A Military Affair

by Merline Lovelace

  “Look, I understand where you’re coming from.”

  “No, you don’t,” she shot back, her eyes darkening. “You couldn’t.”

  Quinn’s instincts started pinging, the way they always did when he stumbled on a story within a story. Ignoring the hammering inside his skull, he raked another gaze down the sergeant’s face. His photographer’s eye noted the skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, the tight set to her jaw. There was more to this mission than Sergeant Quinn was willing to admit. Before he could probe deeper, however, she issued an ultimatum.

  “No pictures,” she said flatly. “No story. Now amble on back to town before I confiscate your camera.”

  The threat brought his simmering anger close to a boil. The sergeant must have seen how close. Casually, she brought the SAW’s barrel up a few inches.

  “Move it, Quinn.”

  His jaw locked. He threw another glance at the aircraft squatting at the end of the runway before zeroing in on the redhead again.

  “You and I aren’t done, Hamilton.”

  “Yes, we are. Move it.”

  Tess kept the SAW leveled at his backside until he disappeared around a bend in the dirt track that passed for a road. When she went to thumb the safety on her weapon, she discovered her hand was shaking.

  Damn! She had to stop taking everything about this mission so personally. Had to stop thinking about her grandfather.

  Despite the stern admonition, she couldn’t quell a sharp stab of pain. She’d lost him just a few months ago. Larger than life, with a laugh that rumbled up from his chest, Big Mike Hamilton had been a hero—her hero—for as long as she could remember.

  He’d also flown Corsairs during the Second World War. Right here, in the South Pacific. She’d grown up on stories of Pappy Boyington and his Black Sheep Squadron. Of dogfights over Tarawa, Iwo Jima, the Solomon Islands. Of all-out, diving attacks on Japanese warships. That could be one of her granddad’s squadron mates up there on the mountain. His wingman. His friend.

  No way would Tess allow anyone to cash in on this mission. “That includes you,” she muttered to the slowly retreating reporter.

  Not ten minutes later, she was forced to eat her own words.

  The radio call came just as she was walking back to aircraft.

  “Raven One! Raven One! This is Raven Five.”

  Her throat went tight and dry. That was automatic rifle fire she heard in the background. Slapping a palm to her radio, she answered the urgent call.

  “Go ahead, Five.”

  “We’re taking fire.”

  “From how many and who are they?”

  “Sounds like ten, maybe twelve unfriendlies. No clue who they are, but they’re packing some serious iron.”

  Tess’s stomach clenched. A dozen or so heavily armed individuals against a team consisting of a forensic anthropologist, an odontologist, an explosive ordnance tech, a photographer, a mortuary affairs specialist and one Phoenix Raven.

  “We’ve got good cover, One, but we’re pinned down. We could use a little help up here.”

  “It’s on its way.”

  She was already racing for the C-130, her mind churning. This could be a feint. A ploy to draw her and the rest of the security team away from the aircraft. She had to leave sufficient firepower at the airstrip to protect the plane and its crew.

  “Three and Four,” she barked into the radio, “you’ll stay with the plane. Two, you’ll go with me as far as the base of the mountain. You’ll have to provide back-up for both sites as needed.”

  Boyle materialized at her side. “I’m with you, One.”

  “We’ll take the RATT.”

  The Rescue All Terrain Transport was a souped-up dune buggy specially modified for rescue-type operations. The Ravens liked the vehicle’s ability to climb sheer cliffs and plunge down ravines so much they’d modified a few for their own needs. The six fold-out stretchers had been replaced by side seats shielded by layers of Kevlar. A whole squad could squeeze in if necessary.

  “I’ll brief the aircraft commander while you roll out the RATT and fire her up,” Tess told Boyle grimly. “Load her with the extra boxes of ammo.”

  “Roger that, chief.”

  Her boots crunching on shell, Tess raced toward the aircrew. They were standing now, alerted by the radio call from the recovery team. The aircraft commander’s jaw squared at Tess’s terse recap of her plan of action, but he knew better than to suggest he or any of his crew go along with her. They had their job. She had hers.

