Lindsay McKenna - Protecting His Own

“Okay, Sam, I’m going to level with you,” he said finally, sitting up and pinning her with his gaze. “We have no other Recon teams left. They’re all out in the field, providing protection in the other areas. Area 5 has none. It does have a marine fire team, but that’s not enough, since it looks as if the Diablos, the survivalist gang, are a major problem in that area. For all we know, they may have their base there. There’s no hard evidence of it, but it appears to be a possibility.”

“Okay,” Sam murmured, “so you’re telling me I’m stuck with Gunnison, right? He’s the last man on earth I’d want to deal with on this mission, yet he’s my partner in this?”

“I’m afraid so,” Morgan said apologetically. “If I could, I’d give you another team, Sam. Honest to God, I would. But this is beyond my scope to change. I think, right now, that we need to focus on what’s really important here—setting up medical sites to handle this emerging epidemic. Somehow, you and he are going to have to overlook past insults and injuries, take the higher ground here and get along.”

Quirking her lips, Sam said, “I can do it. But can he? Honestly, Morgan, he’s a trip. He thinks he’s God on earth. His men worship the ground he walks on. Gunnison thinks that everything he says ought to become law and then some. This guy does not know how to compromise or even delegate.”

“I hear you,” Morgan said unhappily. “Look, here’s what I can do, because I have you written in for a helo flight tomorrow morning at 0600 with him and his team. I can call Gunnison in, read him the riot act, give him a paternal talk about getting along with you and letting past history go for the sake of saving people’s lives.”

“Good luck,” Sam murmured. “Oh, hell, Morgan, I understand you’re caught between a rock and a hard place. My E.R. has been in that position since the earthquake occurred. Let me go gather my team, okay? Can I get a delivery of medical supplies, to bring with me to fight the epidemic?”

“Thanks, Sam. You’re special. You really are. I’m going to try and get Captain Gunnison to realize that about you. Sure, get your list of supplies together and bring it over to me. I’ll contact the loadmaster down at the airfield and make sure you get what you want on board that chopper later today. It’ll be a Sea Stallion, by the way, so it can hold extra cargo as well as people.”

“Fine,” she sighed. Shaking her head, she gave him a wry look. “Never a dull moment, is there?”

“Not in an emergency of this magnitude,” Morgan agreed quietly. “But you’re the right person for this mission, which we’re calling Operation Rescue. You access area 5. You find three locations for medevacs. You have Captain Gunnison call in the coordinates to me, and I’ll make them happen within twenty-four hours, to give those poor folks some intervention. Maybe then,” he sighed, “we can nip some of this epidemic before they start raging.”

“Humph,” Sam groused, standing. “Bad water’s the reason for many of these health problems. I know the helos are flying in as many cases of water as they can. But there are too many people out there, Morgan, and not enough clean water. They’re going to drink questionable stuff rather than die, and that brings on cholera, typhus and a whole host of other uglies.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” he said, smiling. Getting up, he thrust his hand across the desk. Sam’s grip was warm and firm. “Thanks. For everything. I’ll talk to Gunnison today.”

Wrinkling her nose, she released his hand and growled, “Oh, yeah, that’s like telling a pit bull not to bite. Good luck, Morgan. You’re gonna need it with that stiff-necked marine.”

February 2: 1500

Captain Roc Gunnison scowled, opening and closing his right hand as he sat in his executive officer’s cubicle at the Recon company barracks. Morgan Trayhern had just left and Roc still had a bitter taste in his mouth from his meeting with the venerable ex-marine and head of Perseus. Glaring at the bulkheads, which were covered with photos chronicling his four years at Annapolis, his rise through the ranks of the Marine Corps and the awards he’d received for innovation within the reconnaissance arm of it, he quirked his lips.

Before he had time to ponder the situation, Sergeant Buck Simmons entered and came to attention. The twenty-six-year-old redhead was a hell of a noncom and Roc was glad to have him as a member of his five-men Recon unit.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?”

“Yes. At ease, Buck. We’ve got a mission.” Roc saw surprise followed by an almost feral gleam of pleasure in Buck’s eyes.

“Really, sir?”

Smiling grimly, Roc said, “I know you’ve been antsy, Buck, and wanting to take a ride outta this place.”

“Yes, sir, I would!”

“Well, you’re getting your wish, but I don’t know…” He stopped short. As an officer, Roc couldn’t let on to the politics of the situation. The enlisted people under his wing couldn’t know that he was seething with anger over being stuck with Dr. Andrews on this mission. “Anyway,” Roc growled, lifting his head, “get the team prepared to saddle up at 0530. We’re taking a Sea Stallion into area 5.”

“Are we going after Diablo?” Buck leaned forward, his lips curling back to reveal his teeth, like a wolf anticipating jumping a quarry.

“Kind of…” Roc muttered. But not really. He wanted to say, We’re playing baby-sitter to that pain-in-the-arse doctor we had a run-in with six months ago, but he didn’t. “We’re going to be protecting a group of medical people coming in to canvass the area and set up three medevac stations. The epidemic is breaking out all across the basin, as you probably know. We’re going in to make sure the Diablos don’t get to the medevacs before the people can get help.”

Frowning, his thin red brows bunching, Buck rubbed his chin. “Are we going to be baby-sitters, sir?” The words came out with a distinct distaste.

Roc’s grin was twisted. “Now, Sergeant…we do what we’re ordered to do. This is an important logistical step in getting the people of the L.A. basin the help they need. We’ll be playing a key role in makin’ it happen.” Roc saw Buck’s green eyes narrow.

“Well, sir, maybe after baby-sittin’ duties, we can kind of nose around for Diablo on our off-hours?”

Roc’s grin widened. “All things bein’ equal, Sergeant, yeah, we might be able to do that if circumstances dictate. But for now, get the team squared away today and ready to push off at 0530—at pad Bravo at the airport tomorrow.”

Coming to attention, Buck said, “Yes, sir!” He did an about-face and quickly left the cramped office.

Moving to the map of the quake zone, showing the entire southern Los Angeles area divided up into quadrants by Logistics, Roc studied area 5. But his mind wandered back to that redheaded witch of a woman doctor he was going to have to tangle with—again.

“What the hell kind of karma do I have?” he muttered out loud, turning back to his desk.

“Sir?”

Turning with surprise, Roc saw Lance Corporal Ted Barstow, also young and also part of his team, standing expectantly in the doorway. “Yes, Barstow?”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Er…Sergeant Simmons sent me up to ask if you want demolitions loaded with our equipment. He said this was a milk run, not a real mission. We’re babysitting?”

Wryly, Roc smiled to himself. He leaned against the edge of his green metal desk. “We’re protecting. And yes, load everything. We’re going in as a Recon team prepared for any and all possibilities.” He saw Barstow’s triangular face light up with enthusiasm. Barstow was their demo expert, the guy who set the claymore mines and anything else he could get his hands on to blow up the enemy. Barstow was like a mad scientist, always fiddling with chemicals to see what would happen. A couple of times he’d had his hair and eyebrows singed, playing around with volatile concoctions. What Barstow should do was go to college and take classes, but the Oregon native didn’t take to schooling. He had grown up in the Cascade Mountains, was an outdoors kid who hunted for food for his family’s table. After barely getting his high school diploma, he’d joined the Marine Corps and had found his niche in the Recon marines.