“You’re a pilot?” the square-jawed man next to her asked, eyebrows raised.
“I am.”
“Yeah, but can she hover?” The young pilot was openly leering now.
Learning how to hover was notoriously difficult, and one of the last maneuvers that a new pilot mastered. But there was no mistaking the sexual innuendo in the man’s tone.
“Yeah, long enough to fire a Stinger missile at your dumb ass,” Captain McLaughlin retorted, giving Jenna a friendly wink.
There was laughter, but several of the men stepped forward to introduce themselves and shake her hand.
“Okay, folks, listen up. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Daley, your tactical operations officer.” A burly man with a bald head and piercing blue eyes entered the room and dropped a flight ops notebook onto the surface of the table with a loud thud. The room grew silent. “We have some visiting crew members with us today, so welcome. I’d advise the majority of you to make yourselves comfortable, since you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. This sandstorm is more than a mile high and a hundred miles wide, with sustained winds of sixty-plus miles per hour.”
There were groans of disappointment as he went on to explain that the magnitude of the sandstorm meant that nearly all aircraft would continue to be grounded, at least through the next day. Jenna understood the damage that blowing sand could do to the helicopter engines, but there was a part of her that was as anxious as the other pilots to be in the air and away from here.
Away from temptation.
Away from Chance, with his easy grin and his made-for-sex physique. Jenna knew her ability to resist him was close to zero, and she suspected that if she spent too much time in his company, it would only get more difficult to keep their relationship casual. She found everything about him appealing, and that scared the hell out of her.
“You said ‘most of us’ would be grounded, sir,” ventured the junior pilot. “Does that mean some of us won’t? That you need a pilot?”
“I need a Black Hawk pilot with experience flying in brownout conditions.” The tac ops officer looked up from the flight book and scanned the room.
Jenna’s hand had shot into the air almost before he had finished his sentence, and now she saw that Kevin also had a finger raised in acknowledgment. The tac ops officer gave Jenna a sharply assessing look, then flicked his attention to the other pilot. “You have experience flying in brownout conditions, McLaughlin?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Good. We have a high-value package that needs to be delivered, ASAP. You’ll transport the package and then continue on to Kandahar.” He glanced at his flight book. “Rawlins and Fuller, you’ll fly first and second escort and then return to Kabul when the sandstorm abates.”
Jenna couldn’t help herself. “Sir,” she interjected, “I can fly this mission. With all due respect, I have more experience with brownout conditions than McLaughlin does.” She didn’t add that she had more experience, period. She sensed Kevin’s astonishment, but didn’t look over at him.
The tac ops officer nodded. “Understood, Larson, but I’ve made my decision. McLaughlin has this assignment.”
Jenna nodded, forcing herself to accept his decision with as much grace as she could muster. Leaning slightly forward, she glanced along the wall to where Chance stood. He’d already acknowledged the order and was pulling his crew together, giving quiet directions for a maintenance check of the aircraft. The tac ops officer dismissed the remaining crew members and gathered Kevin and the Apache pilots together at the briefing table.
Dismay and disappointment washed over Jenna as she realized that Chance would depart Kabul Air Base that very day, perhaps within hours. She might not see him again before the storm let up and she returned to Kandahar.
Despite the fact she had just been thinking about the inherent danger in spending too much time in his company, there was a part of her that had been anticipating the coming night, wondering if Chance might ask her to spend it with him in his housing unit. Now that wouldn’t be an option, and Jenna couldn’t believe how let down she felt.
Looking at him, she could see his head was completely in the game. The mission came first, which was right. That’s how it needed to be. She’d have responded exactly the same way if she had been given the assignment. There was no way she wanted to explore her own feelings of abandonment; it wasn’t as if he had a choice about leaving. But she realized that when she was with Chance, she felt vitalized. Less than an hour earlier, she couldn’t wait to leave both him and Kabul behind because she was afraid of becoming too attached to him. Now, knowing that he would be gone made her want to leave even more. Without Chance, it was just another military base.
“Hey. You okay?
Drawn out of her glum thoughts, Jenna turned to see Laura looking at her. “Yeah, I’m good,” she replied, forcing a smile. “C’mon, let’s get some breakfast.”
As they left the briefing room, her gaze flashed one last time to Chance, but he was deep in discussion with the other pilots. He didn’t notice when she followed Laura out of the briefing room and into the tiny lobby area. Through the small, dirty window, Jenna could see that the air outside was thick with dust and tinged an orange-red, so dense it would be difficult to see your own hand extended in front of your face. Chance would have a difficult time flying in these conditions. His flight instruments would keep him from crashing into a mountainside, but the real danger lay in the damage that the blowing sand could do to his engine. The pilots would need to fly above the storm to avoid that risk, but they would have no visibility to the ground.
Without having to ask, Jenna knew the high-value package was likely a detainee from the nearby prison. Whoever he was, he must be important for the army to risk sending three valuable aircraft into a sandstorm to deliver him. She’d transported her own share of enemy combatants in the weeks that she’d been in Afghanistan, but never during brownout conditions, although she had no doubt that she could fulfill the mission as well as McLaughlin. She didn’t know what kind of experience he had, but she told herself she would not take it as a personal affront. The military needed a Black Hawk to transport their package, and Daley had chosen him as the pilot. End of story.
