The Last of the Dogteam Read online

  Ferret spun, angry, facing Terry. "It cost the government many thousands of dollars to train number seven. All for nothing. Wasted!"

  Terry opened his mouth to speak.

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  upl" Ferret snapped at him. "You've got to learn to control what we taught you here, and what we'll teach you in the future. We can't have you out in civilian life running around killing people with your hands. Goddam nit, you'd scare those candy-ass civilians to death. Those aren't warriors out there," he jerked his thumb toward the outside world. "Those people out there are pussys and duck hunters. They're not like us. They cannot comprehend people like us. And I've got to make you see that. I know only one way to do it."

  Terry never saw the blow that knocked him sprawling on the gravel and sand. He tasted the salty favor of blood in his mouth. When his vision cleared and the ringing in his head abaded, the Colonel was standing over him.

  "You think you're dangerous, now?" Ferret said. "You think you're bad? I'm going to show you what dangerous really is. Get upl"

  Clouds hid the moon as rain splattered on Terry's face, urging him to consciousness. He ached all over. The memory of the short but very savage fight with Ferret came to him in a rush of colored emotions. He crawled to his knees, then to his feet. How long had he been there? How long had he been out? An hour, surely—maybe longer. He began his walk back to the barracks, slowly, for his ribs hurt, each step bringing pain to him, fanning over his entire body.

  Despite his pain, Terry grinned in the light rain. He had gotten several pretty good licks in

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  on the Colonel, bringing grunts of pain and anger from the man. Then Ferret really lowered the boom on him.

  Terry knew this had been an object lesson, the colonel choosing physical rather than verbal means. At this juncture, Terry fervently wished the Colonel had merely lectured him. But words fade within hours; this lesson would stay with him for a long, long time.

  "Okay, Colonel," Terry spoke to the night and the mist, "you got your point across, sir."

  He limped on, with no one challenging him. The small camp was void of life. The barracks empty, except for Ferret. Everyone else was gone—shipped out. Ferret said nothing to him, just pointed to his locker. Terry's duffle bag was sitting forlornly on the mattressless bunk. His class-A's hanging on the locker door. He showered, dressed, then walked out to meet Ferret.

  The Colonel pointed to the airstrip, where a plane sat, its engines ticking.

  The two men walked into the night, boarded the plane, and flew off to the east.

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  EIGHT

  "Where are we, sir?" Terry asked, looking around the wooded area.

  "Maryland. It's very quiet here, very secluded. A training area for my people. This is where we get down to the serious business of teaching you to kill."

  "When I leave here, sir ..."

  "// you leave here."

  "... wliat will my job be?"

  "The unit in Bishop is up to full strength. Tate needs an assistant—you. Your records will show you as graduated from NCO school at Benning. As of 0800 this morning, you're a Buck Sergeant. Okay?"

  "Yes, sir—fine."

  He couldn't breathel The wire around his neck was cutting into flesh and his vision was dimming. It was useless trying to get his fingers under the wire, and he had only a few seconds left. Terry relaxed and drove his

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  elbows back into his assailant's stomach, at the same time bringing the heel of his boot down hard on the top of the man's,foot. A howl of pain and the wire loosened. Terry slipped from the noose of the wire, rolled to the ground, and came to his feet, hands open and held in a defensive position, just before killing.

  He moved forward, blocking a chop from his assailant and driving stiffened fingers into the man's lower belly, at the same time bringing his right hand up, heel of hand raised like a snake, to smash the man's nose and drive the cartilage into his brain. He pulled his blow at the last split-second.

  "Very good, Kovak," an instructor told him, walking between the two men, allowing them time to cool their blood before training became reality—as it sometimes does in harsh close combat schools. "You broke free and killed him. Outstanding! Work out with the Kindo stick for fifteen minutes and then take a break."

  Terry nodded, walking away.

  "That lad's almost too good," Terry heard another instructor say. "I've never seen anything like him."

