Danger Close (Shadow Warriors)

by Lindsay McKenna

  Sweat trickled down Cathy’s body, making her itch. A sickening feeling almost suffocated her as she slowly rose to her feet, taking the lead more cautiously this time as she flipped the safety off her M16.

  Wiping the sweat away from her mouth, Cathy kept lifting her gaze to the trees to detect any dark shadows that might take the form of a patient LA sniper. Or a wire strung across the path to catch the antenna that could unleash a broadside explosion down one side of the trail, effectively killing all of them.

  The wafting odor of fish caught her attention, and the hair on her neck stood up. Cathy’s grip on the rifle increased. To the left! The smell was coming from the left! She spun around, making a violent motion for the other two women to hit the deck and then dove for cover herself.

  Almost immediately the jungle came alive with enemy fire. Cathy crawled behind a teak log that had fallen long ago, lodging herself tightly against it. The LA hosed a string of tracers down the length of the path. Another burst sliced down upon her from the right, chewing up leaves and branches, making them projectiles. Cathy jerked the radio off her back and quickly placed a call to the Thais at Ban Pua.

  “Return fire!” Ingram screamed, firing a burst from her M16.

  Hayes hugged the ground at the base of a banana tree, screaming hysterically.

  Angrily, Cathy yelled into the handset. They were pinned by a large force. Where the hell was that Thai lieutenant and his team? Safe, hell! Bullets chewed at the teak log, splinters flying in all directions. Sweat stung Cathy’s eyes. She gasped for breath as the Thais finally answered.

  “Lima Two, Lima Two, this is Delta One. We’re pinned…need support. Get arty…” she ordered, and gave the coordinates.

  The hollow ring of mortar being fired made Cathy wince.

  “Incoming!” Ingram screamed. “Withdraw!” and she began to scrawl even farther to the rear, firing in every direction. They were being surrounded!

  Frantic, Cathy repeated her coordinates.

  The mortars started to walk down the trail toward them. Dirt belched up in a huge geyser along with parts of limbs from a tree, showering the area. Cathy fired a semiautomatic burst and moved up the trail toward the retreating Ingram and Hayes. She had very little ammo on her. They hadn’t come prepared for a firefight. Cathy’s mind raced. Was this a setup? Where were the Thais? Things didn’t make sense.

  Cathy heard the first carrump of 105s firing from the Thai base above Ban Pua. Arty! Thank God, they’d heard her request!

  She fired another burst, jamming her body against the protection of a Teak tree. The first 105 shells came screaming in. Suddenly, they stopped their familiar wail. Cathy jerked her head up, eyes wide with disbelief. Ingram did the same. And then, all three of them rolled into tight balls, arms over their heads, mouths open, trying to find cover.

  The first artillery shell was a marker rounder. The white smoke erupted three hundred meters short. It was a full one hundred meters back down the trail from where they had just come. Cathy screamed into the phone.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire! You’re danger close! Repeat, you’re hitting Delta One.” She repeated the coordinates three times in a row. Cathy sobbed as she heard four arty rounds being fired.

  It was the longest seven seconds of her life. When the first shell stopped screaming, Cathy realized all too clearly that they were on ground zero. She placed her back against a log, protecting the radio, gripping the unit to her chest as the artillery rounds started to land.

  Fire erupted skyward, carrying trees, bushes and dirt. The explosion tore at Cathy’s eardrums. Fire scorched them like a blast furnace. She heard Hayes scream once. Ingram was roaring like a wounded bull, ordering her to call base.

  Blood dribbled from Cathy’s nose as she shakily pressed down the tab on the phone. This time…this time she would call Alpha. Jim was at Ban Pua. Maybe he could do something. She fumbled with the dials setting it for the secret Recon frequency. To her great relief, it was Chesty’s deep voice that came back. Screaming out the coordinates and for the Thais to cease fire, Cathy suddenly choked back the rest. As the dirt and smoke cleared, she saw Hayes’s twisted and mutilated body.

  Ingram’s eyes were wild looking as she screamed at Cathy to call in again.

  Fighting against throwing up, Cathy sobbed for breath, repeating their coordinates. The LA were closing in on them. How many rounds did she have left? Not many. Oh, God, she was going to die. Die. And in such a stupid way. Why hadn’t she brought more ammo? Why had Ingram trusted that damn Thai officer?

