The LT gestured to the chair. "Keep sitting, Doc. I can hear standing up." He smiled a little.

"Thank you, sir." Bay sat down, the officer next to the desk, arms against his chest, talking with Hampton.

"We got close air support nearby, Doug?"

Hampton nodded. "Yeah, we have a B-52 circling on a racetrack at thirty thousand feet."

"Okay, call it in and tell it to stay on the racetrack. If we can't have a drone on station, they've got to have some kind of protection if the rest of the Taliban force is on the other side of the mountain."

Some relief flowed through Bay. A racetrack was a term used to mean a bomber or fighter jet was loitering in an oval flight pattern at high alt.i.tude above the area in question. That way, they were quick enough to respond with rockets, bombs or missiles if the SEALs were threatened.

The B-52 pilot came up on transmission and Brafford spoke directly to the pilot, apprising him of the situation. Were there more Taliban coming over that ridge? Bay tried to sit quietly and not show any emotion. Right now the two SEALs were speaking in low tones, as if nothing were out of place; as if they did this all the time. It was routine.

"Blue Bird Main, this is Blue Bird Actual. We've spotted ten more Taliban on the upper portion of the path. Over."

It was hard for Bay to breathe. Gabe and Hammer were three thousand feet away from this heavily armed group of Taliban! Even though they were well hidden, if things went south, the whole mission could erupt into one h.e.l.l of a firefight. She glanced up at LT, who was scowling. Brafford took the radio from Chief Hampton.

"Blue Bird Actual, this is Blue Bird Main. How close to the valley floor are the first two? Over."

"They've got about five hundred feet until they reach the valley. Over."

Brafford pulled over the satellite map that had the three newly discovered rat lines outlined in red. "You're situated above the path closest to the most southern village? Over?"

"Roger."

Hampton shook his head. "That's not good. What if those guys get too close to that village?"

Brafford nodded, his expression deeply pensive. "Make a call to the Apaches over at the Black Jaguar Squadron. Get two of them out there p.r.o.nto. I don't want to drop five-hundred-pound JDAMs on that group. It's just too close to the village. It will scare the h.e.l.l out of everyone, and that's not want we want if it can be avoided."

Bay knew the village was pro-American. She understood the LT's wise decision. Apaches could go in and perform microsurgery, take out the bad guys and not cause havoc or destruction to the friendly village. The people would be banged out of their sleep, for sure. And probably badly scared, but .50-caliber bullets instead of five-hundred-pound bombs going off this close to their homes were a better choice. Plus, it would keep the two snipers from danger close drops of bombs, if they had been were used. And Bay knew from experience that many men were killed by "friendly fire."

Brafford got on the radio to Gabe and gave them orders to remain where they were, be eyes on the ground and follow the movement of the Taliban and not to engage the enemy at this point. They had range-finding Night Force scopes that could see through the dark and GPS so that the intel could be fed directly to the Apache helo's avionics that would be coming on station shortly. It was a quick ten-minute flight across a mountain ridge to that valley. Bay drew in a slow breath, glad that Brafford wasn't going to have them engage the large force of Taliban. It would be two against twelve.

"Blue Bird Main, this is Blue Bird Actual. We've now got twenty Taliban coming down that path. All carrying heavy loads. Got three donkeys loaded with sacks. Probably all fertilizer. Over."

"Roger, Blue Bird Actual. Apaches on the way. Switch comms so we can hear you talking them into the target. Over."

"Roger, Blue Bird Main. Switching over now...."

Bay remained glued to the chair, barely breathing, for the next half hour. The snipers had coordinated the entire dance between the Apaches and the Taliban. She sat riveted as the women pilots from Black Jaguar Squadron came online, speaking directly to Gabe. Their transmissions were short and to the point.

As soon as the Apaches arrived, they had thermal avionics capability to spot human body heat down on the ridge below. In a matter of minutes, the Apaches moved in like a wolf pack and destroyed the line of Taliban strung along the rat line. Even more surprising, Bay heard the one pilot report fifteen more Taliban coming up on the opposite ridge slope. All told, thirty men were using the path. If Gabe had fired that one shot at the first two leaders, there were twenty-eight other Taliban who probably would have dropped their bags, pulled out their AK-47s and gone out to hunt those two SEALs down and try to kill them.

Wiping his mouth, Brafford said, "Good night's work, Doug. Get the Night Stalker in there to pick them up."

Hampton nodded. "Yes, sir."

GABE WAS WALKING through Ops, carrying his sniper rifle over his left shoulder when he saw Bay walk in. It was 0340 and his heart unexpectedly opened. There was a serious look on her face. Hammer was at his side.

