“Yes, Sir.” Marley spun, fighting the urge to turn and run and hide in the cockpit. Instead, she placed one foot deliberately in front of the other and ascended into the cockpit. Still, she was barely aware of her surroundings as she slid into her seat.
She’d been around plenty of elite operatives before, Marine special operations, Navy SEALs, CIA covert spies, but she’d never been crushed under the intense wave of absolute dominance emanating off every man in her cargo hold. Let alone their colonel—he’d had no name tag or identification on his black shirt and black tactical pants. To the innocent bystander he would look exactly like the rest of his team, but any person who slowed down enough to notice his air of authority would realize he was unmistakably the leader of that daunting group of warriors.
She was woman enough to acknowledge why her hand was trembling as she reached up and brushed a stray strand of brown hair back from her face.
“Everything okay over there, Mitchell?” Her copilot’s level tone brought her back into the cockpit and she glanced at him, afraid he’d picked up on her attraction for the colonel.
But he simply stared at her as if it were any other day and he were waiting on her to do her check . . . her check . . . dammit. Marley yanked the manual from the side pocket on her right and quickly flew through her round of crossed checks. Two minutes later, a full minute past the time she’d promised the colonel, Marley gave the signal for a go.
Her copilot didn’t need to radio the tower for takeoff, not for this kind of mission. This was the only airport within two hundred miles, and breaking radio silence would be a disaster. Any idiot with the talent and communications could hack into their frequency, paint a red target on her plane, and blast it into one million pieces—even if they didn’t know who they were shooting down.
As far as everyone in the area knew, this airport was used by drug cartels and terrorists—an impression it benefited the intelligence community to encourage. The only way people would discover its true purpose was to spy on it 24/7. She and the copilot wore flight suits, sure, but that was the only real tell. The men in the back were dressed as unobtrusively and deadly as possible.
“Firing engines one and two.” As if on autopilot herself, Marley reached forward and flicked the switch. The other propellers kicked into gear, followed by a loud whine as they hit full speed and powered to life.
The blasting sound gave her the same adrenaline rush it always did.
Palms sweaty—check.
Chest tight—check.
“Accelerating,” she said, embracing the rush like the pure sweet heroin that it was. Marley pushed the yoke forward, increasing speed rapidly.
Her copilot said, “Thirty miles per hour. Forty. Sixty.” The cracks beneath the plane whirred into a solid gray slab. They were approaching the dark green jungle like a bullet. Marley’s grip tightened on the yoke.
Her copilot kept going. “Eighty, Ninety.” He flicked up a cap on the right side of the dashboard. “Lowering flaps.” With another flick of his finger, he enacted the hydraulic system to push the flaps out and down on the wings. The plane lifted, settled back onto the running concrete, and lifted again. Marley yanked back on the yoke. The treetops couldn’t be more than twenty feet away. She pulled harder. The nose of the plane shifted upward. Blue skies filled her windshield, clear sailing as she ascended straight up into the lower level of clouds covering the atmosphere.
“Landing gear up. We’re at 8,000 feet. Enacting the automatic pressure control now.”
Her copilot pressed the button to automate the pressure inside the entire plane to ensure no one passed out from lack of oxygen as they continued to climb.
“Cruising altitude reached. Engaging autopilot,” Marley said.
“Roger,” her copilot confirmed.
She eased the yoke forward so they were flying in a smooth, level plane. Once the autopilot was engaged, she let go of the yoke and relaxed. There wasn’t anything marring the expansive sky stretched out in front of her; it was all smooth skies and white, puffy clouds. Marley felt at home here. This is where her soul settled—in the clouds with the dreamers and the birds and the stars.
They cruised in silence for the next hour or so. In the silence of the cockpit, Marley found herself mulling over what the operatives were doing in the back. The men would be completely geared up by now, their oxygen masks and parachutes strapped firmly on, checked over at least twice—their colonel would demand it—sitting in their jump seats waiting patiently for go time.
