Detachment Delta (12 page)

Charlie handed her a bottle of water and opened one himself and started chugging. It was a hot and humid day, and it was especially suffocating in the Shooting House with their adrenaline pumping, and especially with her wearing a full burqa over her other clothes.

He smiled at her and winked, saying, “Sergeant Jannat, I will have no problem going into Injun country with you as a partner.”

With Charlie being full-blooded Lakota, this remark really struck her funny bone, and Fila started chuckling, which turned into laughter. Infectious as it was, Charlie started to laugh, too, not knowing why.

He got a puzzled look and said, “Why are we laughing?”

She pointed at him and said, “Injun country!”

Charlie chuckled now and said, “What's wrong with that, Booty? That is what everybody in SF says for enemy territory.”

She laughed even harder.

Charlie smiled, saying, “I take back what I said about you covering my behind.”

She laughed even harder.

Seventh Special Forces Group was having a special luncheon at McKellar's Lodge, which was very close to the Detachment-Delta entrance, so they both had lunch with some old friends there and then went back to the range.

When they left, one of the younger sergeants at their table said, “So who was that guy, an SF retiree and his wife?”

One of the master sergeants sitting nearby said, “Naw, that's Charlie Strongheart. He's C.A.G.”

Another one said, “Wal, purty boys, I worked with her. She's an intel sergeant herself. She was 'tached to us at the Third Herd for a bit in the Sandbox. She went to C.A.G., too, I heerd. If any women deserved to, it was Ole Fila Jannat. They is a clangin' noise when she walks.”

“They have women in Delta Force?” the E6 asked.

The first master sergeant said, “Shh. We'll have to kill ya, man. Nobody's supposed to know. They are in what's that called?”

“The Funny Platoon,” the Southerner master sergeant replied.

The staff sergeant spoke again. “A clangin' noise. That woman was downright beautiful. She is tough?”

The E8 replied, “What d'ya s'pose I weigh, son?”

“Two-fifty?”

“Naw, two-sixty-two,” he said. “And I was one of the three wounded guys she carried ta safety under heavy gunfire in Sadr City. She got brass ones awright. Thet's why she got a Silver Star, too.”

“Damn!” the staff sergeant said.

The other master sergeant said, “That old Charlie Strongheart is a handful himself. He has seen the elephant. If they got those two partnered up, somebody is gonna be in a world of caca.”

The Southern sergeant said, “Wal, ya did notice them boobs and that butt, gents. They are prob'bly jest datin'. I had me a partnuh thet looked like thet, we'd be under the sheets firin' RPGs.”

Driving back, Charlie said, “How did you get your hands on a Yarborough knife?”

She got a sad look and said, “I dated a guy from Third Group I had served with in Iraq. He left me his Yarborough when he died.”

Charlie said, “Sorry. He must have thought a lot of you to leave his Yarborough knife.”

Major General William P. Yarborough was the man who encouraged his Special Forces operators to wear green berets on their heads and then tried to get the Pentagon to approve it as official headgear for his special breed of men. Yarborough, who invented the army's Jump Wings in World War II, where he personally earned four gold stars for his own set of wings, for combat jumps he made, was the commanding general of the USA JFK Special Warfare Center at Fort Bragg when President Kennedy did indeed declare the green beret as the distinctive headgear for the U.S. Army Special Forces and referred to it in 1962, saying, “The green beret is again becoming a symbol of excellence, a badge of courage, a mark of distinction in the fight for freedom.” General Yarborough was also an innovator of many things, such as creating the now legendary Special Forces medic, who had training better than most EMTs and physician's assistants.

He is considered by most in Special Forces to be the “father of the modern-day Green Berets.”

For some time now, any young man who graduates from the grueling Special Forces Qualification Course switches on the parade ground from a burgundy to a green beret. But the following day, wearing a class A uniform and his new Special Forces tab, when he walks across the stage, usually in the Fayetteville, North Carolina, Civic Auditorium, the man is handed a diploma and a numbered and personalized Yarborough knife. Designed by Bill Harsey and manufactured by Chris Reeve Knives to be both a tool and a weapon, the Yarborough was the winning design from a field of nearly one hundred different contenders.

