You cannot cross over until you’ve worked through your hatred of this man.

That’s not going to happen! He tried to ruin me!

Suddenly everything grew dark. The gold light disappeared. Rachel gasped, then coughed violently.

Someone was kneeling at her side, his hand gripping her shoulder. He was screaming for a medic.

She continued to gasp, forcing air into her lungs. No more smoke! She was alive!

Mind barely functioning, Rachel heard the man calling for help once again. He sounded desperate. Afraid for her. Then, as consciousness grew, Rachel felt a shock wave. The man at her side was Captain Tyler Hamilton. Tyler Hamilton, who hated her as much as she hated him.

Groaning, Rachel couldn’t handle the emotional tsunami that rolled through her. She blacked out. The last thing she felt was his protective hand on her shoulder. He was the last man on earth that she ever wanted to touch her.

About the Author

As a writer, LINDSAY MCKENNA feels that telling a story is a way to share how she sees the world. Love is the greatest healer of all, and the books she creates are parables that underline this belief. Working with flower essences, another gentle healer, she devotes part of her life to the world of nature to help ease people’s suffering. She knows that the right words can heal and that creation of a story can be catalytic to a person’s life. And in some way she hopes that her books may educate and lift the reader in a positive manner. She can be reached at www.lindsaymckenna.com or www.medicinegarden.com.

His Duty
to Protect

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

On August 6, 2011, thirty brave men and a dog from

the military were shot down while flying in a

CH-47 in Afghanistan. I want to honor them and their

courageous families. They are truly heroes and paid

the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom. My prayers for

each family who has lost so much. Bless them all.

Chapter 1

Captain Rachel Trayhern was five steps away from Bravo Base Operations and the control tower when the first Taliban grenade struck the tarmac.

The hot August sun beat down upon her, and their mission had just ended.

A sudden disruption made her flinch, and she whirled around at the hollow “thump” sound. Panic raced through her as she anticipated the fall. Lieutenant Susan Cameron, her copilot, had already gone inside to file their Apache gunship flight report. At least she might be safe.

The enemy grenade landed squarely on her helicopter. The ensuing explosion sent booming shock waves rippling across the landing area. Cheating death once more, the crew that was coming to hitch the Apache up with a motorized cart drove in the other direction. Fire flew toward the sky. Metal erupted and became deadly shrapnel in every direction. Thick, black smoke rolled outward and upward.

A second, third and fourth grenade popped into the sky. Rachel hit the asphalt hard, her helmet bag flying out of her hand. The August sky had been clear blue. Now, as the well-aimed grenade launchers hit the second Apache and a CH-47 Chinook that had landed a few minutes earlier, the whole airport was under siege. Attack!

Gasping, Rachel kept her hands over her head. Her helmet bag lay nearby but not close enough. The smoke was thick and choking. She heard the surprised cries of men as the attack continued. Return fire began. Bravo Base was one of the most forward CIA operations in Afghanistan, not more than fifteen miles from the line between this country and Pakistan. And it was always a target of the Taliban.

Crawling to try and find some kind of protection, Rachel heard another thunk and knew the enemy had launched yet another grenade. She was out in the open and completely vulnerable. A piece of shrapnel could kill her as easily as a grenade exploding nearby. More shock waves rolled across the air facility. Shrieks of wounded began to fill the air.

Oh, God, let me get out of this alive. The Apaches roared and burned, creating smoke so thick she couldn’t see one foot in any direction. Rachel heard the pounding of feet across the tarmac. Orders were screamed above the devastating attack. She felt strangled, helpless. Her brown hair fell loose from its knot, and tears ran down her face as she continued to crawl blindly along the edge of the tarmac. So far, Ops wasn’t hit, but she knew the Taliban would try and take it out. She was in real danger.

With return fire of heavy artillery in full force, thumping sounds filled the smoke-clogged air. Special Forces had to be heading for the edge of the base to engage the Taliban. Bravo was surrounded by two ten-foot tall walls with razor-blade sharp concertina wire on top. Somehow, the Taliban had gotten close enough to inflict major damage. The heavy chutter of machine gun fire began in an attempt to ward off the Taliban located at the end of the runway.

Hacking and choking, Rachel crawled swiftly away from the control tower. Her elbows and knees smarted with pain, the asphalt hard on them. Her mind spun with shock over the violent attack. Somehow, she managed to scramble off the tarmac and into the weeds and dirt. She was a good fifty feet away from the tower, which was an obvious target. She worried for her copilot, Susan, whom she hoped had escaped in time.

A hot, black cloud of smoke overtook her. Burying her head in the grass, Rachel could barely breathe. She felt as if she were going to die. As she continued to crawl, blind and constantly coughing, she knew her only way to live was to escape the attack. The roar of the burning helos, the return fire from heavy machine guns reverberated against her unshielded eardrums. Her strength began to dissolve. She was barely getting any oxygen, so she thrust her face down into the weeds, the only place with clean air. Fire sucked and ate up oxygen. Heat from the flames rose.

The wind shifted toward her, a bad sign. Pushing forward, her flight boots digging into the hard Afghan soil, Rachel felt the small rocks and stouter weeds poking into the chest and belly of her green flight suit. She thrust out her hand, fingers like claws digging into the resisting earth. It rarely rained in August at eight thousand feet. The land was hard and unyielding.

No! I can’t die! Rachel gasped like a fish out of water, saliva drooled from her mouth as she tried to suck up the life-giving air. Oh, God, don’t let me die like this! Her vision began to gray. More smoke rolled toward her, hot and stealing her oxygen. The breeze across the mountains where the base was located was constant. Now it blew toward where she tried to crawl.

Her senses dulled and tears ran down her face. Trying with all her might to escape the smoke, she began to sob. At thirty years old, she had her whole life ahead of her. And even though she’d been an Apache gunship pilot for the last five years, she’d never thought that she’d die crawling across the ground.

Weakened, she lay still for a moment, fighting to get her consciousness back. The smoke was an oxygen-sucking monster. The heavy chut, chut, chut of machine guns spitting out their bullets became distant. The flames and roaring fire sounds lessened, too. Her aching ears seemed filled with cotton, erasing all the noise that had pounded relentlessly seconds earlier. Rachel collapsed, her face pressed to the ground, small rocks biting into her cheekbone. Even that pain seemed to float away. She was losing consciousness because she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. No matter what she did, she no longer had the strength to pull herself forward. The last thought she had was that after the fires were put out, they’d find her body in the weeds.

It was an ignominious end, Rachel decided. She was a combat pilot. A damn good one. She’d battled through Apache flight school and nearly got kicked out thanks to Captain Tyler Hamilton, who hated her. And yet, she’d fought back and remained to graduate. Shutting her eyes, Rachel thought of her family. Her father, Noah Trayhern, danced before her closed eyes, his smile making her feel better. And her mother, Kit, who was a police detective, had a sharp and alert gaze. Praying, her lips moving, Rachel didn’t want her parents to hear from the Army that she’d died of smoke inhalation on a barren, godforsaken mountaintop in Afghanistan.

As her world grayed, her body went slack and consciousness receded. Darkness was complete.

And then Rachel felt someone standing at her side. She couldn’t see who it was, but she felt love radiating from this being.

Welcome, Rachel, the being said to her. You are all right now. You’re here to review your life. Are you ready?

This had to be a dream. There was no voice she could hear. But she could feel the words. Confused, afraid, she looked around. Everything was a bright white light, but not so bright as to make her squint. Finally, she said mentally, I guess I am ready….

She began to see the moment when she was conceived. Her mother was very young, very beautiful. Her father was in the Coast Guard, a commander of a cruiser. The love they had for one another overwhelmed Rachel. Her heart opened powerfully.

You were brought into this world with love, a voice said.

Rachel felt hot tears come to her eyes. She loved her family so much! Her given name was Melody Sue Rachel Trayhern. She laughed when she saw herself as a ten-year-old girl talking to her mother, stubbornly telling her mother that she hated the name, Melody Sue. She wanted to be called Rachel, her middle name, because that was her grandmother’s name. And Rachel fiercely loved the elder. She saw her mother smile and laugh. From that point on, everyone called her Rachel.

