The Complete Delta Force Warriors

by M. L. Buchman

  He propped his head onto his fist, with his elbow placed on the steel deck so that he could look at her more clearly. Unsure of what she was referring to, he shrugged and hoped that she’d continue on her own. The engine roar seemed to build during her continued silence until it wrapped around them like a cocoon.

  Now it was her turn to shrug before speaking. “What’s the real reason you’ve been pushing at me so hard all month? It’s not gender bias. I figured that one out on my own.”

  “I need you for this assignment. I need a top-performing woman.”

  “There’s your one sin for the day. Now try again, without the half-lie.”

  “Some day you’ll have to tell me how you did that.”

  She shrugged maybe yes, maybe no.

  JD looked at her. Really looked. They lay closer together than he’d ever been to her. As her eyes were telling him nothing, he watched her lips for some hint of her thoughts. He could just lean in and—

  Get himself tossed into lockup for sexual harassment.

  “I’m pushing you away because…” Because he was an idiot. He should be doing anything he could to bring her close. Though much closer and they’d be in each other’s arms.

  Her gaze almost skittered aside again, but this time locked and held.

  “You a hypnotist too?” he barely managed to whisper.

  7

  Cindy wished she had a US Army Field Manual on men. JD Ramírez had been pushing her away because…he was attracted to her?

  “What kind of sense does that make?”

  His eyes crossed for a moment as he puzzled at her question.

  “You’re attracted to me?”

  “No,” his voice was flat, almost harsh again.

  “Then what?”

  He reached out and brushed a finger along her cheek.

  It sent a chill of surprise through her so strong that she couldn’t suppress the shudder.

  “It’s nothing as mild as that,” he whispered. Then he blinked hard as if suddenly coming awake.

  “Shit!”

  He sat up abruptly, leaving her lying on the sloped rear ramp trying to gather her thoughts that had just scattered to the horizon faster than the big jet’s turbulent wake.

  He didn’t go far. JD yanked off his jacket and leaned back against the charcoal gray sports car’s bumper and faced her with his knees pulled up and his elbows resting on them.

  She sat up and looked at him. They were toe to toe. Beyond him she could see the 101st Airborne fliers and grunts and a couple squads of 75th Rangers. Some slept, some were joking around. There was a poker game going on in one of the helo’s open cargo bays. They were all leaving the two Delta Force operators, their hot car, and their secret mission alone.

  Her insides were far less orderly. Everything was tied up in knots. JD didn’t hate her, which was news in itself. But he also wasn’t attracted to her—it was “nothing as mild as that.” What came after that was only too clear.

  “You pushed me so hard so that…so that I wouldn’t want to be around you?”

  He nodded, then shrugged, then shook his head. But he wasn’t looking up from his boots either.

  “I’m a patient person, JD, but you’d better explain yourself because I suck at guessing games.”

  “Where did you get such patience?” He glanced up at her, looked away, appeared to realize what he was doing and finally faced her squarely.

  “Change of subject.”

  “I asked first, and earlier.”

  “No way, José Domingo.”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “What is it then?”

  He shook his head.

  She growled in frustration. “Enough shit, Jesús Dominic or whatever your name is. Speak or I’ll beat the crap out of you. Right here. Right now. Faster than even any of the 75th Rangers can save you.”

  His smile invited her to try and she was almost tempted. When she didn’t, he studied the ceiling of the Globemaster’s cargo bay for a long moment before responding.

  “I’ve never met a woman like you, Cindy Sue,” this time it was a friendly tease rather than derision.

  So she only kicked his calf hard enough to make him flinch. He held up a hand to show that he’d finally gotten the message.

  “The way you shoot. The way you look. Both sexy as hell.” He made a point of scanning down her body.

  They were both dressed in para-military-civilian-on-holiday mode: well-worn boots, cargo pants with a few too many pockets, black t-shirts, and jeans jackets. She ignored his full-body scan, because she was doing the same. Out of his jacket and frustrated past speech, he looked beyond amazing.

  “But it’s the way you think that truly knocks me back. I’ve read your entire record, probably know it better than you do I’ve read it so many times. You don’t just think outside the box—you don’t even see it. I should have known you’d hunt me from behind,” he laughed with delight.

  It should be irritating, but she loved the sound of his laugh.

  Then he sobered abruptly. “Look. I never meant to say any of this. If you want out, we’ll scrub this mission and I’ll find another way in.”

  A sleek, late-model Dodge Viper sports car. Two Deltas posing as an adventure-seeking paramilitary couple who both looked Latino and were fluent enough in Mexican-accented Spanish to sound local. Pretending to be out of work and looking for fun in the heart of Mexico’s drug country.

  They were on a kingpin hunt.

  Most of the cartels were personality cults run by one or two charismatic individuals. Taking out El Chapo had broken the chokehold of the Sinaloa Cartel. But others had risen in their place to take advantage of the sudden weakness. Time to infiltrate and take down some more kingpins.

  It was a fantastic chance for an important and exciting assignment.

  And with JD Ramírez, the best soldier she’d never served with. But what if he was more than that?

  Cindy liked the way that sounded.

  She liked it a lot.

