Breaking Point

by Lindsey McKenna

  As she ate, Bay told herself she couldn’t lose another man she loved to war. Her heart simply couldn’t take the trauma. Yet, as she glanced over at Gabe, his face now free of the dark green, gray and black face paint, his five-day growth of beard on his face, her heart contracted painfully with need of him.

  Bay tried to find something to dislike about Gabe. It was impossible. The SEAL team looked to him for experience, and even though he wasn’t the official LPO, he was, in fact, the squad LPO whether he wanted the duty or not. He was a good leader, solid, steady and he never lost his temper. Sighing inwardly, Bay knew she had to sever the connection between her and Gabe. It just wouldn’t work. It couldn’t.

  Gabe moved his emptied tray aside and picked up his cup of coffee. Bay’s face was serious looking, and she wasn’t saying much of anything. Had the night spent in the chief’s office, listening to what really went on in a sniper op, sobered her on their type of missions? He wasn’t sure. And he’d have to find out sooner or later, because he knew the LT wanted her as his backup partner. And with the other SEALs sitting with them, he couldn’t open up a private conversation with her. Frowning, he sipped his coffee, feeling tiredness work its way through his aching joints. In another hour, they’d be up on that ridge at nine thousand feet again, rummaging through dead, torn bodies, trying to find intel that could save others from dying.

  The team was in ready mode; Gabe could feel it. They were scarfing up food, tanking up, knowing they would be freezing their asses off all day long on that rocky ridge. He and Hammer would probably be sent out as lookouts, just in case. Taliban rarely moved in daylight. Like the SEALs, they used the night to their advantage. The night was their friend, but thanks to Apache thermal avionics to detect body heat and drone eyes, the enemy no longer would remain hidden in the night.

  Worried, Gabe saw Bay’s face close and he could no longer read her as he usually could. He recognized it as a game face. Everyone in combat put one on when the chips were down, hiding their emotions in order to do the work demanded of them. The other SEALs were talking. She ate in silence. Bay was usually engaged with the squad. Not now.

  So, what had changed? Gabe wondered. Was Bay upset? Not wanting to take part in the work up on the ridge? Gabe knew medics usually had a more peaceful outlook on life, saving lives, not taking them. Saying nothing, he would observe her through the day’s morbid activities and just see where she was. His heart, if he allowed it into the equation, clamored that she needed to be held. But then, he scoffed at his own projection on her. Bay had combat experience under her belt, that was clear. She didn’t need handholding.

  Sipping the last of his coffee, he called, “Ready to exfil?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Outside as they walked toward the SEAL compound, and they were alone, Gabe slowed his pace. “Something’s bothering you, Bay. What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she assured him. It was something, but she couldn’t tell him. She didn’t dare.

  “Last night,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, “at the Operations Building, you touched my sleeve. You were worried.”

  Grimacing, Bay said, “I shouldn’t have done that, Gabe. I’m sorry. I was out of line.” And she hotly remembered him finding her fingers, squeezing them with his roughened hand. She had felt her heart wrench with fear and she’d wanted to throw her arms around him, kiss him and try to protect him.

  “You cared and I appreciated that.”

  Pushing the boonie hat back on her head, she turned in the middle of the dirt path between the tents. “Look, Gabe,” she whispered, emotion making her voice husky, “I fell in love with a medic over in Iraq.” Bay heard her voice quiver, desperation thrumming through her. “I didn’t want to. It just happened. Jack Scoville was an 18 Delta corpsman like me. I fought loving this guy for nine months.” She met his darkening gaze, her voice shaking with the memories. “I learned not to mix my personal feelings with anyone after that. Jack died in my arms during a firefight. I couldn’t save him....” She touched her brow, feeling the sadness and pain rise in her.

  Taking a step back from the SEAL, Bay forced herself to hold his gaze that burned with unknown reactions. “We are at war. Love has no place here, Gabe. None. I learned that the hard way.” Her mouth contorted and she felt herself unraveling within her heart because Gabe was a hero in her eyes. He was all the things she’d ever wanted in a man. Someone she could easily love. And yet it was the wrong time, wrong place. Opening her hands, her voice lowering with anguish, Bay whispered, “I can’t take a loss like that again, Gabe. I just can’t.... I hope you can understand.”