Everything moved swiftly for Rachel as she reviewed her life. She saw four more sisters born to her parents. She was the oldest. And they’d had a very happy childhood. Rachel, the pathfinder for the family, as her father referred to her, wanted to go into the military. She’d been allowed into West Point and had been one of the top ten officers to graduate from that military academy. Rachel’s gut tightened as she saw her orders were for Fort Rucker, Alabama, the flight school. She had dreamed of being a pilot, of flying, all her life. Her father told her that flying was in the blood of the Trayherns. Rachel remembered her powerful reaction to that information.

Rachel felt her heart slam shut with pain. She saw her first days at the Apache flight school. Her anger rose as she saw her instructor, Captain Tyler Hamilton. He stood in front of her company, arrogant, a real bastard, who hated women on the same tarmac with him. And he’d singled out Rachel because she was doing better than the other men learning to fly the Apache helicopter. More rage rose as she watched Hamilton plot her demise. Sheer hatred, that’s what flowed through her. This son of a bitch was going to flunk her out of school. The dream of flying was dying.

Rachel, the voice said gently. Until you make peace with this man you cannot leave.

Confused, Rachel looked around. She was surrounded in a white-and-gold glowing fog. How she wished again she could see who owned this voice.

That way she could explain face-to-face that she could never forgive Hamilton. He tried to ruin her. He’d said the Trayhern family was always trying to get what they didn’t deserve. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d worked damned hard to get her wings at Fort Rucker. She was a good pilot. That bastard wouldn’t take her dream away. The Trayhern family served its country with pride and honor. No way would she stand there and let him kick her out.

Because of your ongoing hatred, you must go back and work through this with him.

Before Rachel could say a thing, she felt a powerful, whirling sensation, as if she were in a funnel, spinning around and around. Then she fell and everything grew dark. The gold light disappeared, and the blanket of love dissolved. Suddenly, it was as if an anvil were sitting on her chest. She gasped and coughed violently.

Her eyes flew open. The sunlight nearly blinded her, and she found herself on her back in the dirt and grass. Someone was kneeling at her side, gripping her shoulder. He was looking into her eyes, panic in his. His mouth opened and he raised his head, screaming for a medic.

Rachel felt the strong touch of his hand, saw the care and fear in his blue eyes. Her mind refused to work properly. She continued to gasp, grabbing her chest as if to force air into her lungs. Weapons continued to fire in the distance, and she heard men and women calling out orders. The sky. Staring up at the blue sky, Rachel blinked as her chest heaved. No more smoke! The smoke had moved. She was alive. Alive!

Mind barely functioning, Rachel heard the man at her side calling for help once again. He sounded desperate. Afraid. For her? And then as her consciousness grew, Rachel felt a shock wave of another kind roll through her. This one took her breath away. The man at her side was Captain Tyler Hamilton, the instructor pilot who had almost gotten her flunked out of Apache flight school. What the hell was he doing on her base? Rachel’s mind shorted out, and she struggled to make sense of what was happening. Was this a nightmare?

Groaning, Rachel couldn’t handle the emotional tsunami, and she blacked out. The last thing she felt was his protective hand on her shoulder. He was the last man on earth who she ever wanted to touch her.

“Rachel? Rachel, wake up….”

A woman’s urgent voice filtered through her gray consciousness. Rachel frowned. There was a hand on her other shoulder now, a woman’s hand. She fought to wake.

“Hey, Cousin. It’s Emma. You’re all right. You’re going to live. Come on, wake up.”

Cousin? Her mind was frayed. Rachel tried hard to surface. The hand on her shoulder was gentle and soothing, as if to remind her she was alive. Was she? Emma? Yes, she knew Emma. Emma had just married Khalid Shaheen, an Afghan officer in the U.S. Army. He flew the Apache. Rachel clung to this bit of information. If she didn’t, it would leave. Desperately, she forced herself to remember. In July, everyone had gotten leave to fly back to San Francisco. Emma and Khalid had been married there in Golden Gate Park. The whole Trayhern clan had attended, including patriarch Morgan and his beloved wife Laura, Noah and Kit, and Emma’s parents, Alyssa and Clay, were there to celebrate the wedding.

“Rachel? You’re doing fine, you’re coming back,” Emma whispered near her ear. “You’re here at Bravo Camp. You’re in the dispensary. You’re going to be okay….”

Emma’s husky voice was like a beacon. She fiercely loved Emma. And Rachel had cried when the Army had released her cousin from duty. Emma had sustained nerve damage to her left hand after being captured by the Taliban. And without her feeling in that hand, she wasn’t permitted by the U.S. Army to fly her beloved Apache. But Emma was strong, and her fiancé had given her a CH-47, which his family had bought, to fly instead. Emma had come back married, and still worked out of Bravo Base with Khalid. She flew nearly every day as a civilian contractor hired by Khalid’s family to deliver books and educational supplies to villages along the Afghan border. Now, Emma was here with her. Emma!

Though it felt as if bricks were weighted upon her eyes, she forced them open. Rachel saw fuzziness at first. But Emma’s red hair, her face and those dancing green eyes slowly came into focus in front of her.

Emma smiled and brushed some hair away from Rachel’s scrunched brow. “Hey, Cuz, welcome back to the land of the living. How are you doing?”

Rachel lifted her hand and felt an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. The air tasted wonderful! She tried to reorient. Emma continued to gently rub her shoulder as if to coax her back to full consciousness. As she closed her eyes, the attack on the base roared back at her. The noise, the danger, the carnage. Her Apache helo had been destroyed. The thick, black smoke rolling across her and cheating her of oxygen came next.

“Come on, open your eyes, Rachel.”

She obeyed and saw Emma in her dark green flight suit standing beside her. She was smiling down at her, relief clearly written in her expression. “Hey, you had me scared there for a while.”

Groaning, Rachel was now aware of the frantic activity in the dispensary. There were orderlies, nurses and doctors rushing everywhere. Of course, she thought, we’re under attack … people are hurt … maybe dead….

Patting her shoulder, Emma gave a sigh of relief. “You’re okay, Rachel. The dude who brought you in said you’d nearly suffocated in that smoke. Thanks to him, you’re alive and not dead.”

Mind spinning, Rachel took off the oxygen mask. Her strength had returned. She was no longer weakened as before. Still dazed, she struggled on the gurney. Emma slid her arm around her shoulders and helped Rachel sit up.

“Hang on,” Emma said, “and I’ll raise this thing.” She leaned down.

Rachel felt the gurney move upward to support her back. “Thanks,” she rasped, touching her throat. It felt raw and hot.

Emma straightened and smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve scalded the inside of my throat,” Rachel whispered.

“Here, drink some water.” Emma handed her a glass.

Though her hands trembled, Rachel took it. The water tasted wonderful. The cool fluid soothed the pain. “Thanks,” she said, her voice sandpapery-sounding even to her.

Taking the glass, Emma nodded. “More?”

“No.” Rachel looked around to get her bearings. She’d been here at Bravo for three months. Never had she been inside the small clinic before. A number of medical people were moving and speaking quickly to one another as more injured were brought into the facility. She turned back to Emma.

“I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were out flying today.”

Nodding, Emma said, “I was. But I’d just landed after the Taliban attack began. Luckily, I was at the other end of the landing strip, so our helo wasn’t blown away.”

“God, it’s awful,” Rachel muttered. She pulled her legs off the gurney and allowed them to hang. Looking down, she noticed her uniform was stained with dirt and weeds. Rachel scowled. “I thought I was going to die, Emma. That damned smoke followed me like a good friend. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time….”

“You were found about a hundred feet off the revetment, Rachel. I think you knew the wind was blowing that same direction, and you were trying to crawl away from it,” Emma said, her tone sympathetic.

Closing her eyes, her hands on her face, Rachel kept seeing flashes of the incident. She felt terribly vulnerable, her emotions in tatters, and her hands fell away from her face. “I have these awful images … the smells, the sounds …”

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Emma said gently. Touching her hand, she whispered, “It’s going to be with you for a while, Rachel. It’s important not to fight it. In time, it will go away.”

Gripping her cousin’s hand, she said in a wobbly voice, “Thanks for being here.”

