Flying Monkeys [Drunk Monkeys 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  He still didn’t feel comfortable rescinding the OTG order he’d given SOTIF1 back when they were in Australia. He didn’t want to do it too soon and expose any vulnerabilities in his overall command chain. While he felt relatively certain his own hive and food chain were once again in order, he couldn’t stake his life, or theirs, on the fact that other hives and food chains might be compromised.

  He wanted to believe the other SOTIF commanders were loyal to him, but there were no guarantees their food chains were.

  Too much was riding on the successful outcome of this mission to take a chance fucking it up from his end because he wanted to do things the easy way.

  No, better the Drunk Monkeys, and their precious cargo, remained out in the cold and under deep cover. They could take care of themselves better that way.

  And it meant less questions he’d have to answer in official channels, although the president should be pretty hands-off now that he’d laid down the facts of life to her in no uncertain terms.

  It hadn’t been a bluff, either.

  He didn’t bluff. Bluffing was for the weak, for people who knew they didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding any other way, or for people who had their balls to the wall with no other option.

  He was in neither of those positions.

  What he had was a small but growing list of names, people he wanted out on their asses in such a fashion that the door didn’t even have time to hit them on the way out. He’d already called President Kennedy’s office and set up a private meeting with her for first thing the next morning. By that time, he’d have a full grasp of what he was dealing with, where dead wood needed to be trimmed, and even more importantly, who needed to be slotted in those soon-to-be-vacant positions. None of them were ones requiring Congressional committee approval, either. They were staffing positions.

  Bubba was working furiously on his end to dig up as much as he could, too. Arliss could only imagine the network the man had at his disposal, retired and possibly even still active intelligence operatives, all of them eager to get things squared away as quickly as possible.

  All of them on the same page as he was regarding the direction of the country. There’d been a period early in the previous century where conservative religious zealots had tried to take control of politics with the help of big business, who’d been happily steering them along and feeding them money. Fortunately, the cycle had righted itself and the country had once again entered a relatively peaceful and prosperous time.

  The world had tried to fall apart around them, with religious zealots of other flavors struggling to get a foothold, but their military had managed to do a pretty decent job keeping them in check.

  Now…

  Big businesses had once again gotten their claws into a couple of generations of politicians and people who didn’t see the forest for the trees. They’d run their economy off the rails and gotten them enmeshed in wars they had no business being involved in as a country.

  And now…Kite.

  This was his chance, likely his last chance, to pump the bilge and right the sinking ship. If his efforts failed, not just their country, but the entire world would tip and chaos would engulf the globe. Eventually, the virus would burn itself out, but at what cost? The infrastructure wouldn’t be able to sustain itself, there wouldn’t be enough trained people to keep things going, and the world would devolve into another Dark Ages of their own creation.

  He’d be damned if he’d sit by and let that happen.

  And cleaning house, ruthlessly and with callous disregard for what was legal as opposed to what was right for the world at large, was his first order of business.

  Starting right there in Washington, DC. His next order of business, contingent upon Bubba finally cracking his way into the main Church of the Rising Sunset’s computer network, would be taking down Reverend Hannibal Silo by any means necessary.

  It’s going to be a long, bloody fall and winter.

  Literally.

  Chapter Eleven

  Foxtrot and Kilo climbed into the backseat of the Jeep to wait while Captain Tran changed out of her uniform and into jeans and a blouse inside the plane. She emerged a few minutes later, messenger bag slung across her shoulder, and locked things up. Then she climbed into the front seat next to Mal to ride with them back to the hangar where their truck sat parked.

  Foxtrot tried not to stare at the back of the pilot’s head as Mal drove. Foxtrot was seated directly behind her and caught whiffs of her sweet scent, not perfume, likely deodorant or something, as they rode.

  Guess I’ll end up riding in the backseat to Seattle.

  She was gorgeous, beautiful. Skilled.

  Intelligent.

  Aaaand she outranked him.

  Yes, he should have spent more time trying to make rank. He was a linguist, for chrissake. He had a job, he had a deep-seated need to stay alive while in the field on missions, and he wasn’t really mechanically inclined beyond operating a variety of firearms he had to deal with. When the opportunity to join the SOTIF program had been announced, he’d done it more for the money than anything. It’d actually shocked him when others he’d thought were in better physical shape than him had washed out during the process.

  And sure, some of the others in their unit had paired up with women who’d crossed their paths, but this was different.

  She outranked him. And Kilo.

  Not that Foxtrot had a problem with it, but she probably would, and did. Not to mention fraternization rules and all that bullshit. She wasn’t a civvie. She was an officer.

  Just our dumb luck.

  Figured they couldn’t stumble across a gorgeous, smart woman who was a civilian. Oh, no. Not them. They had to fark up royally and find an officer who outranked them.

  Of course he’d immediately headed for the truck’s backseat when they reached their ride. Kilo glanced at him, eyebrows raised and brow furrowed, but didn’t say anything about it.

  Foxtrot wondered if she’d even bother talking to them, but to his surprise, Kilo struck up a conversation with her as they rode up I-5.

