Danger Close (Shadow Warriors)

by Lindsay McKenna

  Cathy took a deep breath, her fingers digging into the podium’s surface. “As to your second question, I’ve handled pistols and rifles from my teenage years. I wasn’t particularly looking for a career that would include them.” Cathy swallowed again, feeling sweat running from beneath her armpits. “I can’t answer for anyone else here, but killing for the pure pleasure of killing would bother me.”

  “Yes, but you’re going to kill Laotians very soon,” Ken pointed out.

  “I’m responsible for the safety and effectiveness of my squad, sir,” Cathy replied evenly. “My first priority is to the women under my command. I’ll do whatever I have to so they come home alive after our tour in Thailand.”

  “It says in your bio that you were a paramedic before joining and you’re working your way to a degree as an R.N.,” a red-haired woman reporter shouted before the first newsman could continue. “How can you consider killing a human being on one hand, when you claim you want to save lives as a nurse?”

  Cathy’s gut knotted. She’d asked herself that question a million times before. Cathy looked down at the major, who sat no more than three feet away from her. Lane’s face was relaxed. God, how she wished she were down there off the firing line!

  “I don’t condone killing any human or animal without legitimate cause or reason. I signed a contract in good faith with the WLF. I believe in my country and will, if called upon, protect it the best I can.”

  “Even if that means killing people?” persisted the journalist.

  Cathy licked her lower lip nervously. She dared not tell the truth with Lane staring at her with those steely blue eyes of hers. “Why is it a man who is patriotic can sign up for the military to protect it? Why can’t a woman who loves her country equally, who is willing to die for it, have the same right of choice? This may sound corny in this day and age, but the volunteers who join the military do so because they are patriotic. I love this country. And I’m willing to put my life on the line for it. This isn’t about men being better than women in combat. For me, it’s about loving my country enough to do something for it.”

  Two other reporters leaped up. A small brunette woman with a high-pitched voice won the shouting contest. “Corporal Fremont, Major Lane has been telling us that all of you are thoroughly committed to proving that women are more efficient in combat than men. Where do you stand on that issue?”

  A chill went through Cathy, one that she felt down to her toes in her boots. “My function as a squad leader in the WLF is to keep my people alive while we defend our country. I wouldn’t have been chosen for that position if I didn’t have the necessary skills to do it.” Another trickle of sweat wound its way down between her shoulder blades. “As I said before, if a woman wants to volunteer for combat, she should be given the opportunity. I don’t believe one gender is better than another in anything, and that includes combat.”

  Major Lane rose gracefully from her chair. She was beaming and gave an approving nod toward Fremont, who readily returned the podium to her superior. “As you can see, my women can handle themselves well in media combat, as well.”

  A pleasant chuckle of agreement rose from the newsgroup. Major Lane watched as Fremont sat back down, obvious relief in her face and huge green eyes. “I think Corporal Fremont has struck a chord for all of us. The WLF has never bragged on itself. Our dedicated women, both officer and enlisted alike, are focused upon the job we must do. No one enjoys killing. We’ve pooled the best women from all branches of the military, all volunteers, and these women care deeply for one another as a team. As Corporal Fremont said, her job and responsibility is twofold: she must carry out orders from her officers and actively engage the LA. At the same time, she must try to keep her women as safe as possible under combat conditions. Her focus on caring for others is not new, although this hasn’t been covered in our press meetings. But, it’s an important issue.”

  Cathy took in a deep breath, trying to appear relaxed before the crowd. The press reminded her of a pack of wolves who wanted to nip and bite at her, at all of them in the WLF. Cathy was impressed by how adroitly Lane handled them. The time for impressing, posturing and having their pictures taken was drawing to a close, however. In two more days, they’d be on a Lockheed C-5 Air Force Galaxy transport, flying across the pond to Hawaii, then the Philippines and finally, on to Thailand itself. And all the fear that Cathy had been able to suppress would start stalking her. Could she function in combat? Would she lose her head? Would she end up getting her women killed? How many deaths would she create if she didn’t have what it took to keep it together?

