as possible.”
“I got six months till retirement. No way in hell will you be the best damn agent I ever had. I’ve worked with the best and they end up fired, in jail—or dead. Just do what I tell you.”
Jay hoped Ollie would think his silence was consent. Drugs and gang-related activity were problems anyone could handle. Only the most dedicated agent would do the unspeakable things Jay was willing to do in order to nab his villains. Jay saw the big picture. America was great only because her military was great. America’s military had been in trouble for twenty years—since the fall of Saigon—and the pro-military heyday of the Reagan years was over. Clinton and his unacceptable elements threatened to erode the military; if they succeeded, they would ruin America. The military was the last stand; if its leaders caved, America would no longer be the world’s greatest nation. And God intended America to remain great. NIS Agent Jay Gared was determined to do his part to ensure that America never fell from greatness.
“Enemy missile positions! Straight ahead!”
“Damn it!” said Colonel Leonard Spencer. Intelligence had briefed the pilots that these scruffy desert mountains were friendly territory. “What kind? How many? How far?” He fired the questions into his mouthpiece. He pushed the helicopter’s stick forward, dropping the Marine Corps AH-1W Super Cobra close to the ground where the earth’s heat and light sources would interfere with the hostile detection systems.
“Looks like two—shit—three shoulder-fired missile teams. First is over the ridgeline nine clicks,” came the low, gravelly voice of the pilot in the Cobra ahead to Leonard’s right.
“Nine kilometers.” Leonard instantly performed the calculations in his head. “Good, we’re still out of range. We have just enough time. Sledge, bypass team one to the south. Fly in low through the saddle. Take out team two. We’ll hit team one and search for team three. Copy?”
The voice hesitated. “We should go toward the sun, Royal. The glare will defeat the heat-seeking guidance systems in the missile warheads.”
“Negative. Your mission is to go low. Take out the second missile pos. Copy?”
Another hesitation. “Roger.” Lieutenant Colonel Melvin “Sledge” Hammer’s Cobra veered low and disappeared from sight.
Leonard couldn’t be distracted by his suspicion that his subordinate commander was about to disobey his order. He’d already spent too much time, a deadly extravagance in the face of this grave enemy threat. He turned his attention to his copilot. “Jungle, you copy?”
“Roger, Colonel—I mean Royal.”
“How many rounds in the one-niner-seven?”
“Seven-fifty, sir—a full load. We firing the gun?”
“Roger.” Leonard liked Jungle’s attitude. Some pilots felt safer using the Cobra’s rockets or missiles but Jungle eagerly faced the enemy from behind the barrel of the airborne machine gun.
Leonard sighted the first missile team. His mind went into high-speed mode. Jink hard left then fast right toward the large rock formation jutting from the mountain at two o’clock. Shift direction. Pop over the edge. Jungle will have two seconds to—
“Royal! Incoming missile! Eight o’clock! Fired from three clicks—two point five—two!”
“Sledge! We missed a team,” Leonard shouted. “Double back from behind. Take him out before he gets off a second shot.” Leonard and Jungle had stumbled into an angry hornets’ nest of enemy missiles and the only way they could defeat them was to pull Sledge back into the area. “Sledge! Do you read? Sledge?” Silence.
“One point five—one—first team in sight.”
“Fire when ready!”
“Ready to fire—fire!”
Leonard watched as his forward-seated copilot began the rapid-fire assault against the enemy on the ground. But it was too late. Because they’d failed to see a missile team, Leonard and Jungle were seconds away from death and there was nothing they could do about it.
“You Marines never miss a chance to show off your naked bodies, do you?” Eddie asked.
Karl Steiger tossed his shirt onto Eddie’s head. “Americans have a constitutional right to see who’s protecting them.” The twenty-three-year-old Marine flexed his pecs and kissed his bulging biceps. “Their tax dollars at work, right here, baby!” He winked at Eddie. “They catch you Navy boys without your shirts, they’ll demand a refund.”
“Hell, I actually work for a living, else I could spend three hours a day in the gym.” Eddie fished in his glove compartment for his Ray-Ban sunglasses and put them on.
“Don’t you squids burn off any calories walking to and from the vending machine all day?”
“Ladies, please don’t make me referee,” said Don.
“Here, Don, take this before he leaves it behind.” Eddie tossed Karl’s shirt and opened his car door to put the leash on his dog. “Give me any more lip and I’ll sic Rocky on you!” They laughed at the idea of a twelve-pound dachshund attacking a Marine.
Karl turned to a volleyball game in progress. “Go ahead, Karl. We’ll rotate in later.”
Rocky yanked on his leash as Karl took off across the small field in San Diego’s Balboa Park. “No, Rocky, over here, boy!” Eddie said. Karl joined the team in formation facing their opponents. The eleven men—allies and foes alike—gawked at Karl’s physique. When Karl wore baggy shorts and nothing else, everyone—gay, straight or bi—stared at his chiseled body.
“Where’d he get that tan?” Eddie asked. “Today’s January twenty-third, not July fourth.”
Don grabbed two beers from the cooler. “That tan cost the boy a big chunk of his paycheck, so just admire like everyone else.” He passed one to Eddie.
“Marines in tanning beds,” Eddie grunted. “We’re in the Clinton era for sure.”
“About the fuck-up at the hospital yesterday—a buddy at Miramar can help us.” Don popped the top off his Miller Genuine Draft. “Shoulda gone to him first. He’s straight, but more reliable than that shitbird Giles. Says he can meet us at Balboa Tuesday morning.”
Rocky found a piece of real estate to his liking and did his business. “This HIV test is a lot of trouble.” Eddie pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and cleaned up after his pet. “You gotta be away from your battalion. Your friend’s gotta come all the way to Balboa.”
“Let me worry about that. Besides, we didn’t make these fucked-up rules. You’re healthy. You’ve got every right to keep doing your job until you reach your twenty and retire.”
“If I make it to retirement,” Eddie said as they turned to walk back toward their cars.
“Prepare to get creamed! Zero serving zero.” Karl put the ball cleanly over the net.
“They’ll find a cure soon,” Don said. “You’re gonna make it way beyond retirement.”
“Yeah
