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Snorting, Hammer grinned. “Your girl ain’t gonna make the grade. No one shoots a sniper rifle without some kind of bipod to steady it.” He patted his Win Mag affectionately with is hand. “Me? I do it all the time.”
Gabe nodded. “Fair enough. But if she comes closer to the center than you, then the money’s coming her way. Agreed?”
Shrugging, Hammer laughed. “Yeah, fine, Gabe. You’ve always been one for dotting i’s and crossing t’s. She ain’t gonna make the center. I know that. So, sure, I’ll agree to it. She’s gonna lose. And I’m going to shoot first.”
Feeling desolate, Bay stood up after handing the sniper rifle over to Gabe. Her stomach knotted with tension. Never had she fired without her Win Mag being braced. The rifle was very heavy, and shooting without support was tough for anyone, man or woman. Bay’s heart dropped.
Dusting herself off, she stood, arms crossed, watching as Hammer got into position. She had shot in all the positions at Camp Pendleton, used a number of rifles and pistols, but never standing and shooting over four hundred yards with any weapon. It was, in her mind, nearly impossible to shoot at twelve hundred yards standing.
Hammer fired. The bullet hit just outside the red center. The SEALs went crazy with clapping and yelling. Oz was slapping his friend on his meaty shoulder, yelling triumphantly.
Turning, Bay took the rifle from Gabe, feeling glum. When she looked up at him, he held her gaze.
“You can do this,” he told her. “I’ll talk you through it, Doc. Just listen to me and follow my directions.”
His husky words flowed through her, giving her hope. Bay nodded wordlessly. She planted her feet apart. Gabe told her to shorten her stance a bit. She did. It felt more comfortable to her. Then, as she lifted the long-barreled rifle, Gabe came over and moved her right hand an inch forward. As she rested the stock against her perspiring cheek, he stood behind her and helped her adjust the stock more tightly against her face. Some of her fear dissipated as the rifle began to feel like a living extension of herself. Gabe planted the butt of the rifle deep into her right shoulder. His eyes met hers.
“Now,” he told her, “it’s very important to hold this exact position. It will give you the balance you need to steady this rifle.” He turned and used the spotter scope one more time. She’d already dialed in, but he was double-checking. The wind was inconstant. A gust blew across the area. If she’d fired at that moment, she would have miss the target. Gabe stood beside her, talking in a low voice, giving her direction, settling her nerves.
“Now take two or three breaths. Watch the barrel move as you do. First one, find your still point and then watch where that barrel rests at that time. Then take another breath, watch the barrel move slightly upward. Make sure you have that barrel pointed at the red circle through your iron sights as you come down on the exhale. See where it rests at the still point. If the barrel is slightly off, keep breathing, keep finding your still point until you know that barrel is exactly where you want it on the red center. Then fire.”
His words resonated. Thanks to her hunting background, Bay could focus. It was easy to listen to Gabe, fall into his quiet, low tones as he guided her, reinforced her.
It took three breaths, but as Bay reached the still point the third time, she squeezed the trigger. The Win Mag jerked hard against her shoulder. Bay was prepared for it, her slightly bent knees and legs absorbing the powerful jolt.
Gabe watched the vapor trail of the bullet. It struck just inside the red center. He gave a shout of victory, turning and slapping her on the shoulder. Bay took off her sunglasses, stared openmouthed at the target, and then up at him, feeling profound disbelief. He laughed deeply and shook his head, as if he didn’t believe it himself.
Clapping and yelling broke out sporadically among the SEAL team. The officers looked at one another, amazement written on their faces. Chief Hampton stood there, grinning like a feral wolf, rubbing his hands together. No doubt about it, he’d just discovered another sniper for his platoon.
“Bull’s-eye. You made it, Doc. Damn good shooting!” Gabe placed his hand on her head and patted her on the cap. “Damn good!”
Bay couldn’t believe she’d hit within the target! Even better was Gabe’s happy, deep, rolling laughter. It made her feel good. Equally important, Bay had proven her shooting ability to the platoon. Now they realized she was another gun in the fight. She might not know patrol tactics, but Gabe would teach her and she’d become an asset to them.
Glancing behind her, she saw the officers and chief applauding. Was it relief she saw in their faces? Bay thought so. She was incredibly grateful that the contest was over.
Hammer cursed, slammed the toe of his boot into the dirt, raising a cloud of dust. He glared over at her.
“You just got lucky, Thorn. That’s all.”
