Bolo Mission
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About this ebook
Staff Sergeant Gracie Medicine Crow is quickly becoming the most noted sniper in the United Federation Marine Corps if not in all human space. She’s the go-to Marine for the most difficult missions. Not all of these missions are against human targets, and some missions require more than sniper skills.
Gracie is tasked with a “material denial” target, in this case, a BOLO (“Be On The Lookout”). However, the circumstances are such that she will need support getting to the firing point and then exfiltrating, all on a friendly planet. Instead of having a squad of Marines as she would have wished, the powers-that-be decide she needs a SEAL team, the Federation’s ultimate clandestine operators. SEALs are not overly fond of Marines, however, and they resent simply being in a support mode and having a Marine sniper assigned to them take the shot.
Gracie isn’t overly pleased with the situation either, but the mission comes first, and she’ll do her best to accomplish it.
Jonathan P. Brazee
Jonathan Brazee graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy and served 30 years in the Marines as a commander of infantry, recon, MSSG, and air delivery units as well as in various staff billets. He served with the 3d CAG as the military liaison to USAID in Iraq in 2006 and retired as a colonel in 2009. He is a life member of the Disabled American Veterans, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the U. S. Naval Academy Alumni Association, and the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.
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Bolo Mission - Jonathan P. Brazee
So here’s our jarhead,
the tall, slender man said, his long legs stretched from where he leaned back in his chair to the bottom bunk.
Gracie didn’t bother to respond directly but asked, Where’s my rack?
Right here, madam,
the man said, his voice dripping sarcasm as he raised his feet a few centimeters before dropping them back.
Gracie rolled her eyes, but threw her seabag on the rack, just missing his feet. She’d known this wasn’t going to be an easy mission. Top Riopel had warned her about the SEALs. They were the Federation’s premier derring-do unit, and they knew it. And as a rule, they also didn’t like having to deal with Marines.
Gracie had never worked with SEALs before, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to now. But orders were orders, so she was going to do her best. She only hoped they would be as diligent in following orders as well. SEALs had a reputation for going off script whenever it struck their fancy.
Staff Sergeant Gracie Medicine Crow did not go off script. As a Marine sniper, and probably the best sniper in the Federation, she was more methodical in her planning. No detail was too small. In her line of work, the slightest detail could mean the difference between a successful kill mission and being the victim of her opponent’s kill mission.
She stood over her rack for a moment, looking pointedly at the SEAL’s feet. With an exhalation of air that didn’t quite form a word, the SEAL took them off her rack. She sat down, her head leaning forward to clear the bottom of the rack just above hers.
Staff Sergeant Gracie Medicine Crow. I’m your sniper,
she said, looking at the five men in the cramped compartment.
We don’t do ranks in the teams,
the SEAL whose feet had been parked on Gracie’s rack. I’m Dockery. They call me
Dock."
I’m Franz,
the man lying in the top rack across from Gracie said, leaning over to look down at her. Welcome to the team.
Kevin,
a short, broad-shouldered man said, getting up out of the bottom rack to hold out a hand.
The man had the look of a gym rat, and Gracie expected a bone-crushing grip, but his handshake was gentle.
That there’s Wister, our fearless leader,
Dock said, pointing to the bunk just above Gracie’s.
She craned her head around to look. One of the most non-descript men she’d ever seen was racked out on his back, his mouth open, his breath almost, but not quite, a snore.
This is a SEAL team commander? Gracie wondered. He looks like an Ancient Lit major at some liberal arts school, not a warrior.
And I’m Ali,
the fifth man said, his skin the darkest ebony Gracie had ever seen on a person.
His shirt was off, and every muscle stood out in stark relief as if sculpted by a Renaissance master. He reached up to one of the pipes that ran through the overhead and proceeded to commence a set of pull-ups. From the lingering scent of sweat in the air, this wasn’t his first set. In a normal Navy ship, the air systems whisked away even the slightest of smells. The scow they were on wasn’t the most up-do-date, however, and Gracie was