“Prone position at 500 meters,” Arnley announced.
Dropping to her knees, she hit the ground with her left elbow as far to the right and forward as possible, her legs well apart, getting ready to shoot in prone position. Arnley made sure the butt of the rifle rested securely against her shoulder. With his constant attention, the mutual feeling of enjoying the challenge built an invisible working kinship between them—something Cathy valued above everything else.
She forgot about Lane and the audience of Recons. She listened only for Arnley’s gruff voice next to her ear. Powell was moving around, kicking up loose dust to draw her attention. The wind was picking up.
Powell’s shuffling antics irritated her. Cathy knew it, sensed the tenseness in her shoulders, felt Arnley leaning over her.
“Check the windage. Better sight a half a click to the left. About five knots now. Relax, you’ll do all right.”
The shoulder sling bit deeply into her arm. Cathy ignored the pain, gathering and focusing all her concentration on that target so damn far away. A trickle of perspiration dabbed her cheek. She fired, her body jerking from the recoil. A shout went up. Another bull. Arnley growled, “Good.”
She got ready to fire a second time. Just as she squeezed the trigger, Powell deliberately kicked up a cloud of dust in her direction. The rifle recoiled. Missed!
Arnley gripped her shoulder. “Stay down,” he growled, his fingers digging deeply into her.
Cursing, Cathy’s face paled with anger. She struggled to stand.
“Settle down! He wants you upset,” Arnley hissed.
“I don’t care! The bastard did that to me on purpose!”
“What’s the matter, Sarge? Your little girl get ruffled easy?” Powell asked, his deep voice booming across the range. “Distraction’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
Cathy sank back to the ground, anger surging up into her chest like a cauldron. She had missed the bull’s-eye! Damn Powell. She would show him!
Again, talking softly to her, Arnley got her to remain on the firing line for a third and final shot. Cathy hunkered down, watching the flags trip in the inconstant breeze, squeezing off another shot. Bull’s-eye!
Before Cathy could even think of getting even with Powell, Arnley gripped her arm and pulled her away from the area. “Stand over there out of the way,” he ordered. Cathy obeyed, her teeth clenched as she watched Powell.
“If he hits all three, then the standing will decide it,” Cathy whispered angrily to him.
Arnley spit out the wad of tobacco lodged in his cheek, replacing it with a new chaw. “I know. You’ll catch him in standing.”
She gave him a helpless look. “I’m glad you’ve got so much confidence in me.”
“We’ll hang his ass on the next round.” His gaze ferreted out hers. “How are you in the standing if we move it back to 400 yards?”
Cathy looked earnestly up at him, feeling a gruff kind of warmth radiating from him. “I’ve shot off-hand at 300 yards. Why?”
Arnley grinned. “Knew you would be. Trust me.”
Cathy tilted her head. Arnley was up to something because it was the first time she’d ever seen him smile. A feeling close to delight sang through her. “Okay,” she murmured, “I trust you.”
Powell hit all three bull’s-eyes. He stood, his low, taunting laughter filling her ears. “Okay, Sweet Cheeks, let’s see if you really have that titanium set of balls you think you got between those legs of yours. Standing separates the men from the girls.” He said it loud enough for everyone to hear.
Arnley waltzed up to Powell, a gleam in his eye. “My shooter is gettin’ bored, Powell. She don’t like to be so close to the target. Hates to do candy-assed shootin’.” Arnley spit for effect, making sure he could be heard by everyone in earshot. “I suggest we go to 400 yards in the standing….” He gave the Ranger a feral grin.
Powell’s mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. “Hey, what’s this shit?”
“My team member is bored with the mandatory 300 yards normally used in standing position. We’ll shoot the standing at 400 yards but so as not to change the rules, dogface, you can stay at 300.” Arnley rocked back on his heels, trading a wicked look with Fremont. “Don’t ever let it be said the Marines would take advantage of a brother service.” Arnley raised his voice so it boomed out across the crowd. “We all know a Recon can outshoot any Army dogface.”
Powell reddened like a ripe plum. “Rules are rules, jarhead. I ain’t shooting standing position at 400 yards.”
