“Well, that’s hard enough to do, but he’s got real issues with women.”
“A woman who’s an equal to him in every way like you? That’s his problem and the nut we have to crack in order to get him to trust you.”
“He’s trying to change, Wyatt. I don’t know if he’ll ever fully accept me as a teammate, but last night, he was right there for all of us.”
“I’m going to assign you two together on a mission based upon what you just shared with me. It will keep Ram moving in the direction I need him to go.” Holding up his hand, he added, “Don’t expect miracles, Ali. He’s going to be like molasses in winter: slow to change.”
“What man isn’t?” she deadpanned, watching Wyatt smile broadly, beaming.
“Yeah, you got us dead to rights there.”
“I’m glad we had this talk. You’ve helped me start to see Torres in a different light. A better one.”
“I’m right there with you. Torres is a fine shooter and I don’t want to lose him. But he knows what I need from him and you know what I need from you.”
Quirking her lips, she admitted, “Yes, and in the past when we clashed head on over something, I’ve had a smart mouth on me. I need to rein it in and give him some room to bumble around as he tries to make these changes.”
Giving her a warm look, Wyatt said, “You’ve nailed it, Ali. Back off, don’t challenge him if it’s not necessary. He’s a good man we have to salvage from a pretty heartbreaking past. In other words, he’s a good piece of cloth to work with, as my ma would say. We just need him to realize that not all women are like the one who damaged him so badly in his childhood.”
She stood up. “Received loud and clear, Boss. Now, I need to go clean my weapon and my gear.”
“Go. And thanks for your insights on Torres.”
Nodding, she said, “Now that I know what you’re looking for, I’ll be able to give you better feedback next time around.” Lifting her hand, she said, “I’m outta here . . . ”
She opened the door but left it slightly ajar since Wyatt always wanted to see who was coming and going from the compound. Dragging in a deep breath, Ali headed to the armory room. Each of the SEALs had a locker in there and it held all their equipment, including their weapons. There was no one in the recreational and TV room, but it was early. On days off, the guys liked to watch reruns of sports or pass time with the Xbox or computer games. Pulling the door open to the locker room, she saw it was empty, too. That was a relief! She needed time alone to think through what Wyatt had just shared with her.
She retrieved her M4 and took it to a table to disassemble after spreading out a tarp. As she cleaned it and put it back together, she realized she was seeing Torres in a new light—a better one. If he hadn’t dropped that thick, hard shield he wore around himself like a good friend, she’d never have glimpsed the real man who lived behind it. Ali wasn’t about to tell Wyatt her own, personal feelings about that hour they were in the back of the truck together. The children had opened Torres up, and he’d shown kindness and gentleness toward them. How she wished he could share that side of himself with the team!
She’d had a lot of bosses while she was a sniper, but Wyatt was heads and shoulders above all of them. His knowledge of psychology, great managerial skills, and his desire for his people to have the best experience they could while with him was a rare combination and Ali knew it. They both wanted the same thing: to bring Ram into the fold. Heartened by his changes last night, Wyatt seemed not only relieved, but pleased. Cheerfully, she went about the business of cleaning her other weapons.
Shaking her head, Ali had no idea what the next couple of years of her life would be like with SEAL Team One. She couldn’t have landed in a better one with Lockwood leading them. His reputation was pure gold and she felt more than lucky to have been placed within his team. It felt good to know her boss was fair and honest toward those beneath his leadership. Even though they would be deployed back to Afghanistan every six months, she’d be stateside the other six. She could hardly wait to see her family again. She really missed them, especially her mother’s home cooking, her father’s good humor and laughter, and Cara as her chief confidante. For a moment, Ali felt the full force of loneliness that came with her chosen lifestyle.
Husna’s bruised face and black eye rose in her mind, and she knew without a doubt that the path she’d chosen was service of a unique nature. If their SEAL team hadn’t been there, those fifteen children’s lives would have turned into a nightmare of unimaginable pain and grief, followed by death. Last night, their team had made a huge difference, but that mission would never see the light of day. Only those within the SEAL community, the Intelligence section, would know what happened. There were no medals for this kind of service, but Ali didn’t want them, anyway.
