Breaking Point

Shaking his head like a bull getting ready to charge, Hammer rasped, “I don’t believe you.”

The other three SEALs eyebrows went up collectively on Hammer’s challenging grate. It was one thing to be pissed off, but you didn’t call your chief a liar to his face. The three of them exchanged uneasy glances with one another.

Doug Hampton’s face turned hard. Hammer was pushing his weight around. If he’d been LPO, he’d have taken him out back and pounded some sense into his head. But Hampton was the man in charge of the entire platoon and wielded plenty of power. The buck stopped with him. Gabe wondered how Doug was going to handle Hammer, directly challenging his authority, his face beet red.

“Rettig,” Hampton said, standing up, “it’s time you and me had a little chat outside.”

Hammer scowled, no doubt because his superior was six feet three inches tall, thirty-five years old and in top shape. He had five deployments under his belt and knew more about fighting in Afghanistan than just about anyone. Hammer turned and looked at his three friends to see if they wanted to join him. They all backed off, their hands held up, a sign that Hammer was on his own.

Wiping his mouth, Hammer growled, “And if I don’t?”

Hampton shrugged nonchalantly. “Then I’ll beat the crap out of you right here in front of them. Your call, Rettig, because you’ve outlived your welcome with me.”

“Aw, dammit, Chief!” Hammer spun around and huffed and puffed around the room. He kept giving the chief furtive looks, trying to figure out what to do. How to back down gracefully and not come to blows.

Hampton was slowly rolling up the sleeves on his cammies to just below his elbows. “Ready?”

Gabe hid a smile. Doug Hampton could be a damn intimidating and dazzling manager with a recalcitrant SEAL when he had to be. Gabe was glad he’d had four deployments with Hampton to know he was manipulating the hell out of red-faced Hammer.

“Look,” Hammer said, holding up his hand, “I’m not about to fight you, Chief.”

“Well, then,” Hampton said in his reasonable tone, “you’re just going to have to make an attitude change, Rettig.” His voice hardened as he strode up to the SEAL and got into his face. “Because,” Hampton ground out, “you’re going to work as a team. That’s what SEALs are all about. You will—” he jabbed his index finger into Hammer’s chest “—make every effort to get along with Doc. And I won’t say this again, because next time...if there is a next time...I’ll kick your ass. Got it?”

“Yes, Chief,” Hammer breathed, his voice deflated, “I got it.”

“Good,” Hampton murmured, easing away from him. He stepped back and began to slowly unroll a cuff. “I don’t know why you don’t think she can’t fast-rope.”

Hammer gave him a shocked, quizzical look.

“As a matter of fact, I think you should get to know her a bit more. Now, I agree, Doc is a very unassuming, quiet woman who wouldn’t think of bragging on herself in any way, shape or form. She acts like a SEAL. Humble. Never talks about herself or what she’s been trained to do.” Doug rolled down the other cuff. “I read her personnel file, Rettig.” Hampton lifted his chin and stared hard at the SEAL. “She learned fast-roping at Camp Pendleton. The women who went through that one-year immersion combat course learned a lot of black op methods, including kill box routines and CQD, close quarters defense training. Yeah, maybe she’s a little rusty on fast-roping, but she’s got her special gloves, she’s got the strength and I know Gabe will refresh her if that’s what your team has to do on a particular mission.”

Hammer scowled. “You’ve got to be kidding me? She can fast-rope?”

Hampton glared at the SEAL. “I wouldn’t kid you, Rettig. Doc doesn’t know our tactics and patrols, but she’s a quick study. If I were you, I’d be thrilled pink she was assigned to us. Has it been lost on you that if your sorry ass gets pumped full of lead out there, she’s the one who’s going to try and save your sorry, prejudicial ass? And she’s a linguist. Won’t it be nice that you can get her to talk to the local farmers in these villages? And that she’ll not only understand what they’re saying, but give us accurate translation? You know how bad Afghan terps are? I find it refreshing she’s here and can translate for us. Furthermore—” Hampton slowly pulled the Velcro closed around each cuff around his thick wrists “—the LT and I are jumping up and down for joy she’s been assigned to us. Right now there are no SEALs available to fill our open slot. We’re damn lucky to have gotten her or we would be operating a man short, down a sniper, and I damn well don’t want to go there. Do you?”

Hammer stood quiet and tense, disbelief written all over his face. He didn’t move. “No, Chief.”