  Chapter 3

  April, 1985, Ban Pua, Thailand

  MACKEY LOOKED out over the camp. Red dust. It was everywhere. It wavered like a gritty curtain, raised by vehicles and helicopters alike. The fine dust got in the pores, skin chaffed constantly beneath the gear that had to be worn. No one escaped it; not officers, not enlisted. The red soil got in the ears, nose and mouth and there wasn’t any relief from it except to sweat it or spit it out. The position taken by the regiment placed its rear toward the protection of the Khorat Plateau of Thailand and its front fifteen kilometers from the Mekong River, which served as a border between it and Laos. Hills 121 and 122 were held by the U.S. and New Zealand forces.

  Grudgingly, Mackey included Delta, which was taking shape over on the southern side of Hill 121. Twelve kilometers north lay the village of Ban Pua, formed by a series of welts to the east of it that could barely be called hills. There, the rest of the SEATO forces had established a base of operation. British, Australian and Korean ROK troops had set up camp three kilometers from the village itself. Mackey was pleased with the assignments; two zones of major Laotian activity had been allotted to his regiment and the Aussies. Alpha and Bravo zones were prime contact areas of light, navigable jungle, sandwiched in between the regiment and the Mekong River.

  They would begin to choke off the main Laotian points of entry and exit into Thailand shortly. That would be accomplished with continual patrol work, day and night. Overhead aircraft could locate sources of body heat with their infrared sensors, but it was the grunt on the ground who would stop them.

  Mackey chewed on his stubby cigar, then turned and headed back into the HQ tent complex at the heart of the regiment. D-Day, April 2, had come and gone. They had flown in without resistance from the LA and were met only with the broad, welcoming smiles of their Thai hosts. Most of the equipment had been unpacked as Mackey walked through the bustling clerks, their typewriters, reams of printer paper and the nonstop static of constant radio chatter. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist: Lane would arrive soon.

  LOUISE LANE made her usual entrance, looking fresh despite the dust, the sweat and the humidity. Enlisted personnel in the HQ tent stole quick, unobtrusive glances at the woman who walked in their male midst, her shoulders thrown back, chin held high and sharpened gaze missing nothing. Her stride was long and cadenced. There wasn’t much to suggest she was a major except for the blackened oak leaves on each of the collar lapels of her jungle utilities. As if guided by radar, Lane moved relentlessly toward Colonel Mackey’s office.

  Mackey had his back to the entrance when she walked in. He had been studying a huge overlay of the Ban Pua area when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, warning him. Turning, he met Lane’s unblinking gaze. How long had she been standing there? Unsettled, Mackey motioned her in. She quietly closed the wooden door behind her and snapped off a salute. He returned it, his eyes narrowed on the oak swagger stick tucked beneath her left arm.

  “A swagger stick?” he demanded gruffly. “Are you emulating General Patton?”

  Lane remained at attention. “No, sir. It’s good for killing snakes.”

  She wore the mandatory M9 pistol in a drop holster riding low on her right thigh. Mackey smiled to himself. Lane looked more like a gunslinger than a combat officer. He ought to ask where her pearl-handled revolvers were stashed but thought better of it. Lane wouldn’t find that funn
y at all, and he couldn’t afford to irritate her unnecessarily. Whether they liked it or not, they had to work together.

  “Come over here,” he ordered. “I want to discuss Delta’s patrol schedule with you.”

  Louise walked slowly to his side, maintaining a respectful distance between them. The last time she had been under Mackey’s command, he’d done everything possible to shove her into a “safe” slot and keep her from underfoot. Not anymore.

  She listened attentively as he outlined the coordinated plan that would take place between the SEATO-sponsored troops and their own. Their objective was to patrol a strip of land fifteen kilometers long to the river and five kilometers wide. The Communist-trained Laotians had been warned by the U.N. and other sources to discontinue their massive forays into Thailand. If the LA were caught in Thai territory, they would be killed, captured or wounded. In the world of wars, such as the Gulf War 1990–1991, this little dustup was called a “conflict” because such a small amount of troops was being utilized.

