Turning, he fell into step with her as they headed back to the barracks. Cam kept a casual distance between them, and glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, Gus wondered if she’d felt anything toward him in that crazy moment out of time. Her cheeks were still a high pink color, and she was looking down at the ground, her brows drawn downward. Realizing abruptly that she probably hadn’t, Gus found himself in an unexpected quandary.
He liked Cam. Liked everything about her, probably more than he should, given their professional relationship. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he took off his flight gloves and jammed them into the left pocket of his flight suit. Within moments they would be at the two-story barracks, climbing the outside wooden stairs to the second floor, where their H.Q. was located. Time. He needed some quiet time to think about what had just occurred. Tonight, when he went to his assigned cubical on the first floor, and the lights were out, he’d feel his way through it all. Maybe then he’d get some answers.
Chapter 5
Exhausted, Cam walked down to her small room on the first floor of the barracks—her “home” until she could find an apartment near the base. Darkness had fallen. After spending so much energy talking individually to the two arrogant Mexican pilots, she was emotionally whipped. Gus had been a dream in comparison. He’d hung on every word of her critique of his flight performance, asked good questions on how to become better the next time around. Gus was her only bright spot in the whole day.
Heart heavy, Cam realized she wasn’t even hungry. It was 1900 and she knew she should eat, but she was too upset. Being a leader was harder than she’d ever envisioned. Gaining a new respect for her own C.O., Major Stevenson, Cam unlocked the door to her room. Stepping in, she turned on the overhead light. Earlier in the day, when she’d arrived at the base via commercial airline, she’d thrown her two pieces of luggage into the room, shed her civilian clothes and quickly donned the dark green flight suit worn by U.S. Army aviators.
Looking around as she quietly closed the door, Cam decided that even though this was a spare room, it was posh in comparison to her digs at the cave in Peru where the squadron was based. Here she had a double bed, a wooden dresser with a mirror, and two large metal lockers to store her few clothes in. A television, DVD player and radio were all unexpected bonuses to her. At BJS, no one had these things, though one building on the other side of the mountain—the mining operation that was a front for their black ops—had a satellite dish where off-duty personnel could go watch television and find out what was happening in the rest of the world. It was a treat to have time to do that.
Cam’s new room had a small desk and a phone, and she’d brought her Mac titanium G4 laptop, which she’d use to communicate with her colleagues. Next to it she placed the very expensive iridium satellite phone.
Cam reached for the Velcro closing at the top of her flight suit and tugged it open. Pulling out the white silk scarf she always wore around her neck in order to stop the uniform from chafing her skin as she scanned the skies, Cam sat down. She needed someone to talk to. Someone whose advice could help her get through this messy situation. Picking up the satellite phone, she dialed a number.
“Stevenson here.”
“Maya? This is Cam. I hope it’s not too late?”
Chuckling, Maya said, “I figured I’d hear from you. And late? When I’m known to stay up half the night and then crash for a few hours on the bunk in my office? I don’t think so.”
“It’s great to hear a friendly voice,” Cam said, meaning it. She gripped the phone anxiously.
“So, you hit a brick wall with your pilots?”
Sighing, she nodded. “Yeah, two out of the three are challenges. Only one, Chief Gus Morales, is the material we’re looking for.”
“So, give me the down and dirty on all of them. Let’s talk.”
Relieved, Cam quickly related the day’s events. Her heart was beating hard in her chest because she didn’t want to disappoint Maya. She didn’t want her to think she wasn’t up to the job before her. Right now, Cam felt like a loser.
“Let me do some more background snooping on Dominguez and Zaragoza, okay? If they’re that bad, why the hell did the army allow them to pass? That’s my first question. Secondly, I know that the Mexican military have been putting only two students per rotation through Apache school. Why should these two get it, instead of guys who really want the training?”
Rubbing her aching head, Cam muttered, “I don’t know. There’s nothing in their personnel jackets to indicate why.”
