03-Strength of the Mate (3 page)

“Madison,” a familiar voice called.

Adam glanced around the open door of his truck to find Dawson Rivers quickly approaching.

“Gunnery Sergeant,” Adam greeted hastily, extending his hand. Rivers shook it vigorously. A bolt of electricity raced up Adam’s arm, slamming into his heart. It had to be wishful thinking, though. Adam didn’t get to have a magical connection, like the beautiful people in movies all do.

“I was pleasantly surprised when Noah told me you work aboard Camp Fallujah,” the gunny said with a smile. He wore his armor vest and Kevlar, M16 secured to a sling and gripped lightly in his left hand. His sunglasses hung from the webbing of his vest, so his lavender colored eyes met Adam’s directly.

Rivers was a good looking guy. At about six-feet, he was slightly taller than Adam. His dark hair was clipped short, like so many Marines wore it. His heavily muscled frame looked even broader with all of the gear he wore. Adam’s stomach tightened in a weirdly pleasant way. His heart beat faster and his breathing sped up whenever Dawson Rivers looked him square in the eye.

“I was really surprised to hear you were joining us here,” Adam confessed. “I don’t know that many werewolves. What are the odds one of the few I do know would show up here?” Christ. Was he babbling?

Rivers’ laugh sent a warm shower of sparks down Adam’s spine. He couldn’t help staring at Dawson’s sexy smile. The sparks in his spine settled in his groin, stirring his dick. Fuck. Adam dragged his gaze back to Rivers’ unusual eyes.

“When the major told us you were here, Noah ordered me to keep an eye on you.” Dawson’s grin was mischievous, almost naughty. “The major immediately countermanded that order. I take it you made it clear to your brother you don’t need a babysitter?”

Adam flushed, knowing he’d been a topic of conversation in Tim’s office. “More like I don’t want to be spied on.” Saying it out loud made it seem ridiculous now. Adam needed to learn to keep his fat mouth shut. Rivers probably didn’t give a shit about Madison family drama.

“I’ve got older brothers, too,” Dawson said conspiratorially. “It’s obvious both your balls have dropped. You don’t need a keeper. Besides, I got my hands full with the shifters.” He quickly glanced at all the activity buzzing around them. A fleeting look of disapproval crossed his face, but was immediately gone. “No time to worry about what—or who—you’re doing. But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” His brilliant smile was back.

Adam didn’t get the idea he was included in whatever Dawson was unhappy about, so he could agree to his request, no problem. He appreciated that Rivers was showing him respect, so he’d do the same. Besides, Rivers was just following orders. “Me and Tim worked it out,” he said, trying to sound like it was old news. “The werewolves are glad you’re here, so I’m glad you’re here.” Did that even make sense?

Before Dawson could reply, Jason reappeared. He sat down beside them, watching Rivers expectantly. Adam saw Dawson scan Jason from ears to tail, his expression dark and worried. Rivers lifted his chin and inhaled, the worry clearing from his face.

“This is Corporal Jason Rodriguez,” Adam said. “Or did you already know that?” He wanted to know why Dawson was concerned, but didn’t want to put him on the spot with Jason right there.

Dawson shot him a self-deprecating grin that slammed into Adam’s gut like a solid punch. “I knew I’d met him, but I still don’t have everybody’s names memorized.”

“I hear that,” Adam replied breathlessly. “Rodriguez is my bodyguard for today.”

“A bodyguard without body armor, huh?” Dawson asked ruefully. Before Adam could comment, he said, “You two have fun. I’ll be in the gun truck near the rear of the convoy.” Rivers reached for Adam’s shoulder as he stepped past. “Stay safe. I’ll catch you later.”

Adam hoped he said something articulate. He could still feel the warmth of Dawson’s hand where he gave Adam’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.

Jason sat watching him with a frighteningly intelligent gaze. “Ready to go?” he asked, shaking himself from his stupor. It hadn’t occurred to Adam, until Dawson commented, that the werewolves didn’t wear any kind of protection from gunfire. He’d swear Tim had made a ballistic vest for wolves standard issue.

Jason darted around the front of the rig. Adam watched him go, trying to quell his rising worry. He had to stay focused on his job, for both their sakes.

Adam hauled himself into the cab of the Actros. The V8 diesel engine rumbled beneath his feet.

A Marine appeared in the passenger door. “Good to go?” he asked, with a glance at Adam and his wolf companion.