Gabe took the rifle from her, safed it and rested the barrel down toward the ground. “Oh, come on, Hammer, at least be a good sport,” he cajoled, grinning. He stepped over to where Hammer and his entourage stood, holding out his hand. “You owe Doc money.”
Oz pulled out a wad of cash from his left cammie pocket and bitterly slapped it into Gabe’s palm.
Bay left Gabe’s side and walked over to Hammer. She offered her hand to him. “That was mighty fine shooting, Hammer. You’re right, I just plumb got lucky. You’re a better shooter than I’ll ever be.”
Hammer stared at her and then at her hand. Whether he wanted to or not, he reached out, grabbed her hand and shook it.
“This settles nothing,” he growled softly. “So you can shoot at targets. Big deal. Let’s wait and see how you do in the middle of a firefight.” He turned and walked away, the Win Mag thrown over his shoulder.
CHAPTER FOUR
“CHIEF,” HAMMER CALLED, “can we talk to you for a minute. In private?”
Chief Doug Hampton was just coming in at 0700 to his office when four of his SEALs were waiting for him. “Let’s go inside,” he said, opening the door and gesturing toward the planning room.
Just then Gabe arrived at their HQ. He halted just inside the entrance and watched as the Chief sat down on the stool. Four SEALs stood nearby. His intuition told him something was up. Hammer lifted his head and looked over at him.
“You might as well be in on this, too,” Hammer said to Gabe. “Come and join us.”
Gabe nodded and stood near the Chief.
“What’s on your mind?” Hampton asked Hammer.
“That woman. We’ve talked between ourselves last night, and we don’t want her in our platoon.”
Hampton pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. Your reasons?”
“She’s not a SEAL,” Hammer growled, exasperated by the obvious.
“So?” Hampton murmured.
“So she’s not trained, dammit! She doesn’t know our tactics, our formations, if we get attacked. Hell, what are we supposed to do if we have to fast-rope out of a helo? She’s not trained for that. Do we have to carry her and make ourselves targets in doing so?”
Gabe dragged in a slow, deep breath. There was genuine concern on the four men’s faces. Hammer was heading up the group, but he had had similar thoughts himself. Bay wasn’t trained in many of the situations where they knew what to do, but she didn’t. And in a firefight, there wasn’t time to teach; it was a matter of survival. He kept his mouth shut as Hammer paced the room from one side to the other. Concern and frustration were etched on everyone’s face.
Hampton rubbed his hands on the thighs of his cammies. “Your points are well taken,” he said. “It’s a good argument except for one thing, Rettig.” Pierce Rettig was the enlisted SEAL’s real name and Hampton used it when things got serious.
All four SEALs had the chief’s undivided attention.
“What’s that?” Hammer demanded testily, jerking to a halt.
“We routinely have Navy photographers, videographers, CTT boys from the Air Force who call in the heavies and close air support for us, FBI dudes, linguists or cryptologists who are assigned to go out with us,” Hampton said. “They aren’t trained SEALs, either, but we need them on certain types of patrols or direct action or recon missions. You’ve never objected to any of them coming along. So why now? Why her?” He opened his hands, his voice remaining reasonable.
Hammer cursed. He glared at the other three SEALs and then jerked his gaze back to the chief. “You’re backing her because she did sniper-quality shooting yesterday afternoon.”
Hampton smiled a little and held up his hand. “Let’s stay on the point, Rettig. You’re pissed because she’s a woman and not a man. You’ve never bitched about any guy who was assigned to your platoon before this, and you’ve been out on plenty of patrols and missions with non-SEAL assets.”
“Bullshit!”
“It sure is,” Hampton said quietly, holding the SEAL’s angry glare.
“Then I want to talk to the LT about it,” Hammer growled. “I’m not done with this, Chief. And I don’t like that you’re not handling it. That’s your job.”
“I did my job, Rettig. You just don’t like my answer or my solution.” Hampton’s voice dropped. “This is bigger than you, me or the LT. This woman is highly trained in many areas, and none of us can say we don’t want her and discharge her from this squad just because of gender prejudice.”
“That’s a bunch of crap,” Hammer snarled, walking back and forth in front of the chief, his thickset shoulders bunched with tension. “I don’t care what the Pentagon cooked up.” Hammer stopped and jabbed an index finger at the door. “That woman is trouble. And I guarantee,” he grated, breathing hard, “she is gonna get one or more of us killed because she’s not a SEAL!”
