“God,” Sarah muttered, slowly rubbing her face. Her eyes were puffy from crying so much last night. Slowly lifting her head, Sarah felt so alone. So abandoned. But this time, she’d done it to herself. Ethan had wanted to stay at her side. He was a fighter. He didn’t give up. She knew that about SEALs. You had to kill them to stop them from coming at you if you were the enemy. Sarah had seen that determination in his eyes, but he’d released her.
She missed him so much already. She wanted to find him. Apologize. It was her fault. He didn’t understand about the ugliness inside her. How it made her feel. And Sarah didn’t want Ethan ever to feel how she felt. It was bad enough she did. He was too fine a man to take down like that.
Her other two lovers had accused her of never being good enough. She couldn’t please them. They never knew what she’d told Ethan, but both had accused her of being damaged goods. Not worth sticking around. All she was good for was sex.
Her focus shifted back to Ethan. He had told her about DAs, or direct action missions. It meant they were going to take the fight to the Taliban. There would be skirmishes, firefights and deaths. Her eyes grew cloudy with fear for him. Sitting there, Sarah understood now how a SEAL’s loved one felt. Or indeed, the spouse or family of any service member who went into harm’s way. They knew even less than she did, but the fear of losing Ethan was just as heart-wrenching.
They were still short two pilots at her squadron. As a result, the major was determining which missions to fly. She wondered just how far Ethan and his team were from Camp Bravo. More than likely they were heading to the border to stop the influx of Taliban and al Qaeda from flowing into Afghanistan. Mustafa Khogani and other leaders were always willing to take on any American group, whether Army, Marine or black ops. Their fierce, fanatical bloodlust left her stomach in knots. Mustafa was a cousin to Sangar Khogani, who had been killed earlier by another SEAL sniper team. He had replaced him and was even worse, from what she understood from Ethan.
Sarah decided to try and find out more. She didn’t know if the SEALs were aware of her relationship with Ethan. It made her fearful, but her worry for his safety pushed her forward.
*
Master Chief Gil Hunter got called out of his office by one of his SEAL shooters. Standing at the front desk of their HQ was a woman pilot. His gaze quickly absorbed what he needed to know. She was an Army medevac pilot, a warrant officer. And then, as his gaze swept upward, he met her turquoise blue eyes. Smiling inwardly, Hunter realized this was the infamous Blue Eyes his men were always talking about.
“Chief Benson?” he said, halting in front of her.
“Yes, I am. Master Chief, I’m sorry to take up your valuable time, but I was wondering if you could tell me anything of where Petty Officer First Class Ethan Quinn is headed?”
He put his hands on the desk, considering her request. She stood tense, and he felt her worry. SEALs had this finely honed sense and could pick up on anyone in a hurry. “And Quinn is what to you, Chief Benson?” Hunter wondered if the impossible had happened and it had completely escaped his scalpel-sharp radar. Had Quinn captured Blue Eyes’s attention? Judging from her reaction, the lowering of her lashes, the blush sweeping into her cheeks, he got it. What a lucky bastard Quinn was. But yesterday Quinn had acted differently. He’d been glum. Upset and trying to hide it. Did they have a fight?
“Look,” Hunter said, lowering his voice, trying not to sound as gruff as before. “I can’t give you any info, Chief Benson. We work in top secret black ops. I think you know that.” He tipped his head, catching her incredible blue gaze.
“I do, Master Chief.” Sarah took a risk and whispered, “I’m flying the border area for the next seven days. Could you at least tell me if he and his team are in that area?”
He smiled a little. “I can tell you, generally speaking, that Hawk is in that region. Yes.”
Sarah nodded, compressing her lips. “Okay, Master Chief, that’s good enough. Thank you for allowing me to speak to you.”
“Wait,” Hunter called as she turned to leave.
Sarah slowly turned, looking into the man’s bearded face. Hunter was about forty-five years old, deeply tanned, his face a living testament to being a SEAL. “Yes, sir?”