Adam gave him a thumbs-up. The Marine closed the cab door, pitching the interior into near silence. The radio crackled to life as each driver answered the convoy commander’s radio check. Adam answered up when his name was called.

The convoy started to roll out. A Marine rode with each of the drivers. They alternated between a rifleman and a wolf in each cab. Between every third rig drove a heavily-armored, heavy-duty, 5-ton, dual-axel gun truck. Two Marines rode in the cab of the gun truck, with a third manning either a .50 caliber gun, or a MK-19 grenade launcher, in the back.

The platoon sergeant, Gus Brandt, rode in the lead Humvee. The platoon commander, Lieutenant Kevin Wilkins, rode in the rear Humvee. Sergeant Mercer and three other Marines rode in a Humvee at the mid-point, directly behind Adam. Buried somewhere in the convoy were two bobtails—trucks without trailers—ready for a quick swap-out if a rig broke down.

No matter what happened, everyone had to keep moving. Stopping made you a target.

Strapping on his Kevlar and putting on his sunglasses, Adam was ready to roll. The tanker in front of him slowly began to move. Working clutch, buttons, and shifter in coordination, Adam got the heavy rig moving. He took a steadying breath. He’d hauled diesel fuel in the States a lot of times. He just hadn’t done it while dodging bullets and bombs, until he came to Iraq.

They never took the same route twice in a row. Once they left Camp Fallujah, they’d be outside the wire. The convoy would take a series of roads, randomly selected by the Marines, until they reached one of the two Main Supply Routes, or MSRs, that led into the town of Fallujah. The small roads surrounding the camp were narrow, unpaved, and poorly maintained. Those roads were already lousy; all the mortar rounds fired by coalition troops, and the insurgent IEDs, made them even worse.

Adam hated IEDs most of all. Getting shot was painful, but those roadside bombs left guys all fucked up; blowing off their arms, their legs, and sometimes burning off all their skin.

Things wouldn’t get much better when they reached the MSR, except the multi-lane highways were paved. IEDs had done a lot of damage to them, but they were still better than the rutted, rock-strewn village roads.

Adam listened to the radio as the driver of the lead rig updated his location and status. A bead of sweat rolled down Adam’s temple. He turned up the air conditioning a couple of notches. He’d drive every day, just to spend time in the icy interior of the truck cab. Adam tried to keep Jason from being tossed around the cab, but he had to make the turns with a lot of speed. Jason widened the stance of his front paws on the passenger seat, struggling to keep his balance.

Adam glanced in his side mirror, counting the seconds until the rig behind him turned the last corner. The driver lagged a little farther than the recommended hundred meters, but Adam gave the guy a chance to make the correction on his own, before he said something.

The Marines chattered on the radio, sharing info on potential threats. They were alert and coordinated. Adam thought they were just a little more on the ball today.

Dawson’s operational organization? Or just high morale ’cause he was here?

The driver in the lead rig was on the radio, updating his current location. The convoy reached a long straightaway and Adam’s excitement grew. He needed to keep his own wits about him now. Some drivers never learn to deal with the stress and danger. This convoy had more than its share of those drivers, and they shouted nervously into the radio, talking so fast, no one understood them.

They’d reached the first of two kill zones—sections of road where the enemy usually ambushed them. Adam should be scared right now. The fact that he wasn’t meant he was pretty fucked up. He wasn’t crazy; he didn’t want to die. But he sure as hell enjoyed the rush of adrenaline.

Up ahead, the Humvee and the gun trucks weaved evasively when they drove beneath an overpass. The Marines quickly and calmly gave status updates on the radio, when they managed to shut the freaked out drivers up. The tanker trucks were too long and bulky to weave beneath the bridges, and it made them sitting ducks for an ambush launched from the overpass. Jason’s whines of excitement were drowned out by the roar of the Actros’ engine and exhaust.

Adam had to keep moving, to keep driving as fast as he could. The turn onto MSR Mobile was sharp; Adam’s instinct was to slow down, but their safety depended on speed. Finding the gear that would let him accelerate out of the turn, Adam kept his foot pressed to the accelerator and both hands on the steering wheel.