  "I have," the chief instructor said. "I helped train some of Wild Bill Donovan's boys in England during the war. I've seen some just as good, but none any better."

  Terry walked away.

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  "This place is something, isn't it?" the young woman said.

  There was a bruise on her right cheek and her left hand was swollen. Terry had seen her around the training area a dozen times but never close enough to speak to her.

  "Yeah," he said, taking in her figure, which was shapely, and her face, which was cute. "How'd you hurt yourself?"

  She shrugged. "I got careless on the Close Combat Range." Big brown eyes looked at him, inspecting, accepting after a few seconds. "My name's Sally."

  "Terry." First names were preferred at this Camp. "You're the only women in my cycle, aren't you?" It was not a question. "How old are you, Sally?" Terry blurted out the last. More than half the trainees were young, scarcely out of their teens. Easier to train, to mold, Ferret said.

  "Twenty." Lovely brown eyes never left his face. "You can't be much older." They shook hands warily, for one never knew who to trust in training; when friendliness might be a trick and the unsuspecting would suddenly find himself flat on his back with a knife at his throat. 'There are two other women in the camp that I know of," she said. "But they're in the final phase. I understand that's pretty rough. Two guys were killed over there last week."

  "Yeah, I heard it was tough. I got to go

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  through Army Ranger school before I take on that phase, though."

  "You'll make it. The word around camp is you're tough."

  "So I'm told."

  Late Saturday afternoon, the training over until Monday morning. The men and women could relax for a time; some even went home if they lived nearby. Back to a normal life for thirty-six hours. Ferret had gone fishing, the instructors back to their homes just off the small government owned base, and the training areas were silent. No grunting of humans locked in deadly training; no shots from the more than thirty weapons each Dog Team trainee was required to learn; no booming of explosives from grenades and home-made bombs,

  A softness lay on the land, belying the truth about the camp, as if the place had never seen sudden death, violent training: preaching it, teaching it.

  "My last name's Malone," Sally said, then looked around to see if anyone else might be listening.

  "Kovak," Terry followed suit.

  "We wouldn't be breaking any rules by just talking or walking around together, would we?" she asked.

  "Not that I know of." Terry took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. "Come on, let's walk down by the creek. It's quiet down there."

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  With approaching twilight, the shadows had grown heavier, deeper, bolder, silently slipping through the afternoon to grasp the countryside in a darker embrace, to close around the young man and young woman who sat chatting by the tiny, rushing creek. Enjoying a few moments of peaceful intimacy.

  "How'd you get into this outfit?" Terry asked. "Don't worry," he quickly assured her, "I'm not from ASA or the Agency."

  "Or from DOD or GIG or NSA?" she smiled.

  He laughed. "Yeah, there's a lot of them."

  Sally sighed, as if the remembrance was a weight on her thoughts. "It's not a very pretty story."

  "Neither is mine. Hell, I don't suppose anyone has a pretty story, really."

  "I was with some guys in New York City," Sally said. "We got drunk and decided it would be fun to steal a car and joyride. It was a big, long C
adillac, black. If we'd had any sense we'd have looked at the license plates." She snorted a bitter chuckle. "If we'd had any sense we wouldn't have taken the car to begin with. Anyway, the car belonged to a diplomat: English, I think. Some big-wig. We wrecked it and the guy driving got killed, but not before we ran down two kids who were playing in the street—at one o'clock in the morning. We banged them up pretty bad. Almost killed one of them. Suddenly, it was all hush-hush, like being in a super-spy movie, or

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  something. I only talked to one cop, really, plainclothes, and he had a funny accent. The guys with me were booked, but I wasn't. They never knew my last name—I wasn't using Malone at the time. They went to prison, I went to Ferret. It was only recently I began realizing just how big Ferret's group really is—I mean, how much scope it encompasses."

  "You mean, about how he has people in a lot of big city police departments—stuff like that?"

  "Yes," she seemed surprised, and a bit cautious. "How do you know that?"

  "I guessed it."

