Pussycat Death Squad

by Holcomb, Roslyn Hardy

  Lelia finished reading the article and tuned back in to what the Colonel was saying. He was consulting with three aides as to what his response should be. With the Colonel still standing, she automatically assumed an at-ease position, legs spread shoulder-width apart, hands crossed at the base of her spine. Despite her rigorous training, she was unable to remain expressionless when she heard what they were planning.

  The Colonel was practically foaming at the mouth. “Did you see where he all but called me a pedophile? Did you see where he totally misrepresented the age of some of the Guard members? Eight years old? I don't have any guards that young!”

  Lelia didn't respond. In fact, she'd been chosen for duty when she was only eight years old. Several other members had also joined when they were that young. Not surprisingly, Colonel al-Fariq had never been one to trouble himself with absolute facts.

  “Only Americans could turn something so honorable into something perverted and disgusting.”

  Lelia watched him work himself into a proper rage. Given that it was almost a daily occurrence, she didn't feel compelled to speak until the four men began strategizing a response to the article. Aghast at what she was hearing, she looked into the faces of each of the three aides who were huddled around the Colonel. She'd never cared for any of them; they were mere sycophants, desperate to curry favor with their leader. They had a tendency to indulge his more extravagant notions, but still…

  “Sir,” she spoke up, even though as a member of his personal Guard she was supposed to remain silent unless he ordered her to speak. “Sir, this soldier requests permission to speak.”

  Colonel al-Fariq looked up at her. Even with his advancing age, he was still a very handsome man. His typical Arab features—sharp bone structure and thick hair that was still mostly black—were marred by the deep frown he'd worn throughout the conversation.

  Lelia continued when he indicated that she might. “Sir, I don't understand how having the Amazonian Guard train with American marines would be at all beneficial.”

  The Colonel gestured to one of his aides to explain. The man spoke in a patronizing tone. “It's simple, Sergeant. Training with the Marines will demonstrate that the Guard is far from being a group of pussycats. Also, going to America will demonstrate that you are not isolated and have chosen to serve our leader.”

  Going to America? How had she missed that? Lelia felt her jaw slacken in shock. It took a moment for her training to kick in and school her features back into a regulation expression. She struggled to come up with an argument to defeat their plan. She risked a glance at Colonel al-Fariq, who was clearly in agreement with what they had proposed. How could she explain that it was an invitation to disaster without making her soldiers sound immoral and incompetent?

  “Sir, as you know, there have been many attempts on your life of late. Obviously we cannot be here guarding you and in America at the same time.”

  The Colonel nodded. “Yes, we've considered that. I think I can do well with a contingent from my regular troops. It is only for a month or so, and I don't have a very heavy agenda in the coming weeks.” His aides murmured their agreement.

  Lelia couldn't stop her gasp of dismay. A month? Had they lost all reason? She too was upset about the article, but surely it didn't call for such a dire response. Clearly there was something more going on, and the Colonel had no intention of confiding in her. Her thoughts scurried frantically as she cast about for another excuse but finally had to resort to the literal truth. “Sir, many of our soldiers are very young and impressionable—” she began, only to be interrupted when al-Fariq rose to his feet with a roar.

  “Are you implying that this article is correct? That simple marines will be able to undermine my personal Guard?” He gave her a sly look. “What are their names? Why have I not been informed at such a security breach? Clearly they're not worthy to serve me and shouldn't be in my personal Guard.”

  Lelia took a deep breath, recognizing the threat for what it was: he would decimate the Guard in a fit of pique. She automatically resorted to a rote speech designed to pacify the Colonel's whims. “I'm sorry, sir. Obviously I'm not communicating well and misspoke. I would never retain even one recruit who would jeopardize your safety and the security of our beloved country. Even the greenest recruit is above that. We have always chosen women of character, who are both intelligent and loyal. Those standards have never failed us. I was simply concerned about exposing them to American decadence. I don't believe they would ever falter, but we are at a critical point in the training of the new recruits.”

  “I expect my Guard to be prepared to follow my orders at all stages of their training.” He tempered his tone. “Sergeant, we are at a…delicate point in some very important negotiations at the moment. Much as I am loath to comply, public relations is an important part of this deal. Surely, you would want to do everything in your power to ensure the economic stability of this country.”

  Lelia nodded, her stomach sinking as she realized that she had no chance to change his mind. Since when was he concerned about public relations? She couldn't imagine what could be so important that he would threaten the termination of the Amazonian Guard. She knew that he enjoyed the novelty of being surrounded by female bodyguards very much. The fact that they were lethal was merely an added bonus. Even if none of them had been capable of anything more than repairing a broken nail, he would still have enjoyed the cachet of having them.

