Chapter 35
Derek wished he bumped shoulders with Abby a little less often; the woman was incredibly distracting.
He’d be down in mission-prep mindset and she’d go striding across the hangar like a self-guided missile.
Even if she was targeting nothing fancier than a screwdriver or a bottle of water, his attention auto-locked and tracked until she was gone again—or Misty “accidentally” dropped the butt of her carbine on his foot.
Abby’s earlier assessment had proven a hundred percent accurate.
Every time he came near her crew, a low and feral growl of incipient rage crystallized in the chill air.
Each time she came near his D-boys, their already low and sparse conversation faded faster than the daylight behind the thick clouds of the approaching storm.
Then there was the loadout inside the birds, packed solid with Delta vehicles and gear for the flight. Charlene One had reloaded one of the nine-man DAGORs. That had placed her crew and Derek’s in close quarters as they debated which gear to take.
Abby cursed. “It would help if we knew where we were going and what utter moose’s mess we were about to step in.”
Derek was about to correct her that it was moose shit when a voice behind them answered, “England. And we have no idea.”
Abby spun on her heel, then saluted sharply.
Derek turned to face the oddest-looking group.
He saluted the blonde colonel who must be Emily Beale.
He’d heard she was tough as hell; he hadn’t expected her to be knockout gorgeous as well.
Colonel meant mid-forties at a minimum and this slender blonde wasn’t showing a bit of that.
A big man in a sheepskin-lined denim jacket loomed close behind her.
His jet-black hair was as straight and almost as long.
As he didn’t remove his mirrored shades, it was a mystery how he saw crap halfway up the Chinook’s ramp, inside the C-5’s cargo bay, under a heavy overcast sky.
To Beale’s other side stood a pretty girl wearing a hot-pink parka and lime-green scarf that made it hard to focus on her face.
Once he did, she looked to be mid-twenties with Southwest Asian dark skin and brilliant green eyes.
She had a Sheltie dog close by her heel but off lead.
The last person…
One warrior recognized another. He wore a black turtleneck and a non-descript jacket, and his face said he’d spent years living outdoors.
Older was irrelevant upon seeing the deep skills inherent in his stance and assessing gaze.
Though Derek knew they’d never met, there was no mistaking the man from the stories about him.
Derek drew up to parade-ground attention and saluted. “Colonel Gibson. An honor, sir.”
He nodded, then barely ticked his temple with a loose-handed salute in return.
“Funny how some of us don’t rate anymore, isn’t it?” the big guy commented to Colonel Gibson like it was a great joke.
Abby gasped, “The Majors.” Then she saluted the big guy.
“Lt. colonel (retired) but, yep, that was me ’n’ Emma. Had us some serious fun.” He left Abby hanging with her salute up long enough to make it a tease before returning the gesture.
Derek risked a glance over at Abby.
“Legendary inside the Night Stalkers,” she whispered. “I’ll explain later.”
“Legendary,” the big man must have exceptional hearing. He tested the word, “Legendary… I like that one. Whaddya think, Dilya? Do Emma and I rate as legendary?” He struck a pose with his hand over his heart and his head turned up and to the side.
Derek couldn’t stop the laugh—which was at least half nerves at meeting Colonel Gibson.
“Not so much?” The guy gave up the pose with an easy shrug. “Y’all ready to get this here hoss into the air?”
“England, ma’am?” Abby asked. “We loaded both training and battle kit. Should we dump the latter?”
Colonel Beale shook her head. “I wish we knew but we don’t. Keep it.”
“Then we’re ready to go.”
“What’s the full complement?”
“Three Chinooks. We have six crew per bird—total of eighteen.” Abby glanced at Derek.
“I’ve set up a mixed force. A pair of Polaris four-man MRZRs in Charlie Two—each with three Delta and a 24th STS comm specialist I kept on loan from the Air Force.
Five SilentHawk hybrid-electric bikes with operators are stowed in Charlie Four.
” He hooked a thumb to indicate Abby’s bird.
“I loaded a single DAGOR in favor of fitting more gear options aboard Charlene One. Nine seats but it’s running light with myself and three other Delta knowing there were more personnel inbound.
I loaded the .50 cal Browning for good measure. ”
“Christ, Emma, the Brits are going to think we’re invading. Should I warn Fay?” The big LC-retired guy looked worried.
Colonel Beale glanced at Gibson, who reacted by not reacting. She nodded as if that meant something.
“Saddle up. Captain Kylie, seat all but you and your best three at the front. Captain Rose, just you at the back.”
Before Abby could protest about leaving her crew in the wind, Beale turned on her heel and headed for the outside passenger stairs. The inside steps to the passenger seating area embedded in the top curve of the cargo bay couldn’t be lowered with the third Chinook in the way.
Derek waited until they were the last two in the cargo bay. “Are legends always kinda spooky?”
“Yes,” the girl Dilya answered from close behind them. Even his Delta-trained situational awareness had missed her remaining. “Of course, that’s only because you can see them. I prefer being invisible.” Even with her dog, she had been invisible.
“How much training has the pup had?”
Dilya’s smile was radiant. “Zackie is ten, so not a pup. And a lot. Mostly by the Secret Service dog teams.”
Derek finally caught on that he was in over his head—again—and called out to the crew to load up. By the time they were all aboard, the four massive engines had already spun to life.
The upstairs rear passenger cabin on a C-5 looked just like any commercial airplane that had seen too many years of service.
Seventy-odd seats, three to either side of a central aisle, all facing backward.
There were no windows anyway and, being seated backward, it was far safer in case of a crash—never a cheery thought.
Derek was unsure who to select. Even with Delta training, you couldn’t be a specialist in everything. They’d been using the DAGORs a lot. And if the action team included any of these supposed legends, they’d need the seating capacity.
That meant Hot Rod, possibly the best driver in the whole Unit, definitely the best in a DAGOR.
And if he took one of that fireteam, he needed the other, because Compass could find anything anywhere.
He also could work strange and interesting magic with a block of C4 or a thermite torch.
And, as much as he hated to admit it, Misty could outshoot Derek on his best day.
He kept it simple. First, he chased everyone to the far front of the cabin. “Hit the galley. Get sleep. Great job on the loading.”
A few minutes later he signaled to his three choices.
The rest of the crews spread out a bit as there were plenty of extra seats, but that still left a six-row gap to the huddled group of people and one dog at the very rear of the upstairs seating area.
With the noise level of a C-5 cabin, they were huddled to hear each other, not over any fear of being overheard by the others.