He cracked a grin at that. When he pulled his gaze from the road ahead, laughter shimmered in his blue eyes.
“No, ma’am. It surely isn’t.”
Kate didn’t reply, but she knew darn well Scott was anything but faint of heart. When the air force had identified him as Bill Thompson’s replacement, she’d activated her extensive network of friends and information sources to find out everything she could about the man. Her sources confirmed he’d packed a whole bunch of flying time into his ten years in the military.
Flying that included several hundred combat hours in both the Blackhawk helicopter and the AC-130H gunship. A highly modified version of the air force’s four-engine turboprop workhorse, the gunship provided surgically accurate firepower in support of both conventional and unconventional forces, day or night.
Kate didn’t doubt Scott had provided just that surgically accurate support during recent tours in both Afghanistan and Iraq. After Iraq, he’d been sent to the 919th Special Operations Wing at Hurlburt Field, Florida, to fly the latest addition to the air force inventory—the tilt-wing CV-22 Osprey.
Since the Osprey combined the lift characteristics of a helicopter and the long-distance flight capability of a fixed-wing aircraft, Scott’s background made him a natural choice as short-notice replacement for Bill Thompson. If—when!—Pegasus completed its operational tests, it might well replace both the C-130 and the CV-122 as the workhorse of the battlefield.
Thinking of the tense weeks ahead, Kate chewed on her lower lip and said little until they’d passed through the second checkpoint and entered the compound housing the Pegasus test complex.
The entire complex had been sited and constructed in less than two months. Unfortunately, the builders had sacrificed aesthetics to exigency. The site had all the appeal of a prison camp. Rolls of concertina wire surrounded the clump of prefabricated modular buildings and trailers, all painted a uniformly dull tan to blend in with the desert landscape. White-painted rocks marked the roads and walkways between the buildings. Aside from a few picnic tables scattered among the trailers, everything was starkly functional.
Separate modular units housed test operations, the computer-communications center and a dispensary. The security center, nicknamed Rattlesnake Ops after the leather-tough, take-no-prisoners military police guarding the site, occupied another unit. A larger unit contained a fitness center and the dining hall, which also served as movie theater and briefing room when the site’s commanding officer wanted to address the entire cadre. The hangar that housed Pegasus loomed over the rest of the structures like a big, brooding mammoth.
Personnel were assigned to the trailers, two or three to a unit. Kate and the other two women officers on-site shared one unit. Scott would bunk down with Major Russ McIver, the senior Marine Corps rep. Kate directed him to the line of modular units unofficially dubbed Officers Row.
“You probably want to change into your uniform before checking in with Captain Westfall. Your trailer is the second one on the left. Westfall’s is the unit standing by itself at the end of the row.”
“First things first,” Scott countered, pulling up at the small dispensary. “Let’s get your ankle looked at.”
“I’ll take care of that. You’d best get changed and report in.”
“Special Ops would drum me out of the brotherhood if I left a lady to hobble around on a sore ankle.”
He meant it as a joke, but his careless attitude toward his new assignment was starting to seriously annoy Kate. Her mouth thinned as he came around the front of the pickup. Sliding out of the passenger seat, she stood firmly on both feet to address him.
“I don’t think you’ve grasped the urgency of our mission. I’ll manage here, Captain. You report in to the C.O.”
Her tone left no doubt. It was an order from a superior officer to a subordinate.
Scott cocked an eyebrow. For a moment, his eyes held something altogether different from the teasing laughter he’d treated her to up to this point.
The dangerous glint was gone almost as quickly as it had come. Tipping her a two-fingered salute, he replied in an easy, if somewhat exaggerated, drawl.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dave took care not to spin out and leave Lieutenant Commander Hargrave in a swirl of dust. His eyes on the rearview mirror, he followed her careful progress up the clinic steps.
The woman was stubborn as well as gorgeous. And not above pulling rank on him. Well, that pretty well fit with what he’d heard about her.
