Snorting, she jerked her gaze up. “Listen, hotshot, cool your jets. You’re obviously starved for a warm female body, but remove me from your gun sights. I’m not interested.”
Dark brows raising, Gavin backed off and held up his hands. “Whoa, Nike—”
“It’s Captain Alexander to you.” Nike flinched inwardly when she saw his cheeks beneath his beard go ruddy with embarrassment. He had enough humility to blush. Jackson wasn’t really the ego-busting officer Nike had first thought. Hands still resting on her hips, she added with less acidity, “We have a job to do, Captain. I’ll do mine and you do yours. All I have to do is fly your team into a village, drop you off and then I’m out of your life.”
“That’s not very optimistic,” Gavin observed. Her face was a mask of wariness. And yet, he sensed a crack in that facade. Oh, it wasn’t anything he could point to or see, but Gavin knew his little-boy expression had gotten to her. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t melt under that look. Of course, it wasn’t really a ploy. Gavin was a little boy at heart when he could get away with it.
“War is never optimistic, Captain.”
Shaking his head, Gavin said, “Now where did you pick up that attitude?”
“In Peru. Chasing druggies for three years. Give no quarter, take no quarter. That’s my maxim, Captain.”
“I like it,” Gavin said, properly impressed. The corners of his mouth moved upward. “You’re a brazen woman, Captain Alexander, and you make my heart beat faster.”
Nike ignored the comment, though it secretly pleased her. She finished her inspection of her helo. Maybe he’d get the message and leave her alone. She felt Jackson approach and walk silently at her side. When she halted to touch the metal skin to inspect something more closely, he would wait without a word.
What kind of game was this? Nike thought for sure if she gave him “the look” that he’d disappear inside the helo. Nope. Not Gavin Jackson. He still had that thoughtful and curious expression on his face. His blue eyes gleamed with humor. In his business, there wasn’t much to be merry about, yet, he looked amiable, approachable and drop-dead handsome.
“You know,” Gavin said conversationally as she halted at the Plexiglas nose, “there isn’t a man on this godforsaken base out in the middle of nowhere that isn’t happy about BJS flying into town.” He rubbed his hands. “An all-woman squadron. That’s really something.”
“We’re black ops,” she warned him. Jackson seemed absolutely joyous over the prospect of ten Apaches with twenty pilots and a mostly all-woman crew coming to this base. No wonder. “Not sex on legs.”
“Ouch. Double ouch.”
“Oh, give me a break, Captain. That’s all you see us women as—bedding material.” She moved around the nose to the port side of the helicopter.
“That’s not fair.”
A burst of sharp laughter erupted from Nike. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Who said anything in life was fair?”
Nodding, Gavin moved with her, his hands behind his back and face thoughtful. “I see you as sharing more than just my bed.”
“Oh sure,” Nike said, eyeing him. She ran her cold fingers across the metal. Rivets would come loose under the constant shuddering and vibration of the blades turning. Never did she want any of these light aluminum panels to be ripped off midflight. It could cause a crash.
“No, seriously,” Gavin pleaded. Leaning down, he caught her golden gaze. “I’m dying for some feminine companionship.”
“Intelligent conversation with a woman? I like that.”
The jeering in her tone made Gavin chuckle. “That’s all I want, Captain Alexander—just a little conversation.”
Nike shot him an I-don’t-believe-you-for-a-second look and continued her walk around. As she leaned under the carriage, she checked the tires. The tread was thick and obviously new. That was good because when she landed this bird on rocky terrain, she didn’t need a blowout. Tires had to be in top-notch condition.
“We have nothing in common except for this assignment, Captain Jackson.”
“Are you so sure?”
Straightening to her full height, Nike grinned. “Very sure.” He stood there with a quizzical expression on his features. And she had to admit, he had a nice face. She liked looking at him, with his wide brow and high cheekbones. He had a prominent nose and a solid chin hidden beneath the dark beard. His lips reminded her of those on a sculpted bust of Julius Caesar. They were his best attribute aside from his large, inquiring blue eyes. She found it tough to think of him as someone who could easily pull a trigger and kill someone if needed. Jackson just didn’t seem like the killer type.