“Hey, I’m glad I was.”

“Was Khalid with you?”

“No, I was flying in alone to pick up another shipment of desks and books. He’s up north with his sister Kinah. We’re setting up a new village today. They’re up there with the teacher and introducing her around to the village elders. I got a hold of them by GPS, satellite phone, and they know we’re okay.”

“Good,” Rachel said, feeling stronger and more alert. Though, one thing puzzled her. “You said someone brought me here?”

Emma grimaced. “Hold on to your helmet. I was already here at the clinic helping to bring in the wounded when he arrived with you in his arms. I couldn’t believe it.” Emma gently held Rachel’s scratched and bruised hand. “You’ll never guess who brought you in…. Captain Tyler Hamilton. The dude who tried to get you flunked out of flight school back at Fort Rucker.”

Chapter 2

“Where do you think you’re going, Captain?”

Rachel was starting to slide off the gurney when a balding physician came over. His scowl deepened. “I feel fine, Doctor. I want to get out of here.”

“Hold on, you’ve suffered smoke inhalation.”

“I’m fine,” Rachel insisted, remaining on the gurney. Emma had just left, and she wanted out of this crazy, busy place.

“No, you’re not,” the doctor said. “You’ve got first-degree burns in your throat from inhaling that smoke.”

Coughing a little, Rachel said, “I figured that. But I want to get to my HQ. I want to make sure my copilot is all right.” The fifty-something-year-old doctor rolled his eyes and then smiled.

“Captain, I’ve already sent an order to your CO to have you removed from the flight list for a week. You need time to let that throat of yours heal up.”

“A week for a little smoke inhalation?” Rachel was more than a little stunned.

“Yes. Now, if you’ll just sit still for about fifteen more minutes, I’ll get one of my nurses over here to release you.”

Shocked by the doctor’s pronouncement, Rachel nodded. “I can do that, but I really don’t want to not fly for seven days.” That would leave her reflexes slower than usual. Rachel was used to flying every day or every other day. There were so many things to know about the Apache helicopter that it was imperative for pilots to fly often. This frequency kept them in rhythm with the multi-tasking demands made upon them.

The doctor shrugged. “Humor me, Captain. You’re grounded for a week.” He turned and left.

Rachel sat there gripping the sides of the gurney. Seven days was an eternity. And she felt helpless. She heard from others in the dispensary that three helicopters had been destroyed by the Taliban surprise attack. It had been a very bad day for Camp Bravo. Moving her legs back and forth out of boredom, Rachel watched the feverish pace of the dispensary. There were a lot of wounded men coming in. She was the only woman. How badly she wanted to get out of here and connect with Susan.

Her mind reverted back to what Emma had told her. How could Captain Tyler Hamilton be here? There were two transport squadrons at the CIA base. Apache pilots had nothing to do with them, unless used as escorts, because Chinooks lacked defenses and needed protection. Hamilton’s voice was forever branded in her brain, and she would have recognized it in a heartbeat over the radio link. When did Hamilton arrive? God, she hoped his presence was temporary. Maybe he was with one of the Kandahar squadrons and had flown into the camp with some needed supplies. That meant he’d be gone by now. Back to wherever he came from. Good riddance.

Some relief flowed through Rachel. Her throat burned, and she reached over and picked up a glass of water sitting on a nearby stand. Of all the people in the world to rescue her! After setting the glass back on the stand, Rachel ran her fingers through her loose, dirty hair. Pieces of grass fell around her. She was filthy. All she wanted was to get the hell out of here, strip out of this smoky-smelling uniform and feel the cool water flowing across her. She could wash the dirt out of her hair, too.

A lot of old anger surfaced in her as she sat impatiently on the gurney. Hamilton had done his level best to scuttle her attempts to graduate out of Apache flight school. He was one of their top instructors. And she was the only woman in the all-male class. He’d had it in for her the moment he’d seen her at attention in the barracks. Rachel would never forget the surprise and then the raw anger that had leaped to his blue eyes as he spotted her. Her instincts told her that for some unknown reason, he’d hated her from Day One.

Rachel could never figure out why Hamilton hated her. Was it because she was a child of the Trayhern dynasty? Their family had given military service since this country had fought for its independence from England. The famous name had always preceded her. It was an honorable family tradition that most of the children of each generation would give at least six years of service to their country. Could Hamilton have hated her for that? Snorting, Rachel shook her head. Hamilton had been an enigma, always waiting for when she made a mistake to embarrass her in front of the other students. He said she couldn’t fly like a man. And that is what got him in trouble.

The smell of alcohol and other antiseptics made Rachel wrinkle her nose. Couldn’t she leave now? Every nurse was super busy with the wounded still coming in. Rachel pondered leaving on her own. And then she made the fatal error of looking up toward the entrance. Her lips parted in shock. Captain Tyler Hamilton walked right through the door. And he was looking for her.

Instantly, Rachel’s heartbeat quickened and she gripped the gurney. Hamilton was six feet tall, lean and tightly muscled. He had military-short black hair, glacial-blue eyes, a strong chin and broad brow. He couldn’t be looking for her? Impossible. How she wanted to disappear.

Anxiety and anger warred within her. Hamilton had tried to sink her career and smear her good family name. If it hadn’t been for her uncle, Morgan Trayhern, Hamilton would have gotten away with it. The power that Morgan held in the military at every level had evened out the playing field. Her own father, Noah, had been in the Coast Guard for thirty years. He had flown into Fort Rucker to meet with the higher ups who had created the Apache flight program, along with her uncle Morgan. They met behind closed doors with the general. Hamilton had thought his power as an instructor pilot would bring her down and eject her from the program. He’d made a colossal mistake. No one tried to smear the Trayhern name like he had tried to do. In the end, Rachel had watched the general throw Hamilton out of the Apache program and send him to transport helicopters for the rest of his career. Further, he would never be promoted from captain. For the next twenty years he’d have no chance to climb in rank or to a better pay grade. Rachel had been told by her uncle Morgan about the behind-the-scenes change that had been made. She remembered clearly the shock written across Hamilton’s face. He’d expected the general to kick her out of the program. Instead, he’d been the one jettisoned.

Lips tightening, Rachel sat back so that Hamilton couldn’t see her. The bastard! She hated that he had rescued her. Five years had gone by and she’d never heard or seen him again. Until now. What kind of twisted irony was going on here? The man who hated her, who wanted her out of his training squadron had shown up again like the bad penny he was.

Rachel watched as he moved like a sinuous jungle cat through the busy dispensary. He found a nurse and talked to her. She gasped softly as the nurse turned and pointed directly at her cubicle. Damn! Hamilton turned and headed in her direction. Of all things, she didn’t need this confrontation on top of all else!

Ty Hamilton approached the green-curtained cubicle where the nurse had sent him. He swallowed hard. The past was right in front of him as he walked around the desk, the other gurneys and the doctors dealing with the injured. Fear rose up in him as he drew closer to the cubicle. He couldn’t see anyone, but the nurse had said Captain Trayhern was in there. He took a deep breath. With his right hand, he pulled back the curtain.

“Why the hell are you here?” Rachel snarled at him.

Taken aback, Hamilton stopped about three feet away from the gurney. The hardened look on Rachel’s face made him go on the defensive. She was a beautiful woman even five years later. She’d matured and, if possible, in Ty’s mind, was even lovelier than before. “I came to see if you were all right,” he said in an even tone. That five years slammed back into him. She was angry. Rachel had always been a warrior. He’d seen it back in flight school. Now, sitting there, she looked like an eagle who was ready to defend over her kill. Only her gaze was directed at him.

“Get out of my life, Hamilton. I want nothing to do with you,” she rasped.

Could he blame her for her rage? No. After all, he’d tried to deep-six her career. “Sorry, that’s not going to happen.”

“I don’t care. Of all the people I never wanted to run into again, you’re it.”

He accepted her anger. In the five years since his removal by the general, who ran the Apache program, Ty had bitterly come to grips with his past. “Life is twisted, at best. You know that.” He stood with his arms at his sides, his hands curving slightly. Captain Trayhern looked like she was going to leap off that gurney and attack him. His head spun with the violence of her reaction toward him. After all, he’d just saved her life. Was he expecting a thank-you? Apparently that wasn’t going to happen. So why had he come looking for her? Ty didn’t have an answer and that bothered him.

