Chapter 61
Aloft over the base in Abby’s helicopter, Emily’s role as Overwatch—given her by Abby with excellent decisiveness under pressure—meant that she and the crew chiefs were wholly focused on the safety of the ground team.
As pilot, Ethan would keep the bird aloft.
Her role constituted maintaining situational awareness.
It was hard to keep her attention on the wider goings-on because the team of Abby and Derek formed such a wonderful distraction.
Could it have been only three days? She recalled the battles of Trisha and Bill as they’d negotiated how to work together as a team.
Trisha seemed born to battle against everything around her just on principle.
The whole team had nearly broken around her before she and Bill had resolved their path together.
And they’d both brushed close to death so many times in that period that Emily could almost believe in miracles at their survival.
Abby and Derek were already as smooth in operation together as any she’d seen. Too easy. Now she must guard against whatever might break them apart.
For ten minutes Emily had scouted and hovered over the building and become none the wiser.
When they all reemerged from the building, racing along behind Zackie, the relief nearly swamped her.
She could do nothing to protect them while they’d been inside .
And their race across the airport field behind the dog told her that Miss Watson was indeed alive and had freed herself.
She had Ethan swing over the dumpster once Derek had jumped out. He coughed out a brief laugh on spotting the man bound there. Definitely Miss Watson’s work. Following their careful scan of the area, she still spotted nothing out of place, not that she’d expected to.
Emily could only curse when, after a moment’s conference, they all began running down the long taxiway toward the far end of the Base Hangar.
They paid no heed as they raced in front of a taxiing Airbus A330 aerial tanker.
Whatever they’d figured out, it must be bad.
The one in British uniform, which must be Group Captain Cutcher, pulled out a radio, said something, and hung it back on her belt without pausing. The A330 stayed where it was.
“Hey!” Sam the crew chief called out. “On our six, ground level.”
Ethan didn’t wait to find out what it was, he spun the helo hard counterclockwise so that he opened the view to the side gunners and herself.
Emily managed a breath. It wasn’t a tank or technical—a pickup truck with an anti-aircraft gun mounted on the bed. It wasn’t even a phalanx of crazed Royal Marines, if Britain ever allowed such transgressions of emotion, with machine guns and RPGs.
It was a lone Land Rover, racing down the taxiway. Not toward Dilya and the other runners, but aimed past them toward the—
Emily began issuing orders.