He reached into the pocket of his cammies and produced a business-size envelope. Handing it to her, he said, “Ethan, who is called Hawk by all of us, asked me to give this to you, should you show up here.” He held her startled expression. “He asked me to tell you to carry this with you when you flew.” His voice lowered. “And he asked that you not read it.”
Shaken, Sarah took it. A chill ran through her. “Master Chief, is this a death letter?” She barely got the words out; her voice sounded strained even to her. Every SEAL was required to write a death letter to his loved ones in case he was killed in action. That death letter would then be presented to the surviving family, a comfort to have a last letter from their SEAL warrior who they loved.
He scowled. “I don’t know, Chief Benson. Hawk has a tendency to journal a lot.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile as her face went pale, staring at the letter in her hand as if it were going to bite her. “He’s our journalist here in the team. I asked him one time what he was writing about. He told me he wanted a daily log of his being a SEAL so that when he had a family someday, they could read his journal and understand what he had done. Kind of like a forward-future kind of thing his children would someday have. A treasure from their father, I suppose.”
“I—I didn’t know,” Sarah said, feeling a pang of anguish move through her heart.
Hunter nodded. “Look, he’s a solid SEAL. He’s been around the block a couple of times when it comes to taking down bad guys. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. Okay?”
“I know how good he is, Master Chief.” Her voice grew stronger as she stared at him. “I was the medevac pilot that flew into that hill where the Marines were almost overrun. Ethan was the comms guiding me in to pick them up.”
Hunter’s brows rose. “So, it was you?”
Sarah couldn’t quite translate his husky statement. But she saw something less harsh in the SEAL’s eyes. A realization, maybe. His hard mouth softened just a bit. There was a change in his demeanor toward her, and she didn’t understand why.
“I was on the radio that day,” Hunter told her. “I heard it all go down. I’d heard a woman’s voice, but I didn’t know it was you.” He gave her a look of pride. “I think Hawk deserves you, Chief Benson.”
Just the way he said it, Sarah knew the master chief understood that there was a relationship between her and Ethan. He must have seen her terror over him realizing their personal connection. He didn’t know they’d broken up. That she had gotten scared and run.
“SEALs take care of their own, Chief Benson. If I’d have known that, I would have been a little less growly with you.” He smiled. “Your secret is safe among us. It will go nowhere, okay?”
Relief and guilt surged through Sarah. “I’d appreciate it, Master Chief. Thank you.” Because she’d had enough hazing and grief.
“Look,” Hunter said, pointing at the letter. “When Hawk brought this to me last night with his instructions, I knew something was up between the two of you. He didn’t say anything, but as a master chief of this SEAL platoon, not much gets past me.” His green eyes gleamed with amusement. “I don’t think that is a death letter, if you want my gut check. Okay?”
Relief plunged through Sarah as she stared down at it, her fingers damp. “That’s good to know, Master Chief. I appreciate your insights.” And she did.
“Maybe,” Hunter murmured, his grin widening a little, “it was Hawk’s way of keeping you close to him. Or maybe he’s wanting to be close to you when you fly. You aren’t exactly a conservative medevac pilot from what I hear.”
Sarah managed a lame smile. “No, Master Chief, I’m not. I’ll never be. If men or women are wounded, I’m flying through a lead curtain if I have to and getting them the medical help they des
erve.”
Hunter grinned. “I think Hawk and you make a good team.” And then his smile disappeared. “Leave me your tent number and a phone number where I can touch base with you at your squadron if I need to.”
Sarah’s heart shrank in fear. He wanted that information in case Ethan was wounded or, worse, killed. She saw it in his eyes, which betrayed no emotion. “Yes, of course….”
*
Five days later into their patrol Ethan lay prone just below a ridgeline with his team. Tolleson was at his elbow, looking through his Night Force scope on his M4 rifle. It was 0100, and they were watching a group of fifty Taliban carrying huge sacks over their shoulders. Interspersed between them were donkeys carrying such heavy loads they swayed and staggered beneath the weight. To the rear were ten double-humped camels carrying similar loads.
“Fertilizer,” Tolleson growled softly.