“No joke,” Rachel snapped. She jabbed her finger in his direction. “Go back into whatever hole you crawled out of, Hamilton. I don’t ever want to see you again. Do you understand me?”

His dark brows rose a little. Rachel’s face became flushed, her gold-brown eyes narrowed on him like a hunter. He felt the full thrust of her hatred. After the secret decision by the general running the program to oust him due to his prejudice against women pilots, Ty had never seen her again. Not until now. “Five years is a long time to carry a grudge, isn’t it?” he snarled back. “I just saved your friggin’ life, in case you didn’t realize it. If I hadn’t seen you go down and the smoke covering you, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Rachel squared her shoulders. “Well, let’s just call it even then, shall we?”

Confused, he uttered, “What do you mean?”

“You tried to kill my career. I’ll never forget what you tried to do to me. You lied to your superiors. You used every manipulation, every twist you could think of to get rid of me. I still don’t know to this day why you targeted me, but that’s water under the bridge. And if you saved my life, then I consider the slate between us clean. You tried to end my life back then. You saved it today.”

Her raw, unfettered emotion made him step back. Apache pilots were, if nothing else, excellent killers. And the look on her face, the hoarse fury in her low voice was about killing—him. “So we’re even?” he said.

“That’s right, Hamilton. Now get out of my sight.”

Stung, he saw Rachel point toward the opening between the curtains. Obviously, she was still reliving those events from the past. Wasn’t it just like a woman to drag it into the present? In his experience, men let things like that go. They got on with life. He had. Until now. “Well, you aren’t going to get your way,” he warned her in a dark tone.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Anxiety sizzled through her. If Rachel had met him under any other circumstances, she’d have thought Hamilton damned handsome. Real eye candy. He appeared to be a cocky, arrogant flight jock when she’d first met him. His eyes were large and well spaced, his mouth full and certainly one that any woman would appreciate. His cheekbones were high and his black hair only accentuated his hard-jawed features.

Hamilton managed a twisted grimace with one corner of his mouth. Finally, the energy shifted to his side. “Our squadron was just assigned to Camp Bravo. We’ll be stationed here for the next year.” He saw the shock land across her pale features. A part of him, a tiny part, felt sorry for Rachel Trayhern. Her hair was in disarray, dirty and with bits of grass still buried in the strands. Her uniform was dusty, as well. When he’d seen her hit the asphalt and try to crawl away during the attack, he had no idea who she was. And when he’d run between the bullets and the lobbing grenades to reach her, Ty had only wanted to save a life.

Rachel felt his statement reverberate through her. She saw a bit of a savage gleam in his narrowing eyes. Realizing he was enjoying sharing that news with her made Rachel hate him even more. “You trash haulers aren’t in our squadron area. That suits me fine.” She’d deliberately called him a name she knew no transport helicopter pilot ever wanted to hear. The Apache pilots were the warriors of the Army helicopter fleet. Transport helos like the Chinook and their pilots were privately called “trash haulers” behind their backs. To hurl the words at him, however, was akin to throwing down the gauntlet between them once more. Rachel had no fear of this man. Her hatred of him trumped any thanks she might give him for saving her life today.

Hamilton stood there thinking through his options over her insult. The noise around them was a dull, constant roar. Doctors were yelling orders, orderlies were scrambling and nurses were hurrying at optimum speed as more injured were being brought in through the doors. Rachel was pale. She sat there coughing, her long, beautiful fingers pressed against her slender throat. Some of his anger over the insult dissolved. Without a word, he turned on his booted heel and left.

Rachel continued to cough. Relief sped through her as Hamilton exited. She watched him stalk angrily out of the dispensary, shoving the door open. It slammed against the building, he was that furious. Grabbing the glass, she poured water into it from a nearby container. She gulped the cooling liquid down her raw, burning throat and closed her eyes. She felt guilty. She shouldn’t have, but she did. That bastard deserved every bit of hatred she had stored up within her. She opened her eyes and set the empty glass back on the stand.

“Captain, are you ready to leave?” A nurse with the name tag Morayta, L. came in. She had long, brown hair wrapped up in a knot behind her head, a stethoscope hanging around her neck. She had large, brown eyes that sparkled as she drew near.

“More than you could ever know,” Rachel muttered. She had seen Lauren Morayta over at the chow hall from time to time. “You got my orders cut?”

Laughing, Lauren said, “I do.” She scribbled her name on a piece of paper on her clipboard. “Dr. Henson wants to see you in three days. By then—” she turned to look around at the busy place “—we should be back to normal.”

Taking the folded piece of paper, Rachel thanked her. “How many died in this attack?”

Lauren’s smile disappeared. “Three so far. All burn casualties.” She patted Rachel’s hand. “You were the lucky one. The doctor wants you to rest for seven days.”

Rachel didn’t feel lucky. She slid off the gurney, thanked the petite nurse and walked out of the chaotic dispensary. Outside, she gratefully breathed in the hot August air. Turning, Rachel walked back to her Black Jaguar Squadron headquarters. There was no way she was resting now. Black, oily smoke hung over the base like a funeral pall. Rachel could hear the roar of fire trucks over in the Ops area. She wondered if they needed help.

As she entered the busy tent, Rachel noticed how every office clerk was frantic and busy. Women were running here and there. It was an intense energy in the place as she stood just inside the door. To her relief, Rachel spotted her copilot, blond-haired Lieutenant Susan Cameron.

“Susan!” she called, hurrying over to her desk. “Are you okay?”

“Hey, Rachel. Yes, I am.” She came around the desk and gave Rachel a hug of welcome. “Are you all right? I was in Ops when the attack came. I got the hell out of there and tried to find you. I never could. And then we got word from the clinic that you had suffered smoke inhalation but were going to be fine. I stayed here because they really needed me.” Susan released her, relief in her gray eyes.

Rachel smiled. “It’s going to take more than smoke to keep me down. Is anyone else from our squadron injured?”

“No. We’re fine. Major Dallas Klein is going crazy, though.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve lost two Apaches.”

“That sucks.”

Shaking her head, Susan returned to her desk. “The major has her husband on the phone to the Pentagon right now. She’s trying to find replacement Apaches for us. They aren’t easy to find.”

Rachel liked Major Mike Murdoch. He had joined the Army once again when his wife, Dallas, was given the BJS command in Afghanistan. “Well, if anyone can tear some Apaches loose, it’s him.” She rubbed her hands together. “I can hardly wait to get back in the saddle.”

“Right now, we’re two helos short,” Susan murmured, worried. She sat down and pulled a pen from the pocket of her flight uniform. “I just hope the Pentagon doesn’t screw us with wait time to get replacement Apaches. We keep our reflexes sharp because we’re flying all the time.”

Nodding, Rachel saw Major Klein emerge from her small office at the other end of the huge tent. She appeared grim. And when Dallas spotted her, some of that grimness fled from her expression for a moment. She seemed relieved to see her. The CO walked over.

“How are you, Rachel?” Dallas demanded.

“Fine, ma’am. Just some smoke inhalation. Nothing more.”

“Good, good.” Dallas looked around at the beehive of activity. “Helluva attack.”

Rachel nodded. “Yes, ma’am, it was. The Taliban is really threatened by this base. It won’t be the last time they try to move us out of their territory.”

Dallas put her hands on her hips. She wore her usual one-piece green uniform. The BJS patch, a black jaguar snarling, was attached with Velcro on the left upper arm. The American flag was sewn on the left front of her uniform along with her last name. Embroidered yellow wings denoted she was an Apache pilot. “They screwed us royal, this time,” she muttered, looking down at Susan and then over at Rachel. “They’ve never hit Apaches before.”

“They got lucky,” Susan said, lifting her head from her paperwork. “Before, they always lobbed grenades at the airstrip.”

“Well,” Rachel said, frowning, “they timed their attack better. We’d just landed and rolled to a stop in front of Ops. We use evasive tactics, change our flight path every day, but they got lucky this time.”