Chuckling darkly, Maya said, “Personnel jackets are sanitized versions of reality, and tell you little. Don’t worry, I’ll get to Morgan and have him do some looking into the real records at the flight school at Fort Rucker, to find out what you need to know.”
“I feel inept, Maya.”
Laughing, she said, “Welcome to the real world of being a leader. Crappy, isn’t it?”
“No kidding. I sure have a new respect for you…for what you must go through every day down there, while all we do is climb into the cockpit and fly.”
“Well, Cam, you pilots put your lives on the line. I don’t. I fly a desk most of the time. I take other slings and arrows—glares, silent name-calling and outbursts of anger from time to time with my people, but that’s not often. And you’re in another league on this. With an all-woman squadron down here, we have a natural tendency toward teamwork and helping one another. Whereas with men, at least most macho ones, there’s nothing but rivalry. Some guys just don’t like to work together. They like to show off—strut their stuff and show you what they know as an individual, not a team member.”
Laughing softly, Cam nodded. “Well, the one bright spot, like I said, is Gus Morales. He’s a dream, really.”
“Yeah?”
Cam filled her in on the Mexican-American pilot.
“He was a good choice as X.O.,” Maya affirmed.
“Maya, I’m going to ask a stupid question.”
“No question is stupid, Cam. Only the one that goes unasked. What is it?”
Relieved that Maya didn’t mind holding her hand as she learned how to become a leader, Cam felt the courage to go on. She shifted in the chair and crossed her legs.
“I see the closeness and confidence you have with Dallas Klein, your X.O.—the confidence you have in her. I was wondering…well, do I want to create that same situation with Gus?”
Chuckling, Maya said, “X.O.’s are people, Cam. Sometimes you get lucky, like I did with Lieutenant Klein, who became an immediate friend. She’s someone I can blow off steam to, cry in front of, talk and laugh with. And whatever I say to her stays with her. She knows how to keep a confidence. She’s not a gossiper. As a leader, you can’t cry in front of your people. You have to look confident, strong and sure of yourself even if your gut feels like jelly and you’re questioning yourself every step of the way. The right X.O. can give you a safe harbor to vent your anger and frustration, share your humor over dumb things, mistakes, talk about your personnel, and in general, help you run the command. You want an X.O. who is perceptive, who can give you feedback and who isn’t afraid of you just because you’re the boss. You don’t want a boot licker.”
“Gus isn’t that.”
“Good. Is he reliable, you think?”
“In my gut, he’s like Dallas, I feel.”
“Trustworthy?”
“Yes, but I haven’t had time to really verify that. It’s just an instinct thing.”
“Well,” Maya drawled, humor in her husky tone, “you know how much we work on gut instinct around here. And you know how accurate it is. Often, it saves our lives when a Black Shark is lurking around and our Apache is unable to pick up its identification signal. The only thing keeping us from getting blasted out of the sky sometimes is our intuition. If Morales feels right to you, feels like he’s trustworthy, I’m sure he is, whether he’s proved it yet or not.”
“You’re right,” Cam murmured. “You’d like him,
Maya. He’s enthusiastic, he’s smart and he catches on fast.”
“Well, at least one of the three is a winner, Cam. What you have to do as a leader is figure out how to bring these other two dudes not only into line, but also up to scratch with their air skills.”
“I’m going to work out a mission plan when I get off the phone with you. I’d like to discuss it with you tomorrow night, if that’s okay with you?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Heck no! I’d be worried if you weren’t calling me, Cam. Good leaders aren’t born, they’re made one grueling day at a time.”
“Gosh, that’s true,” Cam whispered, wrinkling her brow. “I’ve got to learn not to get emotionally involved when dealing with those two pilots.”
