Coming Up for Air

by Karen Foley

  “Sorry,” said Laura, sounding anything but apologetic. “That overhead light hurts my eyes and causes a glare on the screen.”

  There were murmured assents, and when Laura returned to her seat, Chance bent his head to whisper softly in her ear. “Well this is cozy. Maybe I can cop a feel after all.”

  Jenna didn’t dare look at him. “I wouldn’t advise it,” she whispered back, knowing he wouldn’t make good on his threat, at least not here. Instead, he traced his thumb lazily over the back of her shoulder, where none of the others could see. That small contact made her feel connected to him in a way that even having sex with him hadn’t.

  When an explicit love scene played out in the movie, several of the soldiers squirmed uncomfortably or made crude jokes in an attempt to alleviate the tension that filled the small room. Jenna watched, imagining that the characters making love on the floor were her and Chance. As if he could read her thoughts, he stroked her bare arm with his fingertips, the featherlight caress causing goose bumps of sensation to rise on her skin.

  “That’s what I want to do to you,” he breathed.

  Jenna felt something loosen in her chest, but when she looked at him, his attention was still fixed on the television screen, and the shifting light cast shadows over his taut features. Without turning his head, he looked at her, and the heat in his eyes caused an internal meltdown as her body responded to the implicit promise in his eyes.

  The intimacy of the moment was shattered by a strident alarm. The warning sirens that blared through the compound had every person in the rec center, including Jenna and Chance, leaping to their feet and scrambling for their weapons, the movie forgotten. Each one of them knew what the sirens meant: an incoming rocket or mortar attack.

  “Bunkers!” yelled Sergeant Jones, springing forward to throw the door open and hustle everyone through.

  Jenna paused long enough to grab her pistol and holster off the floor before she dashed outside. Theoretically, the sirens were supposed to provide a ten- to twenty-second advance warning, but the first explosion came just five seconds after the first alarm sounded. Too late, she realized she had neither helmet nor body armor. Until she reached the safety of the bunker, she was completely vulnerable.

  Outside, darkness had fallen. As she sprinted out the door, Jenna looked up into the sky and came to an abrupt halt, heedless of the person who plowed into her from behind. She stared in amazement at the unbelievable sight of a rocket whizzing directly overhead, followed an instant later by an explosion that made the ground tremble beneath her feet. Another rocket whistled above her and she could have sworn it was no more than thirty feet from the ground, but this time it was intercepted by an anti-missile system and exploded in midair.

  “Larson,” growled a voice behind her, “move your ass!”

  Before she could respond, Chance wrapped a hand around her arm, almost dragging her alongside as they ran toward the nearest bunker. Overhead, red tracers crisscrossed the night sky, and another explosion rocked the compound. It was like a scene from Star Wars, as laser cannons blasted away in retaliation and the sound of machine-gun fire filled the air.

  Then they were in the bunker, stumbling their way down the incline and into the cool darkness of the fortified dugout. The sounds of the rockets were muffled here, but the explosions illuminated the interior in brief, ghostly flashes of light. More than two dozen other soldiers were there ahead of them, standing silently as they waited for the attack to end.

  Chance pulled Jenna into a corner and, heedless of anyone who might be watching, caught her face in his hands, searching her eyes in the gloom.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes.” Now that they were safely in the bunker, she realized that she was shaking. The attack was the closest she’d come to real combat, and as much as the rockets had mesmerized her, they had also scared her.

  “Where the hell is your helmet and vest?” Chance asked, his voice tight.

  “Where are yours?” she countered breathlessly, taking in his T-shirt and camo pants.

  “Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know better. We both know better.”

  Neither of them had brought any protective gear with them to the rec center, and Jenna realized the oversight could have cost them their lives. Even in the indistinct light, she could see how much the personal security lapse bothered him.

  “Hey,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “We’re okay. We made it to the bunker. Everything is okay.” At that moment, she became aware that the sirens had stopped, and the others were making their way cautiously outside. The sound of rockets had ceased. “Listen! It’s over.”

  But Chance wasn’t listening. He thrust Jenna up against the cold concrete blocks of the bunker wall, searching her eyes in the darkness. There was an edge to him that Jenna hadn’t seen before, a desperation of sorts.

  “You don’t understand,” he persisted grimly. “We knew there was the possibility of an attack. I knew this was a possibility. We lost an aircraft yesterday and yet here we are, running around without any protective gear like we’re at a damned resort.”

  “Chance, we’re okay,” Jenna said fiercely. “I’m okay.”

  She heard him draw in a deep, steadying breath, and then he slid his hands up her arms until he cradled her jaw in his palms. “I was afraid for you,” he said simply. And then he bent his head and covered her mouth with his own.

  * * *

  HE FELT JENNA STIFFEN IN surprise, and he couldn’t blame her. There was nothing remotely gentle or romantic about the kiss. In fact, it felt a little bit like an all-out assault, yet he was helpless to use any restraint. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Jenna that she had all the control. Right now, his own was T-minus and counting.

  When the rockets had started coming in, his first thought had been for Jenna and he’d been right behind her as she’d made a dash for the bunker. But when she’d stopped to watch the fireworks, he’d had an instant of pure terror that one of those damned things was going to explode too close and either kill her outright or seriously injure her.

