by Cassie Cole
“All smokejumpers risk their lives every time they suit up,” Wallace replied. “This is a dangerous profession.”
I lost all semblance of calm. “Cut the bullshit. What do you want from me? Do you want me to quit the smokejumpers? Pack up my shit and go somewhere else? Because I’ll do it if it means keeping the others safe. Tell me what you want!”
I could hear Wallace’s breathing on the other end. I imagined his nostrils flaring and his white eyes round with adrenaline and anger. Like a bull ready to charge.
“I want you to be your best,” he said, biting off every word. “I don’t know why you believe I have a personal vendetta against you. Perhaps you should check your own paranoia at the door before you call my personal number.” There was another short pause, and then, “But suffice to say, if you’re having difficulties now, I’m sure those personal problems would follow you elsewhere if you were to quit.”
I heard the threat between the lines. Even if I quit, he would find a way to get even with me no matter where I went. I’d be giving up everything I had worked towards for nothing.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” I replied in a quiet voice. I was tired of all this. “I’ve carried around the guilt for what happened to Henry every day of my life.”
“Don’t ever say his name,” Wallace hissed. “Not to me, or to anyone else. You don’t have the right to say his name.”
“But if Haley or Foxy get hurt out here because we were thrown into a situation we weren’t prepared for, that’s on you. And if that happens, I’ll spend the rest of my career making sure everyone up the chain of command knows it. Let us do our job, sir. That’s all I’m asking.”
I hung up before he could respond.
I ate dinner with our little clique at one end of the table. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits after a day off, joking and laughing, and I did my best to share their good humor. I even teased Foxy about his chest tattoos, which made Haley smile at me from across the table.
But all the while I thought about what Wallace had said, and wondered if he would listen. When I went to bed that night, I said a silent prayer that we wouldn’t be thrown into the most dangerous part of tomorrow’s mission.
I was wrong.
18
Haley
Seeing Derek with a better attitude brightened everyone’s mood at dinner. It was like being in a totally different work environment. Warm and welcoming rather than toxic and hostile.
That night, Foxy sneaked into my room after most of the rest of the jumpers had gone to bed. Wordlessly, he locked the door and went to my closet to retrieve the box of special toys. We kissed and touched one another while Foxy examined each item, his dark eyes glistening with mischief when he came to a small, bulb-shaped object.
“You never did answer my question last night,” he whispered in the darkness. “Does this go up your ass?”
“When I’m in the mood, it sometimes finds its way up there,” I said sheepishly.
“What kind of mood do you need to be in?” he asked.
I kissed him, feeling the scratch of his beard against my cheeks. “The kind of mood I’m in right now.”
He spread my legs and sank into me, fucking me slowly while our tongues swirled together with passion. When I was soaking wet, he retrieved my little butt plug from the box. With his cock still inside my pussy, he rolled us sideways so we were still facing each other, but laying on our sides. His hand went around behind, and I felt the tip of the toy press against my tight little backside.
“Go slow,” I whispered into his mouth.
“Only way I know how, baby.”
I loved anal play. The sensation of a toy, or finger, penetrating my ass was the kind of taboo feeling that couldn’t be experienced with vanilla sex. It heightened every other erotic feeling in my body. Kicked things up a notch or two.
While still fucking my pussy, Foxy slid the butt plug into my ass. The tip entered with ease, and I relaxed as it widened, plunging deeper and deeper into my butt. All the while Foxy’s huge cock continued thrusting inside of me, like a machine set to the slowest, most sensual setting.
Finally the widest part of the butt plug was inside of me. My rear ring tightened around the base of the butt plug as it tapered off, and I sighed with pleasure.
“Goddamn, that’s tight,” Foxy said lustily. “I can feel it pressing against my dick inside your pussy.”
I kissed him harder, desperate to feel more of him. “Fuck me harder.”
“You like it hard?” he purred back.
“I like you hard,” I said. “Give it to me.”
I moaned louder and louder as he jackhammered into me, wedging his cock against the same wall that felt pressure from the anal plug, bringing me to new and intense levels of ecstasy. Judging from the noises Foxy made as he filled my cunt with his creamy seed, he was enjoying it every bit as much as I was.
This was much better than playing with toys by myself.
We barely had time for breakfast the next morning before the mission briefing. Foxy and I were excited and energetic, but most of the other Redding smokejumpers just looked weary. It was a stark contrast between the fresh rookies and those who had been grinding for three straight weeks without respite.
“Today we’re attacking the western part of the Shasta Valley,” Commander Callaway announced. He tapped the map on the board next to him. “Trying to create a north-south handline to stop the advance in that direction.”
“Sir?” Someone raised their hand. “I thought the western part of the valley was considered safe.”
“It was, until the winds shifted overnight. It’s swirling around the valley and then carrying the flames to the west. Because of that, the burn intensity is much higher than we would like, and the fire is advancing at about two miles per hour. There’s no time for us to do this by the book—we have to build the handline from two opposing sides, and meet in the middle. One team on the north end, and another on the south.”