  Grimly, he nodded. His hand tightened on the M-4 in the sling. “Okay, I hear you. Don’t worry. Whatever happened last night, outside Ops, is the end of it.” The raw suffering on Bay’s face tore him up. His mind spun with the information. The man she’d fallen in love with died in her arms in Iraq. That was a hell of thing to happen to Bay.

  “I had a very good friend of mine die in my arms, too, Bay.” Gabe felt very old and tired in that moment. “I understand, somewhat, what you’re going through. I couldn’t save him no matter what I did. I’m sorry for your loss. I really am.” He checked the urge to reach out and touch her pale cheek, her eyes wounded with grief. He hadn’t helped the situation last night by holding her hand in that moment, either.

  Understanding she was drawn to him, that she had already lost someone she loved on the battlefield, Gabe felt a deep sadness overwhelm him. Until that moment, he didn’t realize just how much he was wanting Bay on a personal level. Wanting her in every imaginable way. Swallowing hard, he forced his voice to sound normal.

  “Come on, time to saddle up. We have a job to do.”

  Relief drenched Bay as she saw him change. Gabe understood. It was bittersweet. Pushing back tears that wanted to fall, Bay rallied. “Okay,” she whispered, gathering her strewn emotions, “let’s rock it out.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “DOC, IF YOU find anyone alive, you render aid to them and let me know,” Chief Hampton told her as they left the area of the CH-47 that had dropped them on the eastern side of the ridge with half the platoon. “ROE, rules of engagement, say we must aid anyone we find, enemy or not.”

  “Yes, Chief,” Bay said. Gabe was at her side. Hampton had sent Hammer with a sniper rifle to higher ground to be the eyes and ears to protect all of them. On missions where dead Taliban would be searched for intel, a sniper always watched through his Night Force scope for any movement. If there was, he alerted the team on the ground because they could be shot. She felt tension running through her as they stood on the rat line trail.

  Gabe could see and feel Bay’s reaction to the human carnage caused by the Apaches hours before in the darkness. Most of the Taliban carrying the sacks of fertilizer were on this side of the mountain. Bay gulped. Bodies were scattered and strewn everywhere. It was grisly work. He saw Chief Hampton give the signal to start the search.

  Bay had mixed feelings about it, but she reminded herself these men were bringing over fertilizer from the plants in Pakistan to create IEDs that would kill American men and women in Afghanistan. Mouth tight, she walked down the trail, Gabe in the lead. The wind was cold and sharp, below freezing. The sun had just crested the highest peaks to the east of them. Like the rest of the SEALs, she wore winter gear, a dark blue knit cap on her head, a radio headband with a microphone near her lips. They were all in touch with one another.

  “Who are those two guys?” she asked Gabe, coming up and walking on the path with him.

  “Spooks, CIA agents,” he said. And then he grinned and said, “Christians in Action, a real righteous group. They’re here to take home the intel we find on the bodies.”

  “They stand out like sore thumbs. I’ve never worked with CIA dudes before.”

  He smiled a little, his M-4, muzzle up, the butt resting on his hip, pr
epared in case Hammer saw some movement. “The redheaded dude is in charge. He’s a field agent by the name of Curtis Granger.”

  “I don’t like him. It’s just a feeling.” Bay was looking around. So far, her medical skills weren’t needed. Hampton had ordered them down to the end of the trail, a good thousand feet below. They were to start there and work their way back up. Another group of SEALs were at the top, working their way down. They’d meet somewhere in the middle.

  “Granger’s good at getting the drones up,” Gabe said, swiveling his head from right to left, watching for movement of any kind. “He’s rough on prisoners, though. Not my kind of guy.”

  Bay slid him a glance. “What? He doesn’t follow the Geneva Convention when it comes to taking a prisoner?” Right now she was seeing Gabe alert and on guard. Even on the rocky path, she couldn’t hear his boots coming down on the gravel. He walked like a boneless cougar, his gloved hands on his M-4, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. She, too, had her M-4 up but was devoting her time to seeing if anyone was left alive.