Jumping out of an airplane at this height, even though she piloted one, was nearly impossible for her to imagine without a shiver of apprehension. But she had no trouble imagining their commander willingly putting his life at risk in service of his country. He wouldn’t hesitate or falter—none of them would. Men like that made their country safe and made Marley proud to be a part of the U.S. military.
“Who’s watching your little girl this time?” her copilot asked, his fingers scanned methodically over the gauges on the control panel.
“Dad’s got her. He’s already promised her a milkshake every night before bedtime.”
Ramsey fiddled with the pressure gauge and then muttered, “You see this thing tick over a few minutes ago?”
“No, haven’t seen anything.” Marley zeroed in on the dial. A malfunction with the cabin pressure could lead to a lack of oxygen and hypoxia, and if she and her copilot passed out in the cockpit of the C-130, there could be only one result—crash and burn.
No, thank you.
She had no intention of anyone on her plane dying. Nor did she intend to orphan her daughter at such a young age. “I’ll check the manual. Some type of line could be loose.”
Her copilot leaned away from her. She heard the sound of a zipper opening, followed by the sound of Ramsey wrestling with something. Then he put a black oxygen mask on the small ledge beside his left knee. “Just in case.”
Her insides quieted, but the black mask was an option she hoped she’d never have to use. She checked the gauge one more time and pulled out her manual, skimming the table of contents and then flipping over to the page detailing the automated air pressure system. She flipped page after page, speeding through until she found the section she needed. “Says here that it’s a random glitch and typically not cause for alarm, but we should check the pressure in the line controlling the readings. There could be a crack or loose connection.”
They hit a pocket of turbulence. The plane shook and then righted. Marley ignored the omen and focused on the small black print, ignoring also the fact that her heart had kicked up speed in her chest.
“Anything else in there, Mitchell?” Ramsey gripped the yoke on his side but did not disengage the autopilot.
Attempting to blow off some steam and cover up her anxiety, Marley let out a shaky laugh. “You really that worried? C-130s are one of the most reliable, steadfast airplanes ever put on the market. I’m sure that little tick was nothing.”
Ramsey shifted in his seat, the movement betraying his nerves. He kept his eyes on the pressure dial, and Marley continued to read from the manual. “Looks like two possible causes—either the automatic pressure control is about to go out or there’s a loose line connecting the pressure reader gauge to the control panel. The latter ninety percent more likely than the first.”
Marley continued skimming, looking for the instructions on how to disassemble the lower panel to get in and check the wiring.
“Did I tell you my fiancée made me go to human resources the other day and increase my life insurance? I joked with her, accusing her of planning my assassination, but maybe she had a crystal ball or something,” Ramsey said.
Marley flipped the page faster. Okay, there was definitely some anxiety and fear pumping through her veins, but Ramsey was taking their situation to soap-opera-level drama. “I think you’re being dramatic, don’t you?”
“We should take this kind of stuff more seriously. Do you have enough coverage to support Maddie if som
ething happens to you?”
Marley flipped another page, frustration mounting. “Of course I do. It’s called being a responsible parent.”
She’d added the extra coverage right after Maddie was born. So had her husband. He’d taken care of them even after his death. The money from his life insurance had enabled Marley to send Maddie to one of the top private schools in the entire town. And she’d been able to move closer to her parents so that she’d have a solid backup whenever she needed it.
She skimmed down the lines with her finger until she found the instructions on which panel to remove to check for a loose connection.
Ramsey fiddled with the panel again, but Marley ignored it as she concentrated on the manual, committing the steps to memory. She’d do the check and get back to the mission focus of delivering the troops safely for their HALO jump.
“Sorry about this, Mitchell. I had no choice.”
Marley continued to read, ignoring Ramsey’s cryptic words. Locate the green wire. Manipulate until solidly seated against washer attached to back pressure gauge.
