He suddenly had the attention of the five top helo pilots from last night’s exercise, though the only one he cared about was Abby. “Last night, Lt. Colonel O’Malley promised we’d have time for planning after the briefing. Which is true—and almost completely meaningless.”
The others squinted at him…except Abby, who laughed along. Oddly, he hadn’t heard that laugh once over dinner. The wry tone, the skewed observation, and that crooked smile that always started on the left side, but no outright laughter. This time he’d finally tickled her funny bone but good, earning him what he could only term as a guffaw. He’d never appreciated what that meant until she let one loose. It was as unique as she was.
Bottom line, they could plan all they wanted for the first target, but Trisha had kept all the cards after that in her hands alone. Each of the night’s successive targets would only be revealed in turn by what they found at the preceding site.
“Is she always that sneaky?”
“Yes!” Even the pilots who hadn’t realized that the joke was on them agreed.
Delta trained for flexibility; Trisha’s exercise plan didn’t allow for anything else. He could get to like her.
Then a big guy walked into the room. Big guy with a silver oak leaf to match Trisha’s. Derek saluted. “Bill? Where the hell did you come from?”
“Chicago.” Typical Bill Bruce one-word answer. As far as Derek knew, Bill avoided the city of his youth like a plague. They’d gone through Unit Selection and training together, then Bill had dropped off the edge of the Earth. The few times his name came up, half the people thought he’d tapped out, but then there’d be word of a mission he’d been seen on. A helicopter mission.
“What? Are you like on a permanent embed with the Night Stalkers?”
He nodded, then tipped his head toward the table without looking at it. “Put that shit away. I’m your referee.”
Derek looked down at the light table with the training range map and certified-actionable intel projected there. He tapped the dimmer control to blank it.
“If you’re referee, then we’re screwed.” Bill Bruce hadn’t come in with mere Ranger or Green Beret skills like most of The Unit candidates. He’d come in from the SEAL teams with years of deep-field combat experience. Bill was a decade older, and it had taken everything Derek could give to keep up with him—while he made it look easy.
Bill just waited.
“Wait. If you’re referee for tonight…” He glanced at Abby. “Damn her!”
Bill’s smile matched the season, wintry.
Abby nodded. “As you said last night, typical. Typical Trisha O’Malley, that is.”
What had been sold to them as a training exercise, which would include trainers as observers to give advanced notes during the debrief—wasn’t. A referee meant full-on war games with—he checked his watch—eighteen minutes notice. She’d planned that too. “Who’s the OPFOR?”
Bill’s stoney face gave the answer; Derek didn’t know why he’d bothered asking. The Opposing Forces would be as lethal as possible to make it realistic. Probably the next five Chinook and Delta teams from last night’s exercise. And Bill, as referee, would sit as the impartial judge. He’d judge who was a casualty or not. Or had broken the rules of engagement. Or, in the unlikely event of actual success, if they’d achieved their mission goals within an unknowable time constraint.
And having Lt. Colonel Bill Bruce in that role meant it was going to be hard-ass by even Delta standards. Delta standards? Derek hadn’t heard of a permanently embedded Delta liaison to the Night Stalkers since the legendary Colonel Michael Gibson. Now there was a man he’d like to meet just to see how tough the guy was. Retired Colonel Gibson. That meant… “Well, shit! You’ve been embedded with the Night Stalkers all this time?”
Bill nodded, his idea of being effusive.
Derek reached out and shook Bill’s hand. “Knew you were good, but damn, bro.”
Bill returned the handshake, then left with even fewer than a typical Bill Bruce number of words.
“What was that about?” Abby asked him from inches away. “Bill’s been with us for ages.”
“Colonel Gibson is beyond legend in The Unit. He’s probably the best on-the-ground soldier there ever was. To have him tap Bill as his replacement? That’s praise on a whole different level; like receiving a Congressional Medal of Honor but from a man who understands what The Unit means—from the inside.”
Abby watched him for a long moment but kept her thoughts to herself before turning back to the planning table. Derek knew there was no way she saw that kind of potential in him—she couldn’t. Could she?
18
Dilya rode Wind Runner past the “firing line.” She couldn’t think of them any other way. She’d pissed off Emily and they were here to make sure that Dilya never darkened the ranch’s door again. They followed her into the barn.
“I know how to put a horse away, then I’ll leave and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”
No one reacted.
A woman with long red hair stepped out of the stable office and took Wind Runner’s reins. They wouldn’t let her delay enough to untack and brush a horse. Dilya slid to the ground and helped Zackie out of her saddle bag. She held the dog tight to her chest, only to realize they were both shivering.