  Foxtrot kept his mouth shut. He’d already tasted foot once that day.

  That was enough for him.

  * * * *

  Kyong had to admit these SOTIF guys weren’t like ones she’d met before. Then again, the others she’d met had been under completely different circumstances.

  Well, the driver, at least, wasn’t like that.

  Foxtrot sat in the back and kept his mouth shut. She tried not to form snap judgments about people, but that guy had rubbed her the wrong way from the start.

  But Kilo seemed to be not just a nice guy, but a pretty smart one, too. Witty, and with a previous knowledge of the area from his time spent there.

  “Too bad it’s not under different circumstances or we could take a day hike on Rainier,” he said.

  “I like hiking. Not that I’ve had much time to do any of that lately.”

  “You and me, both.”

  “Okay,” she said. “So give me all the details so I don’t waste your CO’s time, or mine, when we get there. What’s going on?”

  “Top secret.”

  “Duh.”

  Foxtrot listened while Kilo gave her the full story, minus details about the women who’d joined their group actually being romantically linked to several of the pairs of men. When his partner finished the gory story, starting with the basic details about how Kite the drug and the virus came to be, and ending with how they’d arrived in Seattle a few weeks earlier, she slumped back in her seat.

  “Holy crap,” she whispered.

  “Yep,” Kilo said. “It’s not bullshit when I say we really need a good pilot who can safely help move us and our precious cargo.”

  She went silent, staring out the passenger window at the passing landscape. After a couple of minutes, she spoke again. “This Silo guy. You’re sure he’s involved with that place in LA?”

  “Yep. We’ve got solid intel from
a trusted source.”

  “Who the hell is he, anyway?”

  * * * *

  Foxtrot finally broke his silence. “You’ve never heard of him?”

  She turned to look over the back of the seat, just enough to shoot him a baleful glare. “I’m sorry, but I don’t get free time to sit around watching TV and stay up-to-date on pop culture. I’ve been a little busy.”

  He snapped his mouth shut. Any reply he let loose would likely get him into hotter water with this woman than he already was.

  He didn’t miss the evil expression Kilo shot him in the rearview mirror, either.

  Yes, they’d shared women in the past. There probably wasn’t a pair of guys in their unit who hadn’t done that at least once during their time together as a unit.

  But Foxtrot knew if Kilo thought Captain Tran would be the woman to complete their triad, then his partner had hopped the wrong train of thought. The last thing Foxtrot wanted to do was tangle with an officer who could cause them a world of hurt.

  He kept his mouth shut the rest of the way back to the safe house while she played twenty questions with Kilo about their situation. From the tone and direction of her questions, Foxtrot suspected she wasn’t going to fight this assignment after all despite her earlier protests.

  After stick tests that everyone was beginning to think were a waste of time based on their latest findings about some of the Kite strains, they went upstairs and found Papa eating lunch with Alpha and some of the others.

  * * * *

  Kyong nodded as Kilo made introductions. When she started to come to attention when he said that Papa was one Major Sam Warner, the man himself waved her down.

  “At ease, captain,” Papa said. “We’re off-the-grid. OTG means ranks go out the window. Our job is to fulfill our mission.” He focused on Kilo. “You told her everything?”

  “Yes, sir. The overview. We wanted to save time. She knows the mission status is classified.”

  “All right,” Papa said. “So? Would you like to join a SOTIF unit?”

  “I suspect I don’t have much of a choice,” she said.

  “Oh, you always have a choice. But you might not like hearing me say Kilo is right. Given your current circumstances, you are the perfect solution to our problem. And whether you like it or not, I can have the orders cut in less than an hour by General Arliss and hand-delivered to the base commander at McChord.”

  The tone he’d used wasn’t threatening. It had come across as downright friendly.

  Unfortunately, she knew the way the military worked, and he was absolutely right. But if she was going to get assigned to a SOTIF unit, she wanted a little give to their take.

  “I have a condition of my own,” she said.

  Papa crossed his arms over his chest but nodded for her to continue.

  “My brother died a couple of months ago in New York City. Supposedly it was a drug overdose but I don’t buy it for a second. I want to know what really happened. If you’ve got a guy that deep in the system, maybe he can throw some assets in that direction.”

  “We’re trying to save the world. We mentioned that, right?”

  “Yeah, and I’m not saying do that to the exclusion of the mission. But see what he can do.”

  Papa stood and extended a hand to her. “Fair enough. I think that’s a reasonable request. I’ll ask him if he can find out anything. Give me the particulars I can pass along.”

  She shook with him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “And I’m sorry about your crew.” He looked around. “Victor,” he called out. “Where are you? Front and center.”

  Above them, she heard others call out the man’s name and the sound of someone pounding on a door. A moment later, a dripping wet man wrapped in nothing but a towel streaked down the stairs and ran into the room. “What?”

  Papa laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your shower.”

  He looked at Kyong and reddened in the face a little as he pulled the towel higher and more securely around his waist. “No problem, sir.”