  "Anyway, the next thing I know, I'm up at Camp Drum in New York State, and Ferret is talking to me, telling me everything is going to be all right. You know, I thought I even saw the President up here last month. Ferret really has a big operation."

  "I think we're needed," Terry said, tossing a pebble into the creek. "I really believe that. Don't you?"

  "Yes, I guess so. Oh, I suppose deep down I know so." She lay back on the grass and moss, looking up at Terry in the dim light. "I'll tell you one thing, though: it's a hell of a lot better than going to prison. Tell you the truth, I don't mind it all that much. I'm a Lieutenant, I'm paid good—if you know what I mean—and I'm beginning to enjoy my work. I've been on two assignments. You?"

  "No, I haven't done anything but train—so far."

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  "I mean, how'd you get into the Dog Teams?"

  He told her, leaving nothing out. Afterward, he felt more relaxed, getting it out of his mind, sharing it with someone.

  "That took guts, standing up to that man with just a knife. I guess the talk is true about you."

  "What talk?"

  "That you're the Colonel's fair-haired boy; that he's got you picked to be one of his personal Guns. You're going to be one of Ferret's Smoky Boys. Maybe I shouldn't have told you that."

  "It's okay, I guessed that a long time ago. After I did some thinking about how easy it was for me to get in the Guard."

  Just before Terry kissed her; just before they made love on the grass and moss by the whispering creek in the Maryland hills; just before they began an affair that would last—off and on—for many years, Terry said, "I think I was born to it."

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  SALLY

  "I won't tell you to stop seeing the M alone girl," Colonel Ferret said, "but I wish you would."

  Sergeant Kovak stood impassively in front of Ferret's desk. He did not speak.

  Ferret rubbed his hand across his face. "Sergeant Kovak," he spoke slowly, chosing his words carefully, "you've been here for twelve weeks. You know what you're being trained to do. You're going to be a member of a very special group of people—made up of all branches of the military. Call it what you will: counter-espionage, counter-insurgency, spy, spook, secret agent; you know, and I surely know, what we really are. We're guns for the government of the United States. Paid killers. That's it. And I'm sure you know, by now, we've been training you, off and on, mentally and physically, for quite some time. After you take a short Ranger course, you'll be ready.

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  "Now, I know you've been involved with the Malone woman. Hell, you've been humping her every chance you get for over a month. Suppose I sent you both on assignment—together—and it came down to the nut-cutting: you had to sacrifice her or blow the mission. What would you do?"

  Terry grinned his little-boy grin, but it was wasted on the Colonel. "That's simple, Colonel: don't send us out together."

  "I ought to get up from behind this desk and stomp your insubordinate ass!"

  "Meaning no disrespect, sir, and begging your pardon, but are you sure you can whip my ass?"

  "Yeah, Kovak," Ferret grinned, "I'm sure. I've still got the edge on you. I'm polished by years, you're still a diamond in the rough." He glared at Terry and shook his head. "I'm going to regret the day I brought you in this outfit—I can feel it in my guts. You're just too cool; too good to be real." He waved the thought away with a jerk of his hand. "Okay, Kovak, go on seeing your cunt, 'cause in a couple of weeks I'm going to ship her pretty dimpled ass so far away from here you'll never see her again."

  "What do you want me to do or say about that: break down in tears?"

  Ferret chuckled and Terry added, "By the way, Colonel, how do you know her ass is dimpled?"

  "Maybe I got some, too?"

  "You sorry ass—you dirty old man."

  Ferret laughed until tears rolled down his tanned cheeks. He slapped his hard hand on the desk top. "By God, Kovak, maybe there's some hope for you still. God, you're a rogue bastard. I thought you were falling for her. I should have known better."

  "No, sir, not at all. She's just handy, that's all. Fun to be with."

  "Got no feeling for her, Terry? No deep feeling at all?"

  "I don't guess so, sir. I mean, I don't want to marry her."

  "Ever been in love?"

  "No, sir."