Best of all, Ram Torres was trying to change, too. She sensed that this team was the family he’d never had, and he was happy here with them—well, she didn’t know about happy. Torres wasn’t one to joke around with anyone. She’d rarely seen him laugh, and smiles weren’t common to him either. But all that had changed last night, and the man she saw had moved her in a new way. The children had been the witnesses and beneficiaries to this amazing change.
His gentleness with them tugged at her heart, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. This was very new for Ali, and it made her a bit nervous. What was going on?
Last night had been a game-changer for her, and Torres would never know how attractive she’d found him. It was just another secret she would carry within her, never giving it voice. If he didn’t trust women—and she definitely was one—there was no point in taking these thoughts any further.
It was just as well, Ali decided, because now she could look forward to a gradual thaw in their relationship. Working together would be far more pleasant, and she sensed that he would do whatever it took to stay with the team—and certainly Wyatt wanted to keep him with them. She’d just take one day at a time with Torres, and who knew where that would lead?
CHAPTER 7
The skin on Sergeant Ali Montero’s neck crawled, warning her of danger. She lay on her belly on the slope just below the top of the hill, the pebbles biting into her lower body. Her Kevlar vest protected her upper body so the irritating, sharp stones wouldn’t distract her. She lay with a .300 Win Mag sniper rifle, the barrel resting on a bipod, the butt of it nestled deeply into her right shoulder.
Even in July in Afghanistan the night air was freezing, sweeping off the mountains surrounding them. Keeping her eye an inch away from the special infrared, she continued to slowly pan the area a mile in front of where the SEAL team lay in wait. Tonight, they were tasked with a snatch-and-grab mission. The barrel of her Win Mag was draped with special cloth to prevent any enemy in the area from seeing the possible glint off the long barrel beneath the quarter moonlit sky. Sighting, she watched a small Taliban encampment that had just stopped for the night. There were three caves behind them, with a grove of trees and bushes separating them. She counted ten tangos, sitting around in a circle. They had dug a hole in the earth to start a small fire, hoping it couldn’t be seen. There was a round metal grate over the hole and an old blackened copper kettle setting on top of it to heat water.
Her job was to watch the SEAL team members get into placement, searching for any problems they might run into, checking if the horses were either lying down on the line or sleeping with heads hanging. They all had their NVGs in place, and patiently waited for orders to be given to start the op.
“They’re making tea,” she said in a low voice. The other seven SEALs lying on either side of her wore earpieces, and were in constant communication with one another. “I count ten Taliban sitting in a circle. They’ve put their AK-47s down and are getting ready to have tea.”
“Roger that,” Wyatt drawled. “Can you make out any of their faces?”
Frowning, she said, “I’ll try.” They were after four top-level Taliban leaders from the province that their intellige
nce people said were a part of this group. If possible, they wanted to take them as prisoners for interrogation. If not, the enemy was going to die in the heat of battle with the SEAL team. Mouth tight, Ali panned around the group, stopping at each face. Her scope used starlight and moonlight effectively and as she moved around the circle, she studied each enemy’s face. It took five minutes to complete the sweep.
Lifting her face away from the scope, she looked to her right where Wyatt was lying close beside her, watching the group through a pair of specialized night binoculars. “All four of our targets are there. Confirmed.”
“Good.” Wyatt’s Texas drawl came out pleased and low. “Now we wait.”
Yes, Ali knew that order. Nights were colder than hell, heavy snow still clogging some, but not all, the mountain passes and valleys. Knowing the drill, Wyatt would order the rest of his team to encircle the unsuspecting Taliban. They had chosen a low slope off a mountain that rose far above them. There was a rounded hill a thousand feet high behind where they were lying that had the three caves.
