Читать книгу His Duty to Protect - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

“Where do you think you’re going, Captain?”

Rachel was starting to slide off the gurney when a balding physician came over. His scowl deepened. “I feel fine, Doctor. I want to get out of here.”

“Hold on, you’ve suffered smoke inhalation.”

“I’m fine,” Rachel insisted, remaining on the gurney. Emma had just left, and she wanted out of this crazy, busy place.

“No, you’re not,” the doctor said. “You’ve got first-degree burns in your throat from inhaling that smoke.”

Coughing a little, Rachel said, “I figured that. But I want to get to my HQ. I want to make sure my copilot is all right.” The fifty-something-year-old doctor rolled his eyes and then smiled.

“Captain, I’ve already sent an order to your CO to have you removed from the flight list for a week. You need time to let that throat of yours heal up.”

“A week for a little smoke inhalation?” Rachel was more than a little stunned.

“Yes. Now, if you’ll just sit still for about fifteen more minutes, I’ll get one of my nurses over here to release you.”

Shocked by the doctor’s pronouncement, Rachel nodded. “I can do that, but I really don’t want to not fly for seven days.” That would leave her reflexes slower than usual. Rachel was used to flying every day or every other day. There were so many things to know about the Apache helicopter that it was imperative for pilots to fly often. This frequency kept them in rhythm with the multi-tasking demands made upon them.

The doctor shrugged. “Humor me, Captain. You’re grounded for a week.” He turned and left.

Rachel sat there gripping the sides of the gurney. Seven days was an eternity. And she felt helpless. She heard from others in the dispensary that three helicopters had been destroyed by the Taliban surprise attack. It had been a very bad day for Camp Bravo. Moving her legs back and forth out of boredom, Rachel watched the feverish pace of the dispensary. There were a lot of wounded men coming in. She was the only woman. How badly she wanted to get out of here and connect with Susan.

Her mind reverted back to what Emma had told her. How could Captain Tyler Hamilton be here? There were two transport squadrons at the CIA base. Apache pilots had nothing to do with them, unless used as escorts, because Chinooks lacked defenses and needed protection. Hamilton’s voice was forever branded in her brain, and she would have recognized it in a heartbeat over the radio link. When did Hamilton arrive? God, she hoped his presence was temporary. Maybe he was with one of the Kandahar squadrons and had flown into the camp with some needed supplies. That meant he’d be gone by now. Back to wherever he came from. Good riddance.

Some relief flowed through Rachel. Her throat burned, and she reached over and picked up a glass of water sitting on a nearby stand. Of all the people in the world to rescue her! After setting the glass back on the stand, Rachel ran her fingers through her loose, dirty hair. Pieces of grass fell around her. She was filthy. All she wanted was to get the hell out of here, strip out of this smoky-smelling uniform and feel the cool water flowing across her. She could wash the dirt out of her hair, too.

A lot of old anger surfaced in her as she sat impatiently on the gurney. Hamilton had done his level best to scuttle her attempts to graduate out of Apache flight school. He was one of their top instructors. And she was the only woman in the all-male class. He’d had it in for her the moment he’d seen her at attention in the barracks. Rachel would never forget the surprise and then the raw anger that had leaped to his blue eyes as he spotted her. Her instincts told her that for some unknown reason, he’d hated her from Day One.

Rachel could never figure out why Hamilton hated her. Was it because she was a child of the Trayhern dynasty? Their family had given military service since this country had fought for its independence from England. The famous name had always preceded her. It was an honorable family tradition that most of the children of each generation would give at least six years of service to their country. Could Hamilton have hated her for that? Snorting, Rachel shook her head. Hamilton had been an enigma, always waiting for when she made a mistake to embarrass her in front of the other students. He said she couldn’t fly like a man. And that is what got him in trouble.

The smell of alcohol and other antiseptics made Rachel wrinkle her nose. Couldn’t she leave now? Every nurse was super busy with the wounded still coming in. Rachel pondered leaving on her own. And then she made the fatal error of looking up toward the entrance. Her lips parted in shock. Captain Tyler Hamilton walked right through the door. And he was looking for her.

Instantly, Rachel’s heartbeat quickened and she gripped the gurney. Hamilton was six feet tall, lean and tightly muscled. He had military-short black hair, glacial-blue eyes, a strong chin and broad brow. He couldn’t be looking for her? Impossible. How she wanted to disappear.