“Why don’t you give me a chance to prove otherwise?” Gavin pleaded as they neared the rear ramp. He knew he could win her over. The men had just finished loading fifty boxes of supplies for the village. The truck fired up, the blue diesel smoke purling upward in thick, churning clouds. He halted. So did she. Nike seemed to be considering his challenge. Good.
Why did he want to engage her on any level? Hadn’t he had enough with Laurie and her inability to compromise? Never mind he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. He’d been able to take her stubbornness in stride. Her ego was considerable and dominating like his. And that was what had broken them up. Two headstrong egos unable to bend. Laurie had brought out the worst in him. And he was as much at fault in the breakup as she was. Gavin felt men and women were equals—not one better than the other. Laurie, however, had felt that all women were inherently better than any man and that grated on Gavin, too.
“This attention is flattering but I’m busy,” Nike told him with finality.
“Are you married?”
“That’s none of your business, Captain.” Nike glared at him. “Let’s get this straight—I’m your pilot. I fly you in, drop your team off and leave. I come back with any supplies you radio in to ops. Nothing more or less. Got it?”
Sighing, Gavin said, “Yes, I got it. I wish it was otherwise, though.” True, Nike had a helluva ego but didn’t seem as stubborn as Laurie. “You’re an interesting person. How many women have been flying against South American drug cartels?” He gave her a warm smile. “See? We really do have something to discuss. I’m kind of an interesting dude myself.”
“Oh, I’m sure you think that,” Nike said, laughing. She shook her head and moved up the ramp.
Gavin stood watching her pull on the helmet and get situated in the right-hand seat in the cockpit. Nodding to the load master, Gavin mounted the ramp.
His men were grinning expectantly at him as he made his way to his nylon seat right behind Nike. He held up his hands in a show of surrender and they all laughed. Gavin didn’t mind making himself the target of fun or prodding. His team had had a two-week rest, and now they were going out again. This time, he hoped, to something less dangerous, but he wasn’t sure of that.
The ramp groaned and rumbled upward until finally the hatch was shut with a loud clang. Darkness, except for the light coming in through the cockpit, made the inside of the helicopter gray. Gavin watched his men strap in, their weapons in hand, their faces belying their real thoughts. He prayed that as they approached Zor Barawul nearby Taliban soldiers wouldn’t be firing RPGs at them as they came in for a landing. He knew from the premission briefing that the townspeople hated the Taliban. But were they pro-American? There was no way to know except to walk in, offer humanitarian aid and see what happened next. They had no script written for this newest idea by General Chapman.
After pulling on his helmet, Gavin plugged in the radio connection and heard Nike’s honeyed voice as she talked with the base air controller for permission to lift off. She had already engaged one engine on the helo and then the other one. Gavin had found out at the briefing with his people that her usual copilot had food poisoning and there was no one to replace her. Nike was flying alone, which wasn’t a good thing, but Gavin had seen it happen.
If they weren’t wearing helmets, the noise created by the helico
pter would be horrendous and would destroy their hearing in a short time. The bird shuddered and shook around him. The deck beneath his booted feet constantly shivered. If his men had any worry about a woman flying this huge, hulking transport helo a hundred feet off the earth, they didn’t show it. Flying nap-of-the-earth took a helluva lot of skill. Gavin wondered how many hours she had of flight time. When Nike had finished her conversation with the tower, Gavin piped up, “Captain, how many hours do you have flying this bird?”
All his men heard the question, of course, because they, too, had helmets on and were plugged in to the inter-cabin radio system. Gavin saw the load master at the far end turn and give him a questioning look. He also heard the explosion of laughter from Nike.
“Oh, let’s see, Captain, I got my helo-driver’s license at Disneyland in Orlando, Florida,” she drawled. “Does that count?”
