“Ladies,” the OIC said, looking around the room and trying to meet the girl’s eyes by the light of the flares and some taclights that had been pointed at the ceiling, “the current plan is for us to hold this position until Syrian defenses are… banged up enough that we can get helicopters in. That shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. Let us do the fighting, you ladies just chill and try to stay calm. And, uhm…” He paused and shook his head again. “I know what you have been through, some of it anyway, and we’re sorry. But, we’re also men and SEALS aren’t by any stretch of the imagination New Age guys or metromales, and with the exception of Petty Officer Roman we’re not gay.”
“Hey!”
“If any of my men give you a hard time, or are looking in an offensive way, tell me and I’ll do something about it. Like kick his ass. But… there are going to be looks. There might even be comments. If any of them are offensive, tell me or the chief and we’ll deal with it. I’m Lieutenant Reynolds, by the way, Charlie Platoon, SEAL Team Three.”
“Lieutenant?” Babe said, handing the IV bag to Britney and walking over to him. “Can I say something?”
“Yes, miss?” the lieutenant replied.
“Thank you,” she said, and wrapped her arms around him.
Before they knew it, all the SEALs were being hugged and kissed.
“Ladies,” Reynolds said, after a bit. “We have a job to do and we can’t do it if we’re so distracted we don’t know what day it is. So, thank you, too, and kindly let Roman and Meat go.”
“Which one are you?” one of the girls asked, hanging on Roman’s arm.
“Roman,” he replied. “Petty Officer Third.”
“Oh, the gay one?” the girl said and giggled. “Well, if you ever want to try the other way, I’m a Kappa Alpha at UGA. We’re right on Millege, you can’t miss the house. Come on by any time.”
“But, I’m not…” Roman said as the girl walked away.
Meat Three wrapped his arm around the confused petty officer’s shoulder and led him out of the room.
“Face it,” Meat said, giving his shoulder a hug-shake. “These girls have been traumatized. There’s nothing that they’d like more than a gay rescuer, so they can feel safe. You lucky dog.”
“I’m not gay,” Roman protested.
“Pity,” Meat Three replied.
“Meat, Roman, Sherman,” the OIC said, coming out of the torture bunker. “Top-side. Watch for a counterattack. Simmons, Vahn, there’s apparently a ventilation shaft back there,” he said, pointing down the corridor. “Go check it out. Ghost had rigged an IED in it, but it got triggered already. See if you can rig another. Oh, and everybody give up your rations and spare canteens.”
“Why?” Simmons asked, dropping his assault pack.
“Because the girls have had no food and no water for a while,” Reynolds replied. “Share and share alike. Take a look around and see if you can find a sink. But watch your ass, there’s apparently some chemical munitions spilled around here. Make sure the water’s not contaminated, use your strips.”
“How’s Ghost?” Simmons said. “It’s actually Ghost, isn’t it?”
“Apparently,” Reynolds replied. “You know him?”
“Knew him,” Simmons said. “He was a senior team guy when I joined Charlie Three. He quit and went over to training. I heard he’d ETSed.”
“Well, he’s here, now,” the OIC said. “Get to your jobs. We’re not out of the woods, yet. Sherman,” he added, reaching in his assault vest and handing the SEAL a satellite radio. “Call in. Tell them the girls are secure, Ghost is severely wounded, one of the girls is in a bad way. Ask that they control the JDAMs from satellite and Predator since we’re going to be down here. And find out when we can expect extraction.”
“Got it, sir,” Sherman replied, turning for the entrance.
“Meat, Roman, cover him,” the OIC finished, turning back into the room.
“Lieutenant?” one of the girls said. “I’m Bambi. Well, Britney, but…”
“I understand, miss,” the lieutenant replied, trying to look her in the eye. She had perfect breasts, small but very well formed. And… blue eyes. Nice face. Shit, this was too much.
“Amy said that Ghost said that there’s a bag over in the room across the hall,” she said, pulling on his arm and ignoring the looks. “There’s something in it for the President. She said it was contaminated; I don’t know what that means.”
“I do,” the lieutenant said, allowing himself to be led. When they reached the door, Bambi… Britney bent down and pulled out a flare, sparking it to light, and gestured to the leather case.
“I thought I saw it before,” she said. “He sent me in here to get plastic to put on one of the wounds on his chest.”
The lieutenant walked to the sample case and touched it gingerly. It was wet, as if washed down.
“Any idea where he got the water?” the lieutenant asked. He pulled a strip of material out of a pouch and rubbed it on the outside of the case.
“No,” Britney replied.
The test strip said that the outside of the bag was clean. He was sorely tempted to open it and find out what was inside.
“Bambi,” he said, unthinkingly. “Could you leave the flare here and step out of the room?”
Britney nodded and set the flare on the floor, then backed out of the room.
Reynolds picked it up, pushed the door closed and then set it on the pile of boxes in the middle of the room. Then he set the sample case on the ground where the light would fall in it, took a breath and opened the case slowly. What he saw made him blow out his breath in an explosive: “HOLY FUCKING SHIT.”
“Are you okay, Lieutenant?” Britney called, knocking on the door.
Reynolds closed the case gingerly, trying not to breathe and hoping he wasn’t getting hit by neurotoxins, and then opened the door back up. When he took a breath there was a faint whiff of sulfur and that actually made him happier. The contamination was probably mustard or maybe phosgene, which wasn’t going to kill anyone at that level of concentration.
“I’m fine,” Reynolds said, grinning and trying not to laugh. “Do you have any idea where the material in this case came from?”
“No,” Britney said.
“Okay, we’ll figure it out,” Reynolds replied, dropping the case and hugging her. “Sorry, I’m just… tickled.”
“What’s in there?” Britney asked, surprised by the emotional response from the officer who had been so correct so far.
“A surprise,” Reynolds said, grinning. “I’ve got to go.”
He walked to the stairs and made his way up the pile of bodies to where Roman and Meat were covering Sherman, who was hooked into the satellite radio. The radio was smaller than a brick phone, with an internal directional antenna and a headset.
“Who’s there?” Reynolds asked, squatting down and still grinning.
“Admiral Hayes,” Sherman said, covering the mike. “Want to talk?”
“Got your camera?” Reynolds asked, pulling the mike away and jacking the earphone into his ear.
“Yes, sir,” Sherman replied, shrugging off his assault pack and pulling out the small video recorder. “I got some shots of the bodies on the stairs but not of the girls.”
“STARBASE, SIERRA ONE, OVER,” Reynolds said. “Apparently, Agent Ghost wanted to give a present to the President. I totally agree. But I think you should see it, first. We’re preparing for video uplink.”
“Copy SIERRA. This is STARBASE Actual,” the admiral said. “Be advised that the NCA may be monitoring this conversation and video linkage.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’ll mind, sir,” Reynolds said happily. “Sherman, back off. The inside of the case is contaminated. Mustard, I think, low concentration, but I’m going to hold my breath when I open it.”