Hot Extraction: SEALs, Marines, and Infantry - A Military Romance Boxed Set

by Kathryn Thomas

  I see Teddy relax. I can’t say she slumps, but that stick up her ass is gone. “I understand, uh, Eliza.”

  I smile at her and finish shucking my coat. I catch Teddy’s face out of the corner of my eye and mentally sigh. Even the fucking women! I can’t help what I look like. It pisses me off to no end that the first thing, and sometimes the only thing, men see are my tits. That’s part of the reason I wear my dress blues as much as I do. The dress uniform tends to flatten me out and hide some of my curves. I wear my hair pinned up and glasses when I’m on duty. It helps people see something more than my tits, ass, and legs. I like the fact that men find me appealing, but it would be nice if they would at least acknowledge that I have a brain.

  I’m tired and I feel grungy. Flying in the back of a cargo plane from Ohio to Nevada isn’t exactly first-class accommodations. I’m ready to change into my civilian clothes. I find out that Teddy is a Nevada native. We chat, as I unpack. I’ve never been to Nellis Air Force Base; so, Teddy offers to show me around the area. I relieve her briefly, while I shower and get cleaned up. We spend the next three hours prowling Las Vegas. By the time she drops me off at my tiny living quarters, I have made a new friend.

  ***

  I am at Nellis Air Force Base to evaluate some software upgrades to the F-16 Falcon. It’s software that I designed. The F-16 was first introduced in the 1970s. I’m working to help extend its service life, since the upgrades allow the F-16 to perform better, at least in the testing phase. If I can pull this off, I’m almost certain to earn my lieutenant colonel oak leaves.

  However, like so many things, what works great in the lab doesn’t always work so well in the field. That’s why I’m here. The Air Force has given me two pilots and two planes to play with. My job is to ensure we will see improvements in real combat scenarios.

  ***

  I’m dressed in my battle dress uniform when Airman Cotter picks me up the next morning and shuttles me to the hanger. It’s a heck of a lot more comfortable than the dress blues I normally wear. If I end up crawling around inside a bird, I want to be comfortable.

  You can tell a lot about a squadron by how they maintain their hangars. Nellis is known for their crack outfits, it is the home of the Thunderbirds after all, and it shows. Even though the hangar floor is concrete, it glows like polished marble. As I stride in, I can see Captain Ronald “French” Frye talking to another man.

  French met me on the flight line along with Airman Cotter yesterday. I assume the other man must be my other pilot, Captain Daniel Anderson. There are no such things as ugly fighter jocks. These two men are no exception. All pilots, but especially fighter pilots, possess a swaggering self-confidence that gives them a catnip like appeal to women. Indecision in the cockpit only serves to get pilots killed, so men who are not self-assured wash out early. Fighting heavy g-forces in modern aircrafts require them to stay fit. As a result, they are all slender and well-built.

  French is a good looking guy; but, Captain Anderson…oh my God! Slap his picture on an Air Force recruiting poster with the words Come Fly with Me underneath and half the women in America will be in line the next day.

  French and Anderson are talking with their hands, fighting some future or past air battle. They both have big grins on their face as I walk up. “Good morning, Captains,” I say, as I tuck my flight cap into my belt.

  The two men turn to face me. French’s smile gets even wider, while Anderson’s slowly fades. “Major Cameron, allow me to introduce Captain Daniel “Boomer” Anderson. Boomer, Major Eliza Cameron,” French says, making the introductions.

  I hold out my hand. Captain Anderson takes it and shakes it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Major Cameron,” he says. He is perfectly polite and respectful, but the warmth I saw in his face when he was talking to French is gone.

  “As you Captain,” I say. “But, please, call me Eliza. How’d you get tagged with Boomer?” I ask. I love pilot call signs. There’s a story behind every one of them. It’s usually a good way to break the ice.

  “Yeah. I, uh, broke some windows once.”

  I know there has to be more to the story than that, so I look to French to see if he will fill me in.

  “Some windows?” French asks with a grin. “Boomer gets a little carried away sometimes. He, uh, forgot, the Rules of Engagement once and blew out the windows on a bunch of gawkers at Red Flag.”

  That would have been a big no-no during an exercise. In fact, if he blew out windows going supersonic at too low an altitude, I’m surprised he’s not flying a desk somewhere. I file that bit of information away. “Gawkers? I’m not familiar with that term,” I say.

  “Every year a bunch of people show up in RVs and camp in the desert just outside of the Red Flag playground. They come to watch the jets mix it up,” he responds, sheepishly. “But I got the bastard.”

  I begin to laugh in delight, as does Teddy.

  “You find something funny, Airman Cotter?” Boomer barks at her, looking past me.

  “No, sir!” she responds crisply, snapping to attention. Her smile instantly disappears.

  I wonder what Boomer’s problem is. “At ease, Captain,” I say gently. “It’s a great story. How long ago was this?” I ask, pulling his attention away from the poor airman.

