing the steam to gather inside the glass shower enclosure. Her hair became squeaky clean. All the fear-frozen sweat that had poured out of her skin began sliding away beneath the friction of the fragrant French-milled lilac soap. Dead scales of sunburn peeled away under the gentle massaging warmth of the water. She stayed there for almost half an hour until her mind was numbed to deep drowsiness.

The yellow towels were thick and soft, sensual feeling. Cathy had forgotten about the luxury of civilian life—of any life. The WLF crossed her mind and a frown deepened on her pink face. Cathy vigorously toweled off her arms and shoulders and then cupped her breasts, feeling the plush of the material against them.

Exhaustion drugged her. Cathy simply wrapped the towel about her naked body, combed out her hair and gratefully sank into the softness of the huge, king-size bed. The taut cotton surface of the sheet was crisp and cool against her moist flesh. Like a lost kitten, she curled up into a ball, sleep overtaking her immediately. Today, there would be no rocket or mortar attacks. She would not be forced to lie in limbo between sleep and alertness for fear of an LA attack or making a desperate run for a bunker to save her ass from shrapnel. Today was a new beginning.

THE SUN WAS setting as Cathy awoke. Cathy groaned, stretching her lean, well-muscled body. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Digging her toes into the carpet for the sheer joy of it, Cathy slowly stood and pinched her arm to reassure herself that she wasn’t dreaming.

Her stomach growled and the thought of real American food instead of MREs made her mouth water. She would get dressed and go down to eat. She had spotted a charming restaurant off the lobby that had white linen cloths and fresh, colorful orchid spikes on each table.

The texture of the clothes she put on became her focal point. All of it had lost meaning with the WLF. It seemed sacrilegious to run her fingers across the mauve silk blouse and the maroon skirt. Sheer nylons clung to her long legs as she carefully pulled them on, running her hands slowly down the silken hose, luxuriating in the sensual experience. Hesitantly, Cathy stepped in front of the gold-framed, full-length mirror and took wary stock of herself.

The lotion Gomez had gotten for her weeks ago helped her sunburned face; at least she no longer looked like a scaly alligator. She was still pink, but that didn’t matter. The blistering topical sun had streaked her ordinarily ginger colored hair with lavish gold and copper highlights. A hint of a smile pulled at Cathy’s lips. Boland had been right about her looking Irish.

It was as if her fairy godmother had transformed her from a rumpled, androgynous being into a thin but feminine woman. It felt damn good to be in nylons and sheer lingerie again, she assured herself. The clean smell of her body and sweetness of her hair encircled her sensitive nostrils. The rotting jungle odor was gone.

A sharp rap at the door sent her spinning around. Cathy had automatically dropped into a crouched position. She gulped, shutting her eyes, her heart banging away at the base of her throat.

“Hey! El Gato! Are you up?”

Cathy opened the door. “I am now. You scared the hell out of me, Gomez,” she whispered.

Gomez’s eyes became very round and large as he stared at her. “You look great! I don’t believe it!” He grinned. “You’re gonna cause a riot down there.”

Redness tinged Cathy’s pale cheeks. “Come off it, Gomez. I can’t help it if Delta wants us in utilities all the time,” she kidded weakly. “You clean up pretty nice too,” she noted.

Gomez turned around, posing like a male model. Then he laughed at his own mano a mano antics.

“You look sharp in a pair of black slacks and a tan sport shirt,” Cathy assured him with a grin.

He shook his head in awe. “You can’t be the same Corporal Fremont from that WLF outfit. No way. Hey, we want you to join us downstairs! The Alabama Kid and Strike are savin’ a chair for you. Come on.” He reached out, grabbing her hand.

Cathy halted, reclaiming her hand, panicky. “Where are we going?”

“That little bar on the left side of the lobby. Come on, we got a cold, icy beer waitin’ for you.” Gomez gave her a searching look. “Hey—you aren’t scared, are you?”

Cathy rolled her eyes. She frantically searched for her white leather purse that was somewhere in the bottom of the duffel bag. “Yes, I’m scared. I’m not Wonder Woman, you know. How would you like to sit with a bunch of guys who don’t know you very well?”

With an eloquent shrug, Gomez smiled and said, “Wouldn’t bother me at all. They’re fellow Recon Marines. That says it all.”

Cathy gave him an exasperated look and straightened up after finding her purse. She threw in her military ID, some money and a tube of lipstick and snapped it shut. “Figures. I’m a woman, Gomez. Not just another one of the guys.”

The Marine nodded in a fatherly fashion. “I understand. My wife, Maria, is like you. She’s shy and afraid of crowds, too.”

Cathy walked up to him, her stomach fluttering with nerves. “Thanks for understanding.”

He became somber. “We’ll go down together, El Gato. Don’t worry, the guys are gonna flip when they see you. They won’t believe it’s the same woman. Wait until the Cap’n sees you.”

Cathy swallowed the lump in her throat. “He’s down there, too?”

“Was. He got a message from Alpha and had to hoof it into Bangkok. He got a ride on an outbound helo that was droppin’ off more R & R Marines to this hotel. Said he’d be back later.”