“Suit yourself,” Arnley growled, a lethal smile widening across his mouth.
The entire area buzzed with Arnley’s proposal. He turned and walked back to Fremont. “I know only a few grunts who can hit consistently at 400 yards with an M16 in standing position. And they’re all snipers. This dude ain’t no rifle team candidate. He’s good, but not great, like you are.”
Cathy heard Lane behind her and half-turned. The major was grim faced as she moved through the parting crowd of Marines toward her. Automatically, Cathy’s fingers tightened around her rifle. Arnley deliberately placed himself between her and the oncoming officer.
Louise eyed the rawboned Marine sergeant who stood with his scarred, thin hands on his narrow hips while he stared her down as if she were a boot. She glanced around to Fremont. “Let’s show them what we’re made of, Corporal.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Arnley spit to the left. He turned his back on the major. Momentarily, his face thawed as he gripped Cathy’s arm, guiding her away from both the agitated Powell and that cold-eyed bitch of a major.
“Come on, kid, we’ve got work to do,” he told her. “You and me. No one else…”
Cathy blanked out Lane’s intent gaze and the men standing around them. The air became quiet with oppressive silence. Arnley stood out of her way.
Placing her feet apart, the sling high on her arm and positioning the rifle, cheek pressed against the stock, Cathy stood. Her heart was thudding a slow, strong beat and her breasts rose and fell imperceptibly. One false movement of the body could throw off a shot. Exhaling, keeping the front sight up, she fingered the trigger. The sharp crack resounded like an explosion.
“She made it!” Gomez cried jubilantly. His shout echoed through the gasping crowd of onlookers.
Powell started forward, his mouth hanging open. Arnley’s hand shot out, stopping him.
“Stay right where you are, feather merchant,” Buck snarled.
Cathy disregarded the ripple of voices.
Powell looked shaken. “I don’t believe it—”
“You’d better, doggie,” Arnley returned, a sadistic smile on his mouth.
Now, for the second shot. Again, Cathy closed off her hearing, her forehead wrinkled in pained concentration. Her eyes narrowed, exhaling the breath, bringing the sight down across the target. Never had she wanted to make a shot count more. Squeeze the trigger…now. The harsh bark crashed into her ears, which had earplugs in them.
The Recons broke into wild applause, whistling and yelling words of encouragement after the second bull’s-eye. Cathy leaked a smile of gratitude and readied for the third try. Powell was bitching loudly and she heard Arnley tell him to shut his mouth or he’d do it for him.
“Goddammit, she’s cheating,” Powell argued loudly.
Arnley grabbed him. “You asshole,” he growled, “she ain’t cheating! She’s just a better shot than you are!” He released Powell, sending the Ranger back into the arms of his buddies, glaring at all of them. Just daring any one of them to take the first step forward toward Fremont or himself.
The wind shifted. Cathy waited, watching the direction of the flags intently. Uneasiness filled her. Taking a deep breath, she lowered the rifle and sighted.
Sweat popped out on her upper lip as she took careful aim. Easy, she thought, wildly aware of her own body. She stood, spread legged, poised like a marble statue. Everyone held their breath. The shot rang out. True to its target.
Cathy was ecstatic. She yelled, waving her fist into the air in a sign of victory. She turned to the crowd, jubilant over her own professional ability.
Arnley came over, throwing his arm about her shoulder. “Damn good shootin’, kid. Come on, let’s watch Powell blow it.”
As Cathy shakily removed the shooting vest, she received slaps of approval on the back from each man in her team. It felt good to be accepted, again. The esprit de corps was there, among all of them. Above all, with Arnley. Cathy stole a furtive glance up at him and he nodded, looking proud as hell of her.
Turning their attention to Powell, Cathy picked up the Ranger’s nervousness. His first shot at 300 yards was a bull’s-eye, but the crowd of men hissed and booed his efforts. Name-calling ensued and Powell flipped the bird arrogantly into the air at all of them.
