Strength of the Pack (5 page)

Lucas wasn’t sure how to respond. He stared wordlessly at Noah for several long moments. “Seriously?”

“Ever been in combat?” Noah asked, finally looking directly at Lucas with his silver eyes.

“Yes.” Lucas wondered what that had to do with anything.

“Similar reaction,” Noah replied.

Lucas suddenly understood. “Copy that.”

“Are you really going to sit in your car all night waiting for us to come back?” Noah asked abruptly.

Why was this so fucking hard to believe? “I’ve got a book, a thermos and a cell phone. If something goes wrong out there, send someone with a message, and I can get help.”

Noah gave a slight shake of his head. “Are you for real?” he muttered.

“Excuse me?” Lucas had no clue how to answer, or if he even should.

“The first of us should start showing back up just as it gets light,” Noah said over his shoulder as he walked into the dark, his hips rolling slowly, broad shoulders cutting a defined silhouette.

Lucas locked down the sudden spike of lust that rocketed through him. “What’s the appropriate thing to say, right now?” he asked, hoping levity would dispel the sudden awkwardness. “Good luck? Stay safe? Play nice with the other wolves, and don’t pick up any strange fleas?”

Noah stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back. Lucas was sure he’d crossed some sort of line of inappropriateness. He mentally berated himself for openly flirting with an NCO under his command.

Relief washed over him when Noah suddenly grinned. “I wondered if there was any spirit to go with that brain.”

Lucas stayed rooted to his spot, speechless, blood thundering in his ears, as he watched Noah walk into the darkness.

§ § §

His cell phone alarm jolted Lucas awake just as the sky began to lighten. He climbed out of his SUV into the chilly morning air and stretched. Glancing around, Lucas determined none of the werewolves had returned yet. He walked stiffly to the edge of the parking lot and relieved himself.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Lucas leaned against the front of his car, settling in to wait. The first streaks of pale pink were just painting the sky when the first shadow emerged from the dark.

Lucas retrieved his clipboard and noted the return of a captain from Miramar. The werewolves trickled in slowly at first. He expected squabbles and fogged windows, like Noah had warned him about. Instead, they milled about in the center of the parking lot, speaking in hushed tones and casting surreptitious glances in Lucas’ direction.

The sky was pale gray when a familiar silhouette—tall and broad shouldered—strode into the parking lot. Noah’s eyes were silver and still very wolf-like when he came to a stop in front of Lucas.

They stared at each other for several wordless moments, Noah breathing heavily between parted lips. Lucas’ heart pounded so loud he was sure Noah could hear.

“You really stayed, Lucas,” Noah finally said, his voice rough.

“I said I would,” he replied breathlessly, unable to look away from Noah’s intense eyes.

“Yes. You did.” Noah’s amazement seemed to give way to pleasure.

Lucas shook himself free of this strange spell. “Can you verify for me, who has made it back so far?”

Noah glanced toward the cluster of Marines in the parking lot. He tilted his head back and inhaled. To Lucas’ utter amazement, he listed each and every Marine who had already returned from the run.

“That is truly impressive, Noah.” The taste and feel of Noah’s name on his tongue was oddly pleasant.

“Thank you, sir,” Noah replied, hiding behind their ranks again. He shifted his weight slightly, before walking to his Jeep. He retrieved his shoes and slipped them on.

More and more Marines began to arrive. They all obediently checked in with Lucas and nodded respectfully in Noah’s direction. Some lingered in the parking lot and eventually squabbles broke out. Noah quickly broke them up with what appeared to be little effort. Most simply climbed into their vehicles and drove away.

When the last Marine made it back just as the sun made its appearance, Lucas no longer had a reason to stay. He tossed his clipboard into the backseat of his SUV and prepared to head home to catch up on his sleep.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He knew without looking that it was Noah. He wasn’t surprised when Noah’s voice was right behind him.

“Thank you for your support,” he said stiffly. Lucas suspected he didn’t say those words often.

Lucas gathered the courage to turn and meet Noah’s eyes. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” There seemed to be something else Noah wanted to say. Instead, he climbed into his Jeep and drove away, leaving Lucas staring longingly after his brake lights.

Lucas had no idea how the werewolves did it. Hubbard didn’t even sound out of breath as he called the cadence. Chandler and Grant were at the front and the center of the platoon, respectively, calling out encouragement to their fellow Marines.

This time, when Catinella fell behind, it was Noah who dropped back. Lucas wanted to move closer, curious about what the sergeant was saying and how someone like Noah would motivate a young Marine to perform at a higher level. He kept his distance, though. Some things were better kept between the enlisted men.

Noah shortened his long stride to match Catinella’s and leaned in slightly to murmur something. It appeared effortless, and Lucas felt a sharp stab of envy.

To his amazement, Catinella’s stride lengthened, and he steadily gained ground on the rest of the platoon.

“See, that’s easier, isn’t it?” he heard Noah ask.

“Yes, Sergeant, it is.” Catinella’s reply was firm, if slightly winded.

Lucas had Sergeant Viejo take up the cadence. He watched as Hubbard dropped back in the pack, to accompany and encourage Catinella. Noah picked up his pace and passed them all to take up the lead.

Lucas enjoyed using Noah as his focal point. It was easy to track him, blond head and broad shoulders rising so far above everyone else. He looked completely at ease and supremely competent. Lucas had no idea how he was going to get such a man to submit to his command willingly.

When they reached the parade ground, Gunny McAlister was there to help Lucas remove his pack. He rolled his shoulders and was surprised to find a cool bottle of water thrust into his hand. He glanced up into Noah’s blue eyes.

Lucas pushed the bottle back at him. “You first, Sergeant.”