  Cathy twisted around, squeezing off several shots. The hollow ring of mortar stung the livid, smokey air. She crouched. Jim! Jim, where are you? Oh, God, help us! Help!

  “LIFT OFF!” BOLAND roared, leaning between the two Thai helicopter pilots. He glanced back at his fully prepared team who crouched tensely in the Huey, their faces set, their eyes hard. Sweat dribbled down his tightened jaw as he craned his neck toward the area where the firefight had erupted. Cathy was in trouble. Dammit, he knew something was up. Why hadn’t he stayed on top of it? Gripping his M16, Boland rapidly went over what would have to be done. The LA were there and, from the sound of it, at least a platoon-size force. Already, as they flew high above the SEATO forces, the ROKs were scrambling to place a major force to oppose the LA. He jerked the handset off Billy’s radio pack, calling in arty from two U.S. firebases instead of the Thai base. It had taken a direct order and a threat to kill every son of a bitch at the negligent Thai arty base to get them to cease fire.

  The hot, humid air whipped through the opened doors of the chopper. His men were geared up for battle. He saw a clearing near the firefight and jabbed a finger down at it, ordering the pilots to descend quickly.

  They landed without resistance. Boland ordered Gomez on point and they ran full tilt into the jungle, rifles ready. By the time they found the path, U.S. 105 artillery was slamming into the unknown LA force. Billy jogged beside him, keeping Cathy on the handset as they tore through the jungle toward Delta’s position.

  Just as they reached the area, a heavy blanket of fire was laid down at them by the LA. Boland barked orders, his team dispersing like shadowy ghosts, at least twenty-five gmeters between each man.

  The M16 bucked against Boland’s shoulder as he saw shapes of LA fleeing in front of them. More arty careened in, the earth shaking like a dog getting rid of fleas beneath him. He didn’t need to order his men into the withering fire—they were driven by the knowledge that Cathy was in trouble.

  Gomez was the first to reach the women. He motioned violently for Boland to come forward. The Marine captain dove behind a tree, risking a glance around it. Boland’s eyes widened. He saw Ingram lying almost directly in front of him, a huge hole torn through her throat, her head nearly decapitated from the rest of her body. Hayes was to the right, missing both her legs, dead. And Cathy?

  The blistering fire eased momentarily and Boland sprinted through the brush, throwing himself flat and then crawling. His men followed close behind. He saw Cathy no more than twenty meters away. She was wounded. Her entire right thigh was covered with the dark stain of blood eating rapidly up into her hip and belly area. Her mouth was opened in a silent scream of pain. She was desperately trying to yank her belt around her upper leg as a tourniquet in order to stanch the heavy bleeding.

  With an oath, Boland launched himself upward, zigzagging toward where she lay behind the log. Bullets spit up dirt all around him in angry, stinging geysers. He hurled himself to the earth, rolling several times, slamming into the log. His shoulder ached but he ignored the pain. More fire poured into their position.

  “Cathy! Stay down!” he shouted. And he quickly inched to her side. Her face was ashen, her eyes widened in deep shock. He jerked a look up. “Billy! Medevac! Nine-line, Now!”

  Her bloodied hands slipped on the belt she had managed to get around her upper thigh. He saw the damage the bullet had done and shoved her back down. His breath came in hard, ragged gasps as he rolled on h
is side, parallel to her, a target to the LA. His fingers trembled badly as he tried to ram the webbing through the buckle. Her flesh had been peeled back, revealing the glistening white of her femur. Arterial blood was spurting everywhere. Somewhere in his reeling senses, Jim knew her femoral artery had been severed. She would die in a matter of minutes if he didn’t get that fucking belt in place to act as a tourniquet! His fingers slipped again. He cursed richly and continuously.

  Three rounds popped close, bark splintering savagely. Boland winced, feeling bark projectiles enter his neck and shoulder. Cathy moaned, her arms flailing helplessly.

  “Hold on!” he cried above the fire. Clenching his teeth, sweat stinging his eyes, Boland jerked the tourniquet tight, watching the flow of blood cease immediately to a trickle. With another savage pull, Boland knotted the belt.

  Cathy moaned, going semiconscious, and collapsed.