The sexy Hurricane Hunter couldn’t know it but her ex-husband had piloted the mission Dave had flown with the reserve unit out of Keesler. The man had had a few things to say about the wife who’d just dumped him, none of them particularly flattering. She was, according to the still-bitter aviator, ambitious as hell, fearless in the air, a tiger in bed and a real ball-breaker out of it.
Dave figured three out of four was good enough for him.
Yes, sir, he thought as he caught a last glimpse of turquoise spandex in the mirror. This assignment was looking better and better by the minute.
Chapter 2
Showered, shaved and wrapped in the familiar comfort of his green Nomex flight suit, Dave tracked down the officer in command of the Pegasus project. He found Captain Westfall at the Test Operations Building.
“Captain Scott reporting for duty, sir.”
The tall, lean naval officer in khakis creased to blade-edged precision returned Dave’s salute, then offered his hand.
“Welcome aboard, Captain Scott.”
The man’s gravelly voice and iron grip matched his salt-and-pepper buzz cut. His skin was tanned to near leather, no doubt the result of years spent pacing a deck in sun, wind and salt spray. His piercing gray eyes took deliberate measure of the latest addition to his team. Dave didn’t exactly square his shoulders, but he found himself standing a little taller under Westfall’s intense scrutiny.
“Did you take care of that bit of personal business you mentioned when you called last night?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dave most certainly had. Fighting a grin, he thought of the waitress who’d all but wrapped herself around him when he’d stopped for a cheeseburger in Chorro. The cluster of sunbaked adobe buildings was the closest thing that passed for a town around these parts. The town might appear tired and dusty, but its residents were anything but. One particular resident, anyway.
Dave would carry fond memories of that particular stop for a long time.
Although…
All the while he’d soaped and scraped away the bristles and road dust, his thoughts had centered more on a certain redhead than on the waitress who’d delayed his arrival at the Pegasus site by a few hours. Kate Hargrave was still there, inside his head, teasing him with her fiery hair, her luscious curves and those green cat’s eyes.
As if reading his mind, Westfall folded his arms. “I understand you brought Lieutenant Commander Hargrave in this morning.”
Word sure got around fast. Dave had dropped off the gorgeous weather officer at the dispensary less than twenty minutes ago.
“Yes, sir. We bumped into each other on the road into the site. Have you had a report on her condition? How’s her ankle?”
“Doc Richardson says she’ll be fine. Only a slight muscle strain.” A flinty smile creased Westfall’s cheeks. “Knowing Commander Hargrave, she’ll work out the kinks and be back in fighting form within a few hours.”
“That’s good to hear.”
The smile disappeared. Westfall’s gray eyes drilled into his new subordinate. “Yes, it is. I can’t afford to lose another key member of my test cadre. You’ve got some catching up to do, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve set up a series of briefings for you, starting at oh-nine-hundred. First, though, I want you to meet the rest of the team. And get a look at the craft you’ll be piloting.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “I’ve asked the senior officers and engineers to assemble in the hangar.
They should be in place by now.”
The hangar was the cleanest Dave had ever seen. No oil spills smudged the gleaming, white-painted floor. No greasy equipment was shoved up against the wall. Just rack after rack of black boxes and the sleek white capsule that was Pegasus. It took everything Dave had to tear his gaze from the delta-winged craft and acknowledge the introductions Captain Westfall performed.
“Since Pegasus is intended for use by all branches of the military, we’ve pulled together representatives from each of the uniformed services. I understand you’ve already met Major Russ McIver.”
“Right.”
The square-jawed marine had just been exiting his trailer when Dave pulled up. They’d exchanged little more than a quick handshake before Dave hurried in to hit the showers and pull on his uniform. From the package headquarters had sent him, though, he knew McIver had proven himself in both Kosovo and Kabul. The marine’s function was to test Pegasus’s capability as a vehicle for inserting a fully armed strike team deep into enemy territory.
“This is Major Jill Bradshaw,” Westfall announced, “chief of security for the site.”