  The Colonel was both cunning and sly, two traits that had kept him in power for longer than she had been alive. Sharper opponents had failed to outmaneuver him. Equivocation and political machinations had never been her strong suits. She was definitely overmatched. I should've waited until we were alone, she chided herself. She knew he respected her. More than once she'd been able to change his mind by arguing against his ideas, but not when he had his lackeys in attendance. He couldn't back down in front of them, especially from the suggestion of a woman, even if she was in charge of his personal Guard. Unable to parse her way around it now that she had made such a critical tactical error, Lelia simply tried to minimize the damage.

  “Understandable, sir. May I ask when you would like this joint training to take place?”

  The Colonel paused, slowly sinking into his massive chair. He glanced at his aides, then turned his attention back to her. “I think it should happen right away. This magazine has wide circulation, and this article and the photos are all over the Internet as well. It is best to address such rubbish as quickly as possible.” He turned to one of his aides. “Bahir, talk to our man in the American State Department. I am sure they already know of this and will understand the need for expediency in this matter. I think an American Marine Corps base would be most appropriate.” The man hurried off to do as he'd been bidden.

  “As you wish, Colonel. We will be ready.” Lelia almost gave a sigh of relief when the next shift of guards came on duty, releasing her to return to the barracks.

  * * *

  Lelia sailed through the air, her flying back kick connecting with the punching bag at an angle that would've snapped an opponent's neck. She landed another flying kick; dive-rolling out of the move with the speed and grace of an elite gymnast. She paused for a moment to gather her waning strength, looking up when a towel was handed to her.

  “Sergeant, you don't have to prove yourself to any of us.”

  Lelia took the towel, wiping it over her face and dripping-wet head, before following up on her equally sweaty limbs. Her keigogi was soaked through, helping her decide to end the training session.

  “I know that, Astaria,” she responded to her best friend. “These late-night sessions don't have anything to do with proving myself. And you don't have to address me by my rank when we're alone.”

  “I prefer it, especially when we're here in the barracks. Even the walls have ears.”

  Lelia nodded her agreement. “You've always been very clever.” Gesturing toward the clock which indicated that it was almost midnight, she smi
led at her friend, “What are you doing out at this hour? We have training tomorrow morning at six.” She tugged at the band that held her long, narrow braids in place. She wanted desperately to wash her sweaty hair, but at this late hour would have to go to bed with a wet head. A drop of perspiration ran across her scalp and down her back, making the decision for her.

  “I couldn't find you and thought you might be here. I know you like to train late at night.”

  Lelia stood up, draping the towel around her neck. “I had a lot to think about. Sometimes having something to punch helps me to work it out.” With her punishing schedule and being solely responsible for twenty-nine other women, some of whom had barely reached puberty, the gym was a blessed respite. The state-of-the-art facility had all the latest fitness equipment, but it also included old-fashioned training methods such as kettle bells and weight sleds. Lelia was not impressed by flash. She needed results and was willing to employ whatever methods were necessary to achieve them. Though most of the Guard hated pulling the weighted sled and complained that it made them feel like oxen, she ignored their complaints and drove them harder. The Colonel's life and the lives of all her soldiers depended on it.

  Astaria followed her as she walked across the gym floor, maneuvering around a set of jumping horses designed to improve coordination and strength. “Does this have anything to do with us going to America?”

  Lelia stopped in her tracks. “Who told you about that? I only found out myself earlier today.”

  “I told you, even the walls have ears around here. You know that. Everybody knows about it.”

  Lelia heaved a heavy sigh, shaking her head in irritation.

  Astaria continued, “I can't believe you didn't tell me about it.”

  Lelia struggled unsuccessfully to stifle feelings of guilt. “I had planned to tell everyone tomorrow morning. I wanted to take some time to work out some strategy first, but you're right. I should have told you.”

  “What are you strategizing about? Is there a problem?”

  “I can't believe you asked that. Of course there's a problem. A fairly large one.”

  “And that is…” Astaria raised a gracefully arched brow.

  “You know a lot of these girls are young and impressionable. They're mad for anything American. You've seen the way they swoon over American pop stars. Imagine their reaction to actually going there.”

  Astaria shook her head. “That may well be, Sergeant, but you know that every member of the Guard would lay down her life for you. They're loyal to you, not the Colonel—”

  “Don't say that,” Lelia interrupted her friend. “Nemo unquam sapiens proditori credendum putavit.”

  “No wise man ever thought that a traitor should be trusted,” Astaria translated. “I know my Cicero as well as you do, and there are no traitors here. We both know it, and Colonel al-Fariq knows it just as well.”

  “Even so, it's best not to speak treason out loud, or at all, if one is smart. No point in testing his patience.” She began walking again, winding a towel around her wet head as she headed for the showers in the back of the gym. “You're the one who reminded me that the walls have ears here. How do you think the Colonel would react if he heard what you just said? If you don't mind, I prefer my head attached to my body.”

  “Colonel al-Fariq outlawed beheadings when he came to power thirty years ago.”

