Lindsay McKenna - Breaking Point

Gabe turned, standing beside the combat medic. Hammer was giving him a look of utter disbelief. “Hammer, let’s meet out at our shooting range, say at 1300?”

“You got it. You’ve picked the wrong side of this contest, Griffin.”

Shrugging, Gabe said, “Hey, I was born in Butler, Pennsylvania. I grew up with a few hill people who lived up in that neck of the woods. They were all crack shots.”

“A hundred bucks says she can’t hit any target at twelve hundred yards,” Hammer said, grinning over at his buddies.

Gabe rested his arms across the front of his H-gear around his chest. “I got a hundred that says she can nail the target dead center every time.”

Hooting and hollering broke out excitedly among the team. SEALs got easily bored, and a rifle competition whetted their weapons appetites. There was heavy betting going on, mostly against the new doc. Chief Hampton raised his hands.

“You just got back off a twelve-hour patrol. Get cleaned up, eat, write up your reports and we’ll meet at the shooting range at 1300.” Chief looked over at Bay. “You all right with this, Doc?”

Bay kept a serious face. “Yes, sir, I am.”

“I’ll collect her winnings,” Gabe told the chief, his grin widening. His team was in for one helluva surprise, he hoped.

“On that note,” Hampton said, sliding off the stool, “I’m assigning you to be her mentor, Gabe.”

More hollers and laughter broke out in the room. Hammer was gloating. “Glad it wasn’t me having to train in a cherry!” he yelled at Gabe. “You poor sorry son of a bitch.”

Gabe took the gibing good-naturedly. Cherry was a slang term for the new guy coming into the squad. He saw Bay give him a confused look.

“That means,” he told her, “I’ll integrate you into the team. It will be my responsibility to show you the ropes, teach you how we patrol. Stuff like that.”

Relief fled through her. “That’s great, Gabe. Thank you.”

Hampton gave Gabe a hard look and lowered his voice. “Give the team time, but don’t take any shit off any of ’em, either. She’s our medic. They shouldn’t care if it’s a man or woman saving their ass. Understand?”

“Yes, Chief, I do,” Gabe replied, reading between the lines. Gabe knew half the team wasn’t happy about having a woman assigned into their ranks. The only thing to do now was for her to earn their respect. Turning, he looked down into her wide, innocent-looking blue eyes.

“Can you really hit a deer at twelve hundred yards?”

Bay remained humble. She lowered her voice so only he could hear her. “Actually, I’ve dropped a couple of deer at fourteen hundred yards, but I didn’t want them thinking I was tellin’ them a big windy.”

Gabe picked up his ruck and slung it over his shoulder and gave a soft chuckle. “Come on, I need to show you where our shooting range is located.”

Grateful he didn’t hate her as half the team did, Bay carried his sniper rifle easily beneath her left arm. The rest of the SEAL team was up, walking toward the doors with them. There was a lot of laughter and ribbing going on. Mostly about her. Bay had been hazed before and tried not to take it personally.

As they left the building, Gabe Griffin at her side, the sun had risen more, taking off the chill. Automatically, Bay slipped on her sunglasses, just as he did. At eight thousand feet on a mountaintop, the sunlight was brutal. Without sunglasses, it would be hard to see enemy at times, especially in the glare. That could cost them their life.

“Down this unnamed street,” he said, gesturing down a row of tan canvas tents sitting up on plyboard platforms.

The SEALs split up, going their separate ways. Most would put their weapons in their tents and then hit the chow hall, starved. Gabe took her over to his tan-and-gray tent he shared with Phil Baker. He decided to use the tent next to his. “Doc, this is a catch-all tent for our equipment. You’ll find SEALs are real good at getting creative. I’ll rustle up a cot for you after we eat.”

“May I give you back the Win Mag? I want it kept safe.”

“Sure.” He took the weapon and placed it on his cot inside his tent. Gabe questioned why he wasn’t upset about training in the newbie, man or woman. Because of his recent divorce, he’d stepped down as LPO, lead petty officer, of the team. He’d asked the chief to assign it to Philip Baker, who was content to take over the position. The chief probably figured this was a good way for Gabe to get back into the saddle as LPO at some point in the future.

Knowing Chief Hampton as he did, going on fourth deployment with him, Gabe understood he was a wily people manager, got that he was hurting. Focusing on a newbie would take his mind off his cheating ex-wife. Gabe wasn’t at all sure, however, that dealing with another woman right now was a smartest decision, but Hampton had good insight into people and situations. Lily, his ex-wife, had broken his trust, broken his heart and broken any good feelings he had toward women in general.

In a way, he felt sorry for Bay, because she seemed sweet, unassuming and terribly innocent. Maybe looks weren’t everything, Gabe decided. He’d fallen for Lily’s blinding beauty, and look where it got him. When he emerged from the tent, Bay was waiting for him. She had an M-4 looped in a black nylon sling across his chest and right shoulder. He took her rifle and laid it on his cot next to the Win Mag. “Let’s go eat,” he said.

As they walked down through the avenues of tents toward the chow hall, Gabe knew Baylee-Ann Thorn had just stepped into a pack of alpha males who didn’t tolerate incompetence of any kind, at any level. They were hardened warriors who knew what it took to survive, and right now half of them had their new doc in their gun sights. Could she stand the heat in the kitchen? Could she measure up or not? They’d find out soon enough.

CHAPTER TWO

“THERE ARE A LOT of women in here,” Bay noted as they sat opposite from each other at a long, wooden table at the busy chow hall. The noise was high, a lot of laughter, ribbing and joking going around.

Gabe nodded, glad to get a plate of eggs, bacon, toast and grits. “You see that group of ladies over there in those tan flight suits?”

Bay looked to her left. There were at least eight women sitting together having breakfast. “Yes. Are they pilots?”

“Not just any pilots,” Gabe said, savoring the salty bacon. Out on patrols, they sweated so much they lost electrolytes. Bacon helped replace the salt in his body. “They’re from a black ops group known as the Black Jaguar Squadron. Been here for four years. It’s an all female Apache helo combat group.”

Eyes widening, Bay said, “That’s terrific. How are they doing in combat?”

Gabe smiled a little between bites. People in the military usually gulped and ran. They didn’t spend time lingering over a meal. She was the same.

“Let’s put it this way. When our comms man calls for Apaches to come and help us out, we don’t care who’s flying them. All we care about is if they can hit the target.” He rolled his shoulders after sitting up to take a breather. “Those gals can nail targets.”

“Not even Hammer and his group are unhappy with them?” As they were unhappy with her.

“Not a peep.” Gabe picked up his mug of coffee. “Hammer and a few of the other guys are worried that you won’t keep up on patrols. Or you’ll cost one of them their lives because they have to protect you instead of knowing you’ll have a gun in the fight like them.”

Nodding, Bay finished off her scrambled eggs. She reached for the strawberry jam and a knife. “That’s fair.”

“Since I’m going to be acclimating you to our team, can you tell me about working with U.S. Army Special Forces over in Iraq?” Gabe was more than a little curious about her background. Bay looked as though she belonged in a hospital. Maybe as a doctor or nurse. Not a woman in a combat zone.