"Hey," Hammer called, "by any chance are you meeting us to give us some more of your mother's cookies?" He grinned widely.

Bay laughed and shook her head. "Nah, but I wanted to meet you guys and see if you were okay." She saw the heated look Gabe gave her. Instantly, she felt a deep relief within her. Both SEALs had green-and-black face paint on so that they would blend seamlessly into the night around them. She walked out of OPs with them into the freezing night air, hands stuck in the pockets of her winter jacket.

"What did you think?" Gabe asked as they walked toward the SEAL compound.

"Riveting. Scary as h.e.l.l," she admitted. "Did you guys know there was that many Taliban coming up the opposite ridge?"

"No," Gabe admitted.

"Not good odds," she muttered.

Hammer said, "The LT and Chief aren't going to throw us under a bus out there, Doc. We know when the Taliban are bringing in fertilizer to restock their bomb makers in this country, they usually pack it in on camels or donkeys. Sometimes, like tonight, human pack animals bring it in."

"You were the eyes out there on the situation," she agreed.

"h.e.l.luva light show. Those Apaches whaled the tar out of those guys," Hammer said, impressed.

"We'll be going back out at dawn," Gabe warned her, glancing down at her. Bay was somber, her lower lip thinned. "I'm sure the whole squad will go out." He looked over at Bay. "It's called a sensitive site exploitation, a fancy description for the fact that we're going to search every body to try to find identification, maps or any other intel they might have been carrying on them."

"Gruesome work," Bay said, not excited at all about the prospect.

"You ever done it?"

She shook her head. "No."

"I'd eat a light breakfast, then, tomorrow morning," Gabe advised.

Bay remained with the two SEALs through the entire debriefing process after they returned. She saw how tired they were, but they had to file individual reports, write them up out in the planning room and give them to Hampton, who read them and asked more questions. By the time they were done, dawn was crawling up on the horizon. Hampton was busy getting the entire squad ready to fly out at first light on a CH-47 Chinook.

Gabe walked with her over to the chow hall. He was starving. She seemed pensive. "You okay?"

"Yes. It was tough to be in the chief's office listening to you."

He snorted softly as they entered the chow hall, the line already getting long for those wanting breakfast. "Hammer and I weren't exactly thrilled with the prospects of JDAMs being dropped dangerously close to us if the LT decided to use the B-52. I'm glad he opted for the Apaches instead. They're h.e.l.l on wheels."

Bay picked up a tray and handed him one. The odors of breakfast made her mouth water. Yet she remembered Gabe's warning. "I'm just glad you two were all right."

He saw some of the usual glimmer she had in her blue eyes returning. "You're a worrywart, you know that?" He smiled down at her. Her cheeks flushed pink. Gabe might not be able to do anything other than appreciate her as a woman right now, but this still fed him and he felt his heart opening powerfully toward her.

Bay thanked the cook behind the counter who ladled some biscuits, gravy and grits onto her tray. Hampton had warned her they would be out on that ridge all day. They quickly pa.s.sed through the line and found a table where the rest of the SEAL team was chowing down.

As she and Gabe took the last two chairs opposite each other at the table, Bay felt relief. Deep relief. It bothered her that she was becoming emotionally involved with Gabe. Hadn't she learned her lesson in Iraq? She'd fallen in love with Jack Scoville, another medic, over a nine-month period. And she'd resisted him, too. But to no end.

As she ate, Bay told herself she couldn't lose another man she loved to war. Her heart simply couldn't take the trauma. Yet, as she glanced over at Gabe, his face now free of the dark green, gray and black face paint, his five-day growth of beard on his face, her heart contracted painfully with need of him.

Bay tried to find something to dislike about Gabe. It was impossible. The SEAL team looked to him for experience, and even though he wasn't the official LPO, he was, in fact, the squad LPO whether he wanted the duty or not. He was a good leader, solid, steady and he never lost his temper. Sighing inwardly, Bay knew she had to sever the connection between her and Gabe. It just wouldn't work. It couldn't.

Gabe moved his emptied tray aside and picked up his cup of coffee. Bay's face was serious looking, and she wasn't saying much of anything. Had the night spent in the chief's office, listening to what really went on in a sniper op, sobered her on their type of missions? He wasn't sure. And he'd have to find out sooner or later, because he knew the LT wanted her as his backup partner. And with the other SEALs sitting with them, he couldn't open up a private conversation with her. Frowning, he sipped his coffee, feeling tiredness work its way through his aching joints. In another hour, they'd be up on that ridge at nine thousand feet again, rummaging through dead, torn bodies, trying to find intel that could save others from dying.