Anxiety and anger warred within her. Hamilton had tried to sink her career and smear her good family name. If it hadn’t been for her uncle, Morgan Trayhern, Hamilton would have gotten away with it. The power that Morgan held in the military at every level had evened out the playing field. Her own father, Noah, had been in the Coast Guard for thirty years. He had flown into Fort Rucker to meet with the higher ups who had created the Apache flight program, along with her uncle Morgan. They met behind closed doors with the general. Hamilton had thought his power as an instructor pilot would bring her down and eject her from the program. He’d made a colossal mistake. No one tried to smear the Trayhern name like he had tried to do. In the end, Rachel had watched the general throw Hamilton out of the Apache program and send him to transport helicopters for the rest of his career. Further, he would never be promoted from captain. For the next twenty years he’d have no chance to climb in rank or to a better pay grade. Rachel had been told by her uncle Morgan about the behind-the-scenes change that had been made. She remembered clearly the shock written across Hamilton’s face. He’d expected the general to kick her out of the program. Instead, he’d been the one jettisoned.

Lips tightening, Rachel sat back so that Hamilton couldn’t see her. The bastard! She hated that he had rescued her. Five years had gone by and she’d never heard or seen him again. Until now. What kind of twisted irony was going on here? The man who hated her, who wanted her out of his training squadron had shown up again like the bad penny he was.

Rachel watched as he moved like a sinuous jungle cat through the busy dispensary. He found a nurse and talked to her. She gasped softly as the nurse turned and pointed directly at her cubicle. Damn! Hamilton turned and headed in her direction. Of all things, she didn’t need this confrontation on top of all else!

Ty Hamilton approached the green-curtained cubicle where the nurse had sent him. He swallowed hard. The past was right in front of him as he walked around the desk, the other gurneys and the doctors dealing with the injured. Fear rose up in him as he drew closer to the cubicle. He couldn’t see anyone, but the nurse had said Captain Trayhern was in there. He took a deep breath. With his right hand, he pulled back the curtain.

“Why the hell are you here?” Rachel snarled at him.

Taken aback, Hamilton stopped about three feet away from the gurney. The hardened look on Rachel’s face made him go on the defensive. She was a beautiful woman even five years later. She’d matured and, if possible, in Ty’s mind, was even lovelier than before. “I came to see if you were all right,” he said in an even tone. That five years slammed back into him. She was angry. Rachel had always been a warrior. He’d seen it back in flight school. Now, sitting there, she looked like an eagle who was ready to defend over her kill. Only her gaze was directed at him.

“Get out of my life, Hamilton. I want nothing to do with you,” she rasped.

Could he blame her for her rage? No. After all, he’d tried to deep-six her career. “Sorry, that’s not going to happen.”

“I don’t care. Of all the people I never wanted to run into again, you’re it.”

He accepted her anger. In the five years since his removal by the general, who ran the Apache program, Ty had bitterly come to grips with his past. “Life is twisted, at best. You know that.” He stood with his arms at his sides, his hands curving slightly. Captain Trayhern looked like she was going to leap off that gurney and attack him. His head spun with the violence of her reaction toward him. After all, he’d just saved her life. Was he expecting a thank-you? Apparently that wasn’t going to happen. So why had he come looking for her? Ty didn’t have an answer and that bothered him.

“No joke,” Rachel snapped. She jabbed her finger in his direction. “Go back into whatever hole you crawled out of, Hamilton. I don’t ever want to see you again. Do you understand me?”

His dark brows rose a little. Rachel’s face became flushed, her gold-brown eyes narrowed on him like a hunter. He felt the full thrust of her hatred. After the secret decision by the general running the program to oust him due to his prejudice against women pilots, Ty had never seen her again. Not until now. “Five years is a long time to carry a grudge, isn’t it?” he snarled back. “I just saved your friggin’ life, in case you didn’t realize it. If I hadn’t seen you go down and the smoke covering you, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Rachel squared her shoulders. “Well, let’s just call it even then, shall we?”

Confused, he uttered, “What do you mean?”

“You tried to kill my career. I’ll never forget what you tried to do to me. You lied to your superiors. You used every manipulation, every twist you could think of to get rid of me. I still don’t know to this day why you targeted me, but that’s water under the bridge. And if you saved my life, then I consider the slate between us clean. You tried to end my life back then. You saved it today.”

Her raw, unfettered emotion made him step back. Apache pilots were, if nothing else, excellent killers. And the look on her face, the hoarse fury in her low voice was about killing—him. “So we’re even?” he said.

“That’s right, Hamilton. Now get out of my sight.”

Stung, he saw Rachel point toward the opening between the curtains. Obviously, she was still reliving those events from the past. Wasn’t it just like a woman to drag it into the present? In his experience, men let things like that go. They got on with life. He had. Until now. “Well, you aren’t going to get your way,” he warned her in a dark tone.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Anxiety sizzled through her. If Rachel had met him under any other circumstances, she’d have thought Hamilton damned handsome. Real eye candy. He appeared to be a cocky, arrogant flight jock when she’d first met him. His eyes were large and well spaced, his mouth full and certainly one that any woman would appreciate. His cheekbones were high and his black hair only accentuated his hard-jawed features.