  “Yeah, you could say that. I don’t like the guy’s methods. He thinks waterboarding is the first thing you do to squeeze intel out of a prisoner.”

  Waterboarding was torture, pure and simple, in Bay’s mind. She wrinkled her nose, which was going numb in the air. Their breath was nothing but white vapor every time they spoke. She tried to keep her heart out of the mix as they searched. This morning, just as he’d promised, Gabe kept his poker face. No longer could she read his expression as she had done before. It shook her how swiftly their budding relationship had occurred. Never again could she fall in love with a man in the military. Never.

  “Gabe?”

  Gabe halted, hearing Hammer’s voice. “Yeah?”

  “Got some movement at three o’clock. There’s a bunch of bushes on your right, about fifty feet down in that wadi. Something’s in there. Check it out? I’ll keep a bead on it.”

  “Roger, out.”

  Bay’s heartbeat took off. Everyone had heard the transmission, including the two CIA types who had trotted down the trail to begin searches at the other end with them. She quickly looked down at the thickets in a small wadi.

  “Do you see anything?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

  “No. Follow me....” He unsafed his M-4 and moved slowly down the slope toward the wadi, rifle aimed.

  Bay felt fear move through her. She couldn’t walk quietly as he did. His total focus was on the brush that was about six feet high and twenty feet wide. He gave her a hand signal to go around the brush, on the other side of it. Nodding, she went that way, M-4 ready, the butt tight against her shoulder as she moved to keep up with him. The closer they got to the wadi, the faster her heart thudded in her chest. She was scared, but she didn’t let that interfere. Gabe was her partner and he needed protection by her.

  Bay reached the south side of the brush and rounded it, weapon aimed, finger on the trigger. Gabe came around, his position the same. Her eyes widened. Jerking to a halt, she lowered her weapon. There in the wadi was a young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, with a young man, perhaps a bit older than herself. The girl had long black hair, the most startling green eyes Bay had ever seen. Her face was dirty, bloodied, tear tracks down her drawn face. She was holding the boy in her arms, rocking him and softly sobbing.

  Gabe quickly moved in.

  “Talk to her,” he ordered Bay.

  Bay didn’t see any weapons on the girl. the clothes she wore were men’s. “Don’t move,” she called to the girl in Pashto.

  The girl’s eyes widened.

  “Help me! Help me! My brother is dying! Have mercy upon us. Help him!” She sobbed, rocking her brother.

  Bay reached them as Gabe stood guard. “Do you have any weapons?” she demanded.

  “N-no...please, help us!” Her mouth contorted in a cry as she touched her brother’s bloodied face with her shaking fingers.

  “Search her,” Gabe ordered.

  Bay clipped her M-4. “Stand up. I need to make sure you aren’t carrying weapons.”

  The girl sobbed and gently placed her unmoving brother, dressed similarly to her, on the rocks. Standing, she stared fearfully up at her. Bay had performed hundreds of searches on women in Iraq. Very quickly, she moved her hands around the girl’s thin body. Trying to ignore the shock in her eyes, the tears smearing the dirt across her cheekbones, she completed the search.

  “Clear,” she told Gabe.

  “Okay, check him out.”

  “Roger.”

  Bay told the girl to stand where she was. Very quickly, as she felt for weapons on the boy, who was probably in his late teens, she saw he was dead, his face grayish looking. “Clear. This kid is dead,” she muttered.

  “Okay, get the girl to sit down, render her first aid if she needs it. If she does, she’s your patient and you’re in charge of her.”

  Bay smiled a little and held out her hand. “My name is Bay. What is yours?”

  The girl sniffed, her gaze never leaving her brother who lay unmoving on the rocks. “I—I am Asifa.” She pointed down. “That is my brother, Raouf.”

  “Good to know.” She curved her fingers. “Come here. I want you to sit down. You’re hurt.”

