Danger Close (Shadow Warriors)

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Lane won’t try to harm Fremont,” Mackey went on. “She has to keep her KIA’s to a minimum. As much as Fremont might be a thorn in her side, I don’t feel Lane will get rid of her.”

  “Not directly,” Jim countered.

  Mackey held his stare and said, “Lane can’t afford to have any of her girls dead. Every time one dies, it’s blown up in the headlines and it’s a strike against her.” And me, he thought angrily. “I need Cathy Fremont alive. If I thought we were putting Fremont in direct line of fire, I wouldn’t ask her to do it. I have no desire to see someone of her caliber killed.”

  Jim rubbed his brow. “You’ll kill her in another way, Colonel.”

  “Then we’ve got to look at the benefit from Fremont’s sacrifice. Listen to me. If she trusts you, you can support her. And with your support, it may be just the thing that will tip the scales in her favor.”

  Boland almost laughed and dropped his hand to his side. His shoulders sloped from the weight of guilt he carried. “Sir, she’ll no more trust me after she finds out about our plan than a mongoose will trust a cobra. I’ll have reinforced her distrust of people in general. And she’ll feel alone again.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps…I know it’s a strain on you. And on her. But try to look at the larger picture. You’re both up to the demands of this mission.” He smiled warmly. “And I can guarantee you nothing but excellent 4.0 recommendations from me for your service record when this mission is successfully completed.”

  Jim almost choked. Mackey didn’t know he’d made a decision to get out and return to civilian life. Well, that didn’t matter. “I’m sorry, sir. I refuse to continue being a party to this mission. You do whatever you have to, but I won’t involve Cathy Fremont. Not with what I know of her now.” He saw Mackey’s face drain of color and become stonelike. “Permission to leave, sir?” He drew himself to attention.

  “Permission denied,” Mackey grated. He came around the desk and glared at Boland. “What makes you think I’m letting you off the hook, Captain? You’re refusing on personal grounds, not military reasons. I won’t let you get away with this. I need Fremont. My back’s up against a deadline. I need the information she can supply to us.”

  Boland’s gray eyes turned glacial as he held Mackey’s angry gaze. “Without my assistance, sir, she won’t do anything for you.”

  Mackey smiled mirthlessly. “Really? Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we? I’ll ask her myself, when the time’s right.”

  Jim remained at rigid attention, feeling Mackey’s fury as never before. He had changed, and it left a sick feeling in Jim’s stomach. “She won’t go through with it, sir.”

  “Captain, your opinion is no longer welcomed. Dismissed.”

  CATHY WAS ROUSED out of the few hours’ sleep she was trying to grab after a night of sporadic shelling. The heavy roar of a group of several Chinook transport helicopters flying very low and fast toward the Alpha LZ brought her awake. She sat up, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. Leaning out of her hootch, she saw Billy and Gomez going to investigate the early-morning landing. Grumpily, she got up to join them, throwing on her flak jacket and shoving the cap down on her head. She caught up with them at the bottom of the hill.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “Dunno, El Gato. They’re not our guys.”

  “Amy Rangers,” Arnley growled, joining them.

  Cathy frowned. “What are they doing here?”

  “They might as well be in enemy territory now. Rangers and Recons don’t get along in any way, shape or form,” the sergeant said, spitting out an old chaw and replacing it with a new one.

  Cathy smiled. The Rangers off-loading from the Chinooks were gruff, cocky bastards in their tiger black-and-gray-striped jungle uniforms. Turning, she looked up to see Jim at her side.

  “Good morning,” he said, studying her still-sleepy face.

  Cathy smiled a wordless acknowledgment, feeling his closeness in the chilled morning air.

  Her attention was drawn to a supercilious sergeant. He could be a poster boy for a U.S. Army advertisement: crew cut blond hair, icy blue eyes, perfect Grecian features and built like a brick outhouse. She laughed out loud.

  The sergeant’s head snapped up, centering on the team standing no more than fifty feet away. “Who’s laughing?” he roared, halting in front of them. His eyes blazed with hawkish intensity as he raked the Recons. “Come on, which one of you lily-livered bastards is laughing at a Ranger?”

