“You shut up too, Loadmaster Stowell!”
“Anything you say, Craftmaster.”
Nika decided on a new policy that would solve any future problems: she was never going to speak to a man again.
Not any of them.
Chapter 9
Clint had found it hard to watch his guys go aloft without him. But the more he’d thought about Gibson’s suggestion, the better he’d liked it. Not only for personal reasons, but because it gave him a chance to have his three squad leaders perform a critical task without him hanging over them. Each man was responsible for nine other men which had neatly worked out to be a rope each.
Practically choking on his held breath, he’d forced himself to climb up to the command station and watch as his men did the difficult maneuver without his interference. He hadn’t thought of the change until they were all on deck, so it was a chance to observe how adaptable they were on receiving new, last-minute orders. Being good Rangers, they took it in stride and they delivered flawlessly.
He’d been both proud and sick to his stomach.
Nika’s statement that Rangers were crazy wasn’t news to him. Had to be a little whacko to be one, and more than a little to perform a fast-rope insertion and a SPIES extraction on the deck of a racing LCAC.
But a few minutes later, when his team reported safe back aboard the Peleliu, he could finally breathe. Now the debrief and the rest of the night’s training would be up to the squad leaders—definitely good practice. And again, he was left with nothing to do but watch.
After the exercise, there was nothing but the soporific calm of the hovercraft skidding over dark ocean. After the adrenal surge let go, it was almost enough to put Clint to sleep. After all, it had been a rare commodity lately.
But watching the smooth confidence of Nika Maier as she guided the craft had the opposite effect. He’d sat in this exact seat on dozens of missions, watching Chief Stowell perform these tasks. While he could see that Nika didn’t have his expertise born of long practice, she revealed her own form of smooth grace with every motion.
He barely looked up as they arrived among the vast ships of the carrier strike group. The George H. W. Bush never traveled alone. She always had along a trio of destroyers and at least one big cruiser offering protection and heavy firepower. A fast combat supply ship raced about with food, fuel, and ammunition. A pair of fast-attack Los Angeles class submarines would also be lurking nearby in a defensive perimeter. Even at night it was a spectacle worth watching, perhaps especially tonight as the carrier air wing was performing night operations. He could hear the jets roaring by, even over the noise of the LCAC itself.
But Clint couldn’t drag his attention away from Nika Maier. He was in such deep shit. One kiss was not supposed to warp a man’s mind. One meal of teasing each other. An air hockey game which had led to the best sex of his life. Which had led to a dozen nights of heaven and was now bordering on madness.
Damn Gibson for suggesting he stay aboard the LCAC. He really didn’t want or need this.
He forced himself to look out at the ships.
There was a strange type of ship in the group. At first, he thought it was a wreck floating close by the resupply ship. All he could see was the tall bow section and far astern the aft section with its command and housing superstructure. Only as Nika brought them closer did he notice that they were connected by a low mid-section. He’d heard of these, modified oil tankers with the tanks and side hulls removed most of the way down to the waterline. In their place lay a low, flat deck—Mobile Landing Platforms.
Sure enough, Nika headed straight at the ship’s side. A ramp had been built into the low side of the ship, just the size of an LCAC. She nestled up to it and then eased up the ramp.
Once tucked into place, she nodded to Dave who powered down the engines and the LCAC eased onto the deck. The skirt deflated with a sharp hiss and their forward loading ramp lay down against the flat main deck of the MLP ship. Everyone flipped back their NVGs as the deck lights came on outside the hovercraft. Dave and Tom vacated the cabin as Nika shed her helmet and then did a long slow stretch that made him ache to run his hands over her.
It was only then that he realized he hadn’t heard a single radio call in the whole maneuver. He’d seen Nika’s lips moving, but not heard a word.
“You cut me out of the intercom.”
Nika looked over at him, her brown eyes bright with light from the MLP ship’s deck lights shining in through the control station’s windows.
