Now, with a gentleness as deep as the night and as perfect as the slow-waving trees, they rode one more time aloft.
He could never get enough of her—not the heat that poured off her body, not the way she pressed her breasts into his hands when he reached for them, not the way her joy of life washed away any dark memories.
Delta were “other.” They didn’t belong in the military any more than they belonged anywhere else in the world. They were cut off from every chain of command below the Chief of Staff and the President himself. They wore no uniforms except when they wore their combat gear. They told no civilians that they existed.
Yet Claudia gave him a sense of belonging and welcome that he didn’t know how to understand. All he could do was accept or reject, and there was nothing in him that wanted to reject any gift this precious woman gave him.
She provided a core of safety that no Special Ops soldier ever dared feel—the moment you felt safe was the instant that someone got past your guard. That described Claudia well enough.
Nothing in his training, nothing in his life had prepared him for the woman he had held this night or who now sat beside him at the ship’s rail, lit like a goddess by the sunrise.
After he had so lost himself in her, he had been uncertain about touching her. He’d gone too far, done too much. After they’d dressed but before they’d descended, they had stood a breath apart for a long time just watching the ocean pass in silence.
Afraid she would be repulsed by the animal he had become in his desperation for her, he had waited. Afraid he would be lost after this and never find a way to return, he had left it for her to choose the next step.
As if they really were in perfect alignment, she’d brushed her hand over his and guided him back into her arms. She’d simply held him, her head on his shoulder, her nose nestled against the base of his neck. They let the soothing sway of the ship…of the rolling waves…lull them with its rhythm until the slightest fading of the stars warned him that this moment was ending.
Even now, seated beside her, not touching, he wanted nothing more than to cradle her close and tell her how perfect she was.
Was this wanting what his parents felt? Was this why they always looked at him sadly when he came home for leave, alone? They thought he didn’t notice because they always welcomed him with open arms despite his choice to serve, which they truly didn’t understand. But he could detect it in their odd silences and shifting looks when they stood arm-in-arm, as they so often did, and thought he wasn’t watching.
What would they think of Claudia Jean Casperson when they met her? For they would meet her, that much he knew.
He turned to survey the woman sitting beside him and tried to see her with another’s eyes. But it didn’t work. He’d learned too much, knew her too well. Every shape defined by muscle and training. She was an athlete in a way that so few pilots, male or female, ever were. And her physical power was a perfect reflection of the woman within.
She humbled him.
Her vision was so clear and pure that he actually did feel scruffy around her. He knew he had her up on a pedestal, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. If she had one flaw, it was that he couldn’t get enough of her.
“Next time. In the trees.”
She nodded without turning from the shining ocean.
Whatever she was seeing out there, he hoped that it included him.
Chapter 11
Over the next two weeks, the patrols dredged up nothing but two unarmed and underpowered skiffs that were turned back easily.
Michael kept thinking that he and Claudia really needed to talk about what was happening between them, but every time they entered each other’s presence, his world went so quiet that he couldn’t imagine breaking the silence. They didn’t go aloft again, but it was a rare day they didn’t find some time to spend in each other’s arms, even if it was just to lie there and marvel that the feelings weren’t wearing thin with time.
They ran 10k every morning and at least 5k more every evening on the hangar deck. Sometimes he ran with Bill, and Claudia ran with Trisha. By unspoken mutual consent, he and Bill would hang back to simply admire the women who shared their beds—both Trisha’s full-on charge-ahead run and Claudia’s easy lope. Free weights at midnight if they were back from patrol.
At times they just read together, for Claudia was always reading. They’d meet on deck in the warm night air or in the ship’s library or even in the echoing quiet of the mess hall between meals. She was reading some book about child warriors battling for food. “Dilya assigned it to me,” was her explanation. When she asked, he showed her his weapon’s manual.
“You’re reading about the PSG1 sniper rifle for recreation? Don’t you already know that thing cold?”
“I was considering some recommendations to include in the next upgrade.”
“You’re trying to figure out how to improve on a ten-thousand-dollar sniper rifle, one of the best in the world?”
And he would tell her about the floating barrel interlock, and she would listen to how he thought he could get another ten percent decrease in the minute of arc variation on successive shots. He had never so enjoyed explaining his ideas.
They were having a quiet dinner together, as quiet as such meals ever were when Trisha was at the table, when Michael heard the sound of the ship change. Trisha kept right on with a story about a midshipman who’d accidentally walked in on her shower and how the poor boy would never recover, but Claudia and Bill both noted the change. Dilya, over at the other table, did as well, slipping off her headphones and looking about for the cause. Then the Navy people.
The engines, which had done little more than idle since the ship’s run down the Somali coast, awoke with a slow climb to a deep throb. The ship heeled into a turn. Not a hard emergency turn, but enough of a one to make the ice tea in his glass appear tipped.
The ship’s comm squawked for “All Hands” attention. Everyone went silent, except Trisha who they had to shush because her story remained unfinished.
“This is Lieutenant Commander Boyd Ramis. We have been asked to move the Peleliu for a possible new mission. That is all of the information I am free to disclose at this time, except to say that we have been released from Operation Atalanta. I’m sure you’ll all miss the Somali coast.”
