Читать книгу Firstborn - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

After lunch, Morgan stood with Laura in the backyard, watching as Kamaria happily played in her sandbox with a red plastic pail and scoop. The dappled sunlight felt good, and he slid his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I didn’t want to spoil our lunch,” he began. His mouth flexed and in a lower tone he added, “I have some bad news about Jason.”

Knowing what was to come, Laura leaned against his tall, strong frame, studying the darkness in his gray eyes.

Sighing, Morgan closed his hand around her right shoulder. “You know Red Dugan? The C.O. of the Eagle Warrior Apache Squadron with the 101st Airborne? I think you met him at that military convention in D.C. last year. Anyway, I got a call from him today. He told me that Jason had been transferred to his squadron at Fort Campbell. Dugan told me on the q.t. that Jason literally got kicked out of his old squadron. He has a personality problem, Laura. Pilots on two different Apaches asked for him to be transferred to another team. That kid is causing nothing but trouble no matter where he goes.”

Trying to wrestle with his anger, frustration and shame over his son’s actions, Morgan continued, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this.”

Laura looked up at her husband. Although little Kamaria was only two years old and wouldn’t understand adult problems, Laura kept her voice low to protect her from the discussion that was to come.

“Synchronicity strikes again, Morgan. I was going to tell you once lunch was over that I just got a call from Jason.” She saw surprise flicker in his eyes before they narrowed with pain. Her heart ached for him. “I didn’t want to tell you earlier and ruin your lunch. I know how upsetting this is for you. Jason never wants to talk to you, and tries to time his calls to when you aren’t around.” She shrugged helplessly. “I was going to tell you now, but you beat me to it.”

Raking the fingers of his free hand through his hair, Morgan gave a jerky nod. He walked on across the wide green yard, with Laura at his side. “I swear that kid is hell-bent on self-destruction. I don’t know what to do to stop him.” He turned to his wife, who seemed so small next to him. She was petite, yet strong in ways he never would be. “Red told me in no uncertain terms that this is Jason’s last chance. If he can’t get along with the new pilot assigned to him now, then he’s out—with a bad conduct discharge.”

“Oh, God,” Laura whispered, pressing her fingers against her lips. “When he called earlier he never mentioned anything about that.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. He evades, Laura. He never tells either of us the whole story. We only get it piecemeal from my friends at the Pentagon. If not for them, we wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Well…he sounded good, Morgan. He really did. Even hopeful. And he was more open than usual. He’s been assigned to a female helo pilot—one of the few women currently flying the combat birds in the U.S. military. Jason said he likes her. Well, he didn’t go that far, but he sounded more hopeful than I’ve heard him sound since he joined the Army two years ago.” She reached out and slid her fingers down Morgan’s arm.

Feeling anguished, Morgan groped for Laura’s slender, warm fingers and gently wrapped his around them. Looking over her head, he saw Kamaria toddling around in the sand, waving the red scoop in her right hand, the pail in her left. One of their cats, a calico by the name of Tortie Girl, was walking in front of her, tail held high, as if to tease his daughter. The look of joy on Kamaria’s face as she gently reached out to touch Tortie Girl’s tail with the red shovel made him feel a little better. Kamaria smiled more than any of his other children. But then, Morgan reminded himself, she hadn’t suffered the strain of his parenting during the difficult times in his past. With a sigh, he hoped he was a changed man and that his youngest daughter would grow up without that stress affecting her.

“What else did he say?” Morgan murmured, looking at Laura once more. It hurt to know that Jason never wanted to talk with him. But why should he? They were icy cold with one another and the conversation always ended up with Morgan berating Jason. He knew he shouldn’t, but he didn’t know how else to handle his troubled son.

Laura slid her arm around her husband’s waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. The warm summer breeze was wonderful, the scent of the pines a balm for how she felt right now. She shared the rest of her conversation with Jason with Morgan, as she always did. Her heart ached when she saw the worry and frustration in his eyes as she stood with him at the far corner of the fenced yard.

“Did Red say anything about Chief Annie Dazen?” she asked when she was done. “That’s who Jason’s assigned to.”

Shaking his head, Morgan muttered, “No. He did say that he was giving Jason the very best chance he could by putting him with the top pilot in their squadron. And I owe Dugan for that.”

“He’s doing this because of you, Morgan. Everyone in the U.S. military respects you, no matter what service they’re in.”

“I guess so,” he mumbled, “Red told me that. And I thanked him.”