“That’s right. They’ll teach you what I call the Zen-like art of detachment,” Maya chuckled. “You’ve got to change your attitude, Cam. Down here at BJS, everyone likes everyone else. We all get along. We’re one big team. We’re like a bunch of sisters out on this wild and crazy adventure together. From what you’ve said, Zaragoza and Dominguez want to set you up to fail, to embarrass you, to show your faults instead of reflecting on their own skills and weaknesses. It’s a game, and you’ve got to learn the game in a hurry and turn it back on them.”
“I have to be tough in ways I never wanted to be, Maya. The only way I got through today was to act like our Inspector Pilots back at Fort Rucker.”
“Yeah—lean, mean mother machines,” she said derisively.
“And mother wasn’t used as a nice word, either,” Cam said, smiling a little.
“Right on. So be a mean mother. Don’t give an inch. And don’t let them know they’ve taken a pound of flesh out of you. Keep them off balance. That means you have to be thinking way ahead of them. You have to know them so well, their individual personalities, that you know what their action or reaction is going to be before they initiate a response.”
“I think I need four years of psychology, Maya, to do that.”
Laughing, Maya said, “Nah, real life will teach you in about three months’ time.”
“I’m supposed to turn these pilots into interdiction specialists in two months,” Cam said, anxiety tingeing her tone. “And I don’t know if I can do it or not.”
“Listen, just set up your mission plan, then get back to me tomorrow night and we’ll talk. Give these two a week with that plan and see what happens. If they don’t improve, if they continue to fight your authority, then other, more drastic measures will need to be invoked.”
“Okay,” Cam said, wondering if Maya might yank her out of the C.O. spot as one “drastic measure to be invoked,” and put someone else who was better and tougher in the slot instead. That was all she could see happening, but she didn’t say that. Worried that Maya would think her a poor leader if she couldn’t turn these two pilots around, Cam compressed her lips and withheld her worst fears from her.
“Get some sleep, Cam. And remember to eat, okay? Food is fuel. It keeps you sharp.”
Smiling wryly, she said, “Okay, mother hen, I will.”
“G’night, Tree Trimmer. Hang in there…”
Clicking off the button on the iridium phone, Cam set it gently back on the wooden desk. Her stomach growled, but she still wasn’t hungry. Looking around, she felt as if the cubicle was closing in on her.
“Get moving, Anderson,” she told herself grimly, and stood up. She planned to take a quick shower to wash off the smelly sweat of fear she’d garnered today, and change into civilian clothes. Heading down to the end of the hall, where some vending machines were located, she’d grab a quick snack and take it outside. Cam loved the outdoors and missed it acutely. Maybe munching on potato chips under the stars would help her.
There was a quarter moon shining brightly in the night sky as Cam stepped out of the barracks and away from the floodlights surrounding it. Every window in the barracks was lit up as well as the inhabitants, both enlisted soldiers and officers relaxed after a long day’s work. It was a noisy place, Cam realized, at this time of night. Lights would be doused at 2100 hours, and then things would quiet down. Until then the place was a cacophony of sound that had bled through her door as she jotted her mission ideas down on paper. She was glad to be outside now, dressed like a civilian in her jeans, pink tank top and a light denim jacket with flowers embroidered on it. In her hand, she had a small package of potato chips.
Though the barracks were surrounded by asphalt, earlier in the day Cam had spotted what appeared to be a picnic area with tables, benches and several barbecue grills under a grove of trees about a quarter mile to the west. She felt lighter with every step as she headed there now, into the darkness. In the distance, she could see the dark shapes of the trees silhouetted against the moonlit sky.
Cam released a long, painful sigh as the night embraced her. Oh, to be hidden again! Out of the glaring spotlight of real life, with all those responsibilities bearing down on her. As she stepped off the edge of the asphalt and onto the sandy earth, her ears picked up the faint sound of guitar music.
Stopping to listen, Cam realized the sound was coming from the grove. Hesitating, she wondered who was there. Was it one of the pilots? The last thing she wanted to do right now was come face-to-face with Zaragoza or Dominguez.