He paused for the small laugh but didn’t overextend it. He had good timing.
“We are presently headed for the Suez Canal and will receive further instructions at that time. All key mission personnel, please report to my office in fifteen minutes. I have been authorized to pass on one other message from both USAFRICOM and EU NAVFOR, ‘Job well done, Peleliu.’ Keep it up, team. You done good. That last is from me. Ramis out.” Nice touch.
Michael glanced across the tables at Chief Warrant Lola Maloney and Air Mission Commander Stevenson. They exchanged glances and then turned to him. Okay, this was news to everyone. He took a large bite of his crispy fried chicken, sipped some ice tea to soften it further, and rose from his unfinished meal. The others were doing the same.
Ramis had the decency not to look surprised when Michael and the SOAR pilots all arrived at his office in under five minutes. As soon as they were settled, Ramis offered an easy shrug.
“I actually know little more than I’ve already told the chaps. We’re in transit to the Med, then holding stations. We’ll pick up resupply from the Sixth Fleet. Where we go after that? My guess is as good as anybody else’s.”
A couple of the others began asking questions, but Michael simply waited. Claudia did as well. It was obvious that Ramis had another tidbit up his sleeve but wanted to have it coaxed out of him.
“Well,” he admitted at length with an easy smile, “I do know that while we’re departing Africa Command, we aren’t being attached to either EUCOM or CENTCOM for the Middle East. That positively reeks of special assignment.” Clearly
he was very pleased by the idea that he and his ship had earned it. “Beyond that, your guess is really as good as mine.”
Again with the useless speculation. Again Michael waited. Again Boyd enjoyed himself immensely. He did like his bits of control.
“I am going to have to ask you all to fold up your birds. We want them stowed out of sight on the hangar deck when we transit the Canal five days from now. Then…”
This time no one interrupted.
“I told them that you folks had been too long on station. While we hardworking Navy folk are in transit”—he offered one of his beneficent smiles—“you and your flight teams have leave. You have two hours to clear my decks before a Navy Super Stallion helicopter from Camp Lemonnier shows up to haul you out of here. Once they return to Djibouti airfield, you’ll transit across to the civilian side of the airport and can catch a flight anywhere you please from there. Seven days. Sorry, a couple of those will be in transit. Best I could do.” As if he’d personally arranged it.
They had been six straight months on this assignment, which only spoke to the horrendous operational tempo that the 5D drew. By all prior standards they ought to be back to Fort Campbell for three months of training or testing new equipment. Perhaps a war game or two to keep their edges sharp. Instead they had a week and then would be back in theater.
A week…
Michael popped his head up and turned to face Claudia.
“You don’t have to ask.” She spoke in just the sort of normal voice that no one in the suddenly chattering room would notice. “The answer is yes, if you want me to.”
He pictured Claudia Jean Casperson standing in the silence of the redwood forest. He pictured making love to her there. He nodded infinitesimally to not draw attention. That was insufficient, so he spoke in an equally nonintrusive voice.
“That was a really big yes.”
* * *
The rest of the Delta team and SOAR personnel had remained in the mess hall awaiting instructions. The rest of the Navy and Rangers had finished their meals and wandered off to other duties.
At AMC Stevenson’s announcement of leave, the waiting SOAR team surged to their feet and practically stampeded to fetch their gear. Way too long in the field, but they’d driven most of the final nails into the Somali piracy coffin that EU NAVFOR had been patiently building these last several years. A week wasn’t much, but it sounded like a gift from on high at the moment.
By the time Michael returned to the flight deck to assist, Claudia and Trisha already had their birds’ rotors folded back and stowed in line with the tail boom. He helped them clip the wheel trolleys to the center of the skids. The ship’s loadmasters came to fetch the Little Birds and wheeled them side by side onto one of the elevators that lowered them to the hangar deck below. There they’d be hidden from any prying eyes. SOAR was very protective of her stealth helicopters.
In quick order, the DAP and the other birds were also clear of the deck. Even the big Chinook went below, its three big rotor blades at either end folded over the central body until it looked like nothing so much as a kid in bad need of a haircut.
Michael packed a duffel and returned to the deck at the same moment Claudia did. They dropped their bags and sat on them, both well used to the military’s hurry-up-and-wait mentality.
He enjoyed listening to the others. Tim and Lola were off to Oklahoma as guests of Big John and Connie. Bill was working on Trisha to go stay with her parents, and she was working on him to spend some time in Budapest because neither of them had ever been there. Michael would lay money on Bill losing that bet. Dusty James was headed to Fort Campbell where his wife was finishing Green Platoon to become a SOAR crew chief. Kee and Archie were already talking about taking Dilya to go sailing with his dad, Archibald the Second.
Dilya wandered over and dropped into the low crouch that she favored, feet flat on the deck, elbows resting on her knees. Michael had seen her sit that way for hours at a time. It was a useful skill, but his own knees didn’t appreciate it after the first ten minutes or so. Dilya had been born to it.
“Do you like sailing?” Claudia had clearly picked up the same bits of conversation he had. But she’d thought to turn it into polite conversation. He always marveled at how people thought to do that.