“A BCD? Oh, God, Morgan, I hope Jason turns around. He’s been in a downward spiral ever since being kicked out of Annapolis.”

“He’s angry.” Morgan’s mouth flattened as he looked sightlessly at the mountain that rose in front of them, hundreds of fragrant pine trees blanketed the slope, standing at attention like green guardians. “He’s angry at me. Probably doesn’t trust me after what happened when he was six. He’s carried that anger ever since the kidnapping. I know where it’s coming from.” Shaking his head, Morgan rasped unsteadily, “I screwed up so badly when he was young….”

“Shh,” Laura whispered. She turned and placed her hands on his upper arms, giving him a slight shake. “Listen to me, darling. You did the best you could. I was concerned about our high visibility in the Washington, D.C. community back then. And yes, we did talk about moving, or at least keeping our address secret. We just didn’t do it soon enough.”

Miserably, Morgan looked down at her. “I should have listened when you first suggested the move. So much bad came out of the kidnapping…for everyone….” He lifted a strand of her shoulder-length blond hair and gently placed it behind her ear. Laura had also been kidnapped, and raped repeatedly by the drug lord, who was trying to get even with Morgan for his efforts to disrupt his billion-dollar drug trade. His wife had spent years in therapy, climbing out of the hell that experience had left her in, and it had forever affected her—and him—as a result. Morgan now realized that when a woman was raped, a part of her was murdered, never to return. In an alarming way, the drug lords continued to get even with him to this day for his arrogant belief that no one would dare to harm his family. He had been so terribly wrong in his assessment of their safety back then.

“Jason is still paying a price for my bad judgment. My arrogance. I don’t blame him for being angry with me, Laura. I just wish like hell he’d quit rebelling against the world because of it. It’s me he wants to get at.”

Tears stung Laura’s eyes as she searched her husband’s gaze, which was filled with pain. She could see he wanted to cry, but Morgan never cried. He was a warrior from a dynasty of warriors who had served their country faithfully and fully. Tears were not an option for him, no matter what. If only Morgan could cry and release some of that pain that never left him. Laura always found release from crying. It was like a storm moving through her, cleansing her of ugly feelings. Afterward, she always felt lighter, cleaner, and relieved of the burdens that had made her weep.

“Listen to me, Morgan. Jason got the best psychiatric counseling we could give him. We did all we could to undo the damage done to him by that drug lord over in Hawaii.” Sliding her hand against his face, she whispered, “All we can do is love him and be there for him, darling. This is painful for everyone. We’re all hurting, and it hasn’t gotten any easier as he’s grown older.”

A groan broke from Morgan’s tight lips when he saw tears brimming in Laura’s eyes. Threading his fingers through her hair and taming the strands tossed by the breeze, he said, “Let’s hope that Annie Dazen is a guardian angel for him, because it’s Jason’s last stop on this downward spiral. If he gets a BCD…well, I don’t know what will happen to him. No corporation will want him. No one will hire him. It’s a black mark on him for life.”

Nodding, Laura said, “Yes, let’s hope Annie can pull a rabbit out of the hat for all of us.” Morgan himself had been marked as a traitor to his country, she reflected. And yet, in time, he had managed to clear his name. A BCD, however, was different. She hoped it didn’t happen—hoped her son’s life wouldn’t be marked forever.

“Let’s get to work, Mr. Trayhern,” Annie said when she saw her new copilot come through the door at the side of the hangar. Dressed in his flight uniform, he walked proudly, with his broad shoulders squared and his chin lifted almost arrogantly. At 1500, the temperature was nearing ninety and the humidity made the air feel like a soaked sponge. She had changed into her one-piece flight suit, and had her helmet sitting on the fuselage skirt.

“You look like you’re ready to go up.” Jason saw her slightly tilted eyes sparkle with mischief above her high cheekbones, her full mouth slightly curved in one corner.

“Yes, we are. You got your helmet with you?”

He halted before her in the busy hangar. “It’s in my locker. I, uh, didn’t think—”

“Go get it and meet me out on the apron.” Annie turned and called over to her crew chief to get the helo pushed out of the hangar so they could fly it. As she twisted to glance across her shoulder, she saw Trayhern stand uncertainly for a moment, a confused scowl on his features.

“Problems?” she demanded.

“No.” Jason studied her face, which was now dead serious. As nice as Ms. Dazen had been upon first meeting, she was all business now. Turning, he hurried back across the hangar toward the locker room.