Hampton straightened a little, holding the angry SEAL’s gaze. “And what if I told you, Rettig, that there have been other women in other SEAL teams before this and that hasn’t happened? That they’ve worked very effectively in those teams without causing casualties? Matter of fact, they’ve saved men’s lives. And some of the women have lost their lives, as well, but not because of ineptitude. They’re in firefights all the time right along with the men.”
Shaking his head like a bull getting ready to charge, Hammer rasped, “I don’t believe you.”
The other three SEALs eyebrows went up collectively on Hammer’s challenging grate. It was one thing to be pissed off, but you didn’t call your chief a liar to his face. The three of them exchanged uneasy glances with one another.
Doug Hampton’s face turned hard. Hammer was pushing his weight around. If he’d been LPO, he’d have taken him out back and pounded some sense into his head. But Hampton was the man in charge of the entire platoon and wielded plenty of power. The buck stopped with him. Gabe wondered how Doug was going to handle Hammer, directly challenging his authority, his face beet red.
“Rettig,” Hampton said, standing up, “it’s time you and me had a little chat outside.”
Hammer scowled, no doubt because his superior was six feet three inches tall, thirty-five years old and in top shape. He had five deployments under his belt and knew more about fighting in Afghanistan than just about anyone. Hammer turned and looked at his three friends to see if they wanted to join him. They all backed off, their hands held up, a sign that Hammer was on his own.
Wiping his mouth, Hammer growled, “And if I don’t?”
Hampton shrugged nonchalantly. “Then I’ll beat the crap out of you right here in front of them. Your call, Rettig, because you’ve outlived your welcome with me.”
“Aw, dammit, Chief!” Hammer spun around and huffed and puffed around the room. He kept giving the chief furtive looks, trying to figure out what to do. How to back down gracefully and not come to blows.
Hampton was slowly rolling up the sleeves on his cammies to just below his elbows. “Ready?”
Gabe hid a smile. Doug Hampton could be a damn intimidating and dazzling manager with a recalcitrant SEAL when he had to be. Gabe was glad he’d had four deployments with Hampton to know he was manipulating the hell out of red-faced Hammer.
“Look,” Hammer said, holding up his hand, “I’m not about to fight you, Chief.”
“Well, then,” Hampton said in his reasonable tone, “you’re just going to have to make an attitude change, Rettig.” His voice hardened as he strode up to the SEAL and got into his face. “Because,” Hampton ground out, “you’re going to work as a team. That’s what SEALs are all about. You will—” he jabbed his index finger into Hammer’s chest “—make every effort to get along with Doc. And I won’t say this again, because next time...if there is a next time...I’ll kick your ass. Got it?”
“Yes, Chief,” Hammer breathed, his voice deflated, “I got it.”
“Good,” Hampton murmured, easing away from him. He stepped back and began to slowly unroll a cuff. “I don’t know why you don’t think she can’t fast-rope.”
Hammer gave him a shocked, quizzical look.
“As a matter of fact, I think you should get to know her a bit more. Now, I agree, Doc is a very unassuming, quiet woman who wouldn’t think of bragging on herself in any way, shape or form. She acts like a SEAL. Humble. Never talks about herself or what she’s been trained to do.” Doug rolled down the other cuff. “I read her personnel file, Rettig.” Hampton lifted his chin and stared hard at the SEAL. “She learned fast-roping at Camp Pendleton. The women who went through that one-year immersion combat course learned a lot of black op methods, including kill box routines and CQD, close quarters defense training. Yeah, maybe she’s a little rusty on fast-roping, but she’s got her special gloves, she’s got the strength and I know Gabe will refresh her if that’s what your team has to do on a particular mission.”
Hammer scowled. “You’ve got to be kidding me? She can fast-rope?”
Hampton glared at the SEAL. “I wouldn’t kid you, Rettig. Doc doesn’t know our tactics and patrols, but she’s a quick study. If I were you, I’d be thrilled pink she was assigned to us. Has it been lost on you that if your sorry ass gets pumped full of lead out there, she’s the one who’s going to try and save your sorry, prejudicial ass? And she’s a linguist. Won’t it be nice that you can get her to talk to the local farmers in these villages? And that she’ll not only understand what they’re saying, but give us accurate translation? You know how bad Afghan terps are? I find it refreshing she’s here and can translate for us. Furthermore—” Hampton slowly pulled the Velcro closed around each cuff around his thick wrists “—the LT and I are jumping up and down for joy she’s been assigned to us. Right now there are no SEALs available to fill our open slot. We’re damn lucky to have gotten her or we would be operating a man short, down a sniper, and I damn well don’t want to go there. Do you?”