Dilya nodded. “Sailing’s fun. My first sailing trip I think is the first time my parents slept together.” She didn’t even break stride, but just continued as if such an observation was perfectly normal. “I like the beach better. I know it’s little-kid stuff, but I still like making sand castles.”
“There’s an option for you, Colonel.” Claudia had a tease in her voice. “You could show me how to build castles in the sand.”
He wondered if she was joking, which she must have read on his features, for she explained without prompting.
“Only time I’ve really spent on a coast was at Annapolis. Midshipmen were not encouraged to spend time building sand castles at the beach.”
“I’ll take you.”
Dilya was watching him. With a sudden nod of satisfaction, she stood. “Remember, do it soon. You never know when the phone will ring.” And she was gone.
“What the hell?”
Claudia was watching the teen’s back. “I don’t know, Colonel. Sounds like the kid knows what she’s talking about.”
* * *
The massive Marine Corps CH-53 Super Stallion hammered down like thunder out of a blue sky. The Peleliu was still driving north across the Arabian Sea, a long way from making the westerly turn at the Horn of Africa.
Claudia knew the helicopter well, even if she’d never flown it. The Super Stallion, the largest bird in U.S. inventory, and the MV-22 Osprey tiltrotor were the main tools of Marine Corps transport.
It took her a moment to identify what was wrong with it. A bird she knew so well, it looked… It was the wrong color. Marine gray rather than SOAR pitch-black. It had the pilot’s names painted in large black letters below their windows. The aircraft number and the word “Marines” stretched down the side in yard-tall letters. The SOAR helicopters were unembellished black to be anonymous and blend into the night sky. It felt so old school to purposely fly in the daylight.
That realization was as much a marker of the changes she’d undergone since joining SOAR as any she’d experienced. With its rotors thudding heavily, the past landed in front of her and lowered its rear ramp. The present was safely stored out of sight in the hangar deck below, and the future—
Michael stood and gathered up his duffel to board the aircraft. Unsure of her footing, Claudia stood and picked up her own bag to follow him.
Several of the team went all gooey in the head when they clambered up the rear loading ramp. The Super Stallion was a monster with an eighty-foot-diameter, seven-bladed rotor, but it could only out-lift a Chinook by a ton or so. Still, Dennis Hakawa and Justin Roberts were clearly two of the goners, and they hustled up to stand close behind the pilots and talk shop. Claudia noticed that Kara Moretti also joined in, despite not being a helo pilot. Perhaps Justin’s attentions had begun to interest her. Kee and Tim, predictably, started chatting up the ramp gunner.
Everyone else just took one of the seats that lined either side of the cargo bay, which was about the same size as the Chinook despite the buzz it was creating. A few managed to bypass the “Ooo shiny” aspect of the unfamiliar craft and continue the conversation about their plans for leave.
Claudia hadn’t really thought through where Michael was taking her. Other than Miramar and Pendleton, she’d never been to California. Her former Marines unit was based in North Carolina, though she’d spent most of her career “feet wet” on some carrier or other.
The redwoods themselves sounded a little mythical to her. The tallest trees in the world, they grew only in one tiny strip of the coastland of Oregon and northern California. That was a world as foreign to her as, well, more fo
reign than Somalia or Indonesia or Argentina—all of which she’d flown.
Michael also was a strange and foreign land. She danced so carefully around the edge of relationships that she’d had relatively few since high school. The party girls dazzled; the confident ones mystified; even the quiet ones like Connie charmed. Clearly she’d charmed her husband—Big John, at least twice her size. He was absolutely gobsmacked by the widely acknowledged best helicopter mechanic in the 5D, meaning she might well be the best in all of SOAR, or even in the world.
Claudia had never charmed or dazzled or mystified anyone. She’d learned how to repulse the unwanted with freezer burn and remain focused on her career. It had lapsed over into her leaves as well. Her desire to go hang out in a bar near her mom’s place in Flagstaff was below zero, and she certainly wasn’t going to risk her position by fraternizing within the Corps.
“Claudia. You need a nice boy. I’ll introduce you next time you’re in Flagstaff.” Every leave it was the same. And all it did was guarantee that Claudia’s visits were unannounced and brief to leave her mom too little time to strategize any serious matchmaking.
At least her mom didn’t harass Claudia about serving in the military as so many of the other women soldiers reported about their families. She just griped about Claudia not having a man, as if that were the key to life. On leave, Claudia would tolerate it as long as she could—she knew it was just because Mom loved her—then she’d go stay in the old house out in Bumble Bee. Squib was long gone, but Mr. Johns still let her borrow a cheerful mare named Penelope and ride the hills until she found the silence she so missed.
So what was she doing following a Delta Colonel into the California redwoods? What in the hell was she doing allowing a superior officer into her bed? Even if they were in different regiments, they were both still Special Operations Forces, though she had no idea how Delta actually attached to the military command structure. Were they technically a different branch of the service? Most rumors said they reported directly to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, circumventing both Fort Bragg command and even Joint Special Operations Command. It wasn’t the sort of question one asked; inquiries about Delta were strongly discouraged, even when you were sleeping with one. Especially if.
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