A short while later, Annie stood beside the bird as her crew prepared it for takeoff. She looked up at the light blue sky, which was filling with cumulus clouds, and surmised that a storm could result around 1600. Sweat trickled down her rib cage and she turned to see Trayhern trotting out of the hangar.

She was pleased to see that he took her request that they fly now seriously. There was a guarded look on his face and that was fine with her. Colonel Dugan had said to test him immediately on his flight capabilities. The colonel wanted to know just how good—or bad—Jason Trayhern was behind the stick of a helo. And so did she.

As he came up, Annie introduced him to her three-person flight crew. To her relief, he shook hands and murmured words of greeting to each. At least he had some sense of civility.

When he moved to where she stood near the step on the side of the Apache fuselage, Annie pulled on her fire-retardant flight gloves. “You get the lower cockpit.” Since she was pilot in charge, she could choose to sit in either spot. She preferred the upper cockpit because it gave her more visibility.

“I need the upper one,” he replied. “I fly better in that position.”

Hearing the steel in his tone, she smiled crookedly. “Do you always get what you want, Mr. Trayhern?” He was trying to intimidate her. On purpose? Or was it just his warrior attitude?

“Usually.” He saw the challenging glint in her eyes as they narrowed speculatively upon him. Annie was three inches shorter, but with her proud carriage and bearing, he could swear she was his height. Maybe it was her cocky Apache pilot stance. No one flew this combat bird who wasn’t an aggressive type A personality, someone who lived for confrontation.

“Not today, Mr. Trayhern. Now, climb up.” As she motioned to the dark green metal shield that covered one of the wheels of the helo, she saw him frown. This was the first test: would he take orders from a woman? Standing relaxed, she watched what looked like anger move across his face. Did Trayhern know how easy he was to read? He put the helmet on his head and fastened the strap beneath his square chin. She saw a couple of small scars on his smoothly shaved jaw. Had someone picked a fight with this guy? More than likely.

She watched as he put one black flight boot onto the first rung and hoisted himself upward. The cockpit Plexiglas opened on one side only. Just above it, less than a foot away, were the four blades of the bird. She watched as he expertly slid in and squeezed himself into the narrow confines of the front, lower cockpit. Spec 2 Bobby Warner, one of the mechanics on her crew, climbed up and knelt beside him, quickly helping Trayhern with the array of harnesses that had to be put on and locked securely into place. Once Warner was done, he turned and grinned down at her.

“Ready for you, ma’am.” Then he stood up and moved to the end of the skirt so she could ascend.

“Excellent, Warner. Thanks.” Annie threw her helmet to him and then quickly climbed into the upper cockpit. This was home to her. She slid down onto the seat, the two HUDs—heads-up displays—in front of her. Each cockpit had the exact same equipment, so if one pilot was incapacitated the other could take over flying and get them home safely.

Warner handed her the helmet.

“Thanks,” Annie murmured. Within moments, she was strapped in and ready to go. Plugging the cord from her helmet into the radio receptacle, she switched to intercabin intercom.

“You read me, Mr. Trayhern? Over.”

“Read you loud and clear, Ms. Dazen.”

“Good.” Annie looked over and gave Warner a thumbs-up. Below, standing near the nose of the helo, where Annie could see her, was her crew chief. Kat stood with a pair of earphones on, the phone jack plugged into a side panel of the Apache. She would be responsible for starting of the bird.

“Okay, Kat, let’s get this show on the road,” Annie murmured. She nodded to Warner and gave him the signal to shut and lock each of the cockpits. Excitement thrummed through her. Flying was like breathing to Annie. Her adrenaline surged as soon as she felt the whine of the twin engines. Below, she saw her crew scurrying about efficiently. Kat gave a thumbs-up and Annie pressed the mike close to her lips.

“Okay, Mr. Trayhern, this flight is all yours. Power up.”

Annie pulled a clipboard from a side pocket of the cockpit and placed it across her knees. Before she had been assigned with the 101st, she’d been a flight trainer. The clipboard held a list of all the maneuvers she was going to put him through and grade him on. He didn’t know, of course, that she’d been an inspector pilot. Annie wanted him to be as relaxed as possible on this flight. There wasn’t a pilot alive that didn’t tense up and screw up when an IP was in the cockpit, grading him or her. Annie wanted to give Trayhern a chance.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled to herself. Trayhern had clearly dropped the anger she had seen in him on the tarmac, and was all business now. That was good. She heard him communicate with Kat Lakey on the ground. The blessed flow of air-conditioning began just then and Annie sighed in relief, because the cockpit was like a sauna until the cool air got turned on. Sweat dribbled down her left temple and she swiped it away.

