Never Surrender. Lindsay McKenna

cosmopolitan and worldly. He was one of the few Afghans to get the macrocosm view on his country and his people. He was a fierce fighter in a firefight, and she was so darned glad he was here, with her. Bay knew Gabe would be happy to hear about it. Maybe he wouldn’t worry so much, she hoped.

      * * *

      ARMY CAPTAIN DREW ANDERSON was bent over his planning board with his warrant officer and four sergeants when Bay entered the one-story mud house in the center of the village. They all looked up in unison. No doubt, they recognized her immediately. On the left side of her cammies was the black medical symbol. Relief came to the blond-haired commanding officer’s face. The man straightened up, his gray gaze quickly assessing her.

      “Petty Officer First Class Baylee-Ann Thorn reporting as ordered, sir. I think you were expecting me, sir?” She pulled out her orders from her pocket and handed them to him.

      “We’re damned glad to see you, Thorn,” Anderson muttered, swiftly perusing her transfer orders. He nodded and introduced his second-in-command, a young man of about twenty-four, Warrant Officer Jerry Bannister. Bay shook his hand. The four sergeants were older, and she knew they were the backbone of any SF team. They all eagerly shook her hand, knowing she was an 18 Delta medic. Anderson dismissed the group, wanting to talk to her privately.

      “Have a seat, Doc. You ready for some black coffee that’ll curl your toes?”

      Bay liked the officer’s laid-back humor. He was about thirty-five years old, and she saw he wore a wedding ring on his left hand. She thought about her own engagement ring Gabe had given her that was tucked away in the top pocket of her Kevlar vest. A warm feeling of sadness and missing him moved through her. “Uh, yes, sir, coffee doesn’t scare me, but the Taliban sure does.”

      He chuckled darkly and poured two mugs. Both white pottery cups were chipped but salvageable. Anderson handed one to her as he sat down at the planning board across from Bay. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m damned relieved you’re here, Doc. Losing our other Doc...Sergeant Brokelman, well...it’s been a hard loss on all of us.”

      “Yes, sir, I’m sure it’s been rough on everyone. I know how tight SF teams are. You’re like family.”

      “Well said. I’ll have my team sign those top secret papers your general needs shortly, so no worries. I’ll send them on to General Stevenson.”

      Bay felt him probing her a little. “You ever worked with any Operation Shadow Warrior women before?” she asked.

      Shaking his head, he said, “No, but frankly, I don’t care what your gender is. You’re an 18 Delta medic, the best we have in any branch of the military. You’ve already earned your stripes with me, Doc.”

      “Do you think I’ll have any blowback from the rest of your team because I’m a woman?”

      “No, these men have been with me for four to five years, and we’ve been through plenty together. Most of them are married. Only two who aren’t, but they’re engaged. How about you?”

      “Engaged, sir.”

      “To who?”

      “A SEAL, sir. Chief Gabe Griffin.”

      He nodded, assimilating the intel. “Yeah, I ran into his team just before they left to rotate out of Camp Bravo last year. Good man. He’s lucky to get you. Congratulations.”

      Bay felt his sincerity. “Thank you, sir.”

      “Well,” he said, a slight grin on his face, “SEALs are known to be damned protective of their women. I don’t suppose he’s any different?”

      She chuckled a little. “No, sir, he’s the same.”

      “I guess I’d better treat you right then, or he’ll be climbing my ass. SEALs don’t really see officers any different than enlisted people.”

      “That’s true, the rank and ratings blur in the SEAL community, sir.”

      He sighed. “Let me give you the lowdown, Doc. My sergeants have gotten you a small, abandoned mud home about two blocks down from our HQ. The Taliban is trying to put new rat lines through this valley. For the last year, the Shinwari tribe people have been absolutely terrorized by the Taliban. They don’t want them going through here, and neither do we. But, as you know, the Taliban doesn’t take no for an answer. Our medi, Brokelman, was seriously wounded in a hot firefight three weeks ago. The enemy keeps probing us. They hide in the mountains, strike at night and then disappear before dawn. We’ve put an SF team in all three villages, and we’re trying to stabilize the area and help the people, who are frantic with fear, to give them some security. They hate the Taliban as much as we do.

      “A number of them have gotten night letters. And you know when a family finds one tacked on their door, it’s a death card. The Taliban utilize hit-and-run raids, and they’ve got some damned good snipers among them. They shoot mostly children as a way to warn the villages that if they continue to support Americans, they’ll continue killing them.” His mouth grew grim.

      “That’s terrible,” Bay whispered, her heart breaking over the thought of children arbitrarily being murdered. She knew the Taliban was ruthless and used stone-age tactics against anyone who was their enemy. And in Afghanistan, it usually worked. Few villages had the weaponry and manpower to fight them off. They had to rely entirely on American support and help.

      “It’s sickening,” he growled, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to watch your step, Doc. I’m not going to take you out on patrols. I want you here, in this village. I know you’re combat trained, but I cannot afford to lose another medic. This village is far from safe. You’re going to have to watch yourself all the time. Don’t get distracted. The Taliban have sent men in, and they’ve kidnapped some of the elders, demanding money or they decapitate them. Just stay alert, okay?”

      “Yes, sir,” Bay murmured, actually happy she wasn’t going to be patrolling. She wanted to get home safe and sound to Gabe, to get on with the rest of their life. Maybe she had a short-timer’s attitude, but she didn’t care. Fewer bullets would be thrown at her, less chance of being killed or injured.

      “You’re going to be a genuine asset. You know Pashto and you’re a female medic, so you can start tomorrow morning by finding a place to set up a clinic to help the women and children. I’m sure some of the men will drop by, too.”

      “Yes, sir, they bend the rules when necessary. I’ve come equipped to handle both genders.”

      “Good.” He finished off his coffee. “You know Reza?”

      “Yes, sir, he and I have worked together before. He’s a trusted ally, sir.”

      “Good to hear. He’s going to be leading us up into these mountains to the east of us for the next month, teaching us the trail systems and pointing out new rat lines to us. In the next few weeks, we’ve got to get a handle on these damned raids and stop them cold in their tracks.”

      “What about drones, sir?”

      He snorted. “The CIA has authority over all the drones and flies them out of Camp Bravo. I’ve been on their ass every day by radio, begging them to give us one over the valley. They keep stonewalling me.”

      Bay frowned. “Sir, have you contacted Chief Phillips? He’s running the new SEAL platoon that just rotated into Camp Bravo. I worked with the SEALs over there last year. Different platoon, but I think if you can fly in and see the chief, he might be able to swing a drone your way.” She shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, sir.”

      He smiled, rising and rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I can go lower myself to the SEAL Chief, get down on my knees and grovel for mercy,” he grumbled.

      Bay realized Anderson was teasing her. “They’re good guys, sir. Kept my butt out of a sling a number of times last summer.”

      “Yeah, they always take the fight to the enemy. They don’t blink when there’s gunfire. Anyone else who has any brains is running away from