Abby’s crew chief was checking the last hydraulic connections inside the aft rotor head on Charlene One. The other two helos were unloaded and well on the way to being reassembled. The C-5 Galaxy had been towed away to a parking area. In addition to being useless, she felt exposed—not a comfortable position for a Delta operator.
Sam tugged on each quick disconnect in turn, making sure all held fast before closing the service access. He then turned to inspect her just as carefully. “Are we talking about Abby and Derek, or the mission?”
“I think the first is pretty damned obvious, don’t you? Deeper than either of them sees it.”
That earned her a smile. “I’m glad someone else thinks so.”
“Last time Derek didn’t hang with the crew during a flight…” She couldn’t even remember when.
“Same, same.” Then Sam’s gaze swept over the three aircraft. “A bad thing happened. No warning. They grabbed us based on the last two nights’ exercises and they’re praying that it works.”
“Shit!” Misty wished she’d asked someone else. Confirmation of her own guesses didn’t feel any better than hanging around being useless. “Thoughts?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “Stay ready?”
“Yeah, stay ready.” For anything! She knew from her years as a sniper that fifteen minutes was about the max on full alert. After that, your shooting percentage plummeted. It was one of the services provided by the spotter: keep an eye on the ball so that the shooter didn’t have to until the time for the shot came. She’d done her rooftop tours at the White House; Delta snipers up top any time that POTUS was transiting past the box of the thick walls and windows. They followed strict time rules for switchover, even spotter to spotter.
“Ready but not too ready?”
She offered Sam a nod. He understood that fine line. Spec Ops to Spec Ops made the world an easier place.
Then she caught sight of Abby and Derek. They were leaning close to talk, but they didn’t have their mission faces on. They were just…talking, all private-like. Spec Ops to Spec Ops? She eyed Sam. She could see bits of the attraction drawing Derek to the Night Stalker.
Then her possible interest in Sam dried up and blew away. Would attraction turn into distraction at the wrong moment during the mission? That would be bad. Seriously bad. Now she had yet another thing to watch out for.
Shit!
46
Emily couldn’t find a way to duck out when Group Captain Fay Cutcher suggested they all get breakfast together. A chance to talk without distractions.
Fay had a private dining room in the officers’ mess hall, and soon she, Mark, and Michael were tucked away in it. It offered a clear view of the main runway. Mark, accepting her decision to not inform Fay about their true mission, started the meal by catching up on various personnel whom Emily had never met. All very civil and so British that she felt as if she’d stumbled into a sitcom.
However, the underlying tension was palpable.
If they translated their ranks to NATO standards, Emily was technically a rank above the British base commander. And Fay, not being stupid, not only knew that but knew that Emily had a deeper agenda. Flying in on no notice with a trio of Night Stalker Chinooks had probably set off alarm bells all the way to the RAF headquarters at High Wycombe. Perhaps it would even appear in this morning’s briefing for their prime minister. No question of Captain Cutcher sleeping last night.
“He didn’t!” Mark exclaimed as a large pot of tea arrived at the table.
“He did.” Fay nodded. “Even a simulated munition will crack out a Rolls Royce’s windshield at five paces.”
As they launched into a new story, Emily took the opportunity to text Abby. Need to keep the RAF busy. Get C 2&4 airborne fast. Local practice runs. Testing. Don’t care. Make it look good. C 1 stay ready. She didn’t want the RAF thinking too deeply.
47
Once the three helos were reassembled and run through short flight tests, everyone headed to the chow hall. But Derek’s nerves hadn’t let him sit. Instead, he’d gotten his breakfast to go. When Abby did the same, the rest of both crews—Night Stalkers and Delta—followed their lead. Soon, they were all sitting in the hangar under one of the area heaters that did little to cut the wet chill.
No one had a lot to say but at least sitting in a group put a halt to whatever was happening between him and Abby. Derek didn’t know how he’d gotten into that conversation with her, but could definitely do with a way out—a fast way out. Long-term thinking wasn’t a D-boy’s forte. Long-term thinking about a woman had no place in a D-boy’s or in Derek’s personal world.
Impossibly, he thought it might be fun to go out on one of her family’s small fleet of lobster boats. Physical labor didn’t faze him and it would be a chance to see how she’d lived. Learn about her childhood, too, which sounded far more exciting than his own.
His speed and agility had made him a striker and co-captain on the Muskogee High soccer team. Football had tried to recruit him and he’d started training. But when his best friend’s brother got brain damaged on the field, he’d quit. And that was about the only noteworthy thing he’d done prior to joining the Army. No college valedictorian straight to officer like Abby. He’d been plucked from the ranks and sent to Officer Candidate School for his leadership skills. Command liked that he’d brought his entire squad intact through three tours in the dustbowl wars including that disastrous final withdrawal and several undocumented forays into Syria.
The nerves were coming back. Everyone was done eating and starting to fidget when Abby’s phone chimed. She showed him Beale’s message.
About time.
“Charlie Two and Four,” she called out, “spin it up. Full drill razzle dazzle. Get on with the Tower. Clog up their pattern as much as they’ll let you, then do a little more. Arrange a practice zone for hot LZ unloads and retrievals. Exchange Delta teams back and forth. Stage attacks against each other. Let’s show the Brits what our birds can do.”