When the Apache’s first engine started, the familiar high, shrieking whine began. The second engine came on next, and Annie saw Kat pull out the intercom cord and lock the panel down. Then the crew chief backed off and lifted her arm straight up, twirling her fingers, which was a signal for Trayhern to engage the blades.

The shuddering started. Annie absorbed it like a lover. The Apache was the most feared combat helicopter in the world. To her, it was like a dinosaur, ugly as sin, but lethal. When the blades started slowly turning around and around, she felt lulled, like a child cradled by its mother. There was something comforting and soothing about the shaking that went on as the blades whirled faster and faster.

She heard Jason call into the tower at Ops for takeoff permission. Once it was granted, she saw Lakey duck beneath the carriage to remove the chocks from behind and in front of the wheels. Once the crew chief was clear, Annie heard Trayhern’s deep, unruffled voice in her headset. “Ready for liftoff, Ms. Dazen?”

“Yes, I am, Mr. Trayhern. Let’s fly….”

Annie held the pen in her right hand, the clipboard across her thighs as the Apache lifted smoothly from the ground. She talked him through the air corridors flight pattern that every helo had to follow when taking off from the base. Once they were out over the countryside, the flat plains of Kentucky changed to gentle, rolling hills, a landscape of green, as they flew across the state boundary into Tennessee. The massive Army base sprawled across the state line, part in Tennessee, but the bulk of it in Kentucky, where ninety-three thousand acres had been set aside for flight training and firing ranges.

At this time of day, flying was often rough, and Annie was jostled continuously as the helo hit air pocket after air pocket. As the summer sun beat down on the earth, thermals rising off the hills created unstable conditions that made flying a challenge.

“I remember this,” Jason said, feeling the collective and cyclic in his hands. It felt good to be flying again. They were at five thousand feet and heading to a restricted air space where they could fly maneuvers without hitting a civilian plane.

“What? The thermals?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. He’d been nervous, but the comforting shudder of the helo had taken his anxiety away. “We all went through Apache training school in Alabama. I remember I always got afternoon flights, when the humidity was at its highest. It wasn’t fun at first. My lunch was always comin’ up. Flying out of this base reminds me of afternoon flights at Fort Rucker.” Southern states in the U.S. always got high humidity coming in off the Gulf. At Fort Collins, Colorado, the air was much drier, making it easier to fly.

Chuckling, Annie looked around the sunny cockpit, then drew down the dark visor on her helmet. “Oh, yeah, bag time. How long ago did you last eat?”

He laughed shortly. “Bag time” meant throwing up during flight, into a red plastic bag that was stored in the right pocket of every cockpit. “Not to worry this time around. I learned a long time ago to eat lightly at lunch.”

“Fill a few, did you?”

“A couple. You?”

“Nah. Indians don’t get airsick.”

Smiling slightly, Jason found himself curious about her Native American background. “I see….”

“In all honesty,” Annie told him, “I had two hundred flight hours in helicopters before I came into the Army. And I was kidding about Indians not getting airsick. We’re human just like everyone else.”

“I’ve never flown with an Indian before. I guess it’s something I’ll have to get used to.” Well, that didn’t come out right, did it? He cringed over his spontaneous choice of words. It was one of his problems: foot-in-mouth disease.

“Now, should I take that comment as an insult or a compliment?”

Jason frowned, his gaze flying across the cockpit dials. “No, it’s me not thinking,” he said abruptly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain.”

“Does it happen often?”

“Pretty much. And I apologize.”

She heard him almost choking on his words. Was it because he didn’t say he was sorry very often? Or was he genuinely trying to get along with her but fumbling it? Annie chose to believe the latter, not wanting to think that he was prejudiced on top of everything else. After all, this was his first day in a new squadron with a new air commander. He had to be nervous.

“You don’t know much about Native American culture, do you?”

“No…hardly anything. You’re the first person I’ve even run into that was Indian.”

“I see….” The helo jostled and dropped a good ten feet when it hit a huge air pocket. Annie smiled as she felt Trayhern adjust and stabilize the bird.

“We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I didn’t get to know anyone too well,” he told her.

“Typical military brat?”

“Yeah, kinda…”

“Not me. I was born on the White River Apache Reservation in Arizona and never left until I joined the Army after high school.”

“I’ve never been to Arizona.”

“It’s dry and hot. Not like this place. Fort Campbell reminds me of a sponge. I can hardly wait to get to Afghanistan. It’s hot and dry there like it is on my res. I’ll feel right at home in that desert environment.”