  More artillery rounds shrieked into the area, whole trees exploding violently skyward with rock and soil.

  Boland shoved Cathy tight against the log, pulling his rifle up to return fire. More rounds detonated and he covered her with his body to protect her from the falling debris that pelted and rained down on them. He heard her call him once, her hand lifting weakly, covered with blood. He wanted to reassure her that everything would be all right, but two people were dead already. And, judging from her glazed eyes and lack of color, she was in critical condition. She was in heavy shock and going deeper by the second. Every cell within him screamed, “No!” In those last seconds before a bullet struck him, Boland wanted her to live so badly that he could feel it through every cell of his being.

  A grenade exploded nearby. A new flurry of fire erupted from the jungle toward their position. Gomez shrieked as he saw his captain hit and slammed backward. He scrambled to his feet, a string of Spanish crying from his lips. Just as he made it to Boland’s side, the enemy rifle fire stopped. The artillery barrage ceased.

  Gomez sobbed loudly, cursing as he fell to the officer’s side. “Jesus. Oh. Jesus,” he sobbed. He turned Boland over. “Jesus. He’s dead! He’s dead!”

  Arnley crouched and sprinted low, his rifle in his left hand as he knelt by Cathy’s side. She was barely conscious. He scanned the too-quiet jungle around them. Had the LA finally retreated?

  “Dead?” Cathy cried weakly.

  Buck tore his attention from the bush and looked down at her. She was trying to rise and he splayed his hand against her shoulder, keeping her down.

  “Lay quiet,” he rasped. “What about the Cap?” he muttered to Gomez, who couldn’t stop crying.

  “He ain’t breathin’,” Gomez sobbed. “He ain’t breathin’!”

  Arnley jerked out a battle dressing, pressing it down on Cathy’s open wound. “Damn, she could bleed to death,” he muttered to Strike, who fell at his side, his M16 ready.

  Moaning, Cathy’s arm fell across Arnley’s thigh.

  “Dead?” she cried thickly. “Is he dead?”

  Arnley kept her down. He saw the blood at the back of Boland’s neck and shoulders as Gomez dragged him behind the log for added protection. He’d seen too many dead men before, recognizing the pallor in the officer’s slack face. “Yeah, kid,” he answered brokenly. He placed his hand on her dirty, tearstained cheek. “Lay still. Medevac’s coming. Shh, don’t cry,” he soothed, his gaze still fastened on Boland’s body.

  Buck heard her sob and he shut his eyes tightly, keeping the battle dressing pressed hard against her thigh. Every time she cried out Boland’s name, he winced. Then, she passed out. Arnley wished he could escape so easily. Anger rose hot and virulent within him. Boland was dead. Cathy was wounded. And for what? A silly-assed mistake made by a woman officer in the WLF? Son of a bitch! He hated all of them. All of them!

  COLONEL WILLIAM B. Mackey tiredly rubbed his watering eyes. He stood, waiting to hear from the surgeon who had performed the operation on Cathy Fremont’s torn body. The white uncluttered walls of the hospital located in Bangkok was a far cry from the race that began at Ban Pua to the nearest airstrip at the rear. From there, a Lockheed C-130 had ferried them to Bangkok. He waited anxiously, following the progress of two surgeons removing their green face masks as they came down the hall. He walked halfway to meet them.

  “Well?”

  “We did all we could, Colonel Mackey. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “Her vital signs are stabilized now,” the second doctor provided.

  “And,” the first said, “the femoral artery was completely severed in her right thigh. We had to sew it back together again. Severe tissue damage, but no broken pelvis or femur. She’s lucky.”

  Mackey breathed a sigh of relief. Fredericks would be glad to hear that. “Thank God. What about Captain Boland?”

  “Still in surgery. You’ll have to wait until the neurosurgeon, Dr. Cornell, and his team, get finished.”

  Mackey’s voice was strained. “Thanks,” he muttered. He sat down again, slumping into the chair to wait and hope. Boland was discovered to be alive when one of the attending medic’s had a chance to check his pulse after they stabilized Cathy Fremont aboard the Medevac chopper on the way from Ban Pua. He had been critically wounded. Mackey rubbed his face. The whole day had turned into a nightmare of twisted and unexpected events. The moment Alpha knew that their XO was critical and not expected to live, Mackey received the call apprising him of the situation. Not only that, but Captain Greer informed him that Jim Boland had a top secret report for his eyes only should anything ever happen to him. Captain Greer made a special trip to bring the report to H.Q.