  Slowly, he became aware that Jenna had relaxed under his hands and was leaning into him. Her hands clutched his back and she was returning his kiss with the same passion and intensity that he was putting into it. She made a sound of approval and some of the raw fear in his gut dissipated. He gentled the kiss, angling his mouth over hers as he explored her with his tongue. She tasted faintly of the red licorice that Laura had shared with her during the movie and he wanted to eat her.

  Jenna broke the contact first, pulling back and pressing her lips together as if she would hold on to the taste of him. Chance dragged air into his lungs and braced a hand on the wall behind her head.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Her hands smoothed over the front of his T-shirt as if she would soothe him. “No, don’t apologize. I wanted you to kiss me. I’ve wanted you to kiss me since I first arrived this morning.”

  He raised his head, about to tell her how he felt, but before he could form the words, they were interrupted by a shadow blocking the entrance to the bunker.

  “Major Rawlins?”

  Chance recognized the voice of his gunner and copilot, Warrant Officer Harrell. He straightened, moving away from Jenna.

  “What is it, Fishhead?”

  “You’re wanted over at the operations shack.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be right there.”

  “Uh, sir?” Fishhead hesitated. “Captain Larson is wanted there, too.”

  Chance glanced at Jenna, and his chest tightened. There was only one reason why they would both be summoned to the operations shack, and it had nothing to do with their extracurricular activities.

  “They’re putting together a counterattack,” Jenna breathed.

  Chance knew she was right but, damn it, did she have to sound so excited? He mentally braced himself as he followed her out of the bunker and across the small base to the flight ops sh
ack. The likelihood of Jenna flying a combat mission against the insurgents was slim to none; she was a transport pilot. She had virtually no experience working in a combat environment, and the top brass knew that. There was no way they’d assign her to such a dangerous mission. Still, he couldn’t quite tamp down the sense of foreboding he felt.

  Although the 170mm rockets no longer whizzed overhead, and the warning sirens and laser cannons were now silent, the compound was anything but quiet as troops and military vehicles made their way through the dusty streets. By the time they reached the flight ops shack, the crew members of all three Apaches and Jenna’s aircraft were already there.

  “We have a situation,” Colonel Tyler, their commander, said without preamble, and indicated an area on the large map of the Helmand region behind him. He quickly explained that the insurgents responsible for the rocket attack had been located, and a nearby marine unit had closed in on the location and engaged the enemy.

  “The soldiers have been pinned down by heavy Taliban fire with one soldier badly wounded. My medevac chopper is enroute from Kandahar, but won’t arrive for another forty minutes,” the commander stated. “We’ve requested air support from Camp Leatherneck, but we can be on site faster than any other responder. I have a flight surgeon ready to go. Who are my pilots?”

  “I’ll fly,” Jenna said quickly, stepping forward. “My helo is ready and my crew and I can be in the air in five minutes.”

  Chance wanted to drag her back and clap his hand over her mouth to prevent the words from being spoken, but it was too late. He’d known before the commander finished talking that Jenna would volunteer for the mission. There was a part of him that wanted to protest that she had no practical combat experience, but he knew she would never forgive him if he did. She might not be combat-tested, but he reminded himself that this was what she had been trained to do. She was an experienced pilot. He couldn’t prevent her from going out there, but he could at least ensure she didn’t get herself killed.

  “I’ll provide cover.” He made it a statement, wanting it clear that his participation wasn’t negotiable. “Teacup and I are familiar with the territory.”

  Colonel Tyler nodded. “Five minutes and I want those birds in the air. This is the golden hour, troops, if we want to save that man’s life. Let’s go, and God bless.”

  Chance knew he referred to the brief window of time in which a critically injured trauma patient could be saved, provided he had medical treatment. It was up to them to ensure the injured soldier received that treatment. This was just one reason why Chance was proud to wear his uniform; the military didn’t hold back on efforts to retrieve wounded soldiers, no matter how low the soldier’s rank or how high the risk.

  They left the ops shack at a dead run, making a beeline for the flight line. Chance fell into step beside Jenna.

  “I’ll be right there, laying down fire. If you begin taking fire, I want you to haul ass out of there, got it?” He gave her his best “that’s an order” look, but Jenna barely glanced at him.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to get that man out,” she replied.

  They had reached the helicopters, where the ground crews had already fired up the engines and had their flight gear waiting for them. The troop seats had been removed from the Black Hawk cabin, leaving a clean configuration that allowed room for several stretchers. The flight surgeon and two medics were in the process of loading their lifesaving equipment into the open space, assisted by the crew chief and several ground-crew members. Jenna paused long enough to pull on her harness and survival vest, and Chance took precious seconds to drive his point home.

  “I’m serious, Jenna,” he said fiercely. “Don’t pull any heroics, okay? We can’t risk losing an entire crew and an aircraft just because you want to prove yourself. You’re not your father.”

  Jenna did look at him then, and her eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that. Is that what you really think?” she hissed. “That I volunteered for this mission because I have something to prove? If so, then you don’t know the first thing about me. I’m going up there, and I’m going to do my job, Major.” She gave him one all-encompassing, scathing look. “I suggest you do the same.”

