Читать книгу His Duty to Protect - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 9

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.