Cathy grinned as Gomez threw his arm around her shoulders and they watched as Powell prepared for his second shot. Even if the Ranger made all three bull’s-eyes, he still had lost where it counted. The M16’s bark was harsh. The second shot didn’t need to be verified; the puff of red dust to the left of the target told the story. For all his ego-bruising confidence, Powell didn’t have what it took when the men catcalled him for missing at 300 yards. His last shot hit the target, but not the bull’s-eye. The Ranger had lost.
Arnley brought Cathy to his side and walked her over to the glaring Ranger. A huge crowd gathered around the three of them as they stood facing one another. Arnley smugly stepped up to Powell.
“You owe her and the United States Marine Corpsan apology, Sergeant Powell. Let’s hear the Army apologize loud and clear.”
Powell winced as if he had been physically struck. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his boots.
“What did you say, Sergeant? I can’t hear you,” Arnley roared in his D.I. voice.
The Ranger recoiled. He cursed, jerking his attention to Cathy. “I said I’m sorry!” he bellowed.
Cathy grinned. “Apology accepted, Sergeant.” She turned to the team, a smile breaking out on her tense features. A roar went up and Cathy found herself hoisted up on the shoulders of Strike and Chesty. Tears glittered in her eyes as she acknowledged the shouts, applause and cries of congratulations as the Marines swarmed around her. Cathy’s heart nearly burst with joy as Arnley cracked the first full-blown smile she’d ever seen as they led her toward the rest of the company. She belonged. Finally, she belonged….
Chapter 15
CATHY TOOK OFF her cap as soon as she entered the regimental headquarters. Why would Colonel Mackey want to see her? Her heart was beating heavily in her chest and she tried to ignore it. Everywhere she looked, she was being stared at by the clerks at their respective desks. Many of them smiled and offered her congratulations on winning the rifle competition. The late-afternoon heat made her utilities cling to her, the darker rings of sweat beneath her armpits and down the center of her back evident. After getting directions from a Marine sergeant, Cathy finally found Mackey’s office.
She waited outside while the gunny sergeant announced her. What could Mackey want of her? Had she done something wrong? Why hadn’t Jim been told? Or did he know about this order for her to see Mackey? Swallowing hard, Cathy kept her eyes downcast as she turned the crumpled utility cap around and around in between her hands.
“Corporal Fremont?” The gunny sergeant came to a halt in front of her.
Cathy immediately rose. “Yes, Gunny?” He was grizzled looking, with silver sidewalls. His eyes were hooded and thoughtful looking upon her.
“The colonel will see you now.”
Nodding jerkily, Cathy crushed the cap in her left hand and walked woodenly into the office. The first thing that struck her was that Mackey’s office looked exactly like Lane’s, with all the statistics hung on every bit of available wall space. She came to rigid attention in front of the desk, saluting.
“Corporal Fremont reporting as ordered, sir.” She kept her eyes straight ahead, not daring to risk a look down at the hard-faced officer.
“At ease, Corporal.” Mackey rose and walked around the desk and shut the door quietly behind her. “Sit down, please.”
Surprised, Cathy came out of her at-ease position, hands behind her back, and walked to the chair that he motioned to. She followed the Marine’s progress until he sat down. Only the desk separated them from each other.
Mackey smiled distantly. “I want you to know that it’s a pleasure to finally get to meet you.” He saw her eyes widen and read the confusion in them.
Cathy met his blue gaze. Mackey reminded her of a piece of rough-hewn granite, his face rugged and unpolished. It was the intelligence in his eyes that told her he wasn’t a man to trifle with. Every nerve in her body screamed out in warning and adrenaline coursed through her. Why was she frightened? Her body was reacting as if she were in a firefight, which was ridiculous. She cleared her throat.
“Thank you, sir.”
Mackey nodded, thinking that if Fremont were in decent feminine dress, she’d be one hell of a looker. Maybe it was the vulnerability apparent in her slightly parted lips. Or those big, soulful green eyes that could be read like an opened book. Yes, he could see why Jim would fall for her. He liked her husky voice, too. Despite the fear he saw in her eyes, her voice was steady and he applauded that about her. A good Marine could get scared but not panicky. And, so far, she was being a good soldier. He smiled warmly.