  Asifa was wearing men’s clothes, but Bay couldn’t understand how the young girl had managed to survive the carnage. Further, she wore sandals made of tires, which had been cut up, on her small, dainty feet. She had no socks, no jacket. The girl’s teeth were chattering, her arms wrapped around herself. Bay quickly shrugged out of her medical ruck, laid it on the ground and opened it up. Asifa came and meekly sat down in front of her, her knees drawn up, arms around them, shivering.

  Gabe came and stood nearby, watchful as Bay went to work. He sent the info back to the chief about their discovery. Bay carefully felt Asifa’s head, moved her hands knowingly down her neck to her shoulders, seeking signs of injury. Asifa sat there, head bowed, trembling, tears falling from her eyes as she continued to stare over at her brother.

  “Are you hurt anywhere?” Bay asked, catching Asifa’s tear-filled eyes. She was filthy, blood everywhere.

  “I—I don’t know. It was terrible. The noise. The screams...” She took her hand, which was shaking badly, and tried to wipe the tears from her face. All she managed to do was smear them into mud, mixed with blood.

  Moving quickly, Bay stood up, took off her warm down coat. “Here, put this on. You’re going hypothermic.” She helped Asifa pull on the coat. As she felt along the girl’s torso, Asifa flinched. She tried not to cry out.

  “Hurt?”

  “Y-yes. Last night.” She gulped. “The helicopters came. My beloved brother was near an explosion. He was thrown into me and we were both knocked off the path into this wadi.” She pointed above to the path. “I—I grabbed him because he cried out.” Sniffing, she whispered, “We landed here. I was so frightened. All I could do was hold Raouf and pray to Allah....”

  Moving her hand gently, Bay said, “I’m sorry. Your brother is dead. There’s nothing I can do to help him, Asifa.” The girl’s face wrinkled up, her wide mouth opening in a silent scream. Moving her hand over the girl’s dirt-encrusted, uncombed hair, Bay whispered, “I’m so sorry....”

  Gabe swallowed hard as he watched Bay work with the injured girl. Her long, spare hands were incredibly gentle, supportive. Asifa responded in a positive, trusting way toward her. Bay listened to her heart and lungs with the stethoscope and took her pulse. There was worry in her eyes. Bay finished her examination and looked up toward him.

  “I need a CASEVAC called, Gabe. She’s got at least four fractured ribs. I’m worried she has a punctured lung, which makes her CASEVAC status.”

  “Roger, will call,” he told her, switching channels to the chief, who would decide whether to make the request or not.


  “I—I’m so cold,” Asifa chattered.

  Bay nodded. “I know you are.” The girl’s bare feet and lower legs were grayish-blue looking. She had another pair of socks in her pack. Getting them out, Bay helped pull them over Asifa’s feet. “There, that should help.” She got out her canteen and handed it to her. “You need to drink as much as you can.”

  Grateful, Asifa took it in her shaking hands, gulping down the water, nearly emptying the canteen.

  Bay said nothing, her mouth grim. Asifa was near starvation. She could feel every rib protruding from the girl’s body. Her cheeks were high, but sunken, indicating starvation. Her brother didn’t look very healthy, either. He, too, was very thin.

  “Thank you,” Asifa whispered, handing the canteen back to Bay.

  “Why were you here, Asifa?” she asked, placing the canteen back on her web belt.

  Sniffing, she whispered unsteadily, “Our parents are starving to death in a U.N. camp in Pakistan. We were told that if we would carry a load across the Khyber Pass, we would be paid well. Raouf persuaded me to come. He said we could earn twice as much.” She sobbed, her hands against her mouth. “I—I wanted to help. I love him so much. He’s my only brother who is left. The other two younger ones have already died because there was no food to feed them. Now...” she wept, “Raouf is dead!”

  Bay slid her arm around her thin shoulders. Asifa leaned against her, her bloody hand gripping her Kevlar vest, hiding her face against it, weeping because she’d lost everything in her world. Bay held her carefully, watching and hoping one of those broken ribs would not puncture her lung. Her breathing was shallow and she couldn’t cry without wincing from the pain.

  Bay heard a commotion above her and twisted a look toward Gabe. The two CIA guys were sliding down, in a hurry to reach them. Automatically, Bay became protective. The red-haired guy with blue eyes, Granger, reached them first.