“Gotta get that stuff to their bomb makers over here,” Ethan agreed tightly. Behind him were six other SEAL shooters, waiting, crouched and silent. They had gotten perishable intel that the Hill tribe leader by the name of Mustafa Khogani was going to bring a resupply of fertilizer to make bombs in Afghanistan. Word was it would happen tonight under the blackness of the new moon. The asset had been right.
“What do you want to do?” Ethan asked. He was their communications specialist and he knew he’d probably be calling in the B-52s with JDAMs, laser-guided bombs, to blow this group to hell.
“Let me call HQ,” Tolleson said in a low tone, setting his rifle aside.
Ethan listened to the LPO discussing options with Master Chief Hunter and the OIC of their platoon, Franco. The plan would then be called into Bagram Air Base near Kabul, where the SEAL HQ would look at it, analyze it and either give a go or no go on their attack. Ethan sat back, feeling the near-freezing wind cutting across the rocky ridge. He had on his NVGs, night vision goggles, like everyone else. The Taliban were on another mountain, a mile separating them from one another. This was a new line that had just been created, and they were on it with the biggest load of fertilizer supplies he’d ever seen.
He listened with one ear as Tolleson spoke quietly into the mic to the master chief. Ethan heard all the back-and-forth about a plan to take out the Taliban.
The hair stood up on his neck. Ethan twisted around, looking beyond the SEAL shooters waiting patiently fifty feet down from where they were laying on their bellies. What the hell? What was he sensing? Whatever it was, it was dangerous. Mouth compressed, Ethan tried to see anything moving down farther on the rocky slope. Only tough, small bushes lived on this cold, windswept ridge. He saw nothing.
To his left was a wadi that was a hundred feet from where they were. Damn, they needed a drone up in the night sky. They had thermal imaging ability and could spot hidden Taliban anywhere, even in a brush-choked ravine.
His mind automatically swung to Sarah. His heart contracted with pain so deep that he rubbed the center of his chest. Sarah had run. He’d pushed her too fast. Why the hell did he do that? He loved her. Ethan wasn’t going to lie to himself anymore. He loved the woman. And he was damned if he was going to let her run away from him. Somehow—and he didn’t know how—he was going to walk back into her life.
His poems had gotten her to trust him. It had been a slow, easy introduction, and Ethan would bet his words had built a connection between them. If he just hadn’t gotten in such a damned hurry. He hissed a curse beneath his breath, angry with himself.
“Hawk, call in the BUFFs,” Tolleson ordered.
He turned, scowling. “Hey, keep an eye on that wadi while I do the calling? I got a bad feeling about it.”
Tolleson grunted and slowly slid back off the ridge and then sat up. “Got it,” he growled.
Ethan turned, pulling out a special radio from his H-gear that would put him in touch with the B-52s loitering on a racetrack, an oval flight circle, that they flew at thirty thousand feet above them. It would be up to Ethan to provide the laser light, a thin red beam from his rifle, on the target so that the JDAMs could lock onto it once they were dropped out of the belly of the bomber. And then those five-hundred-pounders would accurately drop exactly where they needed.
Just as he made the call to the lead bomber pilot, shots rang out behind him. A bullet snapped by his head. Damn! Ethan heard Tolleson snarl quiet orders, and the SEALs flowed out silently into a diamond formation. He was exposed. Taliban bullets were originating from that wadi, directed at them.
Ethan found a few boulders, four feet high, and crawled behind them for protection, continuing his call. Now it would be up to him to provide the laser light to guide in the bombs even if they were under attack. More firing began. Sonofabitch! Somehow, the Taliban had found them! How? His mind leaped to the fact that someone knew they’d be here. Had the asset they trusted told the Taliban? Was it a friggin’ setup to take out part of a SEAL platoon? Anger rolled through Ethan, but he kept his mind on the job of directing the B-52s to the target.
Just as Ethan flattened out against the hard biting rocks beneath his lower body, he heard the bottle rocket sound and knew an RPG was being fired at them. He released his M4, pressed his hands against his ears and opened his mouth. The air pressure from any explosion could liquefy and destroy a man’s lungs if it wasn’t equalized with outside air. By opening his mouth, he was equalizing inner and outer pressure, avoiding ruptured lungs and potentially being killed through suffocation as the RPG landed.
