I Own the Dawn: The Night Stalkers by M. L. Buchman Read Free Book Online Page B

corner of her eye. Watching Archie lean in to shape Dilya’s fingers around a fork.
    Same-crew fraternization never worked, not even when it was rank to rank. Big John was a grade up, so no way anyway. Cross-squad was tricky, but it could be done. Civilians were best. Even if they couldn’t hack a warrior-chick long term, no matter how much they thought of themselves, civilians were always good for a tumble or two. She’d bet there’d be a real lack of local talent in the town pub, if there were a town pub, and if she weren’t likely to be shot for walking into it. Security briefing had been clear. Don’t go into town unarmed, and not in a squad less than four strong. From ankles to hair covered for a woman. Knees to shoulders for a guy. Great.
    Kee spotted the medic she’d dumped Dilya on yesterday. She headed over, nodding to the Professor to keep an eye on their charge.
    Not a word needed, he was in full sync.
    It was a smooth feeling, as if she’d known him half her life. As if they’d run in the same gang long enough to be solid. Real solid. Completely familiar. She glanced back. Between one blink and the next he transformed back into the handsome pilot she barely knew but completely trusted, leaning over to tease the little girl. The images stayed overlapped in her brain as she turned to face the medic.
    “Chief Medic Ray Mackenzie?”
    “Mac will do. What can I do for you, Smith?”
    “Kee.” They shook. Hard to resist doing the full-on bone-cruncher most guys expected, but he was a medic and you don’t mess with their hands. Still he cranked down a bit and she gave back as good as she got.
    With a nod toward the seat opposite, he set down his own food.
    “What can I do for you, Kee?”
    “Like to ask about Dilya.” She sat down.
    “Dilya? Oh, the Uzbek kid.”
    “Uzbek?”
    “Uzbekistan, about three hundred miles that way.” He pointed north toward the mountains.
    “She came through that?” On the Pakistan side of the border, the Hindu Kush mountains would kill you. On the other side, the Afghan war doubled the hazard. Neither was a place you entered and expected to live. To pass through both? What did that take?
    “Must have. Though you were about halfway there when you picked her up. She has no other language but the bit of Russian.”
    “You speak Uzbek? Uzbeki? Whatever.”
    He dug in a pocket for a moment and tossed her a thin volume little bigger than the palm of her hand.
    O’zbek–English Phrase Book.
    “Great. What do I do with this?”
    Mac looked at her and shrugged. “Extra copy. Give it back when you’re done with it.”
    “Thought I was done when I gave her to you.” She flipped the pages but they were a blur, none of the words made sense at the moment, not even the English ones. She didn’t want the kid.
    Mac shook his head and cut a chunk out of his pancakes. “I’m just medical. I checked her out, she didn’t like it much. Eleven or twelve, I’m guessing. Intact. Nothing broken. No real bruises either, banged shin and other kid stuff. Serious calluses on her feet, girl’s walked a long way without shoes. Other than borderline starvation like every other kid within five hundred miles, she’s fine. We’re forward operations here, so there isn’t any liaison or community service to deal with her. Makes her your problem. Give her food and get her gone.”
    “Gone to where?”
    “Refugee camp about fifty miles that way.” He pointed his pancake-laden fork south instead of north this time before filling his mouth. The look on his face was a little sour. She felt a chill up her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. She’d wager the camp deserved that grimace.
    ***
    “Major Beale.” Kee stepped up and snapped to attention in front of her commander where she sat with her husband over their breakfast. Resisted the salute. She didn’t expect a lot of help here, but Beale was her CO. Next place to go and you don’t ever skip the chain of command. Ever.