  Cathy stepped forward, her head just coming level with his shoulder. She looked up, a cockeyed smile on her mouth. “I did, Sergeant. You look like a poster child for an Army ad.”

  He did a double take, stepping back for a better look. “Who in the hell are you? A goddamn war correspondent?”

  “No. I’m Corporal Fremont of the WLF on transfer to Alpha Company.”

  Gomez groaned and rolled his eyes. The sergeant was bristling for a fight by the way his body hunkered down. The Ranger’s face worked into an ugly sneer and he took the pains to spit down at her dirt-encrusted boots.

  “One of those bitches who says she can fight?” he roared, laughing as his team of four men gathered around. “You goddamn women ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of cherries playin’ at being soldier. You couldn’t kill a fly.”

  Before Cathy could reply, Arnley was there, grabbing the sergeant by his collar and shoving him back into the arms of his grinning team.

  “Nobody spits on any member of my squad,” he rasped, jabbing his finger up under the Ranger’s nose.

  Boland leaped forward, pulling them apart. Cathy watched the officer gain control of the situation quickly and firmly. Jim did not stand as tall as the angry sergeant, but the tone of his voice was enough to make her shiver.

  “I think Rangers have better things to do, Sergeant. There won’t be any trouble.”

  “I demand an apology,” Cathy interceded, stepping abreast of him.

  Boland jerked a look in her direction. A wicked half smile played on her mouth. “No one spits at me or calls me a cherry, Sergeant. Not even a Ranger. You may be a big shit in the jungle, fella, but around here you hang no higher or lower than any other man.” And then, as she turned away, Cathy added over her shoulder, “On second thought, you look like the type that hangs a lot shorter….”

  Boland didn’t have time to groan inwardly over her choice of words. The sergeant lunged at Cathy, who easily stepped aside. She laughed throatily, her eyes shining with mischief.

  Gomez whooped. “Get ’em, El Gato!”

  Billy guffawed. “Atta girl, Cathy!”

  “Get the big bastard, Cathy!” Townsend yelled.

  Boland gripped her arm and yanked her to his side and placed himself as a barrier between her and the purple-faced sergeant. He shoved his hand into the sergeant’s powerful chest, stopping his forward movement.

  “You want to settle this?” Boland demanded tightly. Damn Cathy, anyway!

  “Yes, sir, we do,” roared the Ranger, breathing like an infuriated bull.

  In childish delight, Cathy stuck out her tongue at him, thoroughly enjoying the NCO’s antics. “So do I!”

  “I want a knife fight!” the sergeant snarled.

  “No!” Boland snapped.

  “Yes!” Cathy laughed. “You have something to lose if I cut it off.”

  The entire Marine Recon team broke up into guffaws of laughter.

  Cursing, Jim’s grip tightened around Cathy’s arm. She finally stood still. The sergeant was huffing like a runaway steam engine, breathing hard over him, glaring murderously at Cathy. “How long are you and your team going to be here?” Boland growled.

  “Until 1100. Sir.”

  Jim jerked a look at Cathy, who was grinning like an idiot.

  “How about pistols at thirty paces. Your Army cream puffs ought to be able to handle that,” Cathy prodded.

  “That’s enough!” Boland roared. The Ranger backed off, momentarily mollified. “You want a rifle competition?”


  Cathy smiled sweetly, her eyes never leaving the sergeant. “You bet I do. I propose all positions—off-hand, prone, sitting and kneeling at 500 yards with three shots for each position. If you outshoot me, Sergeant, I’ll apologize.” She smiled slyly. “But if I win, and I will, you give me and every man in our team an apology for all the rotten things you’ve said about us. Agreed?”

  The Ranger threw back his shoulders, laughing. “You got a deal, little girl.” And then he snarled, “Sweet Cheeks, you ain’t got one chance in hell of winning.”

  Cathy chuckled. “Fine, you go right on thinking that.” She looked over at Boland. “What time?”

  Boland looked at his watch. “Make it 0830. That gives you an hour to get ready.”

