Dangerous Alliance

“I hope,” Dan whispered gruffly, “for your sake, Shaw, you don’t. I don’t ever want to see your face in here again on charges like this. Now get out of here and study up on the regulations for transporting prisoners. You are to know them by memory. Once you’ve memorized them, you are to repeat them verbatim to Sergeant Donnally. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Dismissed!”

Shaw did an about-face and left his office, and Dan leaned back in his chair. A knock sounded on his door. He glanced down at his watch. It was 1700. Already angry, he snarled, “Enter!”

Sergeant Joe Donnally entered.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dan asked, sitting upright in the chair. Donnally’s face was a mess of bruises and he had a long cut leaking blood down the right side of his jaw.

Sheepishly, Joe handed over his report and pressed a green handkerchief to his face. “I mixed it up with a couple of marines over at San Onofre, Captain. A couple of PFC’s discovered some illegal aliens hiding behind a supply Quonset hut and were beating the hell out of them when I arrived. I ordered them to stop.” Donnally shrugged his broad, powerful shoulders, stiffness apparent in them. “When they didn’t, I waded into the fray, sir. Wetbacks might be entering this country illegally, but they don’t deserve to be beaten to death. It’s all here in my report.”

Disbelief edged Dan’s voice. “Why didn’t you stop at the hospital first and get that face taken care of?”

“I figured you’d want to know what happened over there first, Captain.”

“Sergeant, your report can wait until later. Get your butt over to the hospital emergency room, pronto.”

“But, sir—”

“Dammit, Donnally, don’t argue with me! My people come first. You should have had the good sense to get treatment. You could have radioed me from the truck and detoured to the hospital. I’d have approved your request.” He gave the report a disgusted look. “This damned report can wait.”

Contrite, the sergeant nodded and came to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“You can fill me in on the details tomorrow morning at 0800, Sergeant.”

“Very well, sir.” Joe reached for the doorknob.

“Who won?”

“Sir?”

Dan motioned to Donnally’s swollen and bruised face. “It was two against one. Who won?”

It hurt like hell to grin, but Joe did anyway. “Captain, you know brig chasers don’t take crap from anyone.” And then he added respectfully, “Sir.”

Suppressing a smile, Dan kept his face carefully neutral. “I’m glad to hear you were the victor, Sergeant. Now disappear and get that mug of yours taken care of. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Joe quietly shut the door behind him. He pressed his damp handkerchief against his jaw, suddenly realizing the front of his uniform was splattered not only with his blood but with the blood of the other two men. Ramsey was proving to be a damn good officer and man—a far cry from Captain Jacobs, who’d hated Hispanics. If this incident had happened under Jacobs’s command, the sonofabitch would have considered it open season on illegal aliens. And he certainly wouldn’t have cared if Joe had lived or died, much less gotten over to the hospital to take care of his facial injury. At least Ramsey put his men first and the incident they were involved in second.

Rose gave him a wide-eyed look as he walked through the busy fifteen-person office and stopped at her desk.

“Rose, I gotta go over to the hospital. Had a slight scuffle.”

“No kidding. What shape was the truck in that hit you?”

The corner of his mouth that wasn’t split open and bleeding lifted. “The other two dudes are in a lot sorrier shape than I am, believe me. I’m checking out for the day. Will you sign me out?” He held up his scraped and bloody hand. If he signed out on that pristine sheet on her desk, he’d make a mess of it, and Rose valued neatness. He didn’t want to risk her ire. One fight a day was plenty.

Rose shook her head. “Yeah, I’ll sign you out. You oughtta make that a couple of days off, Joe. Your face looks like hamburger.”

“Thanks, Rose. I can always count on you for an honest opinion,” he said dryly, smiling through his pain.

She winked at him. “Take care of yourself. Is the captain upset?”

“I don’t think so. He only wanted to know who won.”

Rose’s face grew pinched. “That’s terrible!”

“No,” Joe corrected as he left, “that’s marine.”

Chapter Four

By Saturday afternoon, totally disgusted and bored with the moving-in process, Dan sat down amid the boxes cluttering the living room of his new apartment in Oceanside. His thoughts—and if he was honest, his emotions—revolved back to Libby Tyler. She’d said she had a horse show this weekend at the base stables. Grimacing, he looked around at the half-unpacked cartons and strewn packing material. To hell with it. In one smooth motion he was on his feet. He was going to see Libby.

Not wanting to make the mistake of showing up in uniform, Dan decided the faded jeans and short-sleeved chambray shirt he was wearing would be more appropriate under the circumstances. Minutes later, as he pulled his Corvette onto the dirt road leading to the base stables, he saw cars, trucks and horse trailers lining both sides of the road. Hundreds of people dotted the rolling hills that surrounded the stables and the three riding arenas. Once he’d found a place to park, the urgency he felt to find Libby made him walk a little faster than perhaps he would have under ordinary circumstances.

Children of all ages either had horses in hand or were riding them around. The small hills that formed a backdrop for the largest of the three fenced arenas were colorfully decorated with parents watching their children compete in the riding events. Some children wore tall, shining black boots with canary yellow breeches, a white shirt or blouse, a black jacket and a black safety helmet. Others wore decidedly Western outfits and rode in Western-style saddles.