  “No. I’ll stay.” But she couldn’t make it too easy on him, or his ego might get out of hand. “I think this mission sounds interesting. I like a challenge.”

  8

  JD still couldn’t get a read on what Cindy was thinking. She was not a woman who wore her thoughts on her sleeve. Or on those beautiful lips.

  Her smile had either said that’s all she thought the op was, an interesting challenge. Or was it some sort of double entendre about himself. He just couldn’t tell. He could hope, but he couldn’t tell.

  Once they were seated side-by-side in the Viper—hot lady in hot car inside a combat aircraft, damn but he was doing something right—he reached into the miniscule glove compartment. The car’s cockpit was so tight, he was practically in her lap to do so. He still didn’t know if that was welcome or not, so he pulled back as fast as he could.

  “Here’s your ID.” He handed her a battered set of Mexican papers.

  She riffled them open, “Gloria Chavez.”

  “I thought it would be easy for you to remember to respond to because you’re so freaking glorious.” And he really needed to remember when to shut up.

  Cindy— No! Gloria, for the duration of this mission, held the papers to her chest as if they were somehow special.

  Before he could ask what she was thinking—not a chance she would tell him but he wanted to ask anyway—the loadmaster tapped on the hood of the car. Then he raised a hand as if pulling up the parking brake.

  JD made sure it was raised, then gave a thumbs up.

  The loadmaster began knocking loose the tie-down chains on each tire.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Juan David Ramírez on my papers.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  The loadmaster lowered the C-17 Globemaster’s rear ramp. It opened to reveal the dark of night and a remote stretch of a gravel road deep in the Sonoran Province south of Nogales.

  He tried to find some way to not answer
the question, but couldn’t find one.

  He stomped down on the brake and started the car’s engine. It thrummed to life. He could feel the vibration, but the redoubled roar from the jet and the open cargo bay door completely drowned the sound out.

  “Jimmy Dean.”

  “Like the sausage?”

  He sighed, “Exactly like the sausage. My parents wanted an American sounding name and didn’t know much English when I was conceived.”

  Her laugh sparkled to life. She reached out a hand and rested it on his arm as if to steady herself. It was the first time they’d ever touched, other than that one stolen brush of his finger down her cheek—the softness of her skin had almost undone him there and then. She’d become a thousand times more real in that moment.

  Now, with her fingers wrapped lightly around his bare forearm, energy jolted through him like lightning.

  “You asked how I was so patient?” The laugh still bubbled in her voice.

  “Yes?” JD responded cautiously. Now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear her answer.

  The loadmaster flashed ten fingers twice. Twenty seconds.

  JD slipped the car into third gear, but kept his foot on the clutch. He hit the headlights, and the outside world leaped to visibility. Beyond the open hatch and a dozen meters below, a two-lane unpaved road raced away from them. Off to the side, lay nothing but dirt and scrub brush.

  “You kept me at a distance by chapping my ass.”

  Cin—Gloria didn’t make it a question, so he didn’t do more than nod.

  The loadmaster held up ten fingers. Ten seconds to go. They flew five meters above the road.

  “I kept you at a distance with my patience. I made myself learn it so that I wouldn’t just fall into your arms.”

  He risked glancing over at her. “Since when?”

  Her smile was glowing. The same smile she’d worn after climbing down out of that hawthorn tree with her face all bloodied. The same smile she’d first shown him after acing the marksmanship test all the way back in Delta Selection.

  “Since the first time I met you, Master Sergeant JD Ramírez. I pushed like I never had before—to get you to notice me.”

  “It worked. Mary Mother of God but it worked.”

  The loadmaster thumped on the hood and flashed three fingers at him.

  Cindy locked her fingers around his arm.

  The surge of joy passed into her as he dumped the brake and the car began to roll down the ramp.

  The Dodge Viper gathered speed just as the steel ramp struck sparks and whirled a cloud of dust from the graveled surface.

  Cindy braced for the jolt of the combat drop.

  Her heart was racing, but not with the adrenaline of the tires hitting the roadway at just over a hundred miles an hour. Nor was it the deep throaty roar of the C-17 battling back aloft the instant they were unloaded to continue its journey south. The American military plane had never actually touched wheels in Mexico.

  Glorious? He saw her as glorious.

  He was right. It had worked. She was attracted, no, drawn to him like no one else in her life. That he felt the same was indeed a fantastic gift.

  JD dropped the car into gear and, without slacking off the speed one bit, they raced off into the night. She could feel his muscles as he found the right gear for swooping over the rough road. She kept her hand on his arm because that’s where it belonged.

  Juan David and Gloria.

  Maybe they’d just choose their names permanently, as they’d chosen their careers in Delta.

  Maybe, after months of playing at being a couple, she’d choose Gloria Ramírez.

  As they raced through the night toward a new adventure, she knew there was no doubt about it.

  When she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, he fishtailed hard on the gravel for a moment. Then he grinned over at her and punched it up another gear.

  Together they flew down the road.

  Her Heart and the ‘Friend’ Command

  Military War Dog handler Liza Minot finally lands her big chance. A Delta Force mission requires her and Sergey’s specialty—tracking explosives.