Hamilton managed a twisted grimace with one corner of his mouth. Finally, the energy shifted to his side. “Our squadron was just assigned to Camp Bravo. We’ll be stationed here for the next year.” He saw the shock land across her pale features. A part of him, a tiny part, felt sorry for Rachel Trayhern. Her hair was in disarray, dirty and with bits of grass still buried in the strands. Her uniform was dusty, as well. When he’d seen her hit the asphalt and try to crawl away during the attack, he had no idea who she was. And when he’d run between the bullets and the lobbing grenades to reach her, Ty had only wanted to save a life.

Rachel felt his statement reverberate through her. She saw a bit of a savage gleam in his narrowing eyes. Realizing he was enjoying sharing that news with her made Rachel hate him even more. “You trash haulers aren’t in our squadron area. That suits me fine.” She’d deliberately called him a name she knew no transport helicopter pilot ever wanted to hear. The Apache pilots were the warriors of the Army helicopter fleet. Transport helos like the Chinook and their pilots were privately called “trash haulers” behind their backs. To hurl the words at him, however, was akin to throwing down the gauntlet between them once more. Rachel had no fear of this man. Her hatred of him trumped any thanks she might give him for saving her life today.

Hamilton stood there thinking through his options over her insult. The noise around them was a dull, constant roar. Doctors were yelling orders, orderlies were scrambling and nurses were hurrying at optimum speed as more injured were being brought in through the doors. Rachel was pale. She sat there coughing, her long, beautiful fingers pressed against her slender throat. Some of his anger over the insult dissolved. Without a word, he turned on his booted heel and left.

Rachel continued to cough. Relief sped through her as Hamilton exited. She watched him stalk angrily out of the dispensary, shoving the door open. It slammed against the building, he was that furious. Grabbing the glass, she poured water into it from a nearby container. She gulped the cooling liquid down her raw, burning throat and closed her eyes. She felt guilty. She shouldn’t have, but she did. That bastard deserved every bit of hatred she had stored up within her. She opened her eyes and set the empty glass back on the stand.

“Captain, are you ready to leave?” A nurse with the name tag Morayta, L. came in. She had long, brown hair wrapped up in a knot behind her head, a stethoscope hanging around her neck. She had large, brown eyes that sparkled as she drew near.

“More than you could ever know,” Rachel muttered. She had seen Lauren Morayta over at the chow hall from time to time. “You got my orders cut?”

Laughing, Lauren said, “I do.” She scribbled her name on a piece of paper on her clipboard. “Dr. Henson wants to see you in three days. By then—” she turned to look around at the busy place “—we should be back to normal.”

Taking the folded piece of paper, Rachel thanked her. “How many died in this attack?”

Lauren’s smile disappeared. “Three so far. All burn casualties.” She patted Rachel’s hand. “You were the lucky one. The doctor wants you to rest for seven days.”

Rachel didn’t feel lucky. She slid off the gurney, thanked the petite nurse and walked out of the chaotic dispensary. Outside, she gratefully breathed in the hot August air. Turning, Rachel walked back to her Black Jaguar Squadron headquarters. There was no way she was resting now. Black, oily smoke hung over the base like a funeral pall. Rachel could hear the roar of fire trucks over in the Ops area. She wondered if they needed help.

As she entered the busy tent, Rachel noticed how every office clerk was frantic and busy. Women were running here and there. It was an intense energy in the place as she stood just inside the door. To her relief, Rachel spotted her copilot, blond-haired Lieutenant Susan Cameron.

“Susan!” she called, hurrying over to her desk. “Are you okay?”

“Hey, Rachel. Yes, I am.” She came around the desk and gave Rachel a hug of welcome. “Are you all right? I was in Ops when the attack came. I got the hell out of there and tried to find you. I never could. And then we got word from the clinic that you had suffered smoke inhalation but were going to be fine. I stayed here because they really needed me.” Susan released her, relief in her gray eyes.

Rachel smiled. “It’s going to take more than smoke to keep me down. Is anyone else from our squadron injured?”

“No. We’re fine. Major Dallas Klein is going crazy, though.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve lost two Apaches.”

“That sucks.”

Shaking her head, Susan returned to her desk. “The major has her husband on the phone to the Pentagon right now. She’s trying to find replacement Apaches for us. They aren’t easy to find.”

Rachel liked Major Mike Murdoch. He had joined the Army once again when his wife, Dallas, was given the BJS command in Afghanistan. “Well, if anyone can tear some Apaches loose, it’s him.” She rubbed her hands together. “I can hardly wait to get back in the saddle.”

“Right now, we’re two helos short,” Susan murmured, worried. She sat down and pulled a pen from the pocket of her flight uniform. “I just hope the Pentagon doesn’t screw us with wait time to get replacement Apaches. We keep our reflexes sharp because we’re flying all the time.”