  “I’ll bring the recovery team down, sir. When I do, I hope you have this baby revved up and ready to roll.”

  “Count on it, Hamilton.”

  Her cool confidence took a hit when the RATT rumbled down the aircraft’s rear ramp.

  “She’s loaded and powered up,” Boyle told her, swinging out of the ATV’s driver’s seat, “but I can’t get the navigational finder to lock onto the team’s coordinates.”

  “What?”

  “She’s not taking a signal.” Frustrated, he pounded the instrument panel, as if a good, old-fashioned wallop would get the high-tech circuitry’s attention. “We’ll have to use our NavSat system.”

  “Which only works when we find a big enough hole in the jungle canopy to take a fix,” Tess muttered.

  She chewed on her lower lip. If they relied on the NavSat system they’d have to stop and get a directional reading whenever the canopy thinned enough to allow the satellite transmission. They didn’t have time for that. She needed a navigator, someone who knew his way up the mountain, and she needed one fast.

  Swinging into the driver’s seat, Tess gunned the engine. “Climb aboard, Boyle. We’ll go get us a guide.”

  The RATT threw up a plume of white dust as it sped down the crushed-shell runway, then cut across the clearing to the dirt track that led to town. Tess had made the trip into town earlier this morning, shortly after the C-130 touched down. She’d met with the island’s headman and forked over the two thousand dollars the U.S. had agreed to pay to park its aircraft on foreign soil for a few hours, then returned with the beefy fisherman the head-man had sent to guide the recovery team to the crash site.

  She didn’t intend to go all the way to town for a guide this time. She figured she’d find one tramping along the dirt track.

  Sure enough, he’d made less than a mile when they caught up to him. He turned at the muted roar of the dune buggy, watched it approach. Tess hit the brakes and fishtailed to a stop a scant yard away from his scuffed boots.

  “You wanted in on the story, Quinn? All right, you’re in.”

  He cocked his head, clearly suspicious of her abrupt about-face. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “The recovery team’s taking fire.”

  His red-rimmed eyes went from suspicious to sharp with interest. “Who from?”

  “From a dozen or so hostiles, identity unknown at this time. But whoever they are, they’ve got my people pinned down. You said you’ve been up to the crash site. I need you to show me how to get there.”

  “No problem. But I want an exclusive.”

  “Dammit, Quinn…”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “That’s the deal, Hamilton. Take it or leave it.”

  She didn’t have time to argue. “All right, all right! You’ve got your exclusive. Now get in the vehicle.”

  Chapter 2

  Tess left Danny Boyle at the base of the volcanic peak. From there he could cover the recovery team’s descent or hotfoot it back to airstrip if the C-130 and its crew came under attack.

  “Keep your head down and your backside covered, Dano.”

  “That goes double for you, Chief.”

  As soon as Boyle had hauled out his weapon and extra ammo, Tess aimed the all terrain vehicle up the jungle-covered slope. Beside her, Quinn braced both boots against the floorboard and grabbed the roll bar to keep from being tossed out as the RATT jounced over the roots of giant strangler vines
and dodged rotting tree trunks.

  The tropical rain forest’s dense canopy trapped the muggy heat and blocked all but a few stray beams of light. Green darkness surrounded them and the leafy underbrush was tough to penetrate. Making matters worse, the layers of thick, spongy vegetation had already swallowed the recovery team’s tracks. By sheer luck, Tess spotted a broken fern leaf. A few moments later, she drove over a hacked-off vine. Without Quinn’s terse directions, though, she would have lost precious minutes to backtracking and searching for additional signs of the route the team had taken.

  All the while the RATT rattled up the steep slope, Tess monitored the recovery team’s situation. They’d scrambled into defensive positions and were still pinned down, although Raven Five was pretty sure he’d taken out at least two of the unfriendlies.