  When assigned to Master Sergeant Garret Conway’s squad, her past confronts her. Back in high school days, he ran over her first dog. Rex’s old age and failing health made it either a cruelty or a mercy—she still can’t decide which. However, Conway the boy and Conway the man are two vastly different problems.

  Only with her war dog’s help can they both break free of their past to track down Her Heart and the “Friend” Command.

  Introduction

  This story arrived at a curious time in my writing career.

  I had only written one other dog story before this one, Reaching Out at Henderson’s Ranch (HR #2), a full year earlier.

  But a fan who helps train MWDs convinced me that the Henderson’s Ranch series needed more dogs in it. So I’d been madly researching MWDs (Military War Dogs). Little did I know at that time that it would become the defining core of the Henderson’s Ranch series as well as the (then) barely conceived White House Protection Force series.

  This story was a complete experiment.

  Could I write an MWD into the center of the story and the center of the romance?

  I could go on for pages about these dogs because they’re simply that amazing. So I’ll restrain myself, mostly. I will say that there are several quite distinct training regimens for dogs, and there’s surprisingly little overlap:

  Drug sniffer

  Human tracker – so sensitive that they can find humans on the run, trapped under the rubble of a collapsed building (or an avalanche), or even buried underground like a mass grave

  Pure attack/protection – guard dogs

  Bomb sniffer – who can also perform attacks

  You can actually train a dog to find almost anything, their nose is on the order of two hundred times more sensitive than a human’s, but these are the main ones.

  Anyway, so I knew my key character was Sergey the dog.

  But the setting became a remarkably interesting challenge of its own.

  Afghanistan is a completely landlocked country. To the north lie three of the ’stans and a tiny, very mountainous border with China. To the west lies Iran. And to the south and east lies Pakistan.

  This meant that a hundred percent of supplies for the War in Afghanistan either had to be airlifted (incredibly expensive) or driven overland from Karachi, Pakistan.

  There are only two real road crossings along the thousand-mile border. Which means that not only US military supplies but also the supplies for ISIS and the Taliban had to flow over those same border crossings.

  To say that this makes an incredible mess is an understatement.

  But I discovered another very curious feature to these crossings. Just on the Afghanistan side of the southern crossing, there are massive warehouses. U-Store would love to have that franchise.

  Why?

  Because so many of the Afghan refugees cross here. But only at the border do the people wealthy enough to have belongings discover that, for the most part, they can’t take them across.

  So, huge volumes of personal goods are left in these warehouses on the chance that the owners can ever return to collect them.

  And there I had my setting, one ideal for the skills of a dog like Sergey.

  1

  “Today’s the day, Sergey.”

  He watched her as she lashed on her fatigues, boots, vest, and helmet. His eyes tracked every motion as she stood over her pack in the safehouse bedroom. A grand word for a faded concrete cube, peeling whitewash, and a steel cot that might have once been comfortable, but certainly wasn’t anymore. A tiny window let in the last of the day’s red light and the occasional whirl of the bitter dust that southern Afghanistan used for soil.

  “You’d make me feel crazy self-conscious, Sergey, if you weren’t a dog.” Her fifty-five pound Malinois war dog popped to his feet as she knelt beside him to strap on his own Kevlar vest. Norm
ally he’d be kenneled rather than curled up at the foot of her bunk but, since the US military had sent her to a forward operating base in Afghanistan hell, such amenities were non-existent. She far preferred having her big furry boy asleep at her feet. They both did.

  “Of course, Delta Force never is anywhere normal, are we?” She slipped the vest over his head and smoothed it down his back. Flipping the chest strap between his front legs, she buckled it into the belly of the harness. One more strap farther back and he was fully geared up. She double-checked the feed from the flip-up camera on his back and tested the infrared nightlight. Both showed up clearly on her wrist screen and her night-vision goggles. All set for a little nightwork. The small window filled with the last red of the sunset meant they’d be on the move soon.

  Delta Force. We. That was such a cool sound. She’d made it. Sideways, but she’d made it into the most elite fighting force anyway. Even Delta needed MWDs—military war dogs, though she preferred multi-pawed wagging detectors—and dogs for Special Operations needed their Spec Ops handlers. Dogs for the regular forces could transfer from one handler to the next, but it took a very special person to manage a dog trained to Delta standards.

  “You are so handsome in your vest, aren’t you?” She rubbed his ears then brushed her hands down his legs, an automatic gesture in which she checked for everything from burrs in the fur to the condition of underlying muscle and bone.

  “Where do I sign up for such treatment, Minnow?”

  She sighed. Of course no world was perfect.

  Elizabeth Minot—the nickname had been inevitable despite her family pronouncing it My-not—didn’t bother to look up at the male voice; didn’t need to turn to know what he looked like.

  Garret Conway would have shoved aside the aging drape that served as the room’s door with a military disregard for gender. He’d be slouching against one of the jambs, arms crossed over his chest as he glared down at the two of them with his dark brown eyes. He wasn’t much taller than she was, Delta selection didn’t favor tall and strong, but rather the driven and powerful. Dark hair worn long, a trim beard that eased the hard lines of his face.