His men were guffawing in reaction, but no one could hear it over the noise of the vibrating helo around them. Jackson chuckled. “I feel better, Captain Alexander. So long as Mickey Mouse signed off on your pilot’s license I feel safe and sound.”
Jackson thought some of his men were going to fall out of their nylon seats they were laughing so hard. He joined them. And then he heard Nike joining their collective roar of laughter. She had a wonderful, husky tone and it made his body ache with need. What kind of magic did this Greek woman have over him?
“Actually,” Nike said, chuckling, “it was Minnie Mouse who signed it. You have a problem with that?”
“No, not at all. Now, if Goofy had signed it, I’d be worried.”
Even the load master was giggling in fits, his gloved hands closed over the fifty-caliber. Unaccountably, Gavin felt his spirits rise. If nothing else, Nike Alexander gave as good as she got. Even more to her credit, she could take a joke and come back swinging. Looking into the faces of his men, Gavin felt a warmth toward the woman pilot. Did Nike realize how much she’d just lifted everyone’s spirits? Probably not. But he would tell her—alone—and thank her for being a good sport on a deadly mission.
“Okay, boys,” Nike said, catching her breath, “let’s get this show on the road. Sergeant, once we’re airborne, lower the ramp and keep that .50 cal ready to shoot. We’re not in Disneyland and where we’re going, the bad guys are waiting. Hunker down, you’re about to go on the wildest roller-coaster ride you’ve ever taken. I’m ready to rock….”
For the next fifty minutes, Nike’s full concentration was winding between, around and down into one valley after another in the steep, rugged mountain range. When they roared past Do Bandi, another village, she knew they would soon be climbing steeply. Zor Barawul sat in a rich, fertile valley ringed by the snowy mountains. On the eastern side of those mountains lay the Pakistan border where Taliban hid. The valley was a well-known Taliban route. They boldly passed through it because the Afghan villagers could not fire on or challenge them. If they did, the Taliban would come in and kill men, women and children.
The sunlight shone in bright slats across the mountaintops as she brought the Chinook up steeply, pushing with throttles to the firewall to make it up and over the snowy slope that blurred beneath them. How badly Nike wanted a copilot to do all this other work, but that wasn’t her luck today. Captain Emma Trayhern, the XO who was supposed to fly with her, had caught a nasty case of food poisoning and was laid low for the next twenty-four hours. Her CO, Dallas Klein, had faith in her to handle this mission all by herself. Helluva compliment, but Nike would have preferred a copilot, thank you very much. The sunlight made her squint even though she wore a pair of aviator’s sunglasses. The bird rocked from one side to another as she aimed the nose downward at top speed and skimmed headlong down a steep, rocky slope and into another valley.
Nike could see herds of sheep and goats being tended by young boys here and there on the bright green valley floor. They would look up, wave as the CH-47 streaked by them. The herds of animals would flee in all directions as the noisy Chinook passed low overhead. Nike felt sorry for the young herders who would probably spend half a day gathering up their scattered herds. What she didn’t want to see was yellow or red winking lights from below. That would mean the Taliban was firing a rocket up at them. Not good.
The mountains were coated with thick snow even in April. The lower slopes showed hopeful signs of greenery sprouting after enduring the fierce, cold Afghan winter. The helicopter vibrated heavily around Nike as she flew the bulky transport through the valley. Shoving the throttles once more to the firewall, she urged the helo up and over another mountain range and down into the next valley. And, as she glanced out her cockpit window, it was comforting to see an Apache helicopter with her women friends from BJS 60 flying several thousand feet above her, working their avionics to find the enemy below before they shot her Chinook out of the air. She might not have a copilot, but she had the baddest son-of-a-bitch of a combat helicopter shadowing her flight today. That made Nike smile and feel confident.
