His Duty to Protect

“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!”

Chapter 3

“Rachel?” Emma called as she popped into her tent in the BJS area, “I just heard what happened. Is it true?”

Rachel was at her small desk, squeezed into the corner of her tent. She turned in the chair and greeted her cousin. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Got a minute?” Emma asked, sitting down on the end of her cot. “Is it true? Major Klein is moving the four of you over to the new transport squadron that just arrived? That she can’t get her hands on two Apaches?”

Glumly, Rachel nodded and shut the manual on the Chinook she had been studying. “Yeah. Can you believe it?”

Emma reached out and touched her shoulder. “How are you? Your throat?”

“Better, thanks.” Rachel gestured to the bottled water on her desk. “My throat has improved a lot since yesterday’s attack. The doc ordered me to stand down for seven days because of smoke inhalation, but I’m fine.”

Emma set her helmet bag on the wooden floor. “Is there anything Khalid and I can do for you?”

“Aside from Khalid buying me an Apache helo to strap my butt into, no,” Rachel chuckled.

Emma nodded with a smile. “I remember when I was flying Apaches and then was ordered to fly the Chinook. I hated the slow-moving transport. Besides that, you’re wide open for attack. All I had was a tail gunner at the rear of the helo. I felt like a piece of raw meat hung out in the sky with a sign that said ‘shoot me.’”

“I know.” Rachel liked the fact that now Emma was allowed to wear civilian clothes instead of a uniform. Her hair was growing longer and it suited her. Today she had on a dark green, one-piece flight suit with her name on it. “How are things in your neck of the woods? I was over at communications at HQ, and it seems pretty quiet out there today.”

“It is,” Emma agreed. “Usually, when the Taliban makes a big attack, they run and hide for a week. They don’t want Apache wrath out hunting for them.”

“Major Klein is like a madwoman on a wolf hunt over there,” Rachel agreed. “She wants to find and blow them out of existence.” And then sadly, “I wish I was in one of those Apaches. This is hell, Emma. I know I went and learned how to fly a Chinook transport, but that was years ago.” She held up her hands. “This is like starting all over.”

“Hmm,” she agreed, “it is.” Her brows drew down. “And is it true you’re going into Hamilton’s Chinook squadron?”

Rachel groaned. “Yes. The old squadron did its tour of duty, and now Hamilton had been ordered in to replace it. And you know the worst of it? He’s the CO!”

Emma shook her head. “I didn’t know that.”

“Ever since Hamilton was removed from the Apache program, he’s been in CH-47s. That’s five years. Plenty of time to become a CO of a squadron.”

“I guess he kept his nose clean since then,” Emma said with a twisted smile.

“He’s a captain. He’ll never rise higher in rank than that, no matter how long he stays in the Army and flies those transports,” Rachel growled.

“And you’re studying the CH-47 manual to bone up? When do you have to go over there?”

“Read this,” Rachel told her cousin, and handed her the order she’d just received.