“Larson!”
Jenna turned to see Chance rounding the corner of the table and making a beeline toward her, his face set in determined lines. Without warning, her blood surged strongly through her veins and she strove for an expression of polite interest. There was no point in giving the other pilots any reason for gossip. Chance caught her by the upper arm and drew her aside.
“Hey,” he said quietly, “are you okay?”
She made a sound of annoyance and pulled her arm free. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? Of course I am.”
“Anyone could see you wanted this mission, but I’m just as happy to have you stay here.”
Jenna shot him a disgruntled look. “I’m sure you are, but just to be clear, I am capable of flying this mission.”
Chance gave a philosophical shrug. “I don’t know why the colonel chose McLaughlin over you, but he must have his reasons.”
Jenna remained unconvinced, but was too professional to say so. “Fine. Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes. This won’t take me all day. I plan on being back here before nightfall.”
Jenna raised her eyebrows. “What are you saying?”
His lips compressed in a clear expression of frustration and he glanced around quickly before lowering his voice. “I’ll come to your hut when I get back. If this thing does clear up in the next day or so, you’ll be given the all clear to head back to Kandahar. I don’t want you to leave without seeing you again.” When she didn’t immediately respond, he tipped his head to look directly into her eyes. “I’ll come see you as soon as I return. Is that okay?”
Jenna swallowed, and a frisson of anticipation fingered its way along her spine. If she had been selected for the mission instead of McLaughlin, she would be tr
aveling on to Kandahar Air Base, and she might not have an opportunity to see Chance again for several weeks. The knowledge that she could get her night with him after all more than made up for not being chosen, and it released an explosion of butterflies in her stomach. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded.
“Good.” He squeezed her arm gently. “Then I’ll see you later.”
He returned to the briefing room and Jenna might have stood there watching him indefinitely had Laura not waved a hand in front of her nose. “Earth to Jenna.”
Jenna snapped her attention back to her surroundings. “Sorry,” she murmured. “C’mon, let’s get some breakfast.”
They crossed the compound to the dining facility, their goggles and scarves pulled tight over their faces. It wasn’t until they were seated at a table in the corner with their food that Laura spoke again.
“So what was that all about?”
“What?” Jenna bit into a piece of toast and assumed what she hoped was an innocent expression.
Laura snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, c’mon. You go to the gym, and less than an hour later, Mr. Hottie comes pounding on my door, looking a little desperate. Another hour goes by and then you show up with all the signs that you’ve just been royally worked over. In a good way, of course.” She arched a dark eyebrow. “I’m not judging you. I actually think it’s kinda cool. But what happened to your no-men-in-uniform motto?”
Jenna took a sip of strong, hot coffee. “As a matter of fact, he wasn’t in uniform.” She smiled. “Just the opposite. And that’s all I’m saying.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to share. That’s fine, but I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve always been so adamant about avoiding pilots, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Jenna gave her a brief smile. “No worries. We’re both in agreement that this is just about sex. No commitments, no expectations of anything more. We’re keeping it casual.”
“Uh-huh.” Laura sat back in her seat and considered Jenna before picking up her mug and taking a sip of her own coffee. “Let me know how that works for you, chica.”
Jenna didn’t answer, because there was a part of her that already suspected it wasn’t going to work well.
10
THE TACTICAL OPERATIONS officer hadn’t exaggerated about the magnitude of the sandstorm. After he and the other pilots had climbed above the storm, Chance could see how truly massive it was, extending below him as far as the eye could see. The Black Hawk that they escorted flew just beneath and to the right of his own aircraft, while the second Apache took up the rear. The package they were transporting was a high-ranking Afghan cleric, and he was under the watchful eye of no less than six military police and two men who Chance suspected were CIA.
They would deliver him to a forward operating base, or FOB, one hundred miles southwest of Kabul. Forward operating bases were typically considered to be the front line of combat action, and were in stark contrast to the heavily fortified and bustling main bases, like Kabul and Kandahar. They were often remote and the living conditions were harsh by any standards. This particular FOB was rumored to be a CIA stronghold, and Chance could well imagine what the package would endure once he was delivered into their hands.
They’d been flying for less than an hour when they neared the base and began their descent. Unlike the Black Hawk helicopter, the Apache did not have a passenger compartment. There was only a tandem cockpit large enough to seat a two-man crew. Chase sat in the rear seat, slightly above his copilot/gunner, Warrant Officer Mike “Fishhead” Harrell. The Apache was designed purely as an attack aircraft, armed to the teeth with a 30 mm chain gun, missiles and rockets. Chase and his gunner sat on top of enough firepower to destroy a small city, and just the sight of an Apache helicopter was usually enough to deter any insurgents.
As they approached the FOB, Chance could see the dense sandstorm hadn’t yet reached this region. They’d been flying with low visibility for the past thirty of forty miles, ahead of the storm front. While the air here was tinged with an orange hue from the storm, they could still see the surrounding landscape, although he suspected that would change as the day progressed and the front drew closer.
