Chapter 9
All the way back to Fort Campbell, Abby felt even more edge-of-seat than usual from an NOE flight, which she hadn’t thought was possible.
Waiting for the hammer to drop, on top of the strains of such advanced flying, had left her wiped out—but the hammer never fell.
Not a peep from her radar and not a single word from Overwatch.
No new attack. No last second reroute. No surprise aircraft.
The second after it declared itself dead, the CCA had disappeared to parts unknown.
Not that she was paranoid about what the Air Farce was up to, but she made sure to maintain an aerial dance with her sole remaining Little Bird—despite the added layer of complexity—in case the damn thing returned. It didn’t.
For a lack of any other instructions, she cleared her flight with the tower and landed once more at Fort Campbell, wheels down to the second in her slot.
By the time she and Ethan had run the Shutdown checklist and she’d pulled her helmet and scrubbed a bit of life back into her scalp, Trisha O’Malley was standing front and center outside her windscreen.
Colonel Beale’s second-in-command was grinning like the evil red-headed demon she was. Pleasant, jovial, pretty, and utterly ruthless. Her breath blowing dragon’s steam in the predawn chill only added to the image.
“Looks like the debriefing is starting early,” Ethan kept his tone steady. Steadier than she felt anyway.
When someone pulled open her right-hand door, she almost tumbled out on top of him.
MICH helmet with NVGs tipped back, sidearm in the middle of his vest for a quick draw, rifle over his shoulder—Derek Kylie.
Now in the low glow of the field lights, she could see that unlike many D-boys who wore their beards past scraggly and into horrific, his was neatly trimmed.
His lean face matched the rest of him, and she’d take his smile to mean that she hadn’t scared him off completely.
Too exhausted to notice more, she climbed down from her high seat and circled to face Trisha.
They traded salutes. Then she looked over her shoulder.
Not at Derek, but up at the sky. She’d been on the ground for over ninety seconds.
The next Chinook in the flight should be landing by now but she spotted no running lights.
No noise except the fuel truck approaching to top up her tanks and the light rumble of the DAGOR unloading down Charlene One’s rear ramp.
Trisha answered the question that Abby’s thoughts weren’t yet organized enough to ask. “Half didn’t meet the time limits, especially on the unplanned load up and load outs.”
Abby would have to remember to tell her crew chiefs they’d done good.
“The rest fell for the trap.”
Abby turned back to Trisha. Her brain was slow shifting out of her own tactical situation into the whole flight’s. “They decided that the drones projected by the CCA were real and got out of the air?”
Trisha nodded, her smile huge. “We have Chinook and Delta teams scattered all over farm fields from here to Bragg. The CCA worked the line from the rear the moment that you folks dropped off half of the D-boy and Ranger teams.”
“How many?” How many would be counted among the dead or captured.
“One successfully deployed to Fort Campbell.”
Abby looked around the tarmac, but hers was the only helo here. “Who else?”
Trisha pointed at her. “You spoiled my fun. Of those not disqualified for being too late, everyone else failed the CCA test. They either let the CCA integrate with their systems, so that the false drone readings appeared on their own equipment as well, or they trusted the CCA’s equipment over their own and dove for a safe landing.
Only one person shot the Air Force bird.
” Again the finger pointed at her chest.
Someone held up a hand for a high-five and she slapped it. Then she turned to see Derek grinning down at her. A single horse-hand taller than her own five-five, he looked as pleased as if he’d been the one flying.
“So, was it me or the CCA that you trusted less?” he asked.
“Both.”
He tried to look hurt and ended up looking cute—at least for a scary-as-shit D-boy.
“Wait! You’re the one who prompted me to connect to the CCA. Would you allow an unknown drone to integrate with your comms network during a mission? I didn’t know it was a trap until later, but it was all a little too convenient in retrospect.”
“Sam said you were smart.” So, he’d been checking up on her. She needed to have a chat with her crew chief about doing that—like never again.
Then she spotted Trisha’s expression. “You had a plant on each flight to suggest that connection to the CCA’s data feed.”
“That wasn’t a question.” Trisha laughed. “Can’t wait to tease Emily about slipping that past her, but I can’t find her. Bitch is probably asleep.”
“No, I guess it wasn’t a question.” Abby knew that, in addition to being top-flight SOAR officers, Emily and Trisha were close friends, but it was still kinda shocking.
She couldn’t imagine anyone calling the austere Colonel Beale by her first name, never mind by a curse.
That woman was more daunting than a whole squad of D-boys.
“Emily dumped the debrief on me, but that won’t be for a couple hours.
At the moment, I’ve got Chinooks spread across six states.
Time to go sweep them up. Captain Kylie, we do have a planned exercise for your teams here at Fort Campbell tomorrow night.
And yes, you’ll get a pre-mission briefing and time to plan for a change, but that’s tomorrow.
We want the Night Stalkers to fully experience what you guys can deliver.
” Then that evil grin flashed again. “And vice versa. Until then the corporal can set you up in Transient Quarters.” Trisha waved at the person who’d been lurking in the background.
Abby made a point of thanking Ethan and each of her crew chiefs before releasing them. Derek did the same, sending his team and the DAGOR off with the corporal. Soon it was just the two of them standing in the dark together. Trisha had mounted her broom and flown away when Abby wasn’t watching.
“Food?” Her constitution was feeling the one-hour planning and five-hour op badly.
“Derek.” He tapped his chest and grinned at her. Then hooked a thumb in the direction of the departed DAGOR. “However if you want to share room service—”
She sent him a look.
He grimaced. “Yeah, bad line. You’re throwing me off my game, Abby. Food sounds great.”
“I’ve got no use for someone playing games.”
“One strike I’m out?” He actually looked worried that might be the case.
“Usually yes, but we’ll call that one as just a stinky-foul hit.”
Derek nodded his thanks and waved for her to lead the way. She didn’t hold out much hope. Unit operators were known for being the unruly renegades of the US military. Perhaps not as bad as SEAL Team 6, but close.
But she was tired, hungry, and it had been a long time since she’d found a decent man outside of her chain-of-command to even consider.
Counting herself as weak, she even slowed down her usual fast stride to let him keep up with her.