by Susan Grant
THE LEGEND OF BANZAI MAGUIRE
By Susan Grant
Copyright © 2013 by Susan Grant
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Cover Design and Interior Design by The Killion Group
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Kudos for THE LEGEND OF BANZAI MAGUIRE!
THE LEGEND OF BANZAI MAGUIRE
“If Grant’s faithful fighter jet descriptions don’t snag readers from the outset, her fierce, funny, tough-as-nails heroine will. With it’s cliffhanger conclusion, awe-inspiring characters and droll humor, this book is a strong launch for a very promising series.”—Publishers Weekly
“Top pick! Launching what promises to be a terrific series, award- wining author Grant strikes gold with an amazing new heroine. Banzai is a smart, savvy woman who can take care of herself. This fish out of water tale is exhilarating and has fabulous potential for future adventures.” —RT Book Club Magazine
[Susan] Grant's superb writing talent shines in this action-packed and though-provoking story. Grant completes the series in December with THE SCARLET EMPRESS, which is Cam's story. I can't wait!” —Tanzey Cutter
A note from the author
How this book and the rest of the 2176 series came about is a prime example of good luck and great timing. When I first heard about Silhouette’s new Bombshell line, I wanted to write one. This is the kind of story I was born to write, I thought, and, really, what I’d been writing all along. I had an idea for a kick-butt Buck-Rogers-esque tale with the gender roles reversed. After asking permission from my current publisher to write the book, I learned that I would not be able to submit to Bombshell because the material was too close to what I was already contracted to write. So, I handed the proposal to my editor, and to my delight, he embraced my idea. It was supposed to be a 2-book series, but the publisher ended up liking the idea so much that they offered me the chance to write a 6-book (later reduced to 5) series “bible” and to help recruit authors to write the middle books in the series. Because of the quickness of it all, we were the first of the new breed of action-romance books to be released. Publishers Weekly wrote: “The action romance niche is small but growing, and high-caliber tales like this one will ensure that it continues to do so. A national advertising campaign should put Banzai on many romance readers’ wish lists, but the book also holds crossover appeal for sci-fi fantasy fans.” THE LEGEND OF BANZAI MAGUIRE doesn't follow the traditional plot-structure of most romance books. You don't meet the hero in the first chapters; there are two men for whom the heroine, Bree Maguire, might fall; and the book is most definitely the “heroine’s story.” Thus, with boot-shaking excitement and genuine mortal terror, I awaited reader reaction to this “genre-mutt.”
These early books of mine were written in the years spanning 1998- 2005, and published by a company that is now out of business. For years that company sold my books, profiting off my hard work while not paying me for my rightful share of the sales proceeds. It’s a joyful victory and a miracle that I finally, after so very long, received the rights back to these novels. In order to make them available for sale in the quickest possible way, thanks in no small part to the welcome nagging of my wonderful reader-fans, I have chosen not to update them, instead leaving them as the “classics” they are: pioneering works of science fiction romance, futuristic, and time travel written when paranormal romances were still budding in the marketplace. This means no smart phones, no social media, and, in the earliest works, no post-9-11 security measures. Fun and adventure, however, remain timeless. I hope you enjoy these books as much as I’ve enjoyed dusting them off and getting them back online!
Find me at my website: www.susangrant.com
My blog: www.susangrant.com/blog
Facebook: www.facebook.com/Author.Susan.Grant
Twitter @flyerdreamer
For my parents: Davis and Isabel
Prologue
If you have the chance to live life to the fullest, do it. Don’t hold back, don’t be afraid, take the absolutely biggest bite out of this existence that you can. The rewards are immeasurable, the eventual fulfillment soul- deep. I know. I guess you could say that I’m an expert on the subject. I’ve lived two lives, both of them to the hilt.
My name is Maguire, Bree Maguire. But you know me as Banzai, even now, after years of accumulated titles, honors, and a marriage have lengthened my legal name to the point where I can’t help sighing long and silently at official events attended by those who expect and actually enjoy that sort of pomp, pageantry those closest to me know I’d rather avoid—the same people who know I never would.
Ceremony is a small sacrifice to make, you see. Once, I gave up everything that is important to a person. But, I would have died for my country, if asked. Instead, I was reborn into something better, something stronger. The United States was, too.
My quest took me to places I never imagined—not only geographical, but of the heart. It was how I first met the man who would be everything to me.
Now that I’m one hundred years into this winding path called life, my children tell me that I should record my memoirs before I pass on and leave the chore to the official biographers, who’ll no doubt use the opportunity to make me into more of a legend than I already am—to my dismay, because the men and women I consider the true heroes went on with their lives after their deeds were done, some quite humbly and certainly without the idolization directed toward me and my husband. They are the ones who deserve our remembrance, those men and women. And now, here in this record of what happened, they will receive recognition.
You may wonder if our pasts were as colorful as they seem, if our adventures were truly as fantastic and wild as you learned in school. Why, yes, they were. They were all that, and more. . .