“Unfortunately,” Dallas agreed. “And I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Rachel blinked. Her CO appeared grim. “Ma’am?” What on earth could this be about?

Susan looked up, surprise written on her face.

Dallas said in a low voice, “Major Murdoch just got off the phone with the Pentagon. He talked to Colonel Maya Stevens to see if we could get replacement Apaches for the two we just lost.” Her thin brows fell. “We aren’t getting replacements. All the new Apaches coming off Boeing’s line are going directly to the Helmand Province in the south where all the action’s at right now.”

“But, ma’am, surely there are two somewhere,” Rachel stammered, her mind spinning. If not, then she would be flying once a week. They were pilot rich right now, but with the loss of two birds, that would drastically change the pilot rotation.

“Tell me about it,” Dallas griped. “What it comes down to is this—the four pilots who last flew those destroyed Apaches will be transferred out of BJS for six months. Instead, because all of you are CH-47 trained, you’ll be sent to the new, incoming Chinook squadron that just arrived today. They’re pilot poor and in need of more person power. They got the choppers but not enough qualified pilots. You four will fill in the ranks and help them out until we can get the two new Apaches in here.”

“But …” Rachel choked out.

“But nothing,” Dallas snapped. “You four are going to suck it up and do the dirty work.”

“It wasn’t our fault that our Apaches got targeted,” Susan argued, distressed.

Of course, Dallas knew that no gunship pilot wanted to be relegated to a slow-moving, clunky transport helicopter. But it was clear she had no choice in the matter.

“You knew coming over here to our squadron that you could pull duty in the Chinooks. Now, you will.” She turned to Rachel. “And you’re on seven days’ sick leave. That will give you plenty of time to refresh your knowledge of the Chinook and get up to speed.”

Rachel felt as if the floor of the tent had fallen out from beneath her. Tyler Hamilton’s squadron was the one she was speaking about. Her mouth went dry. “Ma’am, may I speak to you in private?”

Shrugging, Dallas said, “Of course. Follow me.”

Once inside the small office, Dallas sat down behind her desk that was piled with work. Rachel stood at attention.

“At ease, Captain. What is it that you need to speak to me about in private?”

“Ma’am,” Rachel choked out, placing her hands behind her back, “I can’t be ordered over to that squadron.” She launched into the details. Keeping it short, Rachel quickly explained her history.

Dallas seemed stricken by their information, but assumed a professional stance. “I can’t help what happened to you in the past, Captain Trayhern. I have to run an all-woman squadron. We just lost two of our birds that we desperately needed. If you want to return to flying here when we get them, you have no other choice than to go over to that Chinook squadron.”

“No question I want to remain here with BJS,” Rachel said.

“What happened between you and Captain Hamilton was five years ago. Let dead dogs be buried.” Dallas jabbed her finger toward Rachel. “And I don’t want to hear that you’re not getting along over there. You represent the United States, Captain. We’re the only all-woman Apache squadron in the world, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to give us a black eye. Got it?”

Swallowing hard, Rachel whispered unsteadily, “Yes, ma’am. I got it.”

“Dammit,” Dallas growled, “make it work, Captain. I’m sorry that happened to you, but Hamilton got his just desserts. It’s time to move on.”

“I—I’m struggling with that,” Rachel admitted hoarsely.

Dallas’s eyes narrowed. “Captain, he just saved your life. That should count for something, shouldn’t it? If he hadn’t seen you go down and rescued you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? Dismissed!”

Chapter 3

“Rachel?” Emma called as she popped into her tent in the BJS area, “I just heard what happened. Is it true?”

Rachel was at her small desk, squeezed into the corner of her tent. She turned in the chair and greeted her cousin. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Got a minute?” Emma asked, sitting down on the end of her cot. “Is it true? Major Klein is moving the four of you over to the new transport squadron that just arrived? That she can’t get her hands on two Apaches?”

Glumly, Rachel nodded and shut the manual on the Chinook she had been studying. “Yeah. Can you believe it?”

Emma reached out and touched her shoulder. “How are you? Your throat?”

“Better, thanks.” Rachel gestured to the bottled water on her desk. “My throat has improved a lot since yesterday’s attack. The doc ordered me to stand down for seven days because of smoke inhalation, but I’m fine.”

Emma set her helmet bag on the wooden floor. “Is there anything Khalid and I can do for you?”

“Aside from Khalid buying me an Apache helo to strap my butt into, no,” Rachel chuckled.

Emma nodded with a smile. “I remember when I was flying Apaches and then was ordered to fly the Chinook. I hated the slow-moving transport. Besides that, you’re wide open for attack. All I had was a tail gunner at the rear of the helo. I felt like a piece of raw meat hung out in the sky with a sign that said ‘shoot me.’”

“I know.” Rachel liked the fact that now Emma was allowed to wear civilian clothes instead of a uniform. Her hair was growing longer and it suited her. Today she had on a dark green, one-piece flight suit with her name on it. “How are things in your neck of the woods? I was over at communications at HQ, and it seems pretty quiet out there today.”

“It is,” Emma agreed. “Usually, when the Taliban makes a big attack, they run and hide for a week. They don’t want Apache wrath out hunting for them.”

“Major Klein is like a madwoman on a wolf hunt over there,” Rachel agreed. “She wants to find and blow them out of existence.” And then sadly, “I wish I was in one of those Apaches. This is hell, Emma. I know I went and learned how to fly a Chinook transport, but that was years ago.” She held up her hands. “This is like starting all over.”

“Hmm,” she agreed, “it is.” Her brows drew down. “And is it true you’re going into Hamilton’s Chinook squadron?”

Rachel groaned. “Yes. The old squadron did its tour of duty, and now Hamilton had been ordered in to replace it. And you know the worst of it? He’s the CO!”

Emma shook her head. “I didn’t know that.”

“Ever since Hamilton was removed from the Apache program, he’s been in CH-47s. That’s five years. Plenty of time to become a CO of a squadron.”

“I guess he kept his nose clean since then,” Emma said with a twisted smile.

“He’s a captain. He’ll never rise higher in rank than that, no matter how long he stays in the Army and flies those transports,” Rachel growled.

“And you’re studying the CH-47 manual to bone up? When do you have to go over there?”

“Read this,” Rachel told her cousin, and handed her the order she’d just received.

“Oh, God,” Emma whispered, frowning. “Not only is Hamilton CO, but he’s the IP? Instructor pilot?”

“It’s like the universe has it in for me. Not only do I get to live with this bastard for the next six months, he has to qualify me in the CH-47. How’s that for double jeopardy? I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure a way out of this.”

“Can you get out of it?”

With a shake of her head, Rachel sighed. “Major Klein made it clear that if I want to fly the Apache when it arrives in six months, I have to sit my butt in that CH-47 and do the duty. If I refuse to fly a transport, then I’ll be shipped out to another Apache squadron. You know how important it is that women fly together. You’ve done it. There’s a camaraderie between us that no male squadron will ever have. I love it here, Emma. I don’t want to give that up.”

Gripping her cousin’s slumped shoulder, Emma said soothingly, “Hey, I understand. I loved flying with the Black Jaguar Squadron in Peru and then here. We’re making history. We’re showing everyone that a group of women can do as well as any male squadron or mixed squadron.”

“That’s the other problem,” Rachel warned her. “Hamilton’s squadron is all men. Then all of a sudden, he’s getting four female Apache drivers thrown into the mix. Because he hates women and loves spreading his crap that we’re not cut out for flying or war, this is going to be a nightmare for all of us.”

“How are the other gals taking the assignment?”

“Better than I am. But they don’t have the past history with Hamilton like I do. They were in other training outfits, not mine.”

“This sucks, dude,” Emma agreed, placing her hands in her lap. “Could you use some interesting news that Khalid got wind of the other day?”

Rachel perked up. “Sure. What has he heard?”

Emma leaned forward. “You have to keep this top secret.”

“Oh, I will,” Rachel promised, seeing the glint in her cousin’s eyes. “Whatever it is, it’s big!”

Laughing a little, Emma said, “Oh, it’s an eye-knocker-outer.”

“What? Tell me!”

