KP: Inside, looking out: Side story of Tara.

Authors note: What is a side story? The term is generally (at least as far as I can tell) of Japanese origin, describing a story that takes place in the same universe, but isn't directly related to the main story or the main characters. So, while Kim is in Jail, here we have a Side Story of some of Tara King's little adventures….

There were good days, Tara thought. And there were bad days. This, Tara considered, was one of the bad days, as she held her personal 9mm sidearm, and tried to figure out what exactly was going on.

"Every Marine a rifleman" Captain Tara King muttered, except in her case she'd spent most of her time leaning how to coax the best performance out of her fighter, and beyond the required qualifications hadn't done much with anything smaller.

Besides, anything that really needed to be said should be said in the appropriate matter—2,000 pound GPS guided bombs were generally what Tara found to be appropriate. Not some popgun on a base in the ass end of nowhere. Her fighter was nearly a thousand miles away, and it wasn't even a marine base, just some NGO with Marine guards.

Well, she'd joined the Corps to challenge herself… Tara ducked as a mortar round whistled in to destroy the latrine shed. Yes sir, she was feeling challenged right now.

Tara walked down the thick overgrown hill. Her hands were white on her M-16 and her newly cut hair felt strange even after four weeks. Of course what felt even stranger was the fact that she somehow was surviving days without sleep, nights without sleep… and evil DI's who seemed to exist to make Tara King cry. Some of the women hadn't been able to cut it, but she wasn't going to quit. Bonnie and Kim wouldn't have quit (granted Bonnie had suggested Tara get psychiatric help when she said what she was going to do, and Kim… wasn't around).

But what bothered her was that this place looked like… Wannaweep. It brought back bad Gill memories, the glaring red eyes, and the skin, the feel of the slime against her skin. She shuddered. Unfortunately, she'd made the mistake of mentioning how she didn't like the woods, and the Sergeant Shelby had heard…and since Marines did not get scared of little dark woods, guess who had been ordered to go down to the CP to tell them that the recruits were bedded in.

Yep. Her. Alone. Tara shivered.

OK… there was nothing- there was a sudden sound like something had run behind her. She remembered Ron saying how Gill could do the predator camouflage thing and gulped.

Maybe she should…

Go back up to the DI? Oh no. But there was something she could do. They didn't give recruits any live ammunition, but they did… Tara knelt down, unshipped her M-16 rifle and attached the bayonet, looking at the gleaming, razor sharp knife in appreciation. Then, she stood up again, holding the rifle, bayonet fixed, and continued down the path.

Gill probably wasn't here…. But if he was… Well, she was ready.

Tara tried to peer out, but the storm that had isolated the medical base was kicking up the dust and you couldn't see a damned thing, unless you had tac goggles on, and well, pilots didn't need them. She pulled back behind the sand bags of the trench, not wanting to give a bad guy with tac goggles and a sniper rifle an easy target. She heard a sound behind her and spun around.

"Marine!" The voice shouted, as her crew chief, Master Sergeant James McTaggart dove into the trench behind her, holding on to his Desert Eagle.

"Sergeant." Tara said, "That gun again?"

"Hey—this is a very good gun." McTaggart said, "I should know, since Saddam was the one who paid for it." Tara grinned. Officially, looting was illegal, but when McTaggart had been the first into Saddam's private gun room in Baghdad, well…he couldn't resist taking one particular piece. It did look more impressive then her little 9mm.

"Here." He said, and handed her a flak vest. Tara nodded and put it on, noting that James had also managed to score a few hand grenades. Those he didn't give her, not that Tara minded. On the ground, James knew vastly more about how to fight than she did, so he was the one to carry the grenades. Fifty years old, he'd been in the Corps since he was 16, although he hadn't told the recruiter that little detail.

"What's the situation?" Tara asked. "I was just finishing up the shower when…"

"Yeah… Ma'am, it looks like they took advantage of the storm to get in close and set up mortars. They hit the motor pool, and the helicopter pad in the first barrage…but now it's mostly harassing fire."

"Wonderful." Tara muttered.

"Ma'am?"

"I bet they want all the wonderful drugs in here." She said. James nodded.

"Stands to reason—they could have done a lot more damage."

"Any head count?"

"Four marine guards down, injured, and Major Wilkin was hit pretty bad." James paused, "The doctor has him in the surgery right now, but… he's not gonna be able to take command." Tara got a sudden, very cold sensation.

"Then who is in command?"

"I think you are, captain."

"Oh wonderful." Tara said, and then ducked as another whistle announced some more incoming mortar shells. "When can we expect Evac?"

"that's another problem… not for a while, and well…. Your friend isn't being overly helpful…"

"Great." Tara growled. "I'd better talk to her." She said, and crouching, keeping to the cover of the trench (which wouldn't help at all if someone dropped a round on top of them, a little voice said), headed for the half buried medical center.

The NGO's had quickly learned that they were seen as defenseless targets by terrorists and bandits alike, and with a great deal of reluctance had accepted military guards. Civilian guards may have made more sense, but after some of the missteps in Iraq, most host governments preferred soldiers who answered to a national government. Tara could see the point….

…except that right now it had her about two thousand miles from where she wanted to be.

OK, 2500 miles…there was that very well built Australian special forces officer she'd met and…. She shook her head. Time for wool gathering later.

The medical center had been properly bunkered and fortified—about as good as sandbags, wood and brick could do, so it was immune to anything but a direct hit—and Tara was safely certain the attackers didn't want to wreck what was in there, either physical or human. James waited outside as she entered the room, moving right through the empty foyer stacked with medical equipment into the surgical room.

"This is a sterile area! Get a mask on!" A voice barked, as Tara looked over at a white suited figure, red hair surmounting a pair of blue eyes that didn't even flicker from the work in front of her.

Oh yeah. My very first ground combat and I have to be babysitting Dr. Ms. Possible.

Wonderful.

TBC.