  “They’re about twenty meters below us and to the east,” he advised Tess. “I’ll fire a smoke grenade to mark their position when you close in.”

  “Roger, Five. Between us, we’ll generate a nice little crossfire.”

  She glanced at Quinn, saw he’d heard her end of the exchange. Quickly, she filled him in on the rest.

  “The jungle thins out when we hit the lava beds,” he warned. “We won’t have much cover.”

  “How far to the lava beds?”

  “Another five minutes or so.”

  “Are they navigable?”

  “Only on foot.”

  She was already starting to see proof that they’d have to abandon the RATT. Lumps of glistening black poked through the spongy vegetation, creating more obstacles to steer around. All too soon the lumps swelled to rivers of black and the dense jungle canopy thinned enough for the rattle of gunfire to penetrate.

  Her jaw tight, Tess took the all terrain vehicle as far as she could before the jagged rocks made the way impassible. Cutting the engine, she swung out of the vehicle and took a quick fix on their position.

  The cone of the volcanic peak loomed directly above. Below, she saw in a fast sweep, the jungle rolled all the way down to the sea. She spotted the white scar of the airstrip off to the east. To the west was the town and a minute slice of palm-lined beach lapped by frothy waves. Beyond the beach was the sea, an endless expanse of shimmering turquoise topped by cotton-candy clouds.

  Blowing out a breath at the deceptive serenity of the scene, she turned back to survey the steep precipice. No doubt about it. She’d have to scramble up the rest of the way on foot. Ripping open a box of ammo, she stuffed extra clips into the zippered pockets on the arms and legs of her flight suit.

  “Stay with the vehicle,” she instructed Quinn.

  “No way. You promised me an exclusive, remember? I’m going with you.”

  “The hell you are.”

  “If it’ll ease your mind, I was with the 101st Airborne at Kandahar.”

  The fact that he’d spent some time in Afghanistan didn’t cut it with Tess. “You had a whole division of rangers covering your butt at Kandahar,” she pointed out acidly. “All you’ve got here is me.”

  Quinn couldn’t help it. She sounded so tough and so damned superior, he had to pull her chain.

  “You can cover my butt any time or any place you want to, sweetheart. The way you felt me up at the airstrip got me thinking we both might enjoy it.”

  Her eyes flashed, and she looked ready to put a bullet through him on the spot. He must have some perverted death wish, Quinn decided. This slender, wild-haired Amazon was starting to turn him on.

  Maybe it was the hair. The tendrils of dark red curled wildly around her face. From the look of the fat twist she’d stuffed up under her beret, the rest of it was thick and long and just made for a man to burrow his hands through.

  Or it could have been her eyes. As vivid and green as the jungle, they looked out at him through a screen of red-tipped lashes.

  The body that went with the hair and the eyes wasn’t too shabby, either. She certainly filled out a flight suit better than any other airman he’d come across in his years of covering military operations. Giving thanks for the form-fitting Nomex, Quinn stopped the scathing retort he saw her getting ready to deliver with a dry observation.

  “Right now, though, I’d think you’d have other things on your mind besides my backside. Like getting to the recovery team.”

  With an evil glare, she spun around and started up the treacherous lava bed.

  As Tess scrambled up the jagged river of rock, the exchange of rifle fire above them grew louder. She took advantage of every scraggly palm and fan-shaped palmetto, not so much to protect herself but to keep the unfriendlies from detecting her approach.

  Quinn dogged her heels, keeping up with more ease than she’d expected. He had stamina. She’d give him that. Even with all her conditioning and rigorous training, her cheeks were puffing in and out like a blowfish.

  He also had the persistence of a dogfly and an ego that wouldn’t quit. She couldn’t believe the man had all but come on to her. Here. Halfway up a damned mountain. With the rattle of gunfire echoing above them.

  Setting her jaw, Tess scrabbled for a hold on the smooth, jagged rock. Sweat drenched the armpits of her flight suit by the time she crouched in a crevice of shiny black rock and searched the craggy peak above through the SAW’s high-powered scope.