  Mackey ran his gnarled finger across the two main zones assigned them: Alpha and Bravo. “You’ll draw one patrol a day in Bravo, Major. The Australian regiment will operate in Bravo with you. The Marines will take Alpha, which overlaps with Ban Pua’s southern flank, Charlie Area.”

  “One patrol?” Her voice was sharp and critical.

  “Yes, Major, one patrol,” Mackey returned firmly.

  The bastard. He had reserved one entire zone for his Marines and was forcing her to share the other one with the Aussies. Not only that, but he was going to interface in Charlie Zone with the British. Yes, Mackey wanted it all.

  Lane’s grip on the swagger stick tightened and she turned slowly to her superior. “There’s no way I’m limiting my women to one patrol a day, Colonel,” she warned, tight-lipped.

  Mackey put his hands on his hips, holding her stare. “We’ll be running a total of four patrols a day, Major. We’ve got the men and material. There’s no need to exhaust any of our troops with extra patrols. We’re a limited peacekeeping force.”

  “My women can certainly take on more than one patrol a day, Colonel,” Lane assured him in a brittle tone. “And as for a limited peacekeeping force, our entire reason for being here is to search out and destroy any LA who are already in Thailand. We also intend to keep LA’s from crossing the river. That’s a two-pronged attack.”

  “I don’t need to be taught tactics and strategy, Major,” Mackey ground out. “Particularly by a woman.”

  Lane glared at the battle-hardened Marine. “I want more than one patrol a day, Colonel.”

  “Impossible.” He waved airily at the map before them. “Look at this another way—you get too many patrols in Bravo, then you’re damn well going to have the Aussies up in arms. They want a piece of the action, too. We’ll have a QRF, quick reaction force, team standing by in case the patrol meets a force larger than its own.”

  Louise looked over the map. “I assume the WLF will be considered for QRF duty?” A QRF team concept had originated in Vietnam and was comprised of a squad on standby with a Black Hawk helicopter. They could be dropped over a firefight when their own force needed additional manpower in a matter of minutes. Originally they had been referred to as a Sparrow Hawk team.

  “Of course.”

  “How many times a month?”

  Mackey’s lips compressed. “I don’t know yet, Major. I have to meet with the commander of the Kiwi unit to figure that one out.”

  Lane slid him a distrustful look that spoke volumes. Knowing Mackey like she did, he might give her that position once a month. And even if the WLF did get it, her troops would stand in reserve and that didn’t guarantee any action. And that meant low body count and little media attention.

  “I suppose in the QRF position my women would come under direct command of whomever they were supporting?” She didn’t like that idea at all.

  “Correct.”

  Louise walked away and halted near the desk, studying the Marine colonel. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she said softly, “and I’m not going to let you get away with it, Colonel.”

  He tensed and pivoted toward her, cigar smoke encircling his head momentarily. “What did you say, Major?”

  Louise steeled herself, clutching the swagger stick beneath her left arm. “My women are combat ready. If you think I’m standing still for one lousy patrol a day, you’re mistaken.”

  “The battle plan has already been approved as is, Major,” he told her silkily. “There’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Her smile was carved ice. “This isn’t finished, Colonel Mackey, and I think we both know it.”

  EXACTLY TWO days later, Mackey received a top-secret satellite phone message. His day had started out bad, but now it went all to hell in a handbasket. In a fury, he crushed the paper in his hand in one convulsive movement. Then striding to his doorway, Mackey roared, “Sergeant Calloway!”

  The sergeant, head of communications at HQ, came on the run. “Yes, sir?” he panted, coming to a halt in front of Mackey.

  “Get Major Lane on the horn and tell her to get her ass over here. Now.”

  Calloway, a ten-year veteran, blanched. “Sir…should I use those exact words?”

  Mackey spun around on his heel. “I don’t give a damn, just get her over here on the double!”