Nodding, Rachel saw Major Klein emerge from her small office at the other end of the huge tent. She appeared grim. And when Dallas spotted her, some of that grimness fled from her expression for a moment. She seemed relieved to see her. The CO walked over.

“How are you, Rachel?” Dallas demanded.

“Fine, ma’am. Just some smoke inhalation. Nothing more.”

“Good, good.” Dallas looked around at the beehive of activity. “Helluva attack.”

Rachel nodded. “Yes, ma’am, it was. The Taliban is really threatened by this base. It won’t be the last time they try to move us out of their territory.”

Dallas put her hands on her hips. She wore her usual one-piece green uniform. The BJS patch, a black jaguar snarling, was attached with Velcro on the left upper arm. The American flag was sewn on the left front of her uniform along with her last name. Embroidered yellow wings denoted she was an Apache pilot. “They screwed us royal, this time,” she muttered, looking down at Susan and then over at Rachel. “They’ve never hit Apaches before.”

“They got lucky,” Susan said, lifting her head from her paperwork. “Before, they always lobbed grenades at the airstrip.”

“Well,” Rachel said, frowning, “they timed their attack better. We’d just landed and rolled to a stop in front of Ops. We use evasive tactics, change our flight path every day, but they got lucky this time.”

“Unfortunately,” Dallas agreed. “And I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Rachel blinked. Her CO appeared grim. “Ma’am?” What on earth could this be about?

Susan looked up, surprise written on her face.

Dallas said in a low voice, “Major Murdoch just got off the phone with the Pentagon. He talked to Colonel Maya Stevens to see if we could get replacement Apaches for the two we just lost.” Her thin brows fell. “We aren’t getting replacements. All the new Apaches coming off Boeing’s line are going directly to the Helmand Province in the south where all the action’s at right now.”

“But, ma’am, surely there are two somewhere,” Rachel stammered, her mind spinning. If not, then she would be flying once a week. They were pilot rich right now, but with the loss of two birds, that would drastically change the pilot rotation.

“Tell me about it,” Dallas griped. “What it comes down to is this—the four pilots who last flew those destroyed Apaches will be transferred out of BJS for six months. Instead, because all of you are CH-47 trained, you’ll be sent to the new, incoming Chinook squadron that just arrived today. They’re pilot poor and in need of more person power. They got the choppers but not enough qualified pilots. You four will fill in the ranks and help them out until we can get the two new Apaches in here.”

“But …” Rachel choked out.

“But nothing,” Dallas snapped. “You four are going to suck it up and do the dirty work.”

“It wasn’t our fault that our Apaches got targeted,” Susan argued, distressed.

Of course, Dallas knew that no gunship pilot wanted to be relegated to a slow-moving, clunky transport helicopter. But it was clear she had no choice in the matter.

“You knew coming over here to our squadron that you could pull duty in the Chinooks. Now, you will.” She turned to Rachel. “And you’re on seven days’ sick leave. That will give you plenty of time to refresh your knowledge of the Chinook and get up to speed.”

Rachel felt as if the floor of the tent had fallen out from beneath her. Tyler Hamilton’s squadron was the one she was speaking about. Her mouth went dry. “Ma’am, may I speak to you in private?”

Shrugging, Dallas said, “Of course. Follow me.”

Once inside the small office, Dallas sat down behind her desk that was piled with work. Rachel stood at attention.

“At ease, Captain. What is it that you need to speak to me about in private?”

“Ma’am,” Rachel choked out, placing her hands behind her back, “I can’t be ordered over to that squadron.” She launched into the details. Keeping it short, Rachel quickly explained her history.

Dallas seemed stricken by their information, but assumed a professional stance. “I can’t help what happened to you in the past, Captain Trayhern. I have to run an all-woman squadron. We just lost two of our birds that we desperately needed. If you want to return to flying here when we get them, you have no other choice than to go over to that Chinook squadron.”

“No question I want to remain here with BJS,” Rachel said.

“What happened between you and Captain Hamilton was five years ago. Let dead dogs be buried.” Dallas jabbed her finger toward Rachel. “And I don’t want to hear that you’re not getting along over there. You represent the United States, Captain. We’re the only all-woman Apache squadron in the world, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to give us a black eye. Got it?”

Swallowing hard, Rachel whispered unsteadily, “Yes, ma’am. I got it.”

“Dammit,” Dallas growled, “make it work, Captain. I’m sorry that happened to you, but Hamilton got his just desserts. It’s time to move on.”

“I—I’m struggling with that,” Rachel admitted hoarsely.

Dallas’s eyes narrowed. “Captain, he just saved your life. That should count for something, shouldn’t it? If he hadn’t seen you go down and rescued you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? Dismissed!”