Emma grinned. “There’s a new Black Jaguar group forming under Colonel Maya Stevens. Khalid has been working with Maya and her husband, Dane, who were both assigned to the Pentagon. Maya was the creator of the original BJS, and she showed the boys in the Army how to use the Apache to stop the drug runners in Peru.”

“Oh, she’s famous for that. She’s the bedrock of the BJS,” Rachel enthused, excited. “But what is this new BJS squadron?”

“Not a flight squadron.” Emma’s eyes glinted. “It’s a U.S. Marine initiative. They’ve asked her and Dane to head up a group of women volunteers from the five military services who will have boots on the ground. They’re specialists in language and Afghan culture. Their job is to be put in individual Marine deployment squadrons that are coming here.”

Confused, Rachel said, “Women in combat?”

“Yes, with a particular mission. They’re in training with the Marines right now at Camp Pendleton. Come October, they’re going to arrive here, at Bravo Camp. This will be their HQ. Maya will head it up because she knows how to integrate women into all male elements. It’s not flying but Maya will also be working with transport squadrons here, as well as Apache deployment.”

Rachel gasped at the information. “My God, it’s really happening. These women are being trained for combat roles among the Marine squadrons?”

“Yes. There will be one woman per assigned Marine squad out in the country working with villages and elders. There’s a whole new effort to win hearts and minds here. And Maya was arguing this right up to the halls of Congress. She told the senators in a closed-door session that if they used women who spoke the language and worked with the wives of the elders in a given village, that more loyalty, more contact and far more information would be shared.” Emma grinned. “You know how women talk to one another. These women are being trained as paramedics, too. They’ll be able to give vaccinations, treat the children, wives and female elders of the village.”

“What a brilliant idea!” Rachel said, amazed and excited. “Brilliant!”

“Khalid has been friends with Maya and Dane for years, so he got the inside scoop. Don’t breathe a word of this. The fun part is that you will be interfacing with BJS ground troops because you’ll be flying the Marine squads out with these women. Maya felt that having an all-woman BJS squadron here already would help give these ground-troop women the support they need.”

“Is the Marine Corps happy about this?” Rachel wondered.

“For the most part, yes. But you know the Marines—only a man can fight. There’s a lot of resentment among some of them, but Dane is working with the sergeants who command these squadrons. There’s no room for prejudice out on the ground. All you care about is that the person next to you, regardless of whether they are male or female, can shoot and kill.”

“And these women are volunteers?”

“Yes, all five services are represented, even the Coast Guard.”

“And they’re enlisted?”

“Yes. Maya and Dane chose from among all the volunteers. These are women with at least four years in the military. They are the cream of the crop. This idea was put into overdrive almost a year ago. These women had to learn an Afghan language, complete paramedic training and then go to Camp Pendleton in California to become rifle qualified. They’re the whole package.”

“That is incredible,” Rachel whispered. She saw the happiness glowing in Emma’s face. “Leave it to Maya to break down more doors. While the squad leader is dealing with the male elders, the woman soldier can be talking to the elder’s wife. I’ll lay you ten to one she’ll get more info from that wife than the sergeant or lieutenant ever will from the man.”

Nodding, Emma said with a grin, “That’s exactly what Maya is counting on.”

“Wow,” Rachel murmured. “Does Major Klein know about this? She must. She was Maya’s executive officer down in Peru.”

“Oh, she sure does. Dallas is excited about it, too. She’s gung ho on the whole BJS ground program.”

“They’ll be together again like they were in Peru. That’s kismet, because we both know they were a successful team down there in stopping drug cartels from getting cocaine out of Peru. The Pentagon, the Chief of Staff know that when Maya and Dallas were a pair, things got done right.”

“And their past history and record probably enabled this program to go forward.”

“Absolutely,” Emma said. She rubbed her hands together and added, “Kick butt, take names.”

Laughing, Rachel felt some of her depression lift. Emma was always the positive one. No matter what life had thrown at her, she made mud pies out of the mud. She never let something bad, like the loss of sensation in two fingers of her left hand, stop her. The Army might have discharged her for that, but being married to Khalid had brought her right back here. Reaching out, Rachel gripped Emma’s hand for a moment, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Listen, you need to get square with Hamilton.” Emma released her hand, her voice lowered with concern. “When do you have to see him?”

“Today.” She looked down at her watch on her right wrist. “Matter of fact, at 1400 I have to officially get inducted into his CH-47 squadron.”

“Ugh. Not only is he your CO, he’s your flight instructor.”

“How lucky can a girl get, right?”

Emma shook her head. “Well, we know that life is never fair, but this sucks. Will you be okay, Rachel?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking around the tent that had been her life with BJS. “I have such anger toward him. It just bubbles up and it surprises even me. I didn’t know how much I hated him until he showed up at the dispensary yesterday. Everything, and I mean everything, came back from my flight school days. I was so surprised at how cold and angry I was.”

“How are you going to deal with it? Because the Army doesn’t much like it when personal stuff gets in the way of your duties.”

“I’ll conduct myself as an officer and work to be neutral toward him.”

“You can’t afford to flunk out on flying the CH-47.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t. I’m keeping my eye on the prize—in six months, I’ll be rotated back to BJS and I’ll strap an Apache on my ass again.” Rachel gave her a twisted grin. “I have my priorities straight, believe me. I might hate him, but I’ll be all business in the cockpit.”

“That’s going to be so hard,” Emma said.

Rachel shrugged. “I’m thirty years old. I’ve been around the block. I guess it’s my time to suck it up, see it for what it is—a test.”

Emma chuckled. “Spoken like a true Trayhern.”

Rachel nodded and smiled. “My parents have emailed me about it. They always have good advice about stuff like this. My dad said to just keep my eye on the future and try the best I can to remain detached about Hamilton.”

Emma giggled. “I know your mom. She’s a take-no-prisoners woman. What did she say?”

“Because she was one of the first women police detectives down at Miami-Dade, she said to not take anything personally. That I needed to be responsible for every action, every word I had to speak to Hamilton. And to keep a daily journal of what happened so that, in case this all goes to hell in a handbag, I have notes to rely on, not my memory.”

Emma laughed fully. “Aunt Kit is a realist. I like her approach. Uncle Noah is always so philosophical about life. And she’s brass tacks all the way.”

“I think I got the best from both of them. I really want my position back with BJS. I’ll go through this hazing with Hamilton and gut it out. But I’ll also be chronicling my time with him. He sideswiped my career once. I won’t let him do it again.”

Emma looked toward the tent flap opening and then lowered her voice. “I had Khalid do a little inquiry into Hamilton’s career since he got kicked out of Fort Rucker. He’s been a good boy according to the records. But what is against him is that he’s been in all-male helo squadrons since then. He’s never had to interface with female pilots again. And Khalid is worried that, by you being ordered over there, this could upset his apple cart. You know that the general told Hamilton that if he ever showed one prejudicial moment against another woman, he was kicking him out of the Army.” Emma straightened and she pointed toward the tent flaps. “Khalid thinks Hamilton won’t try to sabotage you like he did before.”

“I hope you’re right,” Rachel whispered fervently. “Thank Khalid for getting the dirt on Hamilton. I appreciate it.”

“Well,” Emma said, “if the truth be known, Uncle Morgan was already looking into it. You know he has contacts right up to the president. Khalid bumped into him at the Pentagon. When they discovered they were trying to find out more about Hamilton, they joined forces.”

“The Trayherns stick together!” Rachel laughed. “It makes me feel good Uncle Morgan is in there pitching for me.”

“You know he won’t allow anyone to harm us in any way,” Emma said. She lowered her voice. “As a matter of fact, Khalid found out something that just shocked me.”

“What?”

“Your father called Uncle Morgan and told him what was going on with Hamilton trying to get you dropped out of the flight program. What no one can know is that Uncle Morgan had a direct pipeline into the general running the program. And Morgan asked the general to release Hamilton. And he did.”