It's made from CPM S30V steel, an alloy that has greater strength than most blades, as well as superior edge-holding ability, and it is coated with KG GunKote, a baked-on nonreflective corrosion-resistant finish. The handle of the knife is actually canvas Micarta, chosen for its toughness, chemical resistance, and wet-grip capabilities.

Most people never put the Yarborough anywhere but a display case, but Fila loved hers and used it always in the field. It just never would seem to slip in her grip, even if she was not wearing Kevlar gloves, which she usually did, and even when it was wet.

CHARLIE
said, “Hey, how about we pop some silhouettes outdoors, go to our places, clean up, and I take you out for a really nice dinner tonight?”

“Poke,” she teased, “are you asking me out on a date?”

Charlie thought for a second and said, “No, we are partners. If you were a guy, I would ask you the same thing.”

“Would you take a guy to the same restaurant where you are planning on taking me?”

Again, the tall Indian thought, and then said, “Naw, if you were a guy partner, I would invite you but maybe take you to Texas Road House or Hooters.”

She chuckled and said, “So, are you asking me out on a date?”

“I guess I am,” he replied. “Pick you up at seven?”

“I'll be ready.”

“Nice restaurant,” he said. “I'll wear a suit or sport coat with slacks.”

It was exactly seven o'clock when Fila's doorbell rang, and she opened it. Just having a man do that and not honk the horn was refreshing compared to many of her dates. She was doubly surprised when she opened the door and saw Charlie in a dark blue pin-striped Brooks Brothers suit tailored with a European cut. He wore a cream-colored shirt with French cuffs and a silk striped maroon tie with dark blue and cream stripes. On his feet were shiny black Gucci loafers with strips of bamboo attached to the tassel on them. He held in his hand a bouquet of white roses as well as baby's breath and ferns.

He handed them to her and she cooed, smelling them, saying, “Thanks, Charlie. I love roses.”

“I picked them out of my yard,” he said proudly.

“Ooh, white for passion,” she said. “Out of your yard?”

He said, “I raise a few flowers. Keeps the place looking nice. Have you eaten at the Vineyard?”

“Oh yes,” she said, genuinely enthused. “That is the best eating in Fayetteville. I love the piano music, too.”

Charlie looked at her, and it took his breath just about. This woman could make any man forget any woman. Her shiny black designer dress clung to her body like the finest silk, which it was. It was low-cut and her cleavage was like a sign to Charlie, shouting “Please Stare!” But he would not allow himself to, as much as he wanted to. The dress was slit up the back, and he noticed her tanned, shapely legs. Fila wore beautiful shiny black stiletto high-heeled shoes with tiny straps that wrapped around her ankles and looked very sexy to him. She had on long dangly earrings that had little crosses at the end of each, and there was a small diamond in the center of each cross. Around her neck was a nice necklace with a large matching cross and a larger diamond in the center of it. She wore several classy-looking dress rings on one thumb and her hand, and he noticed she wore two small toe rings, and an ankle bracelet on her left leg, which matched the earrings and necklace.

Her hair hung halfway down her back and was very shiny and beautiful.

Charlie said, “I have to tell you, Fila. If you ever dress like this on our assignment, I am worried you will get me killed. How could I ever take my eyes off of you, you are so beautiful?”

She blushed and smiled seductively without even meaning to. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the cheek. He felt his heart beat harder.

The Vineyard was on South McPherson Church Road, one of the main business streets in Fayetteville, and was considered by many to be the finest cuisine and atmosphere in the military town.

It was really a classy place with great atmosphere. They had a pianist indoors, but you could also eat outside on the patio. The service was excellent. The waitress they had was very attentive and brought out their appetizers and salads in a very timely fashion. She also checked on them throughout the meal. The couple decided to order one steak meal and one seafood meal and share. So Charlie got a filet mignon smothered in sautéed mushrooms, and it was good enough and tender enough to melt in his mouth, and was cooked medium rare. Fila ordered wasabi grilled tuna, which was very scrumptious. They shared throughout the meal and each chose to have only one glass of wine, because of tying it on at the Green Beret Club the previous night.