For the next ten minutes, he kept the conversation light, probing here and there. She was tense, alert and on guard. Mackey lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. He deliberately took a relaxed pose, a nonverbal signal for her to do the same. She remained frozen like a deer sighted between a rifle’s crosshairs.
“There has been nothing but praise and respect for your abilities out in the field, Cathy.” He saw her blanche when he used her first name. Obviously, she wasn’t used to such friendliness on the part of a senior officer. If he was going to persuade her to carry a wire, he had to try and gain her trust. And, right now, that looked impossible. He mentally cursed Jim Boland and his refusal to help draw her into the plan. Mackey broke out in a light sweat. If he couldn’t get her to wear the wire, Frederick’s entire plan was at an impasse and his ass was in a sling. He wanted that general’s star. “And it hasn’t escaped my attention that Major Lane hasn’t exactly handled you as well as she might.”
Her fingers tightened on the cap in her hands and Cathy avoided his hawkish stare. “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” she muttered.
“Be at ease with me,” he coaxed softly, sitting up. “You’ve got people who care for you over here, Cathy. I’ve brought you in here to talk today on that basis. Whatever is said between us stays here.” He placed the cigar in the thick glass ashtray, settled both elbows on the desk and looked directly at her through the haze of smoke. “It has come to my attention through various channels that Major Lane’s way of dealing with her troops is less than militarily acceptable.”
Cathy risked a glance at Mackey, her throat aching with fear. What had Jim told this man? My God, he was the head of the regiment. A sick feeling jagged through her as she realized Jim had probably told Mackey everything. Oh, my God. What other source could he be referring to? Why had Jim broken her confidence? Why?
Her voice quavered. “Sir?”
“I want you to listen carefully to me, Cathy. Mackey kept his voice low and allowed his feelings to surface. “More than anything, I’m charged with the welfare of all my soldiers. Men and women alike. Oh, it’s true, Major Lane runs Delta, but in the end, I’m responsible because I’m the regimental commander.” He cocked his head, holding her wary gaze. “You see, I’m aware of the circumstances over in Delta. It’s obvious the problem doesn’t lie with you. It’s the way Major Lane insists on managing Delta. And, like you, I don’t agree with her methods.” He picked up a pen, toying with it, allowing what he was saying to sink into her. “Such as the Cellar?”
Cathy gasped, nearly coming out of the chair and then quickly
sitting back down. “Captain Boland told you about that?”
Mackey hedged, not wanting Boland to be implicated in any way. “I have my sources, Cathy.” He pointed to a stack of reports on his desk. “These are verified reports from wounded Delta women who were shipped Stateside. Each went through a debriefing.” He tapped them gently while holding her widening gaze. “The atrocities committed by the officers of Delta against all of you are in there. In black-and-white, graphic details.”
She swallowed hard, the implications sending a shock wave through her.
Mackey moved the set of reports aside. He continued on in a gruff tone laced with concern, “Your obvious abilities in the field impressed me. And I was shocked by the unjust acts committed against you and the other enlisted women. I want to do something positive about it.” He smiled gently. “You and the enlisted women of Delta need help in resolving these issues.”
Cathy hung her head, fighting back the nausea. “Sir? Did Captain Boland deliberately plan to take me from Delta?”
Damn! Mackey could see how shaken she was. “Captain Boland has very little to do with what we’re talking about.” He tapped the reports more solidly. “This is the real evidence, Cathy. Friends of yours have testified that Major Lane has been gunning for you because of your guts to stand up against her and her kind. I can help you stand up to her. I can help you put a stop to this once and for all.”
No! Oh, God, no! Cathy bit hard on her lower lip, a deluge of pain ripping her apart. Jim had set her up and gotten her confidence. He had used her! She eyed the reports warily, wondering if Mackey was telling the truth. She had told Jim enough in the past three weeks to incriminate herself and Lane fully without any so-called debrief reports. With blinding clarity, Cathy added everything up in those annihilating seconds: Jim Boland meeting her down by the river when there was a standing order for no fraternization between Delta and any Marine company, his visiting her at the rear when she was recovering from the sunstroke and finally, taking R & R with her. They were all cold-bloodedly planned and designed to do one thing: get her trust.
Danger Close (Shadow Warriors) Page 28