  The CO detailed the situation to the man, who Kyong quickly grokked was their helo jockey. Once he was up to speed, Victor said, “Yeah, I can copilot. I’ll need serious training on something that size, but I have around twenty hours of real flight time logged in an old C-130 Hercules. They’re similar. And I have a few hours of C-160 sim time.”

  “Similar doesn’t mean the same,” she said more to Papa than to Victor. “And simulated time isn’t actual flight hours. Not to mention, it still leaves me two crew short, minimum, including a loadmaster.”

  Papa looked at Victor, handing it off to him. “Thoughts?”

  Victor rubbed at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding the towel. “Zed’s had some crew chief time, hasn’t he? And I think he had some glider training. Echo would probably be the other guy easiest to bring up to speed, short-term. He’s had a little stick time on the Exhart and smaller helos, and some fixed-wing sim time. A couple of the guys have some small fixed-wing hours, but I don’t think anyone else has a license or full rating.”

  Papa returned his attention to her. “If I give you those three guys and you try them out, evaluate them, see if they’re trainable in a short period of time, that good enough for now? I also want Echo and Zed to get some hours on the controls of that bird. Maybe work up to touch-and-go’s with them if you can, get them up to speed on the flight controls, all of that. We need more people cross-trained on it.”

  “Oh, suuuure,” she snarked. “No problem, because everyone knows flying a helo or glider is the same as flying a massive cargo plane. Should I teach them mid-air refueling while I’m at it?”

  Papa grinned. “If you think you can, knock yourself out.”

  “We’re doomed,” Kilo deadpanned. He turned to Foxtrot and slapped him on the shoulder. “Been nice working with ya, buddy.” Several of the others laughed.

  “All right, you bunch of comedians,” Papa said, returning his focus to her. “Based on the parameters of our mission, it’d be preferable if we don’t have to run clearance checks on new crew. My men are battle-tested. It’s easier to teach skills than nerves.”

  He had a point.

  A damned good point.

  One she could not, unfortunately, counter with any effectiveness. The Zeus had a state-of-the-art computer system. The extra crew was redundant, in some ways. Her solo flight from El Segundo was proof of that.

  But they’d been her crew, her team.

  Her friends.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “So let’s see if I can teach a bunch of drunk monkeys how to fly.”

  Papa let out a laugh. “Captain Tran, I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here.” He let Victor return to his interrupted shower. She wouldn’t deny her eyes followed the man’s tight and towel-clad ass as he climbed the stairs again and ascended out of sight.

  The SOTIF hunks were just that—hunks.

  Even Kilo and Foxtrot.

  Especially them.

  Focus.

  At the table was seated a large black man who’d been introduced as Omega. He spoke up, his question directed at his CO. “Do we have a firm timetable on leaving Seattle yet?”

  “Not yet,” Papa said. “Why?”

  “I want to take a run with Canuck to visit her doctor friend tonight or tomorrow. I’ve been hearing some things and want to talk with her to get her take on them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Details about an aggressive black market medical supply operation in the area.”

  “Okay. You and Uncle handle it.”

  A short woman carrying a plate of food and wearing a sidearm walked out of the kitchen area. “Him and Uncle handle what?” she asked, leaning in to kiss Omega before she sat next to him at the table.

  Kyong hoped she masked her surprise.

  “Going to talk to Canuck’s friend,” Papa explained. “You can go with, if you’d like, for backup.”

  “Roger roge
r,” she said. “I’m going stir crazy here. And no offense to Pandora, but it turns out I do not have a green thumb, much to my dismay.”

  Papa introduced them. “Captain Tran, this is Chief. She’s partners with Omega and Echo.”

  “Partners?” She hadn’t realized there were female SOTIF team members. She thought she’d understood that the women who had joined their group were civvies.

  Chief waved hello at Kyong. “Yep. Stick around, you might find yourself stuck to two of them, too.” Omega playfully elbowed her in protest. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing, big guy,” she said.

  “Being OTG,” Papa said, “has led to some interesting and unforeseen…developments.”

  “Developments?”

  He briefly detailed how the twenty-man unit was divided into buddy teams of two men each.

  Five of whom were now triads with women who’d joined their travels.

  Kyong resisted the urge to glance at Kilo and Foxtrot. For starters, they were both handsome guys she wouldn’t mind a roll in the rack with under normal circumstances. But right now, the last thing on her mind was a roll in the rack.

  At least, it should be the last thing on her mind.

  In spite of how Foxtrot had aggravated her from the start, she wouldn’t deny he was a handsome hunk of man. And so was Kilo.

  Fooooocuuuuusssss.

  “So what is the next step?” she asked, then quickly added, “I mean how do you want to proceed with me training them? The guys you said. For extra crew.”

  If she could, she’d turn around and pound her forehead against the wall just to make herself stop talking.

  “Well, no offense, Captain, but I want you bunked here with the rest of our group. I would suspect that it’s too late in the day to schedule any flight time without causing undue suspicion. Kilo and Foxtrot can accompany you back to McChord to pick up your gear, and you can arrange training time tomorrow, to start with. I don’t want to split my team up too much, if I can help it. I won’t have to send Kilo and Foxtrot back with you on the days you’re there with the other three.”