Protecting His Own. Lindsay McKenna

in a hurry, just because a superior didn’t like someone.

      “Don’t worry,” Morgan promised her fervently, “after I get done talking to your superiors you’re going to get such a glowing report that you’ll jump from lieutenant commander straight to commander.”

      Sam grinned mischievously. “That I have to see.” She warmed to the genuine sincerity in Morgan’s eyes. “I’m interested in this mission. That is why you called me in, right? To head up an advance medical team to create medevacs?”

      “Yes. But…”

      “Uh-oh…”

      “Yeah,” Morgan said, trying to soften his expression, “there’s more to this mission than just you going in with key personnel, a map and ideas, Sam. As you know, we have a survivalist group running around out there. You’ve heard about them, right? The Diablos?”

      “Yes. They murdered two marine helicopter pilots a couple of weeks ago, didn’t they?”

      “Unfortunately, yes.”

      “That puts them on my list.”

      “Mine, too.” Opening his hands, he added, “And that’s why I’m sending in a Recon team with you. Things aren’t safe out there, Sam. These survivalists hit and run. We don’t have enough marine personnel available to cover the L.A. basin and hunt them down. They move from one area to another, although it does look as if they have a base of operations. We just haven’t located it yet.”

      “Too little manpower to do so,” Sam agreed. She placed her coffee cup on the desk and clasped her hands on her knee. “Okay, so I handpick a small team of people to, first, find good sites for these three medevac tent areas, right?”

      “Right.”

      “And this Recon team is my big, bad guard dog, protecting me and my people while we reconnoiter the area to find what locations work best for helo landings and takeoffs for patients needing hospital care here at Camp Reed?”

      “Yes, but we’re widening our scope of hospitals, since the navy CH-53E Super Stallions we just got on board have a helluva lot longer range and carry more fuel. We’ll be flying patients to hospitals north and east of Los Angeles, as far as San Francisco.”

      “Well, that’s good news. We’re totally overwhelmed here and can’t do more than we are presently.”

      “You know that more than anyone, Sam,” Morgan said grimly. “I’m surprised you’ve done as much as you have. You’re a magician.”

      Sam smiled. “Look, I know this is a picky point, but I am in charge of this new operation, right? All of it?”

      Moving uncomfortably, Morgan held her flat stare. He knew what was coming. “Sam…you’ll need to share the power and decision-making process with the captain who heads up the Recon team.”

      “What, exactly, does that mean?”

      His stomach clenched. From the short time he’d known her, Morgan knew Sam was a gung-ho, take-charge and take-no-prisoners kind of woman. She was a natural leader, a damn fine one. His own experience told him that Sam would balk at the idea of someone of the same rank being “boss” over her. She wouldn’t take kindly to the situation.

      “It means,” he said gently, “that there may be times when Captain Gunnison may have the final decision instead of you, Sam. It would be in the area of safety,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I want you and your team safe. He and his men are trained for that. You’re going to have to work with him and vice versa. You might not be happy about it, but you’re going to have to base your decisions about the medevac areas and so on on his perceptions of the dangers.”

      Morgan saw her rear back, surprise on her face. Her green eyes widened enormously and then narrowed to slits. Trying to avoid a blowup, he said, “I know this isn’t what you want, Sam. But under the circumstances, I can’t, in all good conscience, turn you loose out in the field with those survivalists roaming around like a pack of wolves. It’s a volatile, dangerous situation. The last thing I need is you to have wounded or dead. I’m looking to you to create the medical model for each of these areas. The epidemic is already flourishing out there. A lot of people are dying. Medevac stations should have been set up weeks ago, but I had to battle the top brass to get this plan in the works.”

      “Tell me I heard wrong, Morgan. You said Captain Gunnison?”

      “Yes. Why? Do you know one another?” Morgan guessed the answer to that by the look on her face, and his gut clenched.

      “Do I know him?” she drawled. She threw her hands upward. “Do I know this arrogant, know-it-all, I’m-right-and-you’re-wrong marine? Oh, brother, do I! One of his men got hurt in a Recon mission here at Camp Reed about six months ago, and he was the biggest pain in the arse in Emergency. I happened to be on duty when the guy was flown in, with Gunnison at his side. Talk about a mother hen, Morgan. Gunnison was in my face, demanding that his man be taken care of immediately, ahead of other emergency cases that were a helluva lot more severe and life-threatening.”

      “And he got into an argument with you on it?” Morgan could see where this was going. He’d been right: these two were oil and water, and would never mix. But he was so strapped for personnel. What he couldn’t tell Sam was that Gunnison, the executive officer of the Recon company stationed at Reed, was the last man available to pull for this five-man team. Everyone else was assigned to another area. Morgan was stuck. He hadn’t known about this earlier confrontation between her and Gunnison. He hadn’t anticipated this kind of reaction from Sam. Damn.

      “Argument?” Sam said lightly, derision in her husky tone. “Let’s put it this way, Morgan—I was nose-to-nose with this arrogant SOB out in the passageway. I told him I was in charge of E.R., not him. He had the balls to say it didn’t matter, that his man’s injury took priority.” Sam laughed sharply and shook her head. “When Gunnison wants something, he’ll move heaven and hell to get it. When I refused to treat his man right away, he went over my head—stormed out of E.R. and went to my direct superior, Commander Talkins. Fortunately, Talkins didn’t side with him, and put him in his place. But Gunnison called over to his company commander, Major Branson, to raise hell and have pressure put on me to deal with his marine’s injury.”

      “Oh, boy…” Morgan murmured.

      “Yeah, no kidding. And you’re assigning this guy to me and my team? Morgan, I’m sorry, but I don’t ever want to deal with that dude again. He’s bullheaded. He won’t listen to reason. I can just see the kinds of hell I’ll go through out there with him. Besides, he’ll see it as a way to get even with me for not making his marine’s injury a top priority, and he’ll stick it to me. I know his type. I don’t need the hassle. Just let me go out there and do my job, okay? That I can do. And well.” Besides, the death of her fiancé, Captain Brad Holter, who had been a Marine Cobra helo pilot, was enough for Sam to deal with. Since her loss two years ago, she avoided marines. Having to work closely with Gunnison wasn’t going to be easy, emotionally, for her. He would remind her all over again of the magnitude of her loss.

      Rubbing his chin, Morgan sat back, trying to think. The noise outside his door intruded. People rushed up and down the passageway, always in a hurry. Radios crackled and voices spoke in haste. Everyone at Logistics was under pressure; the tension was palpable.

      “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