Hammer stood quiet and tense, disbelief written all over his face. He didn’t move. “No, Chief.”
“Well,” Hampton said, sadness in his voice, “we lost Billy three days ago. Yesterday, Doc showed us she can hit the broad side of a barn. Frankly, I’m ordering Gabe to get her up to speed on sniper tactics as fast as he can because, dammit, she can consistently hit a target. And there are no more snipers we can get our hands on anywhere in the SEAL community right now. I can’t even get a straphanger. There just aren’t enough of them graduating through SEAL sniper school. It’s a rough course and most are washed out in the process. So we are looking at her as our backup sniper. I haven’t told her that yet, but the LT wants it done pronto. She’s a gun in this fight, Rettig. And you should be damn relieved about that.”
Gabe watched Hammer’s face drain of color. The SEAL knew when he had been bested. Doug Hampton was a quiet sort, and no one ever wanted to back up on him. He was deadly when cornered, and Hammer had just discovered this fact. Keeping his face unreadable, Gabe saw Hammer snort and turn away, striding toward the door.
“I didn’t dismiss you,” Hampton said.
Hammer halted and slowly turned around. “Yes, Chief.”
“You treat Doc like you would any newbie rotating into our platoon. Got that?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“And if I have to spell that out to you again, Rettig, I’ll be writing you a one-way ticket out of this platoon. Got it?”
Mouth twisting, Hammer muttered, “Yes, Chief. I got it. May I be dismissed?”
Hampton moved his shoulders as if to rid them of tautness and nodded. “In a minute.” And then he looked at the three other SEALs standing in front of him. “Any of you have something to add to this little chat before chow time?”
All three shook their heads, suddenly nervous under the chief’s dark, assessing look.
“I want all four of you, after chow, to take all the supplies and gear out of that tent next to Gabe’s tent. Doc is going to use it.” Hampton raised a finger and added, “I expect that place to be 4.0 when you’re finished. She deserves a clean tent like anyone else coming into our platoon. Questions?”
They quickly shook their heads, more than ready to escape the chief’s riled state.
“Dismissed.”
Gabe watched the four of them quickly leave. He turned back toward Doug after the door closed. “You handled that well,” he murmured, walking up to him.
“Dammit,” Hampton growled. “I knew this was coming.”
“You think Rettig will go behind your back and bitch to the LT?” Gabe asked, sitting on the stool near the chief.
“He’d better not,” Hampton said, moving his fingers through his dark brown hair. “If he does, the LT will hand him his one-way ticket before I get a chance to do it. We can’t afford this kind of divisiveness in our ranks. No way....”
There was worry in Hampton’s gray eyes.
“Anything I can do other than what I am doing?” Gabe asked.
“No. Doc is safe with you, thank God. LT and the AOIC are thanking their lucky stars you intervened on her behalf yesterday morning.”
Gabe chuckled a little. “Hammer was ganging up on her. I don’t put up with unfair advantages.”
“Nor do I,” Hampton said, scowling. “But you handled it like the LPO you are. The LT was pleased.”
Taking the compliment, Gabe said, “I’m happy to mentor her. She’s a sharp lady.”
“Far sharper than Rettig will ever be,” Hampton said. “He’s a damn fine SEAL, but he’s too territorial. That’s going to get him in deep trouble someday, and it damn well isn’t going to happen on my watch.”
“He’s a handful at times,” Gabe agreed, “but out on patrol, I wouldn’t want anyone but him around. You saw how well he shot yesterday. He’s sniper trained and he’s a damn good shot. We need every gun we can get in those fights.”
Sighing, Hampton patted Gabe’s shoulder. “I know. He’s a good SEAL, just misguided with his prejudices sometimes. If I hadn’t landed on him with both feet, he’d have taken control of the situation.”
“So, you’re going to unload our supply tent for Doc?” Gabe asked, wanting to get off the subject.
“Yeah, I talked with LT about it last night. They are very impressed with her, Gabe. Frankly, so am I.”
Gabe laughed again. “You three looked like an act of God had just taken place out there on that shooting range yesterday. Like a female Moses just arrived in a chariot in time to save your sorry asses.”
Hampton had the good grace to look sheepish. “Who knew? In her records, she shot expert at Pendleton in all weapons—pistol, rifle and M-4 grenade launcher. None of us realized how good she was, though. It blew us away.”
“Me, too,” Gabe admitted. “I don’t think Doc knows how talented she really is as a combat soldier.”