“Weather is the least of my problems.”

Annie thought it was an odd statement, but said nothing. “Okay, Cowboy, take this bird to ten thousand feet. Now.” She smiled at the nickname she’d spontaneously given him. He reminded her of an Old West cowboy—stoic, rough, a little rusty on social protocols, but heroic just the same. If he took umbrage with the new handle she’d given him, he didn’t say anything. All pilots had a nickname they were usually called by instead of their real name.

Jason powered up both engines, and the thumping of the Apache’s blades deepened. In seconds, the helo was clawing upward, the pressure of the climb pressing Annie against her seat. From ten thousand feet, the carpet of trees looked like lumpy green cottage cheese below them. They were safely within the restricted airspace, and she looked at her HUD to make sure no other aircraft was in the vicinity. Usually, at this time of day, few were flying because of the nasty up-and downdrafts created by the sun’s heating of the earth.

“Okay, nice going, Mr. Trayhern.” Annie leaned forward and shut off both engines. “You are now without power. Get this bird down in one piece.” She heard him gasp once, but that was all. Instantly, the Apache fell, nose first. Without his quick intercession, the bird would have continued to plummet. Trayhern clearly knew what to do. He stabilized the helicopter, using the flailing blades that still whirled above them despite the lack of engine power. An experienced pilot could use the air as a cushion, and the blades as helping hands, to get a chopper down in one piece. As they plummeted closer and closer to the earth, Annie was pleased to see Trayhern moving the wallowing helo toward a small meadow off to the right. That would be where he’d try an emergency landing.

Jason wrestled with the Apache. The last thing he’d ever thought he’d be doing was attempting a dead-stick landing. She’d cut the engines! Just like that! What the hell was she thinking? His anger surged, then receded as he jockeyed the sluggish bird toward the meadow, which was coming up very quickly.

Annie braced herself. At one thousand feet, Trayhern pointed the nose downward. The earth came rushing up fast. At five hundred feet he suddenly eased back on the stick, raising the nose abruptly. The whirling blades caught the cushion of air once more. At the last moment, he steadied the Apache. They hit the knoll with a thud and then rolled forward through the grass, finally coming to a stop.

Annie’s teeth unclenched. They were down, the blades spinning slowly around and around. As she relaxed her jaw, she heard Trayhern breathing hard in her earphones. Placing a checkmark in the emergency landing box, she said, “We’re in one piece. That’s good, Mr. Trayhern. Now take her up again.”

Jason suddenly realized she was testing him, and the fact made him angry and frightened. What if he had screwed up? Well, he hadn’t on the emergency landing. He flipped on the engine switches, the familiar hum and whine filling the cockpit once more. He busied himself with getting the bird airborne again. Once he had climbed to five thousand feet, he wiped the sweat off his brow. Pulling the dark visor down across his upper face, he pressed the microphone near his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was a damn flight test?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I have a right to know.”

“No, you don’t. You’re my copilot, Mr. Trayhern. In thirty days, our collective ass will be on the line over in Afghanistan. I want to make very sure that I’m flying with someone I can trust. Now, get this bird up to ten thousand again. Please.”

Grinding his teeth, Jason did as she ordered. None of the other pilots he’d been assigned to had done this to him. It was automatically assumed he was good or he wouldn’t be in an Apache squadron.

“What’s this all about, Ms. Dazen? Why am I being tested like a rookie?”

“I test any pilot I fly with like this, so you’re not being singled out, Mr. Trayhern.”

“I don’t believe you. There’s more to it.” He looked around at the hazy afternoon sky, his mind clicking on possibilities. Then he tightened his hands around the collective and cyclic, his nostrils flaring. “I know why.”

Annie said nothing. She wanted to see how he handled himself when he was upset. Good pilots disconnected from their emotions when flying, Otherwise, when in combat, the spurt of adrenaline could kill them, caught up as they were in the life-and-death drama of war. And Annie wanted to know now whether he had the necessary detachment to think through the adrenaline rush and haze of fear. So far, so good.

Jason waited. She remained silent. Damn her. All of a sudden he wasn’t feeling very kindly at all toward Ms. Dazen. She might have a killer smile that made a man feel all warm and good inside, but that was only frosting.

“You know who I am,” he said through gritted teeth. “You know I got kicked out of Annapolis on drug charges. You also know that I’ve been booted out of my previous squadron into this one. And this is my last chance to make it or break it. You know everything about me. That’s why you’re testing me like this.”