Chapter One
Coke and a candy bar. Captain Bree Maguire gave a passing thought to the insubstantial nature of her breakfast compared to the gravity of her mission this morning. But before she strapped on her F-16 to patrol the skies over North Korea she had a low-caffeine warning light begging to be extinguished. Tipping back her head she took a greedy drink from the can.
“Banzai Maguire. I thought you only did unleaded.”
Bree glanced over at “Cajun” Coley, one of the three pilots gathered in the hallway outside the squadron briefing room before making the trek over to life support to dress for their missions. He and his wingman were off to the practice range, but Bree and her wingman, Cam “Scarlet” Tucker were headed out for the real thing: a two-ship patrol sortie over the no-fly zone.
“Not for breakfast,” she told him and delicately muffled a burp with the back of her hand. “Have you ever tasted a Milky Way washed down with Diet Coke?” She tore open the wrapper of her candy bar and took a bite. “Mmm. Now we’re talkin’.”
Cam took her by the arm and started steering her down the hallway. “Only you can make a Coke and a candy bar a two-course gourmet meal.” Her friend’s Georgian accent w
as sweet and slow.
Cajun rubbed his stomach as he walked with them. “Corned beef hash and eggs at the Enlisted Mess. Now that’s breakfast. Best chow on Kunsan Air Base.”
Bree chewed happily. “Wouldn’t know.” Maybe she would if she quit slapping the snooze button on her alarm clock and got up in time to work in a real meal before a morning flight. But sleep always seemed to win out over food. Eight hours was bliss whenever she could get them.
Besides, Cajun wore the extra protein better than she ever could, she reasoned, noting his physique in a casual, red-blooded-American-girl-who-appreciated-hard-bodies sort of way. Cajun lifted weights—all the pilots did, including Bree and Cam, the squadron’s only women. Building muscle increased the body’s tolerance to high g-forces, which were fundamental to aerial combat. But Cajun must have stepped up his workout lately. Sweet. She ought to thank him for the effort. Stretched deliciously taut over his chest, the green fire-retardant fabric called nomex never looked so fine.
But, alas, duty called. Bree crumpled her candy bar wrapper and threw it in the trash, took a few more stinging swallows of Coke before doing the same with the can. “See you later, sweet thing,” she told Cajun.
She pushed open a door that led toward the life support side of the building. In all his tight-bod glory, Cajun Coley stared after her.
Laughing, Cam followed her out. “Ooh, he’s not going to let that go, Bree.”
“Banzai!” Bree exchanged a glance with Cam. Cajun was in their six o’clock and rejoining fast. “What’d you call me?” His voice was familiar as a brother’s and spiked expectedly with indignation, disbelief, and a good dose of challenge.
“Sweet thing,” Bree drawled over her shoulder.
“Sweet... thing?”
“Well, you are.”
“Sweet, that is,” Cam finished for her.
Bree nodded. “From an objective, female point of view, of course.”
“Shee-at,” he muttered.
“Check him out,” Cam said. “He doesn’t know whether to squirm or preen.” Her southern accent always gave her banter an incongruous coating of graciousness.
“Is Scarlet right?” Bree smirked over her shoulder. “Are you blushing, Cajun?”
The pilot muttered something undoubtedly graphic. Bree grinned. She liked throwing Cajun off balance. When it came to teasing, no one in the squadron got a break. You had to be able to take the heat—on the ground and in the air. And the women gave back as good as they got, especially with men like Cajun, who’d come into the squadron certain that he was one hot stick, certain he could out fly everyone there—Bree, especially, because she was “only a female.” Ah, but he’d learned humility. At her hands. He’d once told her that not only did she live up to her call sign, “Banzai,” she deserved it. He was probably right. Japanese ancestry may have won her the nickname, but her flying was the reason it stuck. People could debate all they wanted about the fine line between insane and fearless, but her, she laughed at danger; she loved the rush. As an F-16 driver she pushed the limits, skated on the edge. The more risk involved, the more eager she was to tackle the mission. She was everything she wasn’t in her personal life, where she preferred to proceed with caution, yellow warning lights flashing.
But even though she liked pushing the envelope, she never allowed herself to forget that being a good fighter pilot took work, hard work. Without discipline, focus, and an unquenchable passion for excellence, she’d likely wind up in the center of a smoking hole. She was twenty-eight; she hadn’t given destiny a whole lot of thought, but one thing she did know was that she didn’t want it to be that.
The hallway ended in the squadron life support shop, which was adjacent to a locker room where the pilots dressed for their missions.
“So, what about Cajun?” Cam asked Bree when the men were out of earshot.
“Cajun? What about him?”
“I think you ought to invite him over to your place tonight.”
Bree gave her an incredulous look. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? There’s a spark there. I saw it.”
“Spark? That was just my libido when I looked at his butt.”