  “About five years,” French says when Boomer doesn’t answer.

  “If you will excuse me, Major. I have to get ready to fly,” Boomer says.

  “Dismissed,” I say, when he doesn’t turn on his own. So, he’s another one of those, is he? Another man who doesn’t think women should be in the military. Well, he can kiss my ass. Just like my parents. I have worked hard to get where I am. I am proud of what I have accomplished. I’m not quite forty and I’m already bucking for Lieutenant Colonel. If Captain Anderson has a problem with that, he can just suck it up.

  “What’s his beef?” I ask French, as Boomer pivots and storms away.

  “Don’t take it personally,” French says. “He’s a good guy. It just takes him a while to warm up new people.”

  “New people…or women?”

  French smiles. “I can see why you are a major. It’s not what you think. I don’t think it has anything to do with you being in the military. I don’t know what happened. He won’t tell me, but something must have happened that soured him on women. He lives like a monk. Never goes on dates…”

  I soften slightly toward Boomer. At least it’s nothing personal. “So long as he does his job,” I say.

  “Don’t worry. He’s a professional. He won’t let his personal problems get in the way.”

  ***

  All the men and women are competent and professional. They don’t need someone meddling, so I stand back and let the ground crews prep the planes. When they salute, I don my headset. That way I can talk to my pilots and listen to their conversation.

  “Boomer, French, Racetrack, this is AFRL,” I say. I don’t get a call sign, so I use the acronym for where I work, the Air Force Research Laboratory. “Do you copy?”

  “Copy that AFRL,” French says, pronouncing it AAF-ril.

  I quickly outline that to start I want to just do some range checks. I have “borrowed” a third bird this morning. It still has the standard software suite installed. I want to get some hard numbers on ranging.

  While Boomer flies straight and level, French and Racetrack will come up from behind and try to get a radar lock. As much as I would like to put them in a combat situation and see what happens, I have to get some baselines first.

  For the next two hours, the three jets shriek back and forth across the high desert. We do head-ons, follows, high jumps, and lows. The new software works fantastic, when it works. Although the range dramatically increases, the software keeps crashing. When it does, we are forced to reset. By the time I bring the three jets back in, Boomer and French have blistered the paint inside the cockpit with their language.

  ***

  After the jets are checked over, I plug in my laptop and download the crash
logs. Boomer immediately leaves. Apparently, he’s had enough for the day. French stays to watch me work. After watching over my shoulder for about ten minutes, he leaves, too.

  It takes almost an hour before I find what I am looking for. “Sergeant!” I call, waving the crew chief to me. “Why is the line voltage on the number three processor card so low? It’s that way on both jets.”

  The Sergeant rubs his chin a moment. “I remember something about that. Hang on a moment,” he says, before he turns and walks away. I smile as he goes. This is why I prefer the looser working relationships. It’s a lot quicker and easier to get things done when everyone isn’t saluting all the time.

  “Here it is, Major.”

  “Eliza,” I remind him gently. It’s Lee, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Here it is, Eliza,” Lee says. He shows me a tablet with the service bulletin on it. It seems the cards were failing at the higher voltages because of excess heat, so they lowered the voltage. In exchange, it has made the chips slightly flaky when they are being pushed.

  I scratch furiously at my hair. It’s a nervous habit I have had for years. I usually fall back on it when I’m working over a knotty problem. “I don’t suppose we could boost the voltage back up, could we?” I finally ask.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it, Eliza,” Lee says. “These boards have been in the jets for three years. Before we lowered the voltage, we were replacing them about every four months.”

  I think for a moment, trying to figure out how to attack the problem. “Lee. You may dismiss your men when you are ready. I think you’re done here for the day. I have some work to do.”

  Senior Master Sergeant Leonard Hazelton’s face splits into a wide grin. “Thank you, Major.” He turns to his men and women. “Alright boys and girls. Let’s get these birds ready to go in the morning, then the major has given us the rest of the day off.”

  I smile to myself, as everyone begins to scurry about with renewed purpose. Nothing like a little carrot to focus the mind. It doesn’t hurt for them to find out that I’m not going to be a complete pain in their asses, too.

  ***

  I pack up my laptop and have Teddy drop me off at my quarters. I dismiss her until later that evening. Then, I’ll need her to come back, so I can get some dinner. For now, I don’t need her hovering while I work.

  Except for taking a quick dinner break, I work long into the night. Finally, I tumble into bed. I think I have the problem resolved, but I won’t know until I upload the patch and test it.

  Teddy and I are the first ones in the hangar the next morning. I send Teddy off to make coffee and fetch donuts, while I start the upload. I am just finishing the first plane when Sergeant Hazelton wanders in. He looks a hell of a lot more crisp than I feel.

  “Rough night last night, Major? Eliza.” Lee asks, correcting himself as he wanders up with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Yeah. I was up pretty late working on the patch.”