  Ferret knew then—sensed it—the personality profiles on Kovak only scratched the surface, Terry was as many-sided as the Pentagon.

  Ferret smiled. He had never fooled around on his wife. Not in almost twenty years of marriage. "I hope I'm around when you finally fall for a woman. Oh, Lord: great the fall thereof."

  "What the hell does that mean, Colonel?"

  His answer was a chuckle. "Go on back to your training, Terry."

  "Terry?" Sally spoke to the night, its shadows, and to the young man beside her. "Ummm?" "I wonder what Colonel Ferret would say if

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  we both told him we wanted out?"

  "Why would I want to ask him that?" Terry sat up. "I don't want out. I'm perfectly happy doing what I'm doing."

  She looked away from him. "What would you say if I told you I love you?"

  "I'd say you were a fool!" Terry gazed at the dark waters of the small creek, then glanced at the dim shape of the creek bank.'She started to touch him, then drew back her hand.

  "But I do love you. I gave myself to you, didn't I?"

  "I wasn't the first. Don't try to tell me I was." His words were cold.

  "On second thought, I don't love you. I hate youl"

  "Good. That will probably be best for both

  of us."

  "I feel sorry for you, Terry." She sat up, adjusting her clothing, patting her hair. "You're going to be such a miserable totally rotten bastardl"

  "What is it with you women? I don't know why you all have to complicate things. Why did you say that? I haven't done anything to you."

  "You don't have any feelings, Terry. You think a woman values her sex that lightly?"

  "Oh, hell, I don't know." Terry rose and walked away from her, following the creek bank back to the path, ignoring her calls for him to come back to her, 'cause she's sorry for what she said.

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  Her life should have—could have—been so different. Sally had it all going for her, growing up in Binghamton, N.Y. Successful parents whose income placed them in the super upper-upper middle class, just short of wealthy, almost but not quite rich, with a swimming pool and a tennis court. At age sixteen, Sally had traveled in Europe, spoke several languages, if not fluently, at least enough to get by, owned a sports car, a horse, was in the top five of her class, had had her debutante's ball, and the future looked good stretching before her.

  Then she met a hot-shot, horse's butt college boy named David.

  "Come on, babyl" he panted in her ear, his breath hot. "If you won't give me some, at least jerk me off. You got me so hot I can't sta
nd it."

  His father's Cadillac parked along and above the Susquehanna River. Early December, and the windows were steamed up and so were two occupants. The sixteen year old girl and the twenty year old college boy grappled and groped in the front seat. They sweated and pawed and pushed at each other. Sally touched his erect penis, sticking out of his pants, and imagined a snake felt pretty much the same. She couldn't envision how that thing would feel inside her; but the way some girls talked, it must have felt pretty damn good.

  She let David remove her panties and paw around between her legs, with her skirt

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  bunched up around her waist, blouse open, bra unhooked.

  David kissed her with lips and tongue and wetness. She held onto his penis, made up her mind, and then released the stiffness, removing the rest of her clothing.

  "The back seat, David," she whispered.

  He got stuck between seat and roof and managed to ingloriously fall on top of her.

  He is in her, groaning, hunching, and mouthing inanities, none of which Sally believed. Meaningless words of endearment in a moment of young passion.

  The sliding in and out is rather pleasant, and she clutched him; now it is she who whispered love words. Then it was over too quickly, and she was filled with a gush of liquid and a slight sense of loss. David collapsed on her, recovered, and took her home— quickly.

  A few months later she discovered she was pregnant. She never saw David again.

  New York City frightens her, but the name of the doctor was written on a piece of paper in her purse. The money for the abortion, in hundred dollar bills, was tucked safely in her bra. It chafed her breasts.

  Her parents have told her not to worry: what she is doing is the right thing.

  Back at her hotel, the operation over and the whole ugly bloody mess flushed down

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  NYCTs sewer system, Sally stretched out on the bed and cried.

  "Son-of-a-bitchl" she cursed David, but it did feel good while he was doing it to her, she remembered.