“About an hour ago, Army. You may lead the way, but you’re too goddamn distracting.”
He considered being offended at the cutout, but he liked her reason. “Distracting you, am I?”
Her curse was soft and very unladylike.
“Music to my ears, Navy.”
She clambered out of her seat. Despite her being a full-size smaller than him or her crew, the control station was still a very cramped space. After four hours in the chair, she was shrugging shoulders and weaving her neck side to side.
“Turn around.”
Nika glared at him. His observer seat was high enough that they were eye to eye.
“Can’t you do anything without making it a thing, woman?” But he already knew the answer to that so he didn’t bother waiting for it. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around.
When she tried to step away, he simply trapped her hips between his knees and tried not to think lustful thoughts as Nika had a very fine stern section that even the blue-gray camouflage of her Naval Working Uniform couldn’t do anything to hide. Then he clamped his hands on her shoulders and dug his thumbs into the soft muscle tissue between her spine and shoulder blades.
“Ow, cut that out! Ow. Ow! Hey, ow!!”
Not quite the groan of pleasure he’d been counting on.
“Damn it, Barstowe. I’m not a goddamn Ranger,” she almost managed to drag her shoulders out of his grasp, would have if not for the grip of his knees.
He eased way back. He’d been thinking of digging in the way you did when a Ranger cramped up bad and you couldn’t delay the hike. A fast, hard, deep massage to break up the muscle knot would be in order, and then back on the move. Massaging a woman was new to him. He didn’t even know why he’d started and he almost stopped.
But he wanted to touch her so badly that he decided to just keep going, but softer. He traced the line of her shoulder blades, finding muscle knots the size of his fingertip, not Ranger-sized ones in calf or thigh muscles as big as his bunched fist. He nudged them more carefully and they slowly gave way. After he loosened the third one he felt he was getting the hang of it.
Nika braced her hands against the back of Dave’s chair and hung her head forward. Her soft groan filled the small cabin and confirmed that he was finally on the right track.
“You taking advantage of my Petty Officer, Lieutenant Barstowe?” The sharp tone in Sly’s voice startled him. He looked at the Chief who was halfway up the ladder into the control station.
He had no idea how to respond. He had Nika Maier’s hips pinned between his knees and his big hands on her shoulders. Had even held her there when she’d tried to pull away. But he wasn’t…
“Go away, Sly,” Nika gasped out. “If you make him stop, I’m gonna tell your wife that you always add ketchup to her food when she isn’t watching.” The high tomato content of Sly’s North Carolina barbeque sauce had been a hotly contested point in their courtship.
“But I don’t,” Sly protested.
“I’ll tell her anyway. It’s not my fault you married the most talented Chief Steward in the Navy. Now go away.”
Clint did his best not to look too obvious about removing his hands and unclamping his knees from her hips.
A glance at Sly showed the grim expression was gone…mostly. Clint knew that he and Sly were going to be having some words in the near fu
ture.
“Got a loading issue you’ll want to take a look at, Craftmaster.” Sly’s tone was painfully formal and he wasn’t looking at Clint even a little. No friendly joking tone about his and Nika’s change in roles; not with the evil Army lieutenant who had his hands all over one of Chief Stowell’s crew.
“Roger that,” Nika replied.
Sly eyed Clint carefully one more time before dropping back down the ladder and going away. Clint would bet not very far away.
“Sorry,” Clint mouthed.
Nika turned without stepping out from between his knees. Not saying a word, she leaned in to kiss him. This time he was one who was paralyzed, unable to even raise his hands to her waist. His big hands couldn’t fully circle it, because she wasn’t that kind of petite. But they’d certainly felt good there.
Her skilled hands that had guided the LCAC so skillfully, slid onto his chest and rested there. She leaned in until their lips were just brushing. A test. A taste. A nuzzle.