The team was in ready mode; Gabe could feel it. They were scarfing up food, tanking up, knowing they would be freezing their a.s.ses off all day long on that rocky ridge. He and Hammer would probably be sent out as lookouts, just in case. Taliban rarely moved in daylight. Like the SEALs, they used the night to their advantage. The night was their friend, but thanks to Apache thermal avionics to detect body heat and drone eyes, the enemy no longer would remain hidden in the night.

Worried, Gabe saw Bay's face close and he could no longer read her as he usually could. He recognized it as a game face. Everyone in combat put one on when the chips were down, hiding their emotions in order to do the work demanded of them. The other SEALs were talking. She ate in silence. Bay was usually engaged with the squad. Not now.

So, what had changed? Gabe wondered. Was Bay upset? Not wanting to take part in the work up on the ridge? Gabe knew medics usually had a more peaceful outlook on life, saving lives, not taking them. Saying nothing, he would observe her through the day's morbid activities and just see where she was. His heart, if he allowed it into the equation, clamored that she needed to be held. But then, he scoffed at his own projection on her. Bay had combat experience under her belt, that was clear. She didn't need handholding.

Sipping the last of his coffee, he called, "Ready to exfil?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Outside as they walked toward the SEAL compound, and they were alone, Gabe slowed his pace. "Something's bothering you, Bay. What is it?"

"Nothing," she a.s.sured him. It was something, but she couldn't tell him. She didn't dare.

"Last night," he murmured, keeping his voice low, "at the Operations Building, you touched my sleeve. You were worried."

Grimacing, Bay said, "I shouldn't have done that, Gabe. I'm sorry. I was out of line." And she hotly remembered him finding her fingers, squeezing them with his roughened hand. She had felt her heart wrench with fear and she'd wanted to throw her arms around him, kiss him and try to protect him.

"You cared and I appreciated that."

Pushing the boonie hat back on her head, she turned in the middle of the dirt path between the tents. "Look, Gabe," she whispered, emotion making her voice husky, "I fell in love with a medic over in Iraq." Bay heard her voice quiver, desperation thrumming through her. "I didn't want to. It just happened. Jack Scoville was an 18 Delta corpsman like me. I fought loving this guy for nine months." She met his darkening gaze, her voice shaking with the memories. "I learned not to mix my personal feelings with anyone after that. Jack died in my arms during a firefight. I couldn't save him...." She touched her brow, feeling the sadness and pain rise in her.

Taking a step back from the SEAL, Bay forced herself to hold his gaze that burned with unknown reactions. "We are at war. Love has no place here, Gabe. None. I learned that the hard way." Her mouth contorted and she felt herself unraveling within her heart because Gabe was a hero in her eyes. He was all the things she'd ever wanted in a man. Someone she could easily love. And yet it was the wrong time, wrong place. Opening her hands, her voice lowering with anguish, Bay whispered, "I can't take a loss like that again, Gabe. I just can't.... I hope you can understand."

Grimly, he nodded. His hand tightened on the M-4 in the sling. "Okay, I hear you. Don't worry. Whatever happened last night, outside Ops, is the end of it." The raw suffering on Bay's face tore him up. His mind spun with the information. The man she'd fallen in love with died in her arms in Iraq. That was a h.e.l.l of thing to happen to Bay.

"I had a very good friend of mine die in my arms, too, Bay." Gabe felt very old and tired in that moment. "I understand, somewhat, what you're going through. I couldn't save him no matter what I did. I'm sorry for your loss. I really am." He checked the urge to reach out and touch her pale cheek, her eyes wounded with grief. He hadn't helped the situation last night by holding her hand in that moment, either.

Understanding she was drawn to him, that she had already lost someone she loved on the battlefield, Gabe felt a deep sadness overwhelm him. Until that moment, he didn't realize just how much he was wanting Bay on a personal level. Wanting her in every imaginable way. Swallowing hard, he forced his voice to sound normal.

"Come on, time to saddle up. We have a job to do."

Relief drenched Bay as she saw him change. Gabe understood. It was bittersweet. Pushing back tears that wanted to fall, Bay rallied. "Okay," she whispered, gathering her strewn emotions, "let's rock it out."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"DOC, IF YOU find anyone alive, you render aid to them and let me know," Chief Hampton told her as they left the area of the CH-47 that had dropped them on the eastern side of the ridge with half the platoon. "ROE, rules of engagement, say we must aid anyone we find, enemy or not."

"Yes, Chief," Bay said. Gabe was at her side. Hampton had sent Hammer with a sniper rifle to higher ground to be the eyes and ears to protect all of them. On missions where dead Taliban would be searched for intel, a sniper always watched through his Night Force scope for any movement. If there was, he alerted the team on the ground because they could be shot. She felt tension running through her as they stood on the rat line trail.