A brown-eyed blonde in desert fatigues and an armband with MP stenciled in big white letters, the major held out her hand. “Good to have you on board, Captain. Come by Rattlesnake Ops after the briefing and we’ll get you officially cleared in.”
“Will do.”
The petite brunette next to Bradshaw smiled a welcome. “Lieutenant Caroline Dunn, Coast Guard. Welcome to Project Pegasus, Captain Scott.”
“Thanks.”
Dave liked her on the spot. From what he’d read of the woman’s résumé, she’d racked up an impressive number of hours in command of a Coast Guard cutter. He appreciated both her experience and her warm smile.
“Dr. Cody Richardson,” Westfall said next, indicating a tall, black-haired officer in khakis. The silver oak leaf on Richardson’s left collar tab designated his rank. On the right tab was the insignia of the Public Health Service—an anchor with a chain fouling it.
A world-renowned expert in biological agents, Richardson held both an M.D. and a Ph.D. His mission was to test the nuclear, biological and chemical defense suite installed in Pegasus. He also served as on-site physician.
“Heard you provided ambulance service this morning,” the doc commented, taking Dave’s hand in a firm, no-nonsense grip.
“I did. How’s your patient?”
His patient answered for herself. Stepping forward, Lieutenant Commander Hargrave gave Dave a cool smile.
“Fit for duty and ready to get to work.”
He sure couldn’t argue with the “fit” part. Damned if he’d ever seen anyone fill out a flight suit the way Kate Hargrave did. She, too, wore fire-retardant Nomex, but hers was the NOAA version—sky blue instead of the military’s pea green. The zippered, one-piece bag sported an American flag on the left shoulder, a leather name patch above her left breast and NOAA’s patch above her right. A distinctive unit emblem was Velcroed to her right shoulder.
It featured a winged stallion on a classic shield-shaped device. The bottom two-thirds of the shield was red. The top third showed a blue field studded with seven silver stars. Captain Westfall saw Dave eyeing the patch and reached into his pocket.
“This is for you. I issued one to the entire test cadre when we first assembled. The winged steed speaks for itself. The stars represent each of the seven uniformed services.”
Dave’s glance swept the assembled group once more. They were all there, all seven. Army. Navy. Marine Corps. Air Force. Coast Guard. Public Health Service. And NOAA, as represented by the delectable Kate Hargrave. The four military branches. Three predominately civilian agencies with small cadres of uniformed officers.
Dave had been assigned to some joint and unified commands before, but never one with this diversity. Despite their variations in mission and uniform, though, each of these officers had sworn the same oath when they were commissioned. To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies.
Dave might possess a laid-back attitude toward life in general, but he took that oath very seriously. No one who’d served in combat could do otherwise.
Captain Westfall took a few moments more to introduce the project’s senior civilian scientists and engineers. That done, he and the entire group walked Dave over to the vehicle they’d gathered to test and—hopefully!—clear for operational use.
Pegasus was as sweet up close as it had looked from across the hangar. Long, cigar-shaped, with a bubble canopy, a side hatch and fat, wide-tracked wheels. Designed to operate on land, in the air and in water. The gray-haired Captain Westfall stroked the gleaming white fuselage with the same air of proud propriety a horse breeder might give the winner of the Triple Crown.
“You’re seeing the craft in its swept-wing mode,” he intoned in his deep voice.
Dave nodded, noting the propellers were folded flat, the engines tilted to horizontal, and the wings tucked almost all the way into the belly of the craft.
“The wide-track wheels allow Pegasus to operate on land in this mode.”
“And damned well, too,” Dr. Richardson put in with a quick glance at the trim blond Major Bradshaw.
“We encountered some unexpected difficulties during the mountain phase of land operations,” she told Dave. “You know about the virus that hit the site and affected Bill Thompson’s heart. It hit me, too, while I was up in the mountains conducting a prerun check. Cody… Dr. Richardson and Major McIver rode Pegasus to the rescue.”