Between that soft moment and the next instant, she shifted, as if he was suddenly kissing a different woman. She drove her mouth hard enough against his that he banged the back of his head on the control station’s rear window. A gentle brush turned into a flaming French kiss with such a startling suddenness that even his Ranger-trained reactions didn’t stand a chance of shifting fast enough.
“There,” she stepped back. “That should screw with your head for a while. Paybacks are hell, aren’t they, soldier?” She looked indecently pleased with herself.
After a long heartbeat of continued paralysis, he lunged for her. His seatbelt kept him attached to his seat.
“Put your hat back on, Ranger.”
Clint hadn’t even noticed her brushing it aside. He seated it back firmly on his head.
“Damn but you’re just too cute,” then she disappeared down the ladder.
Clint wasn’t sure how he felt, as a Ranger, about being called “cute.” He reached up and pulled off his Santa hat. He turned it over and over in his hands, looking at it.
She still hadn’t kissed “the man in the hat” despite his prediction. But he’d gotten far more than he’d bargained for this holiday season. He couldn’t believe what he was thinking, but the next time they were alone together, it was going to be about way more than body-numbing sex…not that he was going to fight against that either. Next time it was going to be about making love. Because that’s exactly what he was feeling.
Then Clint looked out the window and what he saw had him scrabbling against his seatbelt to get down on deck.
# # #
Nika was looking up at the three vehicles rolling down from the supply ship and didn’t like them one little bit. The big ship had a hangar-sized opening high on its side. The Mobile Landing Platform ship had a massive ramp almost as long as its deck on hydraulic jacks. One end of it had been raised so that the line of three vehicles simply drove off the supply ship, down the ramp as if it was a highway exit, and onto the main deck of the MLP. It was an impressive operation.
It was the third vehicle that was bothering her, that and the specs that Sly had handed her without comment. All three were ugly as sin and looked just as dangerous, but she was used to that in military vehicles. The more they were adapted for IED attacks, the uglier they became. That wasn’t the problem. That the third one was a military ambulance was a major issue.
Now she looked at the loading specification sheets that she held in one hand—fourteen-tons-per-vehicle, forty-two tons all combined. That at least explained why they hadn’t used Captain Roberts’ Chinook for the run; it was a massive heavy-lift helicopter, but topped out around twelve tons.
Worse, behind the three M-ATVs was a general supplies container with another twenty tons of foodstuffs and ammunition restock. All together they totaled the same as an M1A2 Abrams main battle tank, the hovercraft’s upper limit except under emergency conditions.
“Gee, thanks, Chief,” Nika couldn’t help giving Sly some flak. Getting full capacity loads exactly right were a real pain. Unlike a tank, she had four different objects with two different centers of gravity. They could be arranged a dozen different ways and the challenge was to make sure that it was perfectly distributed across the deck of the LCAC or she wouldn’t fly right. Classic Navy thinking, maximum load at maximum range capability. Not the MLP’s problem, it was hers.
When Sly didn’t respond, she turned to look at him.
He wasn’t looking at her. He was glaring at Clint.
Clint in turn was oblivious to both of them. He was staring at the approaching vehicles but his reaction was very different from her own. He looked at them as if the MLP was indeed Santa’s sleigh and it had just brought him the most beautiful of presents.
“Oh baby,” he moaned softly in a way she recognized only too well. “Come to Pappy!”
It was really too bad Sly was standing there. If he hadn’t been, Clint might find himself going for a night swim in the Mediterranean. As it was, she could tell that she needed to keep these two men as carefully separated on the hovercraft as the equipment they were about to load.
All that would be okay, if it wasn’t for the report that she held in her other hand. That was the one presently freaking her out.
A storm was forming up over Central Libya and was probably going to catch up with them before they reached the Peleliu. Staying with the MLP and the carrier strike group wasn’t an option as they were headed to the mess in the eastern Med as soon as they were rid of her.