  “I have no doubt he'd make a special case for me. I do agree that it's unlikely that any of the Guard will run off with one of the Americans. I just don't want them exposed to their condescending ways and arrogance, but there's nothing I can do about it now.”

  “Lelia, I doubt all Americans are that way about Arabs. You just met some bad ones.”

  “I've traveled more with the Colonel than the rest of you. The stupid questions and assumptions are quite aggravating. Anyway, there's nothing I can do about it now. I will just have to do my best to prepare my soldiers for the interlopers.” She stood in the doorway of the shower room.

  Astaria rolled her eyes. “Interlopers? Next you'll be calling them infidels.” She threw her hands up and began walking toward the barracks.

  “Don't think I haven't already.”

  Chapter Two

  “Wow, did you see that one?”

  Gunnery Sergeant Patrick McBride stepped back from the rail of the balcony overlooking the gym where the Amazonian Guard was training. They had been given their own gym and barracks on a seldom-used part of the base. Patrick wondered at the corps' ability to transform the previously empty building into a well-equipped gym and very comfortable barracks in less than three days. He studied the room in amazement. Say what you would about Colonel Brown—and he frequently did—that woman certainly got things done and always in an outstanding manner. Though he hadn't been there, he'd heard other marines refer to their barracks as the Pussycat's Den. He just hoped Colonel Brown never heard about that little bit of corps humor. “I could hardly miss her. You've been pointing out attractive women since they got here,” he chided his companion, Staff Sergeant Michael Stark. “I thought you understood that it's rude to ogle women under these circumstances?”

  “Oh come on, gunny. Don't tell me you haven't noticed how hot they are.” His sweeping gesture encompassed the twenty-or-so women training below them. They were practicing a variety of training techniques from boxing to what seemed to be gymnastics. Both men were transfixed.

  “What I have or have not noticed is immaterial.”

  “Look at them; there's women down there from every race on the planet. It's like some kind of smorgasbord of hot women, and you're going to tell me you haven't noticed,” Stark said.

  Patrick approached the rail again. “Yes, I've noticed, but if you don't want to be busted back down to mosquito wings on this candy-ass assignment, don't be caught with your hands in the cookie jar. I don't know about you, but I worked hard for this rank and I plan to keep it. You got me, Staff Sergeant?”

  “What the hell is that they're wearing, anyway?” Stark changed the subject, gesturing toward the women, who were wearing closely tailored camouflage uniforms. Unlike the loose uniforms soldiers around the world typically wore, these were tapered with princess seams, with wide pistol belts that emphasized waists made almost impossibly small by years of grueling exercise. The trousers were not bloused at the knee over heavy combat boots, which was the norm for most military uniforms. Instead, theirs were boot-cut and worn with a high-heeled boot. Most arresting were the formfitting T-shirts some were wearing in the warmth of the gym. The cut did nothing to disguise the distinctly feminine curves underneath.

  Patrick shook his head. “I think somebody said their uniforms are made by some designer,” he said with a dismissive gesture.

  “Come on, Trick. What have you got against this assignment anyway? It sounds like a nice cushy detail, and even if we can't touch, there's no harm in looking, is there?”

  “I've got better things to do than play political games with a bunch of Commando Barbies. Colonel Brown made it clear that this was an important assignment and political dynamite. Apparently there's some hush-hush deal going down having to do with strategic metals. I have no idea what it's about, but it's probably nothing good.”

  “But you said she also told you it could seriously boost our careers,” Stark responded, an eager gleam in his eyes.

  “I know you're bucking for a promotion, Stark, but trust me, you're more likely to lose one than gain one on the colonel's 'special assignments.'” He shook his head forcefully. He'd been Colonel Brown's pet now for several years, and his distaste for her special details had grown stronger with each assignment. Stark was one motivated, squared-away marine, but being motivated and ambitious could land him in a world of trouble. Patrick knew that firsthand.

  “How bad could it be? We get to play with a bunch of beautiful women, and as long as we keep our hands to ourselves, no harm, no foul. Right?”

  Patrick didn't answer. He moved toward the rail as though drawn by invisib
le forces. After a long moment, he turned to his subordinate. “She's amazing.”

  “Who?” Stark scanned the lavishly appointed room.

  The woman who had attracted Patrick's attention wasn't the most beautiful in the room, and at a little over average height, she shouldn't have stood out the way she did, but she wore her leadership mantle with obvious ease. Her long braids were pulled back into an elegant chignon. The style displayed the graceful arc of her neck and emphasized her finely drawn features. Her arched brow, pointed chin, and voluptuous mouth seemed more suited to slinky lingerie than the decidedly masculine attire she wore. The incongruity was striking and oddly arousing. In a room full of women of every hue and ethnicity, her dark-as-night skin stood out in sharp contrast. Her commanding presence, combined with lush curves accentuated by her designer BDUs, created a package that he found almost impossible to look away from.

  “Right there, Stark, over to the right. She's sparring.”