  LOUISE ARRIVED fifteen minutes later, just long enough to turn Mackey into a frothing, infuriated pit bull ready to rip her head off her shoulders. When she entered his office and came to attention she had to swallow her smile. Mackey was the color of a ripe plum, pacing back and forth before the map of the Ban Pua area.

  “You wanted to see me, Colonel?” She saluted smartly.

  He jerked to a halt, breathing hard, throwing off a return salute. He bit out the words like a bear trap snapping shut. “At ease, Major.” He watched as she relaxed, her face serene and composed. The bitch. The conniving, backstabbing bitch.

  “You couldn’t play ball fairly, could you, Major?”

  In answer, Louise walked to the map. “Really, Colonel, I don’t know what you’re so upset about.” She used her swagger stick to outline an area to the south of Hill 121. “I don’t know who originally decided that the LA were going to limit themselves to just these two zones to exit and enter through. I felt it reasonable to assume that if the LA were caught in a pincer movement between these two military camps, that they’d opt to use the river either above Ban Pua or below us in Echo Zone, crossing under protection of night, when they’re least detected.” She smiled. “I haven’t stepped on anyone’s toes, Colonel. Echo zone is south of Bravo, where your men will be. I happen to see an opportunity to patrol this piece of real estate to the south of us.”

  Mackey’s jaw tightened. Why hadn’t he been ahead of Lane to see that she might pull this kind of a feint? “You’re assuming a great deal, Major. The terrain you’re speaking about is steep, rocky and clogged with vine and jungle undergrowth. The LA stand to lose men and equipment that way.”

  Louise shrugged. “It’s my professional opinion that if they split their forces north and south of Ban Pua, they’ll use Echo as a entrance and exit route, Colonel. They stand to lose more men and weapons if they run into heavy patrolling in Alpha and Bravo. As you can see by your order, I’m to be allowed to run as many patrols in Echo as I see fit. And since my patrols won’t interfere with yours or the commander’s of the Australian regiment, we shouldn’t have to worry about running into each other out there by accident. Of course, if you still want to use my women on that one patrol a day in Bravo, I’ll be more than happy to honor the original orders.”

  Mackey stood there, looking at Lane. She was a perfect specimen of control, her face unreadable, eyes measuring. Lane was gloating; he could feel it. But she was wise enough not to show it. He took a deep breath, reaching for a cigar that he perpetually carried in the left breast pocket of his utilities. “Under the circumstances, Major, I don’t think we’ll be needing your wome
n for that one patrol a day.” He flipped open the lighter, the flame enclosing the tip of the cigar. Sucking deeply, a haze surrounded him. He snapped the lighter closed, tossing it on the planning board before him. “But let’s get one thing straight between you and me.” His eyes narrowed. “You may be operating out there without us to a large degree, but you will send me a daily report to be on my desk each morning, informing me of your intended patrols for the next day. Failure to do that will put your ass in a sling with me. And if it comes to that, Major, no one will be able to get your ass out of that bind, because you’ll have disobeyed direct orders.” His voice lowered to little more than a growl as he held her unwavering stare. “If that happens just once, you’ll be charged with disobeying an order so fast that it’ll make your head spin. Do we understand one another? Questions?”

  Lane smiled. “I understand perfectly, Colonel. The report will be there each morning. Lt. Cassidy will make sure it’s personally hand delivered to you. Is that all, Colonel?”

  “Dismissed.”

  Louise smiled slightly, came to attention and executed a perfect about-face.

  Mackey simmered in a cauldron of anger as he watched her leave. Like a starved dog, Lane had stolen a useless bone right out from under his nose. Okay, if she wanted Echo to play soldier in, that was fine by him. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. He rubbed his hands together, making a mental note to write a letter protesting the orders given Lane. That way, once she got into hot water, he, as commander, would be free and clear of any public backlash from it. It was CYA time, cover your ass.

  Mackey grimaced. Any apparent conflict with the WLF and he could kiss his general’s star goodbye. Because he was Lane’s commander, his career was tied up with hers like a Gordian knot.