“If you were in my seat, wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

Her voice was cool and without emotion.

Jason sat there, his gaze flicking across the dials. The Apache soothed some of his rage, some of his fear. But not all of it. “Yeah, maybe I would. If I got handed a black cloud of a pilot who could never say or do the right thing, or do whatever the hell else was expected, I’d be gun-shy, too.”

Heart twinging, Annie felt his pain. Oh, the anger, the rage was there, no doubt. He wasn’t going to be civil about this. At least, not up here in the cockpit.

“There’s a saying back where I come from,” she said quietly. “It’s better that a rattlesnake rattle its tail in warning than let you step on it and get bitten.”

Stymied, Jason took a deep breath. He was sweating big-time now, the armpits of his flight suit soaked. The air-conditioning cooled the cabin, but he was perspiring for other reasons. “And I suppose I’m a snake?” he rasped. He didn’t like mind games.

“You’re missing the point, Mr. Trayhern. I’d rather deal with someone up front, with or without diplomacy, than have them sneak around behind my back to bite me.”

Sitting there, Jason found his mind reeling. “You think I’m going to bite you?”

“Would you?”

“The last two pilots sneaked behind my back and bitched to the C.O. about me. They never faced me and told me they had a problem with me.”

“Well,” Annie said, “that won’t happen here.”

“You’re a damn IP, aren’t you?”

The words were thrown like a gauntlet. Annie lifted her head. From her position in the upper cockpit, she could see Jason Trayhern’s helmet and shoulders below her. She could see he was gripping the cyclic and collective hard, obviously upset.

“Yes, I am.”

His stomach clenched. His heart sank. This was a test—the whole damn flight. What had happened to that pleasant-looking woman he’d met in the hangar? Jason had found himself drawn to her, rightly or wrongly. Her golden eyes, slightly tilted, were so huge and beautiful that he’d imagined he could see sunlight dappling them, like light dancing across the rippled surface of a lake.

“And you’re out to flunk me, aren’t you? Orders from above? From Colonel Dugan? He doesn’t want Bad Luck Trayhern in his squadron, so he’s sent you to do his dirty work. Flunk me out on this flight, and that’s all the reason he needs to give me a BCD outta this man’s Army.”

Stunned by his accusations, Annie said nothing for a long moment. “Mr. Trayhern, you are paranoid. No one has it in for you here, except maybe yourself.”

“You know I got kicked out of Annapolis.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’ve already formed an opinion of me.”

“No, I haven’t, but you’re trying hard to make me do so now, and I don’t like it.”

Setting the cyclic and collective on autopilot, Jason shoved up the dark shield and shakily wiped the sweat off his brow again. Jerking the visor back down, he rested his left arm against the console and gripped the controls again. He flicked off the autopilot and took over flying once more.

“Are you saying you haven’t already formed an opinion of me, Ms. Dazen?” Jason found that very hard to believe. Trying to control his breathing, he waited for her answer.

“I have another saying, Mr. Trayhern. We don’t judge a person unless we’ve walked a mile in his or her moccasins. Now, I don’t know what went on at Annapolis. Frankly, I haven’t heard much about it. I do know you were caught in a drug ring, but that you were never formerly accused of doing drugs or selling them. I hope you aren’t doing drugs, because if you are, I’ll find out and you’re outta here, anyway.”

“I didn’t do drugs,” Jason snarled. “Now or then. So relax on that one, will you?”

“As I understand it, you can be asked for a urine sample at any time, Mr. Trayhern.”

“That’s right. I signed on in the Army with that agreement. They can test me until they’re blue in the face, and they won’t find me dirty. I’ve passed twenty tests in the last two years. But you probably know that already.”

Annie said, “I let a person walk their talk, Mr. Trayhern. That means that your daily interface with me and my crew is what counts. We’re rated top pilot and top crew here in the squadron. I want that to continue.”

“And you think by being saddled with me, you won’t be?”

“Dude, you are defensive! Did I say that? Did I say anything like that?” Annie chuckled. “I told you before, you will prove who and what you are on a daily basis around here. Your past doesn’t count with me, Trayhern. But your present sure as hell does. Do you understand?”

Jason closed his eyes for a moment. He heard her husky words flow over him like a calming blanket. “Yeah, I hear you.” But could he trust her to do that? Or was Annie Dazen like the other pilots who had screwed him? Just waiting to catch him making a mistake so they could run screaming to the C.O. and nail him? Only time would tell.