Ali had spotted three cave openings, dark maws, behind where the tangos were camped. Their horses were tied on a rope line between two scrub trees, the saddles removed. It was typical of the Taliban to stop traveling at dusk. They had no night vision goggle capabilities and always packed it in when it became dark to have hot tea, eat, and then sleep. Come dawn, they’d be on the move again, creating carnage at the next village they encountered. It was clear to her that this small group was pretty arrogant, since they had only one guard out on watch. They obviously felt safe—which would work to the team’s advantage.
“I’m worried about those caves,” she confided to Wyatt. “We arrived here half an hour ago. How do we know there aren’t Taliban in those caves sleeping through the night?”
“We don’t,” he admitted. “And usually, when they go into caves, they go as far back from the entrance as they can get—for good reason.” He lifted the binoculars, studying each opening. “And if there are tangos in those caves, it doesn’t seem like this outside group knows about it.”
“But that’s not unusual,” Ram spoke up. “These groups may or may not know one another until they set eyes on each other. They don’t have the communication links we do.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt growled unhappily, “you’re dead on, Ram.”
“But that doesn’t mean there’s Taliban in one or all of those three caves,” he said.
“Roger that. They only have to be in one, and if someone is in there we’re compromised.”
Ali scowled. “And there’s no way to know if there is or isn’t?”
“If one of those horses snorts in a cave, you can bet the horses outside it will hear them. They might raise their heads and look in a particular direction,” Wyatt said. “Or nicker a greeting in return. All we can do is keep an eye on the horses on the picket line. They’ll be the first to hear a noise or recognize a sound that gets their attention. Keep your scope on them, too.”
Ali knew this type of situation was dicey as hell. Taliban routinely used caves. “Then if someone was inside the cave, why wouldn’t they hear these other guys ride up?”
“They could be far back. You know how sounds are muted in a cave system,” Wyatt murmured. He sighed. “All we can do is watch. It’s a 50-50 chance there’s someone in those caves. If there is and we try to snatch and grab, they’re gonna come pouring out of the cave with their AK-47s.”
Ali knew what that meant. They were a small team. Taliban sometimes were twenty or thirty men to a group and there was no way the SEALs could take them on, much less grab their targets. No, it would be a busted op, for sure. Wyatt would give them orders to return to where they were, and they’d disappear over the hills to catch an MH-47 home. The price of any SEAL dying, she knew, weighed heavily on Wyatt if they were discovered. She could feel him measuring the unknowns of the mission.
“Torres and Allen, take the left flank,” Wyatt ordered the SEALs quietly. “I want all three teams to try to get within a quarter mile of our targets.”
Ali heard a lot of clicks on the radios acknowledging his orders. Speaking was kept at a bare minimum. The clicks would acknowledge that the SEAL teams had heard Wyatt’s order.
“Cousins and Felix, you’re opposite me and Ali.”
Two more clicks on the radio.
“Cerney and Ledlow, right flank.”
Two more clicks on the radio.
Ali was aware of their slow movement down the slope and then, in pairs, the SEALs left the command area heading silently for their assigned positions. They would move slowly and quietly. Horses, as they all knew, were super sensitive, picking up on the slightest sound or movement. If the animals detected them, their mission was blown. It would take them at least an hour to reach their assigned destinations, and that would be after crawling over gravel, and around rocks and brush so as not to disturb anything—plus the biting, freezing cold constantly assaulting them at this eight-thousand-foot altitude.
This wasn’t their first rodeo on a snatch-and-grab op. Since coming to J-bad, Ali had been assigned to one of the most active teams, battling the Taliban on a nearly bi-weekly basis. SEAL Team One and Three had many such operational teams positioned at the northern airport and base in J-bad. They had been following this particular group from the higher reaches of the mountain, remaining hidden in the forest groves dotting the area, paralleling them, waiting for the right time to close in and grab the tangos. It was her job, at the right time, to shoot to kill the unwanted Taliban, leaving the three teams out in the field to draw closer and then capture the suspects. Lockwood would be with her at all times, directing and choreographing the snatch.