The shriek of a warning alarm blasted through the cabin. Marley jerked her head up and stared in shock at her copilot. He had on his oxygen mask and was staring at her with regret. The flashing red light on the dashboard drew her attention, she heard the loud whoosh of air, and the pressure reading went to zero.
Her lungs locked.
He’d turned off the automatic pressure control.
The loud hiss of leaking air filled the cabin.
“You bastard.” She reached for his mask, and then the world went black.
Chapter 3
Marley came back to consciousness. Her eyes felt heavy. Her brain sluggish. There was a loud roar in her ears. She reached up to cover them with her hands, but that simple action seemed to take three times longer than normal. Then she remembered. Ramsey had disengaged the pressure control. They’d been cruising at 30,000 feet and she’d lost consciousness within seconds. It would explain the sluggishness, but not the roaring.
She struggled to sit up from her slumped-over position and was met with the fast blur of white clouds zinging past her windshield. Her stomach lifted like she was in a freefall.
Shit. They were in a freefall.
She’d regained consciousness, which meant they had to be below 10,000 feet. The plane continued to descend and bore into a flat spin—down, down, down. In seconds they would all be dead. Her vision tunneled, narrowing in on the edges of the clouds as they whizzed past. Alarms filled the cockpit. She could see the tiny droplets of dew collecting on the glass.
The loud roaring seemed to fade.
“Come on, baby; come on, baby.” Marley grabbed the black-padded handles of the yoke, shoved her feet into the floorboard and pulled as hard as she could, using her body as a lever. The plane’s nose edged up. She gritted her teeth, every muscle in her body drawn tight as a damn bow as she fought gravity and physics and tried to pull the C-130 out of its uncontrolled dive.
She gained some traction and the yoke eased incrementally. Sweat dripped down her face and her muscles shook from the effort to keep the nose up. The plane had already left the safety of the clouds.
The altimeter read 7,000 feet.
Oh, shit.
Her heart whacked her sternum in a steadily increasing jackhammer. Another couple of thousand feet and there’d be no recovery.
The plane shook and she locked her knees, every fiber of her being straining to hold the yoke back. Fatigue fought with adrenaline; adrenaline won.
With renewed determination, Marley yanked with all her might and the plane nosed up—6,500. 6,800. 7,000.
As soon as she leveled off, she peeled her stiff fingers from the yoke to hit autopilot.
Her copilot’s words came back to her: Do you have enough coverage to support Maddie if something happens to you? Had he asked her that to lessen the guilt of his betrayal? The thought sent a shiver down her back.
She had to check on the crew. Hypoxia at that altitude could be deadly. She hit the clasp on her harness and leaned back, taking in a long deep breath.
The adrenaline rush had cleared her brain fog, but now that the immediate danger had passed, shock fought its way into her body, making her shake all over. Marley fought the natural response and worked on getting herself back under control.
A flashing red light that did not belong in the cockpit caught her attention. Cautiously, she shifted over to Ramsey’s abandoned chair. An open bag sat almost completely hidden on the floorboard in between his seat and the side of the aircraft. The red light blinked up from it, steady and slow. A digital clock. Bold, bright green numbers flashed right beside it, counting down the seconds. Two minutes.
Marley froze, her legs and arms going numb. Mother of God.
“Captain Mitchell, are you okay?”
Marley flinched and spun around to face the sexy colonel. “Bomb,” was all her voice managed.
“What?”
“There.”
She leaned back so he could see. To his credit, he didn’t panic in the least. He went back to the entry of the cockpit and yelled, “Merc!”
Pounding footsteps echoed in the plane and then one of the men, the giant one with black hair and black eyes, poked his head into the cockpit. “Sir?”
“We’re going to need your explosives ordinance training.”
“The bastard got to us again, didn’t he?”
The bomb’s clock read one minute and forty-five seconds.
“You’re wasting time.”