  He glanced over at the plum-colored sergeant. “Meet us in back of the Mess area. I’ll get my men to set up the course.”

  “Fine with me, sir.”

  “And you?” Boland demanded, glaring at Cathy.

  She shrugged gaily. “Super. Just super.”

  The captain nodded. “Both of you damn well better be there,” he breathed angrily, turning and yanking Cathy along, the rest of the team falling in around them.

  Cathy knew Jim was pissed off by the way his mouth compressed into a set line. She began to laugh softly.

  Gomez jogged up alongside them. “You’d better be a crackerjack shot, El Gato. Those Rangers are experts with all kinds of weapons.”

  Cathy sneaked a look up at Boland, who was pretending she didn’t exist. “I’m the best, Gomez. And he’s going to eat his words,” she yelled triumphantly. Even Arnley grinned sourly, hiding his pleasure over her unexpected boldness.

  Jim watched from a distance as Arnley’s team prepared for the rifle match. The entire first platoon had gathered around Cathy’s hootch and watched her field strip her M16 and lovingly put it back together again, adjusting the sights. Several gave her individual instructions on how to shoot with windage, elevation, drawing a bead and the importance of absolute stillness of her body.

  He watched as Arnley stalked the outskirts like a mother hen—never taking part, but there, just the same. Boland grinned and shook his head. Maybe this was just what the men needed to pull them together as a unit—Cathy finally included as one of the “guys.”

  After most of the men drifted away, Arnley finally came to roost and stood above her.

  “You said you were the best, Fremont. By whose standards?” he demanded.

  “I outshot every Marine at Camp Pendleton the month the WLF graduated. Major Lane wanted her best to brag on and show off to the press. I’m the best.”

  Arnley was not detoured. “What were your scores?”

  Cathy treated his questions with respect. This was the first time Arnley had shown her any direct attention and she did not want to spoil the fragile bond beginning to form between them. “In all four positions at 400 yards with an M16, I missed two out of twenty and both of them were in the off-hand position.”

  Arnley rubbed his jaw. “That’s a hell of a score.”

  She met his assessing eyes. “I’m not lying about it, Sergeant Arnley. I am a good shot. I was toting a .30-06 out in the woods when I was twelve years old and bringing meat home for the dinner table.”

  He nodded, a slow smile beginning to touch the edges of his mouth. “I believe you, Fremont. Now, tell me why you started a ruckus with that Ranger.”

  Her green eyes sparkled and she got to her feet. “I didn’t want to string concertina wire today?”

  Arnley spit to the left, appraising her with amusement. “Okay, Fremont, let’s get over there. I’ll be your spotter.”

  Bets on the rifle competition had brought everyone out of the sack early. Money traded hands like wildfire. There were few things to break the monotony of regiment life unless one counted rocket attacks. By the time 0830 came, Boland had watched his company act as bookies for the entire regiment. The radio was hot even to Ban Pua and Bangkok with bets pouring in ten to one in favor of the Ranger. He saw Colonel Mackey coming down from the chopper pad and decided he’d better intercept him.

  “Jim, what in the hell is this about Fremont and a Ranger?” he demanded gruffly. “My HQ people are going nuts over there.”

  Boland grinned. “Cathy hurt the sergeant’s feelings earlier,” he explained, leaving out none of the details concerning the confrontation.

  Mackey took off his cap, scratching his balding head. “I’ll be damned.”

  Proudly escorted to the range by her own team, Cathy walked beside Arnley’s left shoulder. He was serious looking as ever. As they arrived, Cathy felt as if someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed it. There was Major Lane and her fellow officers standing to one side of the range. The expectation and glee were written all over Lane’s face. She knew just how good Cathy was when it came to target shooting.

  Cathy cast a quick glance over at Arnley. “I didn’t want them here.”

  Buck turned, looking directly into her eyes. “Forget them, kid. They aren’t worth a damn, anyway. You just listen to me when we’re out there.”

  Cathy nodded, feeling the terror drain from her. Arnley winked at her, leaving her stunned.

  “Those bitches are here just to show you off. You’re with us now—part of Alpha, and you’re going to win for us, not them.”