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Noah replied calmly. “You need to maintain combat
and
command effectiveness.”

“The men first,” Lucas insisted, handing off the bottle to a nearby Marine.

Several minutes later, Lucas glanced over his men, reassured that none of them were going to keel over from heat stroke or dehydration.

“Hey, Gunny?” he heard Noah call. “Has the Lieutenant hydrated, yet?”

“That’s a negative, Sergeant,” Vince shouted his reply.

A bottle of water flew through the air, and the Gunny caught it with one hand.

“Please advise the Lieutenant that his platoon’s needs have all been seen to.” Noah spoke to Vince but he was looking at Lucas.

“Roger that,” Gunny said.

Lucas took the bottle from Vince, even as he watched Noah upend his own bottle and drain it in just a few swallows. He met Lucas’ eyes challengingly the entire time. Lucas couldn’t help but smile as he finally quenched his own thirst.

§ § §

“I want you to run them through more scenarios involving civilian contact,” Lucas told Noah as they strode down the hallway side-by-side. “This deployment is going to be about the hearts and minds shit, and I want to make sure they understand that.”

“Roger that, sir,” Noah replied.

“Lieutenant Young.”

Lucas turned at the sound of Captain Stanley calling his name. “Sir.” He stopped walking, completely aware of Noah pulling up to stand beside him.

“There’s a need for more boots on the ground so the battalion’s deployment date has been moved up,” Stanley said.

Dread settled in Lucas’ gut like a lead weight. “How soon, sir?”

“Two weeks. We’re taking over a mission from Third Marines.” The captain delivered this news as if he expected Lucas to be grateful.

He was already concerned about losing four weeks of training, but Lucas knew the worst news was yet to come. “And that mission is?”

“We get to hunt terrorists,” Stanley replied, seeming pleased with himself.

“Respectfully, Captain, that’s not the mission we’ve been training for.” They hadn’t spent nearly as much time training the platoon to be appropriately aggressive with the populace as was needed with this change in deployment.

“You’ve got two weeks still to get your men ready,” Stanley replied, as if the previous six months didn’t matter.

“Due respect, sir,” Lucas chose his words carefully as he struggled for a way to impress upon the captain the ludicrousness of the situation, “that’s not enough time to completely revise the platoon’s preparations.”

“We’re Marines, Lucas; we’re all trained for this.” Stanley’s impatience was showing. “We follow orders when they’re given. We don’t question them.”

Lucas wondered how many war crimes were committed because of that mindset. “When can I expect a list of equipment we’ll have access to?”

“Why do you need that?” the captain’s expression became confused.

Lucas bit back his sigh of frustration. The muscles in his back ached from tension. “So I can arrange for the necessary training.”

“Why do you need to adjust your training?” Stanley looked more baffled, if that was even possible.

“To ensure my men’s effectiveness and safety.” Lucas’ frustration blossomed into anger, and he knew his tone was bordering on insubordinate. Beside him, Noah shifted his weight until his arm nearly brushed Lucas’ shoulder. Inexplicably, the majority of Lucas’ anger drained away.

“They’re already trained on the only piece of equipment that matters—their M16s.” The captain looked so proud at this pronouncement it was obscene.

“What about special equipment—”

Lucas didn’t get to finish. Stanley cut him off impatiently. “You have your orders, Lieutenant. Frankly, your questions are bordering on disrespectful.”

Noah’s presence beside Lucas was suddenly more pronounced. Lucas released the breath he was holding and smoothed his features. “I apologize, skipper. I’m just anxious to ensure my men are as prepared as they can possibly be.”

“That’s admirable, Lucas,” Stanley said, smiling jovially and slapping Lucas’ arm like they were buddies. “Now, why don’t you go share the good news with your platoon?”

“Yes, sir.” Lucas bit down on the inside of his cheek.

The captain ambled away down the corridor. Lucas stood, grinding his teeth, feeling absolutely impotent.

“Lieutenant, I think we should go inform the platoon,” Noah said from just behind Lucas’ shoulder. His presence was soothing, but that was something Lucas would ponder later.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, let’s get it over with. They’ve all got personal business they need to see to, as well.”

Lucas squinted against the sudden brightness as they both put on their utility covers and stepped into the bright sunshine. “With your permission, sir, I’ll revise the training schedule for the next week,” Noah said.

“Yes, good,” Lucas replied, forcing himself to refocus on the task at hand. “Get them as much time on the Infantry Immersion Trainer as possible.” The Immersion Trainer was a Middle Eastern village assembled in a deserted warehouse that combined live interaction with virtual effects to provide Marines with the most realistic training scenarios possible.

“Roger that, sir.”

“Any suggestions for additional training I should arrange for?” Lucas asked.

“Your Marines are remarkably well trained, sir,” Noah answered. “They’re prepared for the change in deployment.”

Coming from Noah, the words were reassuring. “I like to think so, but I still want them to get as much time on the Trainer as possible.”

Noah replied smoothly. “You’ve done the best you can for your men, and you’ll continue to do the same.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s enough,” Lucas said, his agitation rising again.

“It is. And you’ll put a positive spin on the new deployment date. That’s all they need from you.” Noah’s shoulder brushed casually against Lucas’ as they walked.

“I hope so, Sergeant.” Oddly, Lucas was reassured by Noah’s words.

§ § §

Vince and Lucas were the only ones left in the gym. Lucas had dismissed the platoon after Noah had subjected them all to severe beatings.

Lucas winced inwardly and immediately corrected himself. Sergeant Hammond. He needed to get out of the habit of using his TL’s given name.

The closer they got to shipping out to Afghanistan, the less Noah held himself back when sparring with the platoon. Except, he still held himself in check when it came to Lucas.