“See? You have so much in common. He has a cute ass, and you like them. Asses, that is. Male ones.”
Bree laughed. “Shut up and get dressed.”
Grinning, her friend reached around behind her neck and took off a pearl on a chain that the flight surgeon she was dating had given her. She placed the necklace in a basket in her locker. “There’s nothing wrong with seeing if there’s more, you know.”
“There’s not more.”
“If you don’t take the risk, you’ll never find out.”
Bree groaned. “Hello? We’re talking about Cajun Coley.”
“Admit it, Maguire. You’re afraid,” Cam teased. “Afraid to let a man get too close. It’s a cliché but...” She turned away, that familiar prove-me-wrong expression on her face.
What could Bree say? She liked to keep her distance, and Cam knew it. Yeah, she’d suffered through her share of crushes, had fallen in lust a number of times, but she’d never been in love. Not really. She figured she’d know when it happened. It wasn’t that she was looking for love; she was waiting for it to find her.
Frowning, she twisted off her U.S. Air Force Academy class ring and stored it in the locker. Of course, there was always the option of having a hot little fling with Cajun and be none the worse for it. But if that were the case, why did the whole idea feel so...so unappealing? There was nothing wrong with casual relationships. In fact, most of her recent relationships would fit neatly in that category. But she’d reached a point in her life where she’d grown out of quickie affairs, and yet hadn’t found a man with whom she desired more. Lately, the only action she saw anymore was in her F-16.
But for now, the between-girlfriends conversation was over. Both women turned serious as they readied for the mission. If you didn’t pay attention when you dressed for a sortie, you might leave something behind that could cost you your life.
Bree ripped off all the squadron patches from her flight suit and jacket with a loud hiss of Velcro before stowing the patches in her locker. Now, her flight suit was a blank slate except for her rank. It wouldn’t do to have the enemy find out who paid for the fuel in her jet. Name, rank, service number, and date of birth: That’s all they had the right to know.
Over her stripped uniform went a g-suit—“fast-pants,” trousers with built-in air bladders that filled with the onset of g-forces, helping keep blood in the upper part of the body, especially the head, where its loss could cause a blackout with fatal consequences. Next on were her survival vest and a knife. She’d gone through this routine many times, but it never became rote. She thought about each and every step, making sure she did it right, especially when it was time to sign out a 9mm semiautomatic with one clip loaded and the other to stow in her right-leg pocket. That pocket was full of valuables, in fact: a weather-coated evasion map rimmed with handy-dandy basic survival information, a spare pocketknife, and her blood chit, a note written in fifteen languages promising gratitude—and a wad of cash to back it up—to anyone who helped her out if she was shot down.
The pistol went in a holster against her ribs and under her left arm. Then she removed her helmet from its storage peg and dropped it in the green cloth bag she would use to carry it to the airplane.
She met Cam’s eyes. “Packed and ready.” Cam nodded, and together they turned on their heels, as if already flying in formation, and walked outside to the flight line. Cajun and his wingman followed.
It was still dark, late winter in northern Asia. The air was so dry and cold that it hurt going down. To the east, a steel gray glow promised sunrise. In her head, Bree reviewed the mission to come. “This will be a U.N.-sanctioned patrol sortie,” she’d briefed Cam earlier. “It’ll be the usual drill, a flyover of the North Korea’s side of the border during the first half, and over the South’s for the second. Our miss
ion is to provide a presence—and only that,” she’d emphasized, more than once, although she knew Cam was well aware why they’d spend the next few hours carving racetrack patterns in the sky over the demilitarized zone, a no-man’s land in effect since the 1950s between the two Koreas. The sorties were but one aspect of a broad, multinational plan to dissuade the two countries from starting a shooting war and keep them in the peace process that had dragged on for months now. As flight lead of the pair of F-16s, a position Bree had earned through rank and experience, she’d oversee the overall handling of the mission, tactics, navigation, communication, refueling, and weather, which in early February on the Korean Peninsula was butt-freezing cold. Fine weather for flying; bad news if you had to eject. Not that she planned to add that particular event to her schedule today, but she always briefed the what-ifs, all the same. Your number came up when you least expected it.
Cajun chucked Bree on her upper arm. He towered over her. “When you get back, I’m buying.”
“I’m up for that,” Bree said lightly. “I’ll have a Diet. Maybe a bag of Cheese Nips. Ask me when we land.”
“I meant beer. At the club. I want to hear more about my new nickname before I agree to it.”
Bree looked down her nose at him. “Since when is ‘agreeing’ part of the process?” She turned to Cam. “Right, Scarlet?”
“Too right, Banzai.”
Cajun winced, his expression one of inevitability. Just because he’d come into the squadron with a nickname didn’t mean he was out of danger of a new one, and he knew it. Bree and Cam had been around awhile, but Cajun was the “new kid on the block” at Kunsan. The squadron’s various initiation rites would be fresh in his mind.