She nodded, licking her lips nervously. That was good. She didn’t want to see Jim just now. If she saw him, Cathy knew she’d falter and maybe, just maybe, break like shattered, fragile glass and she couldn’t risk that.

Reluctantly, Cathy allowed Gomez to pull her along. Her heart beat painfully at the base of her throat.
This is worse than going on my first patrol
, Cathy thought miserably. Every pair of eyes in the crowded bar focused on them as they threaded their way through the dimly lit, smoky lounge. Cathy tried unsuccessfully to ignore the gawking stares of officers and enlisted men alike, now in civilian attire. Strike grinned, the only one to be thinking on his feet, and pulled out a chair for her.

“I’ll be goldarned—”

“Billy,” Gomez chided, patting him on the shoulder as he sat down next to him, “quit slobbering like the rest of these poor bastards. El Gato’s embarrassed. Can’t you see that? Don’t make her feel nervous. Help her feel at ease with us.
Sí?
”

Strike sat back in his chair and scrutinized her silently. The change in her was heart stopping. He glanced over his shoulder, calling over a Thai waiter.

“I agree with Zorro. What’ll it be, Cathy?”

“Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double. I need it.”

The three Recon Marines laughed good-naturedly. Once the drink was in her hands, Cathy felt more secure having something to hold on to. Eventually, the bar returned to its normal noise level. A number of men came over to try to introduce themselves, but Gomez and Strike handled them with ease. Gulping down the first drink to quell her screaming nerves, Cathy asked for and got a second one.

Billy slugged down a beer, still staring across the table at her, his yellow hair slicked down with several cowlick strands standing at odd angles of attention at the back of his head. The checkered sports coat was ill fitting on his lanky frame but only made him teddy bear huggable in Cathy’s eyes. “You just can’t be the same lady.”

“Want to see my dog tags?” Cathy asked, motioning to her throat where they lay beneath the mauve-colored silk of her blouse.

Strike grinned. “These damned razorbacks from Arkansas are all alike, Cathy. If you don’t wear a gingham dress and some cotton balls in your hair, they think you’re from a foreign country.”

The Kid grinned lopsidedly, flushing redly, joining in on the laughter. “You’re a real lady—even if you are in the WLF.”

Cathy managed a sliver of a smile, touched by their camaraderie. “Thanks, Billy. It’s a beautiful compliment. And I must say, I couldn’t have picked three better-looking gentlemen to be with.”

“You mean we’re good-lookin’?” The Kid asked, touching the lapel of his rumpled sport coat.

“Hayseed,” Strike chuckled, “you wouldn’t know a compliment if it hit you between the running lights.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Gomez snickered, holding his stomach from laughing so much.

The friendly banter continued for well over an hour. In the back of Cathy’s mind, she wondered if or when Jim Boland was going to reappear. Her heart pounded briefly every time she thought about him. Strike broke the pleasant atmosphere.

“The Sarge thinks you’re overrated as a point. What do you think?”

Cathy nearly choked on the Scotch. She swallowed it hastily. Her eyes narrowed. “Sounds like Sarge is trying to stir up trouble.”

The Recon shrugged. “Some of the guys were wondering about it, that’s all.”

She set down her third Scotch, toying absently with the beaded tumbler. “I try to do the best I can no matter what position I’m asked to slot.”

“Don’t you get scared out on patrol?”

“Of course I do! So damned scared I stink. How about you?”

Strike grinned. “Who doesn’t?”

“What makes me any different from any of you?” she shot back, her voice tight with righteous anger.

“You’re a woman,” Strike said.

Kid nodded drunkenly. “Yeah, and women are too scared to think. ‘Specially in a firefight.”

“Kid…” Gomez groaned, “why you do have to be so stupid sometimes?”

The tension was brittle as ice. Cathy sat back, digesting the seriousness of his comments. “Is that it? I’ve pulled three quiet patrols with you and you’re all wondering if I can handle my end of a firefight?”

Silence.

“You all see yourselves as babysitters to me, don’t you? You think once a firefight breaks out, you not only have to watch your rear, you have to watch mine, too.”

“
Dios
,” Gomez muttered, “We’re on R & R. Let’s not fight the war here.”

The silence grew ominous. Strike had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “You have to remember all the yellow journalism we’ve read hypes your Valkyrie image,” he explained cautiously. “If we’d believed all that crap, I think every one of us would have mutinied against the Cap’n. He took the time to explain the situation and that you were involuntarily volunteered to us.” A grin leaked through his serious features. “And
all
of us have gotten a taste of being volunteered. We’re in the same boat, Cathy. The Sarge is sore because he wasn’t consulted first. Also, he’s from the old school that says women don’t belong on a combat front with the men.”

“Mother Mary, Joseph and Christ, none of us belong on a war front,” Gomez said, tipping his glass of beer and draining it.

Cathy looked down at the ice cubes in the bottom of her tumbler, feeling dizzy because of all the liquor she’d had on an empty stomach. “I guess we’ll have to wait until we get back to prove this to you, but I’m not a screwup. I know I made a mistake at Ban Pua—”