  She tried to smile, absorbing Buck’s strength and confidence. She could tell the camp was lopsidedly divided into two sections. Most of them were on the Ranger’s side. She saw Lane smirking. Cathy avoided their stares by turning back to her sergeant. He handed her a rifle vest, taking her M16 while she changed.

  “Okay, kid, let’s go to work.”

  His gruff voice was reassuring as they walked up to the Ranger sergeant whose name was Powell. He looked just as pissed off as he’d been before.

  A short distance away, Boland stood with Mackey. Betting was still going on and he watched Lane and her small group. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he did recall in Cathy’s file that she was rated a sniper-quality marksman. She’d better be. He’d put fifty on her to win.

  “Come on,” Powell snarled at her, “let’s get this pea-shooting contest over so that everybody can hear you apologize to me.”

  “Screw you.” Cathy watched the muscles in Powell’s neck bulge, the blood vessels standing out like pulsating cords. Arnley firmly nudged her forward.

  “Gonna have your sugar daddy do the shooting for you?” Powell taunted.

  Cathy halted. “I’m allowed a spotter just like you are.”

  “I don’t need no spotter, bitch,” Powell rasped under his breath.

  Arnley cupped his hands to his mouth. “First position is kneeling at 500 yards. Three shots only.”

  Cathy locked and loaded. Arnley walked the area to make sure it was free of pebbles or anything else that might interfere with her concentration. Taking her cap off, she placed it on backward so the bill barely grazed the back of her neck. She placed the sling high on her upper left arm. Dropping to her right knee, she sat back on her heel, allowing herself plenty of time to set up and getting as low as possible. Balance was all-important. Although she hadn’t done any range firing in four months, her muscles were used to the mandatory positions. Arnley leaned over, checking the white butt flags in the distance at each end of the range, which indicated wind direction.

  “Make one click of windage, kid,” he whispered. “Sight up slightly to the left.”

  Cathy barely nodded, watching the target through the rear sight drum. She breathed in, then exhaled, acutely aware of a slight trickle of sweat running down her temple. There was a still point to breathing. She’d been taught to exhale and before her body naturally began to inhale, that was the still point. Her finger closed gently around the trigger, caressing it. Squeeze…don’t jerk. Fire. The rifle bucked against her shoulder, but she was long used to the bruising force of its powerful recoil.

  “Bull’s-eye!” Gomez shouted, jumping up and down. Sporadic clapping broke out among the Recons. Maj
or Lane cracked a smile of satisfaction.

  Arnley patted her on the head, an old Marine custom when the job was well done. Cathy did not give herself the allowance of a smile or a glance at Powell, who was towering over her, trying to intimidate her with his presence.

  “You got lucky,” he said loudly.

  Two more rounds…

  Again, Cathy checked and double-checked the butt flags and listened to Arnley, who knew plenty about marksmanship. He didn’t lead her wrong. Two more bull’s-eyes.

  Cathy got up, dusting off the knees of her utilities, her eyes shining with triumph. Arnley grinned.

  “Damn fine shootin,’” he admitted.

  Cathy stood near him, relaxed as Powell set up in the same position. Her attention was riveted on the slight wind direction shift and she motioned to Arnley. She wondered if Powell would catch it.

  He did. All three of his shots were good. There was a hushed stillness building as Cathy took the sitting position. Her feet crossed, left elbow resting on her left knee, she waited a few moments. A quick tap on her shoulder told her that Arnley was satisfied and that she could begin.

  She squeezed the trigger once. Twice. Three times, not allowing the customary break between shots. A ripple of awe ran through the crowd and there was another spasm of applause. She got up, grinning. All three were bull’s-eyes.

  Arnley whistled. “That was taking a chance.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she admitted ruefully, “but pressure’s the name of the game. I had to do something to shake him up.”

  It did. Powell missed one bull by a fraction of a centimeter. He became insolent, calling her names and taunting her about being a woman. Arnley would not allow her to reply, guiding her into position once again. Deep within her, Cathy rode on the adrenaline high of excitement. Powell, as well as most of the Recons, with the exception of Jim, didn’t realize she functioned best in demanding situations.