After dinner both declined dessert, but drank lots of coffee while they talked about anything and everything.

He finally smiled and said, “I just have to ask. That dress is so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she interrupted.

“So, you know how we all think 24/7,” he said. “I have to ask. Where do you have your Glock 19 hidden?”

She grinned and said, “Come here.”

He slid over into the chair next to her from his seat across the table.

“Slide your hand up the inside of my left thigh,” she commanded softly.

His heart pounded in his ears and the side of his temples. Charlie had not had a woman have this effect on him in years. Ever, he thought. He looked around and slowly slid his hand up the inside of her leg. Halfway up her thigh it bumped against the bottom of her molded polymer plastic thigh holster.

He chuckled and moved back.

“So,” she countered, “what are you carrying?”

Charlie said, “I usually carry a Springfield Arms .45 XD Tactical, but tonight, because of you, I am carrying a Glock 19 with Corbon copper-jacketed hollow points.”

She pretended to speak like a teen and said, “Ooh, Charlie. Me too! We have so much in common!”

He laughed.

She then said, “That's nice, but what else?”

He chuckled.

“Okay,” he said, “of course I carry a backup. In my front pocket, I always carry—”

Charlie stopped as Fila raised her hand, laughing.

She said, “Did you notice my little black makeup purse I have been carrying tonight?”

He nodded.

She said, “I bet you are going to tell me you are carrying the same exact gun in your front pocket, a Kel-Tec P3AT.380. I never leave home without it.”

Charlie laughed, and said, “One round in the pipe and six in the mag. I can even carry it when I am wearing shorts.”

Fila started laughing again. He asked why.

She said, “Nice first date. You and I talk about guns.”

“I don't know about you, sweetheart,” he said, “but the more I learn about you, the safer I feel going on a dumb-ass suicide mission into the middle of Iran.”

“Charlie,” she said, “I already felt safe with you the first time I saw you in the conference room.”

Now he got embarrassed, and said, “Why do you say that?”

She replied, “When I heard about you, I of course started asking around. I heard how you needed intelligence really badly on the Taliban, and you went out by yourself at night in the Khyber Pass wearing night vision and waited along the road used by the Taliban, al Qaeda, and major drug smugglers. You waited all night, until you found one straggler behind one patrol of Taliban, snuck up behind him, knocked him out with your gun, and carried him over your shoulders, with flex cuffs on his hands and legs, for over a mile, to where you had your dirt bike hidden. Then, you carried him on that, coasting down an old mountain road, and had to hide several times. Finally, when you could see where your team and the warlord were headquartered across the valley, you cranked up the bike and rode across that valley floor, taking occasional volleys from hidden Taliban and a few RPGs shot at you. Is that story true?”

“No,” he replied, “absolutely not. They were firing mortars at me, not RPGs. Hey, we needed intel right then.”

She shook her head and then said, “But that is not why I felt safe. I read about your ancestors and figured what pride you must have grown up with.”

Charlie said, “My old man was a twenty-four-hour-per-day drunk. That is why I don't often do what I did last night and pour the booze on.”

She said, “Charlie, lots of Native Americans have alcohol problems. It is still a race of powerful warriors. I want to ask you a question.”

“What?” he answered, grinning.

“Do you have big scars on your pectoral muscles?”

This embarrassed him even more than her asking about his Taliban adventure.

“Yes,” he said. “Boy, you do research. Don't you?”

“I knew you had gone through the Sun Dance ceremony just like your famous ancestor.”

Sitting Bull went through a Sun Dance ceremony, which actually entailed his arms each being sliced fifty times from each wrist to each shoulder. Blood dripped from both arms, and he hung in the sun all day, both pectoral muscles on his chest pierced by eagle talons, and then awls were stuck through the two holes over each nipple and these were tied to leather thongs which went up over a cross pole, and he was raised up hanging by his flesh until the flesh tore away. During the second day Sitting Bull fainted from excessive blood loss, but received a vision about his victory over the whites in a coming battle. In his vision he saw the
wasicun
(white men) “falling into our camp like grasshoppers falling out of the sky.” The Sun Dance was totally condemned by missionaries and Indian agents.