# # #
“What’s the big deal?” Clint couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “God, you really are a swabbie, Maier.” He couldn’t stop looking down at his pretty new vehicles from the control station as Nika eased them back out onto the ocean.
“Careful there, Lieutenant. Your Pappy wouldn’t be amused.” Her tone was neutral, but he felt as if he’d just been slapped.
She’d been acting strangely ever since he’d met her down on the loading deck. Had Sly said something to her? That didn’t seem likely.
Not knowing what minefield he’d just wandered into, he decided to proceed more carefully.
“Those,” he said over the intercom, waving his hand toward the vehicles now chained to the hovercraft’s deck even though he knew Nika couldn’t see him do so. “Imagine that the Ranger Special Operations Vehicles that we drove into the terrorist camp are Land Rovers on steroids. These are Humvees on steroids. An RSOV is rated as a light tactical vehicle and an IED can make a real mess of it and the guys on board. M-ATV stands for MRAP All-Terrain Vehicle. Mine resistant ambush protected, it can cross through man-deep water or climb a sixty percent grade. All while delivering seven Rangers and a turret-mounted heavy machine gun. It’s a sweet deal.”
“What about the third one?” She had them turned west and had opened up the throttle. The roar echoed right down to his bones.
“The EXM? Extraction-medical. Probably won’t need it, at least not as long as we have the Night Stalkers watching over us. Still, always nice to be prepared.” Was that it? Was she worried about him being hurt? Seemed odd. After four tours, even Navy, she’d know that their chosen profession wasn’t the safest one around. But it was a profession that made perfect sense to him.
He’d joined the Army because he enjoyed the structure and had found the male camaraderie that had been lacking elsewhere. He’d been in long enough that now he was being a father figure to some of the guys with backgrounds way more messed up than his own. Which was pretty great as he never expected to have kids himself.
Whereas Nika…
He looked at the back of her helmet as she flew them into the roughening weather. He suddenly realized that he still had no idea why she served. Their boot camp relationship had covered a lot of terrain, but somehow it had missed that one point. It was odd, it was usually the first thing a grunt talked about. He hadn’t pushed since her initial
harsh reaction, but it was time. He really wanted to know; maybe even needed to know.
Then he glanced out the window to where Sly rode in Nika’s normal spotter position across the hovercraft. He wasn’t happy with Clint either. Perhaps he could understand that. Sly wouldn’t know that it was mutual between them.
He considered moseying over there to chat with Sly, reassure him. Sure, reassure his best friend about his intentions toward his friend’s best crew member—when Clint didn’t know what the hell his real intentions were anyway.
There was a plan designed to fail.
A big sheet of spray shot over the bow. Another good reason to wait.
# # #
“Talk to me, Chief.” They were two hours out from the MLP and close to three from the Peleliu, and it wasn’t going well.
“Go ahead, Craftmaster.”
Nika cursed, hopefully too softly for the intercom to pick up. “Can we cut the Craftmaster crap, Chief?”
“No. As long as you are at the controls, you have command. She’s your ship.”
Figured.
She had an Army Ranger who she’d finally noticed had been granted far too easy access to her emotions. And seeing that damned military ambulance had driven home just how deep that access went. Nika was also a long way from deciding whether it was comforting or embarrassing or pissing her off having him sit so close behind her and watch every move.
Now she also had a commander who was insisting she was in command and the situation was getting ugly. There was a damned storm pounding on her command.
“Well, my baby is getting the crap beat out of her.” Even as she said it, another wave hammered the port quarter. Sly’s station disappeared behind a wall of spray.
The storm had formed far faster than even the most pessimistic predictions. The cold desert air had been rushed out to sea by a major high pressure zone moving north out of central Africa. When it hit the relatively warm air of the southern Med, it had hashed up a whole series of squall lines. Those dumped buckets of rain on them—big ones—in addition to the sheets of blinding spray even bigger than usual aboard an LCAC.
Christmas at Peleliu Cove Page 9