Rachel sighed. “I was told about it shortly after Hamilton was out of the program. I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

Emma smiled tightly. “No one messes with the Trayhern children. Uncle Morgan will see to that.” She reached out. “So, just be aware that Uncle Morgan will be watching the reports being sent to the Pentagon by Hamilton. He’ll be monitoring him like a hawk.” Patting her arm, Emma said, “You have a guardian angel at your back, Cousin. You just haul your share of this load and do it right. The moment Hamilton steps out of line, Uncle Morgan is going to quietly insert himself into the equation and make damn sure he’s booted out of the Army for good.”

Pleasure and reassurance thrummed through Rachel. “Thank you for the pep talk. I really appreciate it. It makes going over there less nerve-racking for me.”

“Well, you have to carry yourself with integrity at all times,” Emma warned. “You can’t lower your guard and get angry or throw a temper tantrum around him. You have to be bulletproof, Cousin. Be the officer that you are. You’re a Trayhern and you have honor. If he tries anything, Hamilton will be in a world of hurt. Uncle Morgan needs you to keep your record clean.”

“Got it,” Rachel said. “This is incredible. My dad filled me with stories of the military and all the Trayherns that have served over the last two hundred plus years … but I never realized until this happened how powerful they really are in the military world.”

“Thank Uncle Morgan. He’s the head honcho. And like I said, he’s got the ear of every military general in the U.S.A.” She grinned and stood up. “That plus the president.”

Standing up, she hugged Emma. “Thank you, Cousin.”

Emma leaned down to pick up her helmet bag. “I hope Hamilton realizes by now he can’t screw around with a Trayhern.”

Opening the flap to her tent, Rachel said, “We’re going to find out in a couple of hours.”

Emma slipped through the flaps and lifted her hand. “I’ll be in touch….”

Turning, Rachel allowed the flaps to fall together. The August heat made the tent stuffy. She wiped her brow and sat back down to continue reading the CH-47 flight manual. A lot of her stomach churning had settled with Emma’s good news. She had even more reason to make this unholy alliance work. But would Hamilton plan on making her look bad again? Or had he really learned his lesson?

Chapter 4

Ty Hamilton dragged in a deep breath. The next woman he had to see was the one he didn’t want to ever see again. His clerk had just told him that Captain Rachel Trayhern had arrived. He hit the button on the intercom.

“Tell her to come in,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Stomach in knots, Ty wondered if she was still pissed off at him for saving her life a week ago. Sitting behind his desk, he saw the door open. Rachel Trayhern looked a lot different today. Her brown hair was caught up in a knot at the nape of her slender neck. Her dark green flight uniform was clean instead of dirty. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t have to, he thought. Willing himself to ignore her natural beauty, he watched her as she turned and shut the door. Then she came and stood at attention in front of his desk, her face unreadable. But her cheeks were red and Ty knew she was upset. Back in flight school, when Rachel was angry, her cheeks were like two red spots on her flawless face.

“Captain Trayhern reporting as ordered,” she said, tight-lipped.

“At ease, Captain,” Ty said. He gestured to a chair that sat near his desk, on her left. “Have a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Yes, sir.” Rachel tried to ferret out how Hamilton really felt about meeting her again. This time, it was on equal footing rank-wise. She wasn’t a newbie to flight school. Heart pounding, she kept a grip on her clipboard and sat down.

Ty flipped through a sheaf of papers and located her personnel record. As he opened it, he glanced in her direction. She sat at attention in the straight-backed chair. His heart squeezed over the hardness in her golden eyes. There wasn’t a trace of an emotion on her oval face. Her lips were compressed. Okay, he deserved that reaction. Five years hadn’t healed the wound. He got it.

“Your record indicates that you took CH-47 flight school training four years ago.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

Nodding, Ty kept his voice neutral. “And you have forty hours in them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, it’s obvious you need retraining, and I’ve set up flights with my scheduling sergeant. You will assume copilot duties from now on. We’ll be flying every day.” He held her hard gaze. “I’m the instructor pilot in our squadron. But you probably knew that.”

“I make it a point to know,” Rachel said in a low, tight tone. She searched his face. It would be easy to continue to hate him if he weren’t so drop-dead good-looking. Eye candy for sure, Rachel thought. Tyler Hamilton was the perfect poster boy for an internet ad by the U.S. Army to lure young men who wanted adventure.

“Of course,” he murmured, looking down at her file. He reached to his right, picked up the squadron patch and dropped it on the edge of the desk nearest to her. “You’ll be wearing the Raven Squadron patch from now on. At least for the six months that you’re assigned to us.”

Rachel desperately wanted to keep her BJS patch on the left sleeve of her uniform. But she knew she had to relinquish it. Distastefully, she picked up the other patch. It burned in her fingers. She wanted to angrily throw it on the floor but didn’t. The flicker in his eagle-like gaze revealed how carefully he watched her for any reaction. Did Hamilton still have it in for her? Rachel assumed he did. Every day in the cockpit with this bastard would be like being sent to the dungeon for torture.

“Do you have any questions?” he demanded, feeling as if he were addressing a wooden doll, beautiful but completely detached from him. Ty could have wished for a warmer response.

The other three women from BJS whom he’d also be training, had been open, smiling and enthused to be here to fly. But not Rachel. A sense of defeat flowed through him. He had hoped five years had buried the hatchet between them. Casting around for a topic, he asked, “Have you been cleared by the physician on your smoke inhalation?”

“Yes, sir, I have.” She took a paper from her clipboard and dropped it on his desk. “I’ve been cleared to fly and ordered back to duty.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll speak to my sergeant about putting you on the flight schedule for tomorrow. In the meantime, go out to the Ops desk and get your paperwork filled out. Sergeant Johnson will give you the scoop on what you need as a copilot in our squadron. Welcome.”

He rose and extended his hand to her. Stiffly, Rachel got to her feet but refused to shake his hand. “With all due respect, Captain Hamilton, I have to be here for six months, and that’s it. May I be dismissed?”

The iciness in her tone shocked him. It was war, not peace between them. He withdrew his hand. “Dismissed.”

The door opened and shut. Ty moved from behind his desk. The squadron had arrived just yesterday to replace the other one, which was being rotated home to the United States. He’d been here at Camp Bravo for two weeks with his transport pilots, learning the lay of the land and picking up information from the outgoing pilots. Right now, his squadron was ready to go in one of the most dangerous places in Afghanistan to fly.

Walking around the desk, hands on his hips, Ty smarted from Rachel Trayhern’s demeanor. She’d refused to shake his hand. Why had he expected the white flag between them? She probably thought he was going to try and tarnish her record. Stopping, Ty raised his head, his lips pursed. She was all business. No anger in her eyes. No fear. Just that cold hardness. A real ice queen. But then he remembered back in flight school, at the beginning, how warm and open she’d been. The more he rode her during the instruction flights, the less warm and open Rachel became. He wondered if the warmth had returned in any capacity. Was she like this with everyone? Or just him?

Sighing, Ty knew he had no one but himself to blame. But dammit, he’d paid the ultimate price for his stupidity, too. In the last five years, he’d tried to reestablish his good name. And to a degree, he had. When the colonel made him squadron commander last year, Ty had drawn a sigh of relief. He thought for sure that they’d never give him a command. Now, a year into it, he’d led well. But then, there were no women pilots in his squadron, either. Now, he had four of them for six months. Damn. What a test.

From the very beginning he fought liking Rachel Trayhern. He’d found her amazingly beautiful in flight school. Everyone had responded to her like welcoming sunlight. Back then, he’d been jealous, angry. She not only was poised and confident but carried the vaunted Trayhern name. Hamilton was well aware that the Trayherns had served with honor in all of the military branches for hundreds of years. They truly were a military family dynasty. And he’d been jealous of that, too.

Running his fingers through his short, black hair, Ty circled around his desk and sat down. He had a lot of planning to do with four new pilots suddenly on board. Oh, no question he could use them. His other male pilots wouldn’t have a problem with them. They didn’t carry the belief that women were weak and would always be less than a man, like he had in the past.

Rachel took in a deep breath of air as she left the Ops area of the control tower. In her arms, she had more information about Raven Transport Squadron than she cared to have. The sunlight was welcome, the August morning heating up. There was plenty of activity on the tarmac. The second Apache rolled down the recently patched runway for takeoff. The first was already in the air, heavily loaded with armament. How she wished she could be there and not here!