  “And you’re done already? That was fast. It usually takes weeks or months to issue software fixes.”

  “Well, I’m not paid by the hour.”

  Lee looks at me in a most peculiar way. “Are you sure you’re not a grunt, Major? Usually the Washington types, they don’t know what we do out here on the sharp end of the spear.”

  “The way I see it,” I say, looking up as Teddy comes in balancing four dozen donuts, “is I’m here to help you, not the other way around.”

  Lee chuckles. “You had better be careful saying things like that. You’ll spoil us.”

  ***

  “Good morning, Captains,” I say as French and Boomer walk up. “Are you ready to try this again?”

  “Did you get your problem fixed?” French asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s related to one of the processor cards. I can’t change the card, so I am trying to fix it with software. No way to test it before we test it.”

  French grins. “I’m taking a hammer up with me today. If it acts like it did yesterday, I’ll do a little fine adjustment in the air.”

  “Good to know you are willing to get your hands dirty,” I giggle.

  ***

  Two hours later there hasn’t been a single software crash. I’m almost giddy with relief. “That’s some damn fine work, Major,” Lee says. “The Air Force could use another thousand officers like you.”

  Things are beginning to gel. Everyone seems to have accepted me into their little community. It’s such a small thing, but respecting the people and their jobs goes a long way to gaining their trust and acceptance. Bribing with a few donuts doesn’t hurt either. “Thank you, Lee. You run a pretty tight ship here yourself. You should be proud of your men and women.”

  Lee smiles. “I am. But, don’t tell them I said that. It will spoil my reputation of being a hard-ass.”

  I grin. “You secret is safe with me,” I whisper conspiratorially.

  “Afril. Boomer.” Boomer’s voice comes over my headset.

  “Copy Boomer. Go ahead,” I say.

  “I think the problem is solved. Do you want us to keep punching holes in the air or what?”

  “State your fuel status.”

  “Two-thousand until bingo fuel.”

  I think a moment. Not much for dog fighting. I tell them return to the base, since they are relatively low on fuel. “I think we are ready to move on to the fun stuff, but your fuel load is light. You and French won’t have much time to play before you are bingo.” Boomer is quiet so long that I am just about to repeat my order.

  “Copy. Returning to base.”

  I see Lee grin at me. “What?”

  “I think you caught Boomer off guard.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Lee’s grin grows wider still. “You knew what he was talking about. You knew what to do. Plus, your reasoning made sense.”

  “And,” I prompt.

  “Like I said earlier, Major. The Air Force could use another thousand like you. It’s not often that people, who haven’t flown or worked on these aircrafts, understand what we can and cannot do.”

  ***

  I’m waiting, as French and Boomer climb out of their birds. I give them a crisp salute. Technically, they should salute me first because I out rank them; but, they’re pilots and they deserve the respect. “Good work today. I’d like to download the data logs and review them. May we meet for dinner? I’d like to go over the plans for tomorrow with you. If you don’t already have other plans, of course.”

  “I’m in,” French says. “You’re buying, right?” he says with a grin.

  “Maybe I’ll let Uncle Sam buy,” I reply with a smile. “How about you, Boomer. Can you make it?”

  I can see Boomer squirm. “Yes, Major. If you insist.”

  He agreed, but I can tell he doesn’t want to. “Captain Frye, will you excuse us for a moment?” I say in my command voice. French gets the message, salutes crisply, and moves off. I can see Boomer’s face harden.

  “Captain Anderson, is there a problem I need to know about?” I ask. I keep my voice low and calm, but it is full of steel.

  Boomer snaps to attention. “No, Major.”

  “Do you have a problem with women officers or just me?”

  “No problem, Major.”

  “Horseshit!” I snap. “Captain, if we are going to be working together, it would be helpful if I understood what is going on.” I soften my tone just a bit. “I’m not going to bust your chops. You have been nothing but respectful. But I don’t want just your respect. I would also like to have your trust. Wouldn’t you agree that being able to trust your wingman is an important part of being a wingman? Same here. I want you to trust me, so that we can work as effective team.”

  “Yes, Major.”

  “At ease, Captain. Talk to me, Boomer. Have I done something to offend you? Have I done something wrong? Made a wrong decision somewhere? If I have, I would like to know.”

  Boomer says nothing. Fuck him then.

  “Dismissed, Captai
n.”

  ***

  Over the next three weeks, we begin to explore the capabilities of the new software. I can almost feel them pinning on those silver oak leaves. These two planes are still evenly matched, but when we put another bird or two in the mix without the software upgrade, my two guys make quick work of them. We begin to mesh as a team. Even Boomer loosens up around me. A little.

  I am running one evening, gasping in the thinner air, when a blood red Porsche convertible whines up beside me. It’s Boomer. I don’t even slow. “Captain.”

  “Major.”