Coming Up for Air

by Karen Foley

  Her parents had finally divorced when she was eight years old, and Jenna had spent every subsequent summer on Cape Cod with her dad. He’d tried to be a responsible father, but he hadn’t been very good at relationships. What he was good at was flying helicopters, and he’d had Jenna behind the controls of a small Bell 47 before she was a teenager. At first, she hadn’t loved flying. In fact, it had scared the hell out of her. But she’d desperately wanted to please her father so she’d stuck with it. When they were in the cockpit together, she’d had his undivided attention. It was the only time that Jenna felt he really saw her as anything other than a responsibility. He’d been a patient instructor, and when she’d finally mastered the controls, she’d actually believed that he was proud of her. And what had begun as a chore had eventually transformed into a true love for flying.

  Erik Larson still operated a small charter helicopter company, providing aerial tours of Cape Cod and the islands, survey flights, photography services and occasional lift work. Since her mother had remarried, Jenna actually spent more of her free time on Cape Cod, helping run the charter business, than she did with her mother and stepfather. But she felt no closer to her father now than she had when she was a child. In fact, the only time she really felt a connection to him was when they were flying, or talking about flying.

  Chance wasn’t at all like her father. She knew that. Her dad had lived with a lot of internal demons that had made it difficult, if not impossible, for him to have normal relationships. But Chance had a lot in common with the pilots she’d known since she’d joined the military. Men who put their careers ahead of their families. She didn’t really blame them, because the military demanded complete and total commitment. Which was why she couldn’t see herself married to a pilot.

  Eventually, she wanted to have a family, but only when she was ready to put her own military career behind her, and only when she met the right guy—preferably a civilian. So it was important that she not develop any attachment to Chance. She knew instinctively that the military was his life. He’d never voluntarily leave. Which was why their relationship could only ever be casual.

  When she felt like she’d regained some perspective, she made her way carefully back to her housing unit, skirting the hangar and glad for the extra pair of goggles she’d found in the cockpit. The dust storm showed no signs of abating. If anything, it had grown worse, and the wind-propelled sand stung as it struck her exposed skin. By the time she reached her hut, she was coated in dust and nearly gagging from the amount of sand she had ingested.

  “There you are!” Laura exclaimed as Jenna burst through the door and closed it hard against the wind. “We’re supposed to be over at the operations shack in fifteen minutes.”

  Despite the fact all aircraft were grounded, crew members were required to sit through an in-brief each morning. But surely she hadn’t been gone that long? Jenna glanced at her watch, shocked to see how much time had passed since she’d left to go to the gym. She wouldn’t even have time to shower. Laura was already fully dressed and impatient to leave.

  “Okay,” Jenna assured her. “I’ll be ready in ten. Why don’t you head on over and I’ll be right behind you.”

  Laura arched an eyebrow. “I guess I don’t have to ask if your boyfriend found you. You have razor burn on your face.”

  Before Jenna could protest that Chance was not her boyfriend, Laura pulled her goggles and scarf on and stepped out into the storm. With a muttered curse, Jenna quickly stripped, grateful to have the small hut to herself. She used a water bottle to wash up, examining her face in the small mirror next to her bed. Laura was right; the area around her mouth and jaw looked slightly abraded. Even her lips looked bruised, and Jenna’s body tingled at the memory of Chance’s kisses.

  Shaking the dust out of her hair, she pulled it back into a neat braid and pinned it into place, before swiftly yanking on her uniform and boots. With five minutes left to spare, she pulled on her goggles and left the B-Hut at a dead run, bending her head into the dry wind and using a clean handkerchief to protect her nose and mouth.

  She was the last one to arrive at the operations shack, a small wooden structure near the flight line, where pilots assembled each morning for mission assignments.

  There were already a dozen or more crew members standing around the briefing table. She recognized several of them from her previous visits to Kabul Airbase, but only knew a couple of them personally. With the exception of Laura, they were all square-jawed men, including Captain Kevin “Mongo” McLaughlin, the only other Black Hawk pilot from her unit. He nodded at her as she entered the room, and she didn’t miss the appreciative glances she drew from several of the other men as she threaded her way through the assembled group.

  She was acutely aware that Chance leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. She refused to look directly at him, and chose a spot along the same wall, where she would be out of his direct line of vision. She didn’t know if she could keep her emotions from showing on her face, and the last thing she needed was to fuel speculation that there was something going on between them.

  “Hey, honey, you lost?” one of the younger pilots called to her with a cheeky grin.

  “Nope, I’m exactly where I should be,” she replied easily, “but I believe the preschool is located on the other side of the base.” She smiled sweetly. “Just in case you’re lost.”

  There was a collective hooting of laughter and ribald jokes as the junior pilot accepted the jibe in good humor.

  “You do know this is the pilots’ briefing room, right?” asked the man standing directly beside her, a smirk tilting his mouth as he assessed her.

  Jenna could have turned so that he could see the aviator insignia on her shoulder, but before she could respond, Laura spoke up from his other side. “Captain Larson landed her MH-60 in complete brownout conditions, in a space no bigger than this conference table,” she informed the room. “She was flying helos before most of you were out of grade school.”

  “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 traveling 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.