  She turned and climbed into the cockpit without another word, and Chance barely resisted the urge to drag her back. He’d never felt so helpless, and he knew that even if they both survived the rescue mission and returned to Sangin, he may have already lost her.

  13

  AS THE BLACK HAWK LIFTED Jenna forced herself to put Chance and his parting words out of her mind. She needed to get her head in the game and focus on the mission. Checking the coordinates on her display, she saw they would reach the extraction point in less than seven minutes.

  Beside her, Laura monitored the radio, and in the cabin behind her, she could hear the flight surgeon and the two medics setting up their equipment. The Black Hawk was not a medevac helicopter and had not been modified for medical evacuation, like the DUSTOFF Black Hawks, which were used exclusively as air ambulances. But the medics had brought their own portable lifesaving supplies and equipment and were rapidly converting the cabin into a triage center.

  The blackness of the surrounding desert was total, forcing both pilots to wear night-vision goggles. The monochromatic green landscape lent an eerie, surreal quality to the mission. Glancing out her left window, Jenna could see an Apache flying just above her and knew it was Chance. From her vantage point, she didn’t have a visual on the second Apache, piloted by Teacup, but knew it was flanking her right side.

  Laura had made contact with the Joint Terminal Attack Controller, the soldier on the ground responsible for maintaining radio contact with the air-support crews and providing real-time information regarding their situation. Jenna listened as the JTAC provided the coordinates for a safe location in which to land so they could evacuate the wounded soldier.

  Looking at the map on the display, Jenna realized it would be a tricky maneuver. The troops were pinned down in a heavily wooded area with a river behind them and enemy fire coming at them from a ridge on the other side of a clearing. The ideal situation would be to land in the open space, but the Apache helicopters would need to lay down a significant amount of suppressive fire to keep the insurgents from attacking them. Even if they were able to do that, the ground troops would need to transport the injured soldier more than two hundred yards to the clearing.

  “We’ll keep the sons of bitches on the ridge occupied,” Chance said through her headset. “Goalie, it’s your game.”

  True to his word, the two Apaches swept in low over the ridge and proceeded to hammer the site with cannon fire. At the same time, Jenna wheeled the Black Hawk toward the clearing, keeping as close to the trees as possible in order not to expose the injured soldier to enemy fire. But as she hovered over the landing site and prepared to descend, a burst of small-arms fire peppered the ground below. Ping! Ping! Something hit the side of the helicopter in a metallic staccato.

  “We’re taking fire,” Laura barked into the headset. “Climb! Climb!”

  Jenna pulled back on the cyclic stick until she was more than sixty feet above the trees.

  “The attack came from the south side of the clearing,” her door gunner called. “That puts the extraction site in a direct cross fire with the ridge.”

  “T-Rex, sweep the south side of the clearing,” Jenna directed, swinging the Black Hawk back around so that she was above the clearing once again and facing whatever threat might come from the south. As she watched, an Apache rocketed through the night and she could see the tracers from the rockets as Chance pounded the region. “JTAC, we’re going to try again.”

  “That’s a negative,” came the reply. “We cannot move the casualty. Repeat, we are unable to move our man to the landing zone.”

  Jenna exchanged a meaningful look with Laura. The injury must be bad if they couldn’t risk moving him two hundred yards to the clearing.

&nb
sp; “Okay, what are our options?” Jenna asked, feeling oddly calm despite the fact they’d been hit at least twice, and could be hit again. “There has to be another way.”

  She flew over the area where the troops were located, although she couldn’t spot them beneath the canopy of the trees. Then she saw it—a clearing no more than ten feet across. Too small to lower the helicopter into, but big enough for a medic to descend with a stretcher. The procedure would be risky and was generally used only as a last resort, but Jenna didn’t see any other options.

  “JTAC, I have a clearing about thirty feet to your east. If you can move your man to that location, we’ll send in a medic with a stretcher.”

  “I’ll go down,” came a voice from behind her in the cabin.

  Jenna pushed her goggles back and twisted around to see one of the young medics, Sergeant First Class Randy Morrison, leaning through to the cockpit. His face was set in grim lines. Behind him, the crew chief was already preparing the hoist.

  Jenna nodded. “Roger that.”

  Laura turned to face the medic. “We’ll hover long enough for you to get on the ground, and then we’ll take off. You’ll have two, maybe three, minutes to load the patient onto the stretcher and move him to the larger clearing where we’ll pick you both up. Got it?”

  Sergeant Morrison nodded. “Got it.”

  Specialist Baker, the door gunner, lay down suppressive fire as a deterrent to any insurgents, while Sergeant Morrison scrambled into a harness. Jenna moved the Black Hawk into a hover. Sixty feet below, the clearing looked ridiculously tiny. Even as she watched, she saw several figures move amongst the trees and her night-vision goggles clearly identified them as U.S. ground troops. There were six of them. Four of them carried a body between them, while the remaining two provided cover.

  “Okay, I’ve got them in sight,” Jenna said, maintaining her hover position. “Good luck, Morrison.”