Marley watched the exchange from her pilot’s chair, feeling about as comfortable as she’d be watching two junkyard dogs circle each other.
She still couldn’t feel her hands and feet, or her face for that matter.
The colonel glared at her and she forced her tight fists to unwind; stretched her fingers to their full length, concentrating on the feeling of the blood rushing back into her fingertips. Of course, for all he knew she was the one jeopardizing their mission. These men deserved the truth, even if they didn’t believe her. “Ramsey depressurized the plane. He must’ve armed the bomb and jumped. I don’t know why, so don’t ask. When I woke up we were in an uncontrolled dive. I leveled us off at 7,000 feet. We’re right in the heart of the Congo, not the best place in the world to do an unplanned landing—but I can make it work.”
The roar of the engines filled the silence following her words. The team went back to checking their parachutes and gear, except for the closest blond. He was the only one to offer her a smile. “You got spunk, girl. I like it.”
The colonel held up a backpack containing a parachute. “I’ll fasten you in.”
She had the briefest thought of defying him, of putting the pack on herself, but it would be stupid to insist on such a thing. There was no time. Marley quickly turned and slid her arms through the straps. She faced him again, allowing the colonel to efficiently fasten and check her chute. Completing this task, he filled in his team. “Copilot left us a little present in the cockpit. Remote bomb from the looks of it. J probably paid him off.”
Who the hell was J? Marley cast the colonel a questioning look, but he ignored her and continued his check, turning her right and left as he did so.
Merc appeared in the doorway and pounded down the steps. “Pressure sensor. Remote activated. If I try to disarm it, it will explode. If I move it, it will explode.” He kept walking as he talked, striding right through the middle of the group to the large red button that opened the back door to the cargo hold of the plane. He slapped it hard and the ramp lowered. When a fierce rush of air filled the hold, Mack’s strong hands were the only thing that kept her standing. “We’ve got fifteen seconds,” Merc said. “Everybody ready?”
“Go. I got the girl.” The colonel took her hand, and for the silliest reason she appreciated the comforting gesture.
Without hesitation, the team dove over the edge and disappeared, leaving Marley and the colonel standing alone at the back.
&nb
sp; The treetops were far below, barely visible. Holy shit. So stupid, how could a pilot be scared of jumping out of a damn airplane? There was no logic or reason behind the phobia, just straight-up fear that locked her legs down tight so that she could not move from where she stood. She’d thought she’d conquered her fear of falling in Flight School, but apparently she’d only managed it.
“Captain Mitchell, we’re going now.” The colonel’s commanding tone left no room for argument. He guided her to the edge, took her hand, and jumped, pulling Marley down with him.
The solid metal door beneath her feet disappeared. Her belly rocketed up into her throat. Hot air rushed past her face. She had no control—a thought that filled her with molten terror. Then the colonel squeezed her hand, grounding her to his solid, powerful frame. He was in control. If she trusted him, he would make sure she made it safely to the ground.
Her absolute terror eased into a manageable fear; she focused on positioning her arms and legs so that their descent steadied out.
She knew they were moving at an insane rate of speed, but everything seemed to move in slow motion as the seconds flew past. The wind. The trees. The man holding her hand.
The colonel looked at the large black digital watch on his wrist and then pointed at the pull string on her chest. Marley fumbled, found it and held on. She was taking the colonel with her. She pointed to his chest, forcing her hands to break contact long enough to let him know that she wasn’t going anywhere alone.
His crystalline gaze hardened, and then he placed his large hand around the pull string on his own pack.
Marley took a breath and tugged. Her chute opened, jerking her up with enough force to make her chin bang into her chest. And then the wind caught and lifted her. She drifted in a smooth glide, grasping the handles to try to steer as best she could as she searched for the colonel. There he was, a hundred yards away and slightly above her. He’d waited to make sure she pulled before following.
The colonel yelled out, “I’ll find you.”
Men of Mercy: The Complete Story Page 151