“Well,” Hampton said, sadness in his voice, “we lost Billy three days ago. Yesterday, Doc showed us she can hit the broad side of a barn. Frankly, I’m ordering Gabe to get her up to speed on sniper tactics as fast as he can because, dammit, she can consistently hit a target. And there are no more snipers we can get our hands on anywhere in the SEAL community right now. I can’t even get a straphanger. There just aren’t enough of them graduating through SEAL sniper school. It’s a rough course and most are washed out in the process. So we are looking at her as our backup sniper. I haven’t told her that yet, but the LT wants it done pronto. She’s a gun in this fight, Rettig. And you should be damn relieved about that.”

Gabe watched Hammer’s face drain of color. The SEAL knew when he had been bested. Doug Hampton was a quiet sort, and no one ever wanted to back up on him. He was deadly when cornered, and Hammer had just discovered this fact. Keeping his face unreadable, Gabe saw Hammer snort and turn away, striding toward the door.

“I didn’t dismiss you,” Hampton said.

Hammer halted and slowly turned around. “Yes, Chief.”

“You treat Doc like you would any newbie rotating into our platoon. Got that?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“And if I have to spell that out to you again, Rettig, I’ll be writing you a one-way ticket out of this platoon. Got it?”

Mouth twisting, Hammer muttered, “Yes, Chief. I got it. May I be dismissed?”

Hampton moved his shoulders as if to rid them of tautness and nodded. “In a minute.” And then he looked at the three other SEALs standing in front of him. “Any of you have something to add to this little chat before chow time?”

All three shook their heads, suddenly nervous under the chief’s dark, assessing look.

“I want all four of you, after chow, to take all the supplies and gear out of that tent next to Gabe’s tent. Doc is going to use it.” Hampton raised a finger and added, “I expect that place to be 4.0 when you’re finished. She deserves a clean tent like anyone else coming into our platoon. Questions?”

They quickly shook their heads, more than ready to escape the chief’s riled state.

“Dismissed.”

Gabe watched the four of them quickly leave. He turned back toward Doug after the door closed. “You handled that well,” he murmured, walking up to him.

“Dammit,” Hampton growled. “I knew this was coming.”

“You think Rettig will go behind your back and bitch to the LT?” Gabe asked, sitting on the stool near the chief.

“He’d better not,” Hampton said, moving his fingers through his dark brown hair. “If he does, the LT will hand him his one-way ticket before I get a chance to do it. We can’t afford this kind of divisiveness in our ranks. No way....”

There was worry in Hampton’s gray eyes.

“Anything I can do other than what I am doing?” Gabe asked.

“No. Doc is safe with you, thank God. LT and the AOIC are thanking their lucky stars you intervened on her behalf yesterday morning.”

Gabe chuckled a little. “Hammer was ganging up on her. I don’t put up with unfair advantages.”

“Nor do I,” Hampton said, scowling. “But you handled it like the LPO you are. The LT was pleased.”

Taking the compliment, Gabe said, “I’m happy to mentor her. She’s a sharp lady.”

“Far sharper than Rettig will ever be,” Hampton said. “He’s a damn fine SEAL, but he’s too territorial. That’s going to get him in deep trouble someday, and it damn well isn’t going to happen on my watch.”

“He’s a handful at times,” Gabe agreed, “but out on patrol, I wouldn’t want anyone but him around. You saw how well he shot yesterday. He’s sniper trained and he’s a damn good shot. We need every gun we can get in those fights.”

Sighing, Hampton patted Gabe’s shoulder. “I know. He’s a good SEAL, just misguided with his prejudices sometimes. If I hadn’t landed on him with both feet, he’d have taken control of the situation.”

“So, you’re going to unload our supply tent for Doc?” Gabe asked, wanting to get off the subject.

“Yeah, I talked with LT about it last night. They are very impressed with her, Gabe. Frankly, so am I.”

Gabe laughed again. “You three looked like an act of God had just taken place out there on that shooting range yesterday. Like a female Moses just arrived in a chariot in time to save your sorry asses.”

Hampton had the good grace to look sheepish. “Who knew? In her records, she shot expert at Pendleton in all weapons—pistol, rifle and M-4 grenade launcher. None of us realized how good she was, though. It blew us away.”

“Me, too,” Gabe admitted. “I don’t think Doc knows how talented she really is as a combat soldier.”