Trace raised his hand next. The simple gesture sent muscles rippling up his shoulders and back. “Sir, the anchor point looks good on the north. Lakes are always stable. But I don’t see any large anchor points on the south. Is my map out of date?”
Callaway grimaced. “I’m afraid your map is perfectly accurate. There’s a thin river running through the south end of the valley. Your anchor point will be at one of its switchbacks. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the best we’ve got on short notice. Our options are limited on this one.”
“Yes, sir,” Trace said.
He went through various other details about the drop points, strategy, and fallback options. When the briefing was done, everyone jostled to get to the board to read the postings. Derek and I hung back while Foxy went to check.
“Two groups of twelve,” he said. “The three of us are with Trace on the south team.”
The more dangerous side. I felt a swell of pride that Callaway had listened to Commander Wallace, and trusted us on the end that was more challenging. “Time to earn some respect, boys.”
Derek seemed annoyed by it, but he put on a smile. “The harder the mission, the sweeter the satisfaction,” he said. It was forced, but at least he was trying.
I gave him a reassuring pat on the arm as we all headed to the equipment warehouse and climbed into our jumpsuits.
We dragged our empty crate into the middle of the floor and Trace gave out orders to retrieve the supplies we needed. I was sent to get the chainsaw. Brinkley was the man handing them out today. His jumpsuit was covered in white patches where I had repaired it.
“Hinch!” he called when he saw me. He grabbed a chainsaw that had been set aside, holding it reverently in his hands. “Saved this for you. Best one we’ve got. Teeth were sharpened yesterday by yours truly. She runs a little hot, so give her a few extra seconds to cool down after the big cuts.”
I accepted the chainsaw like it was a holy scepter. “I’ll treat her like she’s my own.”
Brinkley gav
e me a nod of respect before turning to someone else. “Avery, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Like hell you’re taking that one with you…”
I carried it back to the group and packed it away in the drop crate with plenty of protective padding.
“Haley?” Foxy asked over my shoulder. “I don’t mean to sound like a sore gift receiver, but did you have the coffee jitters when you worked on my suit?”
I saw what he meant: FOXY had been sewn into his chest patch, but the stitches were chaotic and disorganized, like a spiderweb that had been woven by a drunk spider. I barked a laugh when I saw it.
“Derek’s the one who worked on yours, not me,” I said.
Derek put his hands up. “Hey, it doesn’t need to be perfect. The purpose of communication is to convey information, and since you knew it was yours immediately then it did its job.”
Foxy fished around inside a nearby work drawer and came out with a thick black marker. “No problem. Just gonna color in the lines…”
Everyone laughed as he filled in the gaps between the thread until his last name was more legible.
Once all the gear was loaded into the drop crates, I began filling my PG pack. Water, protein bars, and gloves. Then a hardhat, and finally the emergency fire shelter. Hope I don’t need that today.
After that we pulled our thicker flight suits over our normal fire suits. They were padded, with extra layers of protection in the knees and elbows in case we had a hard landing. “Let me get that for you,” Trace said when it came time to zip up the back. I twisted and did the same for him.
“How do I look? I asked, pretending to model my suit as if it was a wedding dress.
Trace grinned. “You look like a smokejumper. Just don’t ruin the look by curtsying.”
“They keep giving you more and more responsibility, huh?” I said. “First you led a team of four. Now it’s an entire drop team.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.
I slapped him on the arm. Even with all the layers of padding, I could feel his rock-hard muscle underneath it all. “There’s nobody at Redding Base I’d rather be taking orders from. I trust you.”
He smiled gratefully, savoring what I had said. I could tell my words meant a lot to him.
Then the smile disappeared and he was all business again. “Let’s load up! Time’s wasting!” he roared to the team.
The two C23 Sherpas were waiting for us on the tarmac with their engines running at a low hum. The sunrise spread out above the mountains to the east and there was a morning chill in the air. The air tasted surprisingly clean, with no hint of smoke. Evidence that the wind had shifted overnight.
While the others loaded the gear crates at the back of the plane, I climbed into the cabin. The pilot was already in the cockpit, and twisted to look at me when I entered. His eyes flicked to the patch on my chest.
“Hinch? You’re in the back.”
“Back?”
“You’ll be dropped off in the second pass.” He returned to checking his instruments, so I obeyed and walked to the back of the plane. When I reached the end, I reached behind me to grab the deployment line from my parachute bag and clipped it onto the guide line that ran down the middle of the plane.
Derek joined me shortly after. He clipped his own line in, then asked, “What’s this second pass all about?”
“You too, huh?” I shrugged. “He must be dropping us in two different waves.”
Derek hung his helmet on the wall and ran a hand through his silky blond hair. “They didn’t mention that in the briefing.”
“The spotter is the only one who needs to know, not us,” I said. “Better for us to focus on the mission on the ground.”
Derek looked like he wanted to complain some more, but instead he forced a confident nod. “Good point.”
I smiled to myself as we sat down in the jump seats. So far, it looked like he was working to improve his attitude. He’s much sexier when he’s not brooding, I thought while watching him out of the corner of my eye.