Gabe could see and feel Bay's reaction to the human carnage caused by the Apaches hours before in the darkness. Most of the Taliban carrying the sacks of fertilizer were on this side of the mountain. Bay gulped. Bodies were scattered and strewn everywhere. It was grisly work. He saw Chief Hampton give the signal to start the search.

Bay had mixed feelings about it, but she reminded herself these men were bringing over fertilizer from the plants in Pakistan to create IEDs that would kill American men and women in Afghanistan. Mouth tight, she walked down the trail, Gabe in the lead. The wind was cold and sharp, below freezing. The sun had just crested the highest peaks to the east of them. Like the rest of the SEALs, she wore winter gear, a dark blue knit cap on her head, a radio headband with a microphone near her lips. They were all in touch with one another.

"Who are those two guys?" she asked Gabe, coming up and walking on the path with him.

"Spooks, CIA agents," he said. And then he grinned and said, "Christians in Action, a real righteous group. They're here to take home the intel we find on the bodies."

"They stand out like sore thumbs. I've never worked with CIA dudes before."

He smiled a little, his M-4, muzzle up, the b.u.t.t resting on his hip, prepared in case Hammer saw some movement. "The redheaded dude is in charge. He's a field agent by the name of Curtis Granger."

"I don't like him. It's just a feeling." Bay was looking around. So far, her medical skills weren't needed. Hampton had ordered them down to the end of the trail, a good thousand feet below. They were to start there and work their way back up. Another group of SEALs were at the top, working their way down. They'd meet somewhere in the middle.

"Granger's good at getting the drones up," Gabe said, swiveling his head from right to left, watching for movement of any kind. "He's rough on prisoners, though. Not my kind of guy."

Bay slid him a glance. "What? He doesn't follow the Geneva Convention when it comes to taking a prisoner?" Right now she was seeing Gabe alert and on guard. Even on the rocky path, she couldn't hear his boots coming down on the gravel. He walked like a boneless cougar, his gloved hands on his M-4, ready to fire at a moment's notice. She, too, had her M-4 up but was devoting her time to seeing if anyone was left alive.

"Yeah, you could say that. I don't like the guy's methods. He thinks waterboarding is the first thing you do to squeeze intel out of a prisoner."

Waterboarding was torture, pure and simple, in Bay's mind. She wrinkled her nose, which was going numb in the air. Their breath was nothing but white vapor every time they spoke. She tried to keep her heart out of the mix as they searched. This morning, just as he'd promised, Gabe kept his poker face. No longer could she read his expression as she had done before. It shook her how swiftly their budding relationship had occurred. Never again could she fall in love with a man in the military. Never.

"Gabe?"

Gabe halted, hearing Hammer's voice. "Yeah?"

"Got some movement at three o'clock. There's a bunch of bushes on your right, about fifty feet down in that wadi. Something's in there. Check it out? I'll keep a bead on it."

"Roger, out."

Bay's heartbeat took off. Everyone had heard the transmission, including the two CIA types who had trotted down the trail to begin searches at the other end with them. She quickly looked down at the thickets in a small wadi.

"Do you see anything?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

"No. Follow me...." He unsafed his M-4 and moved slowly down the slope toward the wadi, rifle aimed.

Bay felt fear move through her. She couldn't walk quietly as he did. His total focus was on the brush that was about six feet high and twenty feet wide. He gave her a hand signal to go around the brush, on the other side of it. Nodding, she went that way, M-4 ready, the b.u.t.t tight against her shoulder as she moved to keep up with him. The closer they got to the wadi, the faster her heart thudded in her chest. She was scared, but she didn't let that interfere. Gabe was her partner and he needed protection by her.

Bay reached the south side of the brush and rounded it, weapon aimed, finger on the trigger. Gabe came around, his position the same. Her eyes widened. Jerking to a halt, she lowered her weapon. There in the wadi was a young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, with a young man, perhaps a bit older than herself. The girl had long black hair, the most startling green eyes Bay had ever seen. Her face was dirty, bloodied, tear tracks down her drawn face. She was holding the boy in her arms, rocking him and softly sobbing.

Gabe quickly moved in.

"Talk to her," he ordered Bay.

Bay didn't see any weapons on the girl. the clothes she wore were men's. "Don't move," she called to the girl in Pashto.

The girl's eyes widened.

"Help me! Help me! My brother is dying! Have mercy upon us. Help him!" She sobbed, rocking her brother.

Bay reached them as Gabe stood guard. "Do you have any weapons?" she demanded.