Sadness moved through her as she walked between the tent cities that were set up on the covert base. Bravo sat on top of an eight-thousand-foot mountain. It was the nearest CIA base to the Afghanistan-Pakistan border, always a juicy target for the Taliban. The two Apaches that had been targeted and burned had been bulldozed off the runway. They sat like mangled, broken birds on the other side, and it hurt Rachel to look at them.

“Get your head screwed on straight, Trayhern,” she muttered to herself as she turned down a dirt avenue to her tent. Pushing the flaps aside, she dropped all the gear, manuals and papers onto her cot.

“Hey,” Emma called, opening one of the flaps, “how did it go?”

Turning, Rachel smiled a hello over to her cousin. “Flying in or out this morning?”

“Out,” Emma said, tucking her flight gloves in the side pocket of her uniform. “How’d it go with Hamilton? You look pale.”

Sitting down after offering Emma her other chair, Rachel said grumpily, “It went. I was so angry at him.”

“And him?”

Shrugging, Rachel muttered, “He did all the right things, Emma. I couldn’t see or detect that he still had it in for me.”

“Did he look happy to see you?” She grinned.

“I don’t know. Honestly, he had a poker face, too.”

“And so did you.”

“Guilty,” she admitted, frowning. “It was just weird. When he tossed the squadron patch on his desk, I had this infantile reaction to grab it, throw it on the floor and stomp on it.” She laughed.

“Hey, you have a right to feel like that.” Emma smiled. “But like the good officer you are, you didn’t allow your personal feelings to make it a messy situation.”

“It was hard,” she admitted, rubbing her hands down the thighs of her flight suit. “I kept trying to ferret out his hate for me. Or his anger. All I saw was officer decorum.”

“Well, that might be good news then.” Emma raised her brows. “Maybe he’s learned his lesson, that female pilots are just as good as male pilots?”

Rachel shrugged. “I’ll find out, won’t I?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s going to do anything but treat you right, Cousin. After all, he has everything to lose if he doesn’t.”

“I thought of that angle, too,” Rachel said. “I can barely tolerate that he’s going to be my flight instructor—again.” Lifting her eyes to the tent ceiling, she said, “I wonder what I did to deserve this a second time, Emma. Talk about double jeopardy.”

“Take it one day at a time,” Emma counseled. She stood up and patted Rachel on her slumped shoulder. “Do the things we talked about earlier. I’m off to take a load of books, children’s clothes and shoes to a village north of here.”

“Be careful….”

“Oh, always!” Emma leaned over and gave Rachel a quick hug. “See you on the return. I’m due back at sunset. Maybe we can have a cup of coffee over at the chow hall then?”

“I’d like that,” Rachel said. Even though Emma was now a civilian, she had access to the chow hall to eat, just like anyone in the military would. Watching her cousin leave, she felt buoyed by her presence. Emma was always positive. But then, Emma had not encountered a female-hating flight instructor, either.

Rising, she walked over to the cot. The squadron patch showed a black raven in flight. Rachel resisted putting it on and placed it on the table. She’d do it tomorrow morning. Until then, she still wanted to wear her BJS patch, a source of pride and honor to her. There was a lot to do. She had to go to BJS Ops and turn in her helmet gear. The ugly-looking transport helmet would have to be worn instead. It was all so distasteful, like she was being thrown back into hell again….

The morning air was cold at eight thousand feet. Out on the flight line, everyone’s breath created white clouds when they spoke. Bundled in her flight jacket and gloves, Rachel moved slowly around the Chinook helicopter. It was the workhorse of Afghanistan. Carrying men, supplies, ammo, food and aviation fuel, the bird could do it all. She listened to Ty Hamilton as they performed the mandatory walkaround duties. Having studied the manuals, Rachel had already memorized the things she needed to check on the helicopter before ever entering the cockpit.

The sun was still below the horizon, the stars visible high in the dark sky. The crew was busy getting this helo prepped for takeoff. Today, Hamilton was flying boxes of ammunition, MREs, meals ready to eat, to an Army outpost in a valley north of the camp. As he went over their schedule for the day, Rachel tried not to like Hamilton’s low voice. He was thorough and instructive but not arrogant as he had been in flight school. That was good, because Rachel would not tolerate that attitude from him now.

At the open ramp at the end of the helo, a load master, responsible for getting supplies into the huge bay, was busy. The other young, red-haired man was their gunner.

“The only protection we have is our gunner,” Ty told her as they stood near the yawning ramp, which lay against the surface of the tarmac. “Once we’re ready to lift off, he’ll put the machine gun up in the center, there—” and he pointed to a square cut out of the platform surface “—and settle it into it and lock it. Then he’ll be sitting down, legs between it, hands on the weapon. We keep the ramp down while we fly. He’s our eyes and ears back here, and we’ll be relying heavily on anything he sees. We’ll take the ramp up shortly before we do any landing.”

Nodding, Rachel knew there was little evasive protection in the Chinooks. Unlike the Apache, which could instantly know when a SAM missile or a grenade launcher was fired, this workhorse had no such protection. “It falls on the eyes and ears of the crew,” she agreed. Rachel made sure she didn’t have to stand any closer to Hamilton than necessary. They both wore dark green baseball caps on their heads and Nomex fire retardant gloves. It was below freezing and the Nomex warmed their hands.

“Yes,” Ty murmured. “At this outpost, there’s a landing area so we can set down, and our crew can get the supplies off-loaded with the help of the squad.”

“Good to hear.” Rachel understood that these outposts often sat on peaks high above the valley so the Army squad manning them could use their binoculars or rifle scopes to keep watch on the Afghans who farmed the valleys below. These squadrons stayed for three months and got to know the farmers. In knowing them, they could spot outsiders who were Taliban, sneaking through the area to attack American soldiers. And then they could be captured or killed.

“Let’s saddle up,” Hamilton told her, walking up the ramp and into the helo.

Following him, Rachel nodded to the two enlisted men in the rear. She saw no reason to be cold and standoffish with them. They had already secured the cargo with netting. She eased between the nylon seats on the side of the helo and the load. Hamilton climbed up the stairs and took the right seat, the pilot’s position.

Her mind and focus were on her flying. Easing into the left-hand seat, Rachel picked up her new helmet and settled it on her head. Relieved that Hamilton was already busy, she got out her preflight cheat sheet and strapped it on her thigh. There was always a list of things to do before taking off. This was standard on any aircraft or helicopter. Plugging in the jack to the radio intercom, Rachel pulled the mike close to her lips. Hamilton had done the same.

Within ten minutes, they’d completed their preflight check. Once they had harnessed up, Rachel wondered if he would allow her to take off.

“I’ll do the lifting,” Hamilton told her as if reading her mind. “And once we’re in the air, I’ll hand the controls over to you.”

“Okay,” Rachel said. They were going to a dangerous area. Taliban were known to hide in the scrub brush that peppered the outpost area and wait for the helo. Other Chinooks had been fired upon earlier, so this was no familiarization flight. Already, Rachel could feel the adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream. The moment they lifted off, they were targets. She felt horribly naked without an Apache strapped to her butt.

She continued to find out what her copilot duties were as Hamilton fired up the first engine and then the second one. There was a sense of familiarity with the helo, and it made her relax to a degree. In no time, the crew was ready for takeoff.

Ty had pulled down the dark shield from his helmet in order to protect his eyes from the rising sun’s rays. He noticed that Rachel had done the same. That didn’t stop him from being aware that her profile was clean, her nose straight and her lips full. She was beautiful, even if half her face was hidden. Trying to ignore his male reaction to her, he said, “We’re at the top end of weight limits with this cargo. And in the predawn hours, there’s more humidity in the air than when the sun is up. That means it’s harder for this helo to lift off. So, on days like this, I start her up by taxiing her the length of the airport runway. That way, by the time I hit the end of it, I’m applying full power, and it’s easier for the bird to lift off.”

“Plus,” Rachel said, “it saves us fuel.” She was always taxiing the Apache the same way. It saved fuel. And when they were in a hot spot, they needed to keep all the fuel so that they could protect the soldiers and Marines on the ground.

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