The village of Zor Barawul contained two hundred people and sat at the north end of a long, narrow valley that was sandwiched between the mountains. On the other side lay the border of Pakistan. As in all villages Nike had seen, the wealthy families had houses made of stone with wooden floors. Wood was usually scarce. Those less well-off had homes made of earth and mud with hard-packed dirt floors. Some who could afford it would have a few rugs over the earthen floor. Roofs were made from tin or other lightweight metals. The poorer families had thatched material on top.
As they passed over all kinds of homes, Nike felt the sweat beneath her armpits. Fear was always near since at any moment, they could be fired on. As she located the landing area, she ordered her load master to bring up the ramp. Moments later, she heard the grind and rumble of the ramp shutting. The ramp had to be up in order for her to land.
Nike brought the Chinook downward and gently landed it outside the village. The earth was bare and muddy. Nike let out a sigh of relief. They were down and had made it without incident. She powered down, shut off the engines and called to her friends in the Apache flying in large circles outside the village. This was Taliban-controlled territory and the Apache was using its television and infrared cameras to spot any possible enemy who might want to shoot at the Chinook after it had landed.
The whine of the engines ceased. The women in the Apache reported no activity and continued to circle about a mile from where she’d landed. Nike thanked them and signed off on the radio. The Apache would wait and escort her back to base as soon as everything was unloaded. Unstrapping the tight harness, she pulled the helmet off her head and stood. Andy had removed the fifty-caliber machine gun and set it to one side. He opened the ramp and it groaned down. Once the ramp lip rested on the muddy ground, Andy signaled the A team to dismount.
As she glanced to her left, Nike caught sight of Gavin. This time, he was grim-faced and not smiling. Right. He understood this was a very dangerous place. No one knew for sure how the villagers would respond to their landing. Bullets or butter? For a moment, Nike felt a twinge in her heart. Jackson looked so damned responsible and alert. This wasn’t his first dance with the Afghan people. She saw the grimness reflected in the flat line of his mouth as he gathered his gear and slung it across his shoulder.
His other team members were already moving down the ramp. Several took the cargo netting off the many boxes and prepared to move them outside the helo. What were the people of this village thinking of their arrival? Were they scared? Thinking that the U.S. Army was going to attack them the way the Taliban did? When the Russians had invaded Afghanistan a decade before, that’s exactly what they had done. People here justifiably had a long memory and would probably not trust the Americans, either.
“Hey, do these people know you’re coming?” Nike called to Jackson.
“Yeah, we sent an emissary in here a week ago.”
“So, they know you’re on a mission of peace?”
He took the safety off his weapon and then slung it across
his other shoulder. “That’s right. It doesn’t guarantee anything.”
Worriedly, Nike looked out the end of the Chinook. She saw several bearded older men in turbans or fur hats walking toward them. “Well, they don’t look real happy to see us.”
Gavin glanced out the rear of the helo. “Oh. Those are the elders. They run the village. Don’t worry, they always look that way. Survival is serious business out here.”
“They’re carrying rifles.”
“They sleep with them.”
Smiling a little over the comment, Nike walked down the ramp and stood next to him. “Do you ever not have a joke, Captain?”
Gavin grinned over at her. Nike’s hair lay against her brow, emphasizing her gold eyes. He heard the worry in her voice and reached out to squeeze her upper arm. “You care….”
Nike didn’t pull away from where his hand rested on her arm. There was monitored strength to his touch and her flesh leaped wildly in response. Seconds later, his hand dropped away. “Oh, don’t let it go to your swelled head, honcho.”
“Hey, I like that nickname.”
“It’s wasn’t a compliment.”
Gavin chuckled. “I’ll take it as such.”
“Ever the optimist.”
“I don’t like the other choice, do you? Thanks for the wild ride, Captain.” He gave her a salute and smiled. “How about a date when we get back off this mission?”
“That’s not a good idea.” Nike saw the regret in his deep blue eyes.
“Okay, I’ll stop chasing you for now.” Looking out the rear of the helo, Gavin said, “I’ll be seeing you around, lioness.”
His Woman in Command Page 3