Trace was the last one on the plane. Rather than sit at the front, he made his way to the back and squeezed in next to me. “The last time a boy insisted on sitting next to me was lunch period back in eleventh grade,” I said. “You’re not going to invite me to prom, are you?”
“A good leader should make sure everyone gets out safely before jumping himself.”
“Or herself,” I said.
One of his brown eyebrows crept up his forehead. “You want my job? It’s all yours.”
“Hell no,” I grinned. “I’m happy being a grunt.”
“Me too!” Foxy announced on the other side of Derek. “Just point me in the direction of the fire and I’ll fuck its shit up, boss.”
“Hell yeah!” shouted another smokejumper. A weak cheer went up among the plane.
We taxied to the runway, then the engines roared as we took off. We were hardly more than a hundred feet in the air before the pilot made a sharp turn to the west, where the horizon was a dark line. We flew in that direction for a little while, then turned north toward our objective.
19
Haley
I closed my eyes and tried to relax while we flew toward the wildfire. The mission two days ago felt like the minor leagues, now. This was the real show. The reason we had trained our asses off at McCall. I was a bundle of nervousness and excitement.
A hand tapped me on the arm. It was Foxy reaching across to get my attention. “Knock knock!” he shouted over the engines.
“Uh, who’s there?”
“Dwayne,” Foxy said, already grinning at the punchline.
“Dwayne who?”
“Dwayne the bathtub, I’m drowning!”
The plane was filled with groans. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help but laugh.
“Knock knock!” Derek said next.
“Who’s there?” asked the smokejumper across from him.
“Amos.”
“Amos who?”
“A mosquito bit me on the ass!” Derek declared.
That brought more boos and groans. Someone threw the wrapper to a protein bar at Derek. He looked around and mouthed, “What? What?” at the unsatisfied audience.
“My turn. Knock knock!” I said loudly.
Everyone quieted down to hear the female rookie’s joke. “Who’s there?” Trace responded.
“Dover.”
Foxy grinned. “Dover who?”
“Ben Dover, so I can fuck you from behind!” I stood up and made some silly thrusting motions in the air like I was a testosterone-filled frat boy.
There was a very brief pause from the team, and then they roared with laughter. I sat back down and smiled to myself.
Before someone could tell another joke, the red jump light turned on at the front of the plane. “Jumpers up!” shouted the spotter from the front. “Two minutes!”
We all rose and stood in the aisle between the jump seats. Our individual parachute deployment lines hung from the central guide line, which made us look like toys hanging from a store rack. The spotter opened the hatch on the side of the plane. My ears popped, and wind rushed throughout the cabin. I began tapping my foot nervously.
“Just like a practice jump,” Trace said over my shoulder.
I grabbed my helmet from the wall and pulled it over my head. “Nothing to it.”
The light at the front of the plane turned green. I watched as the first jumper grabbed the edges of the hatch, the wind whipping violently against his suit. The spotter tapped him on the back, and then he disappeared out the hatch as if he had been sucked out with supernatural force.
A shiver went up my spine. I was envious of the first jumper for getting it over with. Having to wait and watch everyone else jump first only heightened my fear.
Everyone’s afraid, I remember Foxy telling me during our last jump at McCall. It’d be weird not to be afraid.
The second person jumped, then the third, and fourth, and fifth. But after the sixth person
leaped from the plane, the light turned red again.
I gazed out the small window. The morning light gave me a perfect view of the valley below, which was drifting behind us. We had already flown past the valley, and need to turn around to make another pass. Guess that’s what the pilot meant earlier.
The plane made a very sharp turn, bringing the wildfire into view. From up here, the fires looked very close. Dangerously close. Like we would practically be jumping down into it.
The green light came back on.
Trace leaned around me. “What the fuck is this? We’re right over the fires!”
The spotter whispered something in the seventh jumper’s ear. He removed a small portable air tank from his PG bag and inserted it underneath his helmet and into his mask. Then the spotter tapped him on the back, and he threw himself through the hatch.
“We’re adjusting due to the wind!” the spotter shouted back. “The first group missed the drop zone to the west. By jumping here, you’ll drift away from the fires and land closer to the drop zone! Ready your oxygen tanks!”
Trace seemed to accept that explanation, but it did little to dispel my fear as I gazed at the smoke outside my window. I pulled my own tank out of my PG bag and turned the nozzle to ensure air would flow when I sucked on it.
The eighth jumper departed the plane while holding an oxygen mask to his mouth, and then it was Foxy’s turn. “See you boys—and girl—on the other side!” he happily announced before attaching his own tank and jumping. When it was Derek’s turn, he went wordlessly, with a gaze that seemed focused like an athlete before a big game.
Then it was my turn.
I stepped up to the rectangular hatch and slid the oxygen tank up into my helmet. Blessedly, cool air filled my lungs when I tried to take a breath. While biting down on the nozzle, I hooked my fingers around the edge of the hatch so that my fingertips pressed against the outer hull of the plane, and leaned back inside the cabin so that my arms were tense. The wind made my eyes water. Or maybe it was the smoke, which seemed to be swirling across our view.