Now the FOB came into view several miles ahead of them, bordered by low hills and jutting rocks. Chance scanned the area, alert for any signs of trouble. Sangin was notorious for being one of the most dangerous spots in Afghanistan. In the Black Hawk, the door gunner sat with his rifle poised, ready to respond if a threat was detected. Although the tac ops officer had assured them that the transport of the high-value package had been kept under tight wraps, there was always a possibility that information had leaked out to the local tribal leaders. Numerous local nationals worked on the American bases in Afghanistan, and although the U.S. did background checks on each of them, history had proven that not all were trustworthy. Over his headphones, he heard the Black Hawk pilot, Captain “Mongo” McLaughlin, contact the FOB.
“Sangin Ground, Alpha-Three-One-Six-Zero-Foxtrot, four miles out, north by northeast, with two Apache escorts. ETA is five minutes. Over.”
“Sangin Ground to Alpha-Three-One-Six-Zero-Foxtrot, ETA acknowledged. Use south ramp. Over.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Chance saw a bright flash on the ground, coming somewhere from the rocky hills to their left. A white plume arced into the sky, headed directly toward them.
“Incoming SAM at nine o’clock—deploy countermeasures!” he barked into his headset.
Immediately, the air was filled with a brilliant burst of light as each aircraft launched its diversionary flares. Chance watched as the surface-to-air missile turned, moving fast, and expended itself on contact with one of the flares. The resulting explosion was close enough that the shock waves buffeted the helicopter.
“That was just a little too close,” muttered Fishhead, peering through the windshield. “Where the hell did it come from?”
“Let’s go in for a closer look,” Chance suggested. Even as he said the words, a burst of gunfire exploded from the ground beneath them. “Taking fire, breaking right!”
“Where is it? Where is it?” This came from his wingman, Captain Tony “Teacup” Fuller, the pilot of the second Apache. They’d been roommates during flight school and had been stationed in the same unit together. They’d flown more missions together than Chance could keep track of, and there wasn’t another pilot he’d trust more than Teacup. Through their years of flying together, they’d reached a level of communication where each knew what the other was thinking without any words spoken.
Now, across the airspace that separated them, Chance could see Teacup craning his head to look through the lower chin windows, before turning his aircraft in the direction of the attack.
“Nine o’clock, nine o’clock!” said Chance, but Fishhead was already pounding the hillside with a steady stream of fire from the 30 mm automatic cannon mounted beneath the fuselage.
“Mongo, complete delivery of package to Sangin. Over,” Chance instructed the Black Hawk. Right now, their only mission was to ensure the safe delivery of the cleric. He watched as the Black Hawk and the second Apache wheeled away from the gunfire. Chance pushed forward on the collective, angling his own aircraft into a steep descent as he grimly surveyed the landscape beneath them.
“I see the bastards,” Fishhead muttered, and gestured toward an outcropping of rock. As they swept overhead, Chance saw an ancient, covered truck. They were close enough to make out a group of men, dressed in local garb, pulling weapons out of the back. Without hesitating, Fishhead raked the area with gunfire. Several of the men fell, while others scrambled for cover on the rocky ground. Chance hovered over the site for an instant so he could get a fix on the truck. With a press of his finger, he deployed a Hellfire missile and watched in satisfaction as the entire area was obliterated.
A flash of li
ght to his left caught his attention, and he looked in time to see two men with a shoulder launched missile taking aim at the other helicopters. The men had managed to scramble to a high vantage point several hundred feet from the site of the blast, and were in a perfect position to fire their weapon.
“Live MANPAD!” he shouted. “Incoming!” He depressed a button that launched a second Hellfire missile. In an instant, the spot where the two men had been standing was engulfed in a massive explosion, but not before the missile had been launched, screaming through the air directly toward the other two helicopters.
“Mongo, incoming! Deploy countermeasures!” Fishhead shouted into his headset.
Chance watched as the Apache released another round of diversionary flares, but even he could see the Black Hawk was flying too close.
“Mongo, pull up, pull up!” he shouted, and watched as the rocket exploded perilously close to the big helicopter. In that instant, he realized it could easily have been Jenna piloting that Black Hawk. Just the thought of her in this kind of danger made his stomach drop. Would she have been able to handle a combat situation? As a transport pilot, she’d probably never seen any hostile action, and although he knew she’d been upset about not being selected for this particular mission, he was thankful as hell that she was back at Kabul, where she was safe.
He watched in helpless astonishment now as debris from the missile exploded outward, striking the tail rotor of the Black Hawk and causing it to go into a dangerous spin. Their altitude was still high enough that unless McLaughlin regained control of the helicopter, the resulting crash would likely kill all souls aboard.
The Black Hawk yawed hard to the right and began to plummet downward, still spinning crazily. Without the tail rotor, the only thing McLaughlin could do was to try to keep the bird level. He might have a chance if he hit the ground on his wheels. The worst-case scenario would be if he tipped sideways and hit with his rotors. The force could tear the helicopter apart and spark an explosion.
Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air Page 44