  The team was up there, but hidden behind a wall of rocks. She could see the unfriendlies, though. They’d left their backs exposed, obviously not expecting an attack from the rear. Big mistake, Tess thought with savage satisfaction. Very big mistake.

  Signaling Quinn to take cover, she propped her automatic rifle on a rock, cocked it, and keyed her mike. “I’m in position, Raven Five. You don’t need to paint the bastards. I’ve got them in my sight.”

  “Roger, One.”

  “Keep your heads down.”

  “Will do.”

  The SAW spat fire. A feral smile curved Tess’s lips as bullets traced a path across the rock and cut into the hostiles. They whirled, tried to pinpoint the new source of attack, and found themselves caught in a murderous crossfire. One went down with a scream. His pals dragged him behind a rock and tried to return fire.

  At that point, Raven Five and the others opened up again from above. Tess heard the stutter of his automatic weapon accompanied by the bam-bam-bam of the handguns carried by the team members.

  It didn’t take the hostiles long to decide they’d had enough. They scrambled away, firing as they went. Gradually, the crack of rifle fire and the splat of bullets digging into rock died. Tess held her position, her muscles coiled and her finger on the trigger, until instinct told her it was safe to move.

  She started to get to her feet. A scrabble of sound behind her had her twisting violently to face the threat. Quinn froze and stared down the barrel of her rifle.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, lowering her weapon. “I forgot you were there.”

  He blew out a breath. “That’s the second time you’ve aimed that thing at my midsection, Hamilton. How about we don’t go for three?”

  “Fine by me. Just don’t get in my way.”

  The response was a little less than gracious considering how he’d guided her through the jungle, but she was too wired to care. Her mouth set, she started up the slope.

  The recovery team scrambled down to meet her. Dr. Peggy Courtland, a forensic anthropologist and the team’s leader, gripped a blue steel Beretta in one sweaty fist.

  “Boy, are we glad to see you, Tess.”

  “Same here, doc.” Her gaze swept the small group. “Everyone here?”

  “All present and accounted for. Except our guide. The guy turned tail and ran at the first shot.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “A few scratches and cuts. Nothing that needs attention right now.” Courtland’s gaze went to Quinn, who had his digital camera to his eye. “Who’s he?”

  “A reporter.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I’ll explain after we get the team down to the plane. Let’s go, f
olks.”

  The anthropologist shook her head in quick protest. “We can’t leave our equipment behind.”

  “You’ll have to. Whoever took those potshots at you might be re-grouping as we speak. Or they could decide to head down the mountain and take out the plane. We have to move out, and fast.”

  “You don’t understand.” She thrust a hand through her short, sweat-streaked blond hair. “When those guys attacked, we dropped everything and scrambled for cover. The remains we recovered are up there along with our equipment. We can’t leave them behind.”

  No, Tess decided grimly. They couldn’t.

  That could well be one of her grandfather’s squadron mates up there. She owed it to him, to every man and woman who served their country, to see he was brought home and laid to rest at last.

  “I’ll retrieve the box,” she said curtly. “You folks start back down to the plane. Go with them, Travers.”

  The muscled Raven who’d accompanied the team didn’t want to leave her. She could read the reluctance in his face. But, like her, he knew his duty. The safety of the plane and crew, including this recovery team, took first priority.

  “You’ll find the RATT parked where this lava rock gives way to jungle,” Tess informed him. “Boyle is waiting further down, at the base of the mountain.”

  He nodded. “Let’s hustle, people.”

  Tess had scrabbled up a good ten yards or so before she realized Quinn was behind her. Exasperated, she twisted around to blast him but he got off the first shot.

  “Save your breath. I’m coming with you.”

  Her lip curled. No doubt about it this time. It was definitely a sneer.

  “Is there anything you won’t do for a story, Quinn?”

  “If there is, I haven’t bumped up against it yet. Better get it in gear, Hamilton. Unless I miss my guess, our daily deluge is only minutes away.”