She’d corrected her slip into informality quickly, but not before Dave caught the glance she and the doc exchanged. Well, well. So it wasn’t all work and no play on the site after all.
“Glad to hear Pegasus can run,” Dave commented. “The real test will be to see if he can fly.”
He saw at once he’d put his foot in it. Backs stiffened. Eyes went cool. Even Caroline Dunn, the friendly Coast Guard officer, arched an eyebrow.
“Pegasus is designed as a multiservice, all-weather, all-terrain assault vehicle,” Captain Westfall reminded him. “Our job is to make sure it operates equally well on land, on water and in the air.”
There was only one answer to that. Dave gave it.
“Yes, sir.”
He recovered a little as the walk-around continued and the talk turned to the specifics of the craft’s power, torque, engine thrust and instrumentation. Dave had done his homework, knew exactly what was required to launch Pegasus into the air. By the end of the briefing, his hands were itching to wrap around the throttles.
The rest of the day was taken up with the administrivia necessary in any new assignment. Major Bradshaw gave Dave a security briefing and issued a high-tech ID that not only cleared him into the site but also tracked his every movement. Doc Richardson conducted an intake interview and medical assessment. The senior test engineers presented detailed briefings of Pegasus’s performance during the land tests.
By the time 7:00 p.m. rolled around, Dave’s stomach was issuing noisy feed-me demands. The sandwich he and the briefers had grabbed for lunch had long since ceased to satisfy the needs of his six two frame. He caught the tail end of the line at the dining hall and joined a table of troops in desert fatigues.
Like the officer cadre, enlisted personnel at the site came from every branch of the service. Army MPs provided security. Navy personnel operated most of the support facilities. Air force troops maintained the site’s extensive communications and computer networks. The marine contingent was small, Dave learned, only about ten noncoms whose expertise was essential in testing Pegasus’s performance as a troop transport and forward-insertion vehicle.
He scarfed down a surprisingly delicious concoction of steak and enchiladas, then returned to the unit he shared with Russ McIver to unpack and stow his gear. McIver wasn’t in residence and the unpacking didn’t take long. All Dave had brought with him was an extra flight suit, a set of blues on the off chance he’d have to atten
d some official function away from the site, workout sweats, jeans, some comfortable shirts and one pair of dress slacks. His golf shoes and clubs he left in the truck. With any luck, he’d get Pegasus soaring the first time up and have time to hit some of New Mexico’s golf courses before heading back to his home base in Florida.
Changing out of his uniform into jeans and a gray USAF sweatshirt with the arms ripped out, he stashed his carryall under his bed and explored the rest of the two-bedroom unit. It was similar to a dozen others he’d occupied at forward bases and a whole lot more comfortable than his quarters in Afghanistan.
A passing glance showed Russ McIver’s room was spartan in its neat orderliness. As was the front room. Carpeted in an uninspiring green, the area served as a combination eating, dining and living room. The furniture was new and looked comfortable, if not particularly elegant. The fridge was stocked with two boxes of high-nutrition health bars and four six-packs of Coors Light.
“That’s what I admire most about marines,” Dave announced to the empty trailer. “They take only the absolute necessities into the field with them.”
Helping himself, he popped a top and prepared to attack the stack of briefing books and technical manuals he’d plopped down on the kitchenette counter. The rise and fall of voices just outside the unit drew him to the door.
When he stepped out into the early-evening dusk, the first thing that hit him was the explosion of color to the west. Like a smack to the face, it grabbed his instant attention. Reds, golds, blacks, pinks, oranges and blues, all swirling together in a deep purple sky. The gaudy combination reminded Dave of the paintings he’d seen in every truck stop and roadside gift shop on the drive out. Black velvet and bright slashes of color. But this painting was for real, and it was awesome.
The second thing that hit him was the silence his appearance had generated among the officers clustered around a metal picnic table. It was as if an outsider had crashed an exclusive, members-only party. Which he had, Dave thought wryly.
Full Throttle & Wrong Bride, Right Groom Page 2