There was a powerful explosion; the entire night erupted into orange-and-yellow fire. Dirt, rock and brush blew into the night, raining down heavily around him. Cursing, Ethan jerked his M4 with the scope and turned on the laser. The thin green beam shot across the valley between them and he settled his eye against the scope, getting a range. Quickly, he gave the bomber navigation officer the numbers. They’d be dialed in on the JDAMs. His laser light would have to remain steady and on the target.
Ethan couldn’t move and couldn’t stop what he was doing or the JDAMs would fly all over the place, maybe not hitting the target. Maybe hitting them instead. His heart pumped hard in his chest, the adrenaline pouring through him like a drug, giving him clarity and the ability to hold his focus.
The battle behind him was picking up in intensity. He heard yells and screams of Taliban in the wadi as the SEALs poured concentrated lead into the area. He wanted to hurry, to call in Apaches…anything to get them relief from this unknown force. But Ethan couldn’t do anything at the moment except work the radio with the bombers and hold the laser steady on the caravan across the valley. He felt helpless, knowing they needed support. Now.
*
Sarah was sleeping in the ready room at the medevac squadron when the alarm buzzer went off. Instantly, she jerked upright, knowing she and her medical crew had been alerted to fly an emergency night mission. Her copilot and crew would get their gear and run for the Black Hawk. As air commander of the flight, she had the duty to get the intel on the mission.
She glanced at her watch as she swiftly jerked on her flight boots, shrugged into her survival vest and grabbed the .45 pistol, jamming it into the shoulder holster. She picked her helmet bag and kneeboard up in one hand. It was 0130. Her mind flew to Ethan. Her gut told her it was him and his team.
After hauling her go-bag—a ruck that was filled with water, food, first aid supplies and six magazines of bullets for her pistol—Sarah raced out the door and ran down the hall toward the flight desk. She saw Major Donaldson was the flight commander for tonight. He was scowling.
“Benson, mount up,” he told her. “This is a nine-liner mission.” He handed her the GPS coordinates. “There’s a SEAL team pinned down just below a ridge near the Afghan–Pak border. They’re in the process of setting up to blow a fifty-man caravan a mile on the other side of a valley with laser-guided JDAMs. There’s an unknown-size force of Taliban about a hundred feet from where the SEALs are dug in on a hill. They’ve got two men down. One critical.” His eyes narrowed. “You got this mission.�
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Her heart hammered, sending fear arcing through her. “Yes, sir,” she murmured, grabbing the paper. She made sure the target information was there, call signs, radio frequencies and status of the two patients. The good news was the weather was clear. That was a piece of good luck. “No Apache escort?” she demanded of the major. Usually, on a firefight, the Apache came in first to make the difference, make it safer for the unarmed Black Hawk to land and pick up the wounded.
“None available. You’re on your own. Your crew is already out there on the tarmac waiting for you,” Donaldson said. “Tait is your copilot. It’s his first night mission.”
“Got it,” Sarah said, turning and sprinting down the hall. She turned left and pushed open the door that led to the tarmac. The Black Hawk was already spooling up the engines, the blades turning faster and faster. She was relieved to see Pascal was her medic, and he held out his hand to help her up into the bird.
Sarah was all business. The crew chief slid the door shut. She squeezed into the right seat. Pascal handed her the helmet from her bag. Pulling it on, she quickly plugged into the ICS system and strapped it on. Tait’s hands were flying across the instrument panel as well as tweaking the overhead fuel throttles. He’d linked her to the SEAL radio operator on the ridge.
Her heart stumbled. She heard Ethan’s low, strained voice, calling for medevac over the radio. Oh, God…
“Take us up,” she told Tait in a low, firm voice. “Pascal? You and the crew chief set back there?”
“Yes, ma’am. Door shut and locked. We’re strapped into our jump seats. We’re good to go.”
Risk Taker Page 14