Tension thrummed through her. She lay on the slope, legs slightly spread, her .300 Win Mag resting on a bipod, its butt familiar, even comforting against her right shoulder.
If only Lockwood’s ‘talk’ with Ram Torres had continued to change his behavior toward Ali. He had been halfway decent on the truck mission, and on several other ops as well. But for some reason, not on this one.
Lockwood continued to observe the tango group through his binoculars, unmoving beside her.
A bit of anger flamed deep within her as Wyatt continued to sweep the area. At J-bad, just before they boarded the MH-47 flown by Night Stalker pilots, Ram had arrogantly approached her.
“Don’t fuck this up, Montero. Not like you did the last two times.”
She’d winced inwardly, refusing to let him know how much his words hurt her. The glitter in his eyes, his hands imperiously resting on his hips as he lorded over her, made her even more furious. It seemed Lockwood’s talk with him had only gone skin deep and lasted less than a month.
“Go fuck yourself, Torres.”
He stood there, his mouth a hard, single line as he held her glare. “You screw this op up and all hell’s gonna break loose.”
“You got a bitch about me? Go to Lockwood. Don’t come to me.” She moved away from him, picking up her gear bag and holding the .300 Win Mag rifle by the strap across her shoulders.
Torres was right—on the last two missions, she had made mistakes. But they were small ones, not costly ones. Wyatt was with her at all times, continuing to teach her the finer points of snatch-and-grab—and he expected mistakes. Ali knew Torres was aware that she was a ‘cherry’ in the group, and that Wyatt was training her. What the hell had made him regress? Did he get an email from his family? Did someone die that he loved? She just didn’t know and it frustrated her.
She had plenty of confidence that was sometimes misinterpreted as pride by others. In the past, he was forever getting in her face before a mission, reminding her she was newbie to their team. So far, she’d not brought the most recent situation to Wyatt, although she could have. Torres was not going to drive her off.
As a Marine, she’d had plenty of provocative and mean spirited coercion slammed against her among the male Marines to try to get rid of her, too. She didn’t quit boot camp and that was ye
ars earlier. And when she showed her marksmanship skills, she was sent directly to the best school in the world: The Marine Corps Sniper School.
And while it was true she screwed up on the two earlier snatch-and-grab ops, Wyatt praised her for all the things she did right—not what she’d done wrong. Later, back at J-bad he discussed where she went wrong, but also how to correct it on the next op—and that’s what she did. She only made a mistake once. Ali was a perfectionist and when Lockwood brought her to his office he didn’t make a big deal about it. Instead, he said that it was just part of fitting in, learning the way his team performed, the tempo of the mission and compensating when things went FUBAR. It was a learning curve, he’d told her, nothing more. It irritated her that Torres had come up to her and rubbed salt in her wounds just before boarding the MH-47 helicopter. He’d been so great on that child-kidnapping op. And for the last month, she could see him really trying with her.
Even better, Mazzie, the little dog he’d rescued, had become the SEAL mascot at the compound. Her broken foot healed, she’d filled out to her true weight of twenty-five pounds, and was frisky and loving. She was everyone’s best buddy. Sometimes, she’d see Mazzie leap into Torres’ lap as he was watching TV with a couple of other SEALs, and he would pet and hold her. Everyone loved Mazzie and everyone told Torres that they liked having the dog around. It reminded them of home and family. But then, he suddenly turned on her again and she felt like she was dealing with a Jekyll and Hyde personality. Her gut told her something had set him off. It wasn’t her, it had to be something else—at home perhaps. She’d noticed the last three weeks he’d become more snarly and snippy with the men on their team, as well. Something was wrong but she couldn’t pinpoint what had set him off.
Ali slowly panned rifle from left to right, keeping tabs on where everyone was located, giving Wyatt a meter distance of each team to their target insertion point. Once the teams were in place, they would slowly, silently, move directly toward their targets.
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