Reaching MSR Mobile, they were clear of the first of the two major kill zones. Adam gauged he was a little less than a hundred meters behind the rig in front. He’d kept the tanker on the road and he hadn’t been shot at; so far, so good. Beside him, Jason panted. He started to stand on all four paws, then settled back down onto his haunches. He pawed at the seat, staring out the windshield with an almost human focus.

The Marines’ radio chatter was still calm and rapid fire. They monitored the rigs and kept their eyes open for threats. Things should go smooth for a while now, until they reached the second kill zone. That thousand meter section of MSR Mobile held the most danger of all. Gunshot wounds and IED blasts had claimed more Marines and drivers there than anywhere else. Once they made the transition onto MSR Michigan, they’d almost be in the clear.

The lead Humvee reported a suspicious object on the right side of the road. Adam steered a little to the left. He had to be careful. Sometimes, drivers got too far out of line and drove right over an IED no one had seen. The Marines didn’t hide their annoyance when they talked over the useless radio chatter of the nervous truck drivers.

“Contact left.” Sergeant Brandt’s abrupt transmission ended as gunfire erupted at the front of the convoy.

The Marines returned fire. Several clipped radio transmissions coordinated the fight. Adam kept driving, focusing on his spacing between the rigs in front and to the rear. His heart rate kicked up a little, more adrenaline pouring into his bloodstream. He tried to ignore the panicked radio traffic of the drivers who were nowhere near the ambush yet.

Beside him, Jason stared intently out the windshield, whining and yipping as the battle raged. Adam gripped the steering wheel as he approached the kill zone. He was gonna be under fire when he transitioned onto MSR Michigan.

His mouth was bone dry. Just before Adam reached the kill zone, the gunfire stopped. He shouldn’t be disappointed, he should be relieved.

“Hostiles neutralized,” Sergeant Brandt said calmly.

The convoy commander did a roll call of the drivers, making sure they were all okay. He tried to coach them back into their hundred-meter spacing. Adam focused on his driving, making sure his distances were correct.

He really needed a drink of water, but the transition onto MSR Michigan was coming up. “You okay over there, Rodriguez?” he asked.

Jason gave a quiet yip. He looked like he was smiling.

Adam licked at his dry lips, deciding to chance a quick drink of water. Still managing to keep the rig straight and an eye on the road, he took several long draughts from a bottle.

“Hang on tight,” Adam said to Jason.

He pushed the rig around the transition turn faster than was smart, but slowing down made him a target. The weight of the tanker trailer pulled relentlessly at the truck. Adam held it steady and kept it on the road.

The road straightened and Adam breathed easier. They were on the outskirts of the town of Fallujah, most of the danger behind them. When the truck yard came into view, Adam celebrated in silence. He’d made it through under fire, again.

The yard manager waved Adam into line beside another rig. The truck that had followed him in the convoy pulled in on his other side.

The passenger door opened to reveal a Marine, M16 hanging from his shoulder sling. “Everybody okay?”

Jason barked once and leapt out of the cab. Adam gave a thumbs-up. The Marine nodded and moved on to the next truck.

He opened his cab door and the heat hit Adam like a blow. He climbed down, heading to the rear of the rig to unhook the trailer. The yard crews would come around and drive the trucks across the yard, so each one could be attached to an empty tanker trailer for the trip back to Camp Fallujah.

“Need any help?”

Adam startled, nearly whacking his head on the edge of the trailer. He turned quickly to see Dawson Rivers headed his direction.

“N-n-nah, I got it,” Adam replied hastily. “Thanks, though.”

“You’ve got your brother’s nerves of steel under fire.” Rivers slapped Adam’s arm as he passed. “You were one of the few drivers not on the radio in a panic when the shooting started. Impressive.”

He stood rooted to the spot, staring after Dawson’s retreating back in surprise. “Thanks,” he finally called. Geez. Where the fuck had his brain gone?

Adam leaned against his truck cab, drinking water. At least there was shade on this side of the tall vehicle. He’d always thought Dawson Rivers was hot, but Adam hadn’t made an ass of himself before. Why now?

“Madison?”

He glanced up the see a yard worker with a computer tablet in hand.

“Yep.”

“How’s the truck running?” the worker asked, looking at his tablet.

“Excellent. Starts right up. The idle is even. Brakes are solid. Transmission is smooth. AC works great.” He’d done this enough times, Adam knew what info Ares collected on the equipment.

“Good,” the worker replied, climbing into the cab. “I’ll go find you an empty trailer. You can head over and meet me there.”