  Mackey couldn’t believe what he was reading as he stood there. Jim had met with Cathy Fremont four days earlier and the entire ugly episode concerning Hayes, Lane, Ingram and Simmons was written down in detail. His hands shook as he finished reading the neatly printed report. And it didn’t take much to add it all up. Ingram, as far as he was concerned, had been set up by Lane to take the fall. The only two people besides Lane, who apparently saw or knew Simmons was murdered, were now dead. Hope filled him in that blinding instant. He had no proof Lane set up the three women, but in his gut Mackey knew she had a hand in it. Nothing missed Lane’s feral eyes.

  By the time the Medevac had choppered Boland and Fremont to the rear, Mackey had put a tremendous amount of machinery into motion. An investigation into why Ingram was at Ban Pua, and why the Thais were firing artillery directly on them. He sent a scrambled call directly to Senator Fredericks, alerting him that he had found even better evidence. Later, he hopped a C-130 heading to Bangkok. Mackey knew his entire case rested on Cathy Fremont. She was the only person left alive who could repeat Hayes’s story firsthand. He needed Fremont for the Fredericks hearing.

  Agitated, he got up, pacing again. Fate had a strange way of working. Just when he was going to tell Fredericks that Fremont wouldn’t wear a wire, this happened. He led a charmed life. Taking a deep breath, he managed a sliver of a smile. Fremont would make it. She was his ticket to that general’s star. She was Frederick’s ticket to the platform.

  Lane was involved. But how had she set Ingram and Hayes up? Was Lane aware Fremont knew about Simmons or had she merely arranged their ambush to be rid of all those who could mar her career? He snorted. He had his best CID men working on several angles of the secret investigation. Lane would know nothing of what was taking place until it was too late. It would give him savage satisfaction to see the major served with a formal order to attend the hearings.

  Another two hours passed. Mackey was dozing when an orderly gently tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Sir? Dr. Cornell just got out of surgery. He wants you to join him in ICU.”

  Mackey slowly rose. “How is Captain Boland?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Follow me.”

  Cornell’s eyes were bloodshot. Mackey approached him and nodded. The doctor led him over to several X-rays hanging up on the lighted panel.

  “The bullet entered here. It split and fractured at the base of
Captain Boland’s skull. There’s no way to tell yet if any or all of his functions such as speech or motor reflexes have been damaged.” Cornell folded is arms, looking grimmer. “The real problem lies in the tissue surrounding the fracture. It could swell to the point of shutting off the blood supply partially or completely to his brain. If that happens, Captain Boland is either going to die outright or become a vegetable in a permanent coma.”

  The corners of Mackey’s mouth turned in. “What else can you do for him?”

  “We’re packing the wound in dry ice to help reduce the swelling. He’s being tended by two nurses in ICU until crisis occurs.”

  “How soon—”

  “I don’t know. If he makes it out of this, he’s the luckiest damn Marine I’ve ever operated on. The bullet was deflected just enough so it passed into the bony plate of the skull and then out again.” He shook his head. “Don’t count on him making it, Colonel. His chances are next to nothing.”

  “Will he regain consciousness?” Mackey wanted to be able to question him about his meeting with Fremont to see if Jim knew more than what he had already placed on the report.

  “Yes. The anesthetic will wear off within an hour or two.”

  Mackey nodded. “Good job, Doctor. I’m going to be over at Fremont’s room if you need me.”

  Mackey stood over Fremont’s bed, thinking how translucent her flesh looked. He could even see the fine blue veins beneath the skin below her eyes. She was dressed in a white gown in a white bed and white room. He hated white. It made her look as if she were going to die. An IV on either side of the bed fed her the nutrients she needed. Her hair was unkempt, a dark crimson halo around her head. She moaned, muttering unintelligible words.

  A nurse came in to check on her and Mackey stood aside. He saw tears leak from beneath Fremont’s thick lashes, silvery paths down her face. Administering another shot into the IV, the nurse stood with her hand resting on Cathy’s arm until she lapsed back into oblivion. Mackey left to get a sorely needed cup of coffee, feeling strangely elated.