Standing there uncertainly, Cam felt her heart give a tug. Then her gut told her to move on to the grove. Curious, she followed the sound. The guitar music was soft and unobtrusive, sounding friendly and welcoming in the dark. It was such an unusual sound to hear on a military base. Music and military. They both started with an M, but that was all they had in common, Cam decided, a crazy smile coming to her lips.
As she approached the trees, she halted. Her night vision was excellent, and with the quarter moon’s luminescence, she could make out several wooden picnic tables with benches scattered around the large grove. At a central one, a dark figure was sitting on the table, his feet resting on the seat as he hunched over his guitar.
Her heart jumped as she recognized the man’s profile. It was Gus Morales! Standing quietly, Cam felt tension begin to bleed out of her as she allowed the soft, haunting strains of the music to envelop and heal her. He played wonderfully, and she was once again surprised by his talents. Not only was he an excellent pilot who had a natural feel for the Apache, but those same long, lean fingers could stroke a guitar and make it sing beautifully as well.
Something pushed her to move toward him as he ended the song, and her pulse bounded unsteadily as she did. She saw him lift his head and gaze through the darkness at her. Cam was feeling euphoric. Hopeful. He was a friend, not an enemy, she reasoned. That had to be why she felt so at ease around him. Gus had been like a safe harbor during the hurricane that had swept around her all day.
“Hi, Cam. Come and join me?” Gus said, lifting his hand and gesturing for her to come and sit at the table with him.
Smiling hesitantly, she halted in front of him. “That was beautiful, whatever you were playing.” She met his gleaming eyes, which were dappled with moonlight. Her entire body responded boldly to his look. The feeling made her happier than she’d been in a long time, but at the same time she was scared to death.
“Thanks. That was a healing song from my mother’s people,” Gus murmured, as he studied her in the darkness. He liked what he saw. The pale tank top she wore outlined her upper body to perfection beneath her denim jacket. Her jeans were loose, and yet, as he quickly perused her figure, he decided she was beautifully built for her five-foot-nine-inch frame. She was medium boned, and probably weighed around a hundred and fifty pounds. Gus liked women who had some meat on their bones, not the skinny sticks whose pictures were plastered on magazine covers.
Gazing up into her eyes, he saw her shyness. “Have you eaten yet?”
Cam lifted the unopened bag of potato chips. “Dinner.”
“Ah, I see.” Gus pointed to a box on the picnic table. “I went into town earlier, to a great little
Mexican restaurant, and bought some chicken enchiladas. There’s more than enough for both of us. Would you like a couple?”
She felt his gaze scan her, as if he could read her feelings and her mind. “How did you know I hadn’t eaten anything?”
Chuckling, Gus quietly strummed the guitar, gazing down at it. “The whiplashing you took today would wreck my appetite as well. Come on, sit down. Share my enchiladas with me.” He lifted his head and grinned, his teeth pale against his shadowed face. “You could probably stand a little quiet company with someone who isn’t interested in disemboweling you because you’re a woman.”
At first unsettled by his perception, Cam wavered. And then she recalled Maya’s sage words of advice and moved to the table, sitting down near the white box of food. “How did you know?” she asked, putting her feet on the rough-hewn seat.
“Know what?”
“That I was tied in knots? Was I that transparent today?”
Gus put the guitar aside and picked up the box. “Want the truth?” he asked, opening the container and handing her one of the wrapped enchiladas. Their fingers touched briefly, and he saw her eyes go soft once again at the contact. “No, you weren’t.” He opened the crinkly paper and placed his own fragrant enchilada on his lap. Watching out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cam delicately unwrap hers and carefully pick it up. She was so graceful. Her fingers were long and artistic looking. Pilot’s hands.
“Speaking as your X.O.—” Gus gave her a humorous side glance as he bit into the enchilada “—I thought you carried the day well.”
An Honorable Woman Page 6
