LITMIR.BIZ

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He’d learned the hard way how tough it was to sustain a two-career marriage. A bitter divorce had convinced him two careers, marriage and kids made the situation impossible.

      Cari didn’t want to admit he was right, but the figures spoke for themselves. The divorce rate among the seagoing branches of the military was astronomical, almost twice the national norm. Long sea tours and frequent short notice deployments put severe strains on a marriage. If she wanted kids, which she most certainly did, something would have to give. Jerry and her parents—not to mention her own nagging conscience—suggested it should probably be her career in the coast guard.

      Sighing, Cari fingered the mouse. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell him,” she murmured to Kate. “I have to think about it.”

      “What’s to think?” Russ McIver put in sardonically from her other side. With a silent groan, Cari saw that he, too, had scooted his chair over, no doubt to check out the glitch with the troublesome new modification.

      “The choice looks pretty clear to me,” he drawled. “It’s either yes or no.”

      Irritated that her private communication had become a matter of public discussion, she returned fire. “Why am I not surprised to hear that coming from you?”

      Mac’s hazel eyes hardened. Although Cari hadn’t discussed her relationship with Jerry with anyone other than her roommates, there were few secrets in a group as small and tight as this one had become. Mac in particular had expressed little sympathy for Cari’s personal dilemma. She might have guessed he wouldn’t do so now.

      “It’s your decision,” he said with a shrug. “Never mind that the coast guard selected you for promotion well ahead of your peers. It doesn’t matter that you were chosen for a prestigious exchange tour with the British Coastal Defense Force. Or that you’ve racked up years in command of a ship and a crew. If pregnant, barefoot and permanent kitchen duty is what you want, Lieutenant, you should go for it.”

      Cari’s brown eyes lasered into the marine’s. “Last I heard, Major, it wasn’t a court-martial offense to want to get married and have children. Nor is every woman who chooses to leave the service a traitor to her country.”

      The two other women officers present instantly closed ranks behind her.

      “Lots of men leave the service,” Jill Bradshaw pointed out acidly. A career army cop, she took few prisoners. “In fact, the first-term reenlistment rate for women is higher than it is for men.”

      “And in case you’ve forgotten,” Kate Hargrave snapped, “the military is like any other organization. It’s a pyramidal structure that requires a large base of Indians, with increasingly fewer chiefs at the more senior ranks. The services don’t want everyone to stay in uniform.”

      Doc Richardson arched a brow and exchanged glances with USAF Captain Dave Scott. They were too wise—and had each grown too involved with one of the women now confronting McIver—to jump into this fray. Russ, however, appeared undaunted by the female forces arrayed against him.

      “You’re right,” he agreed, refusing to retreat. “The military doesn’t want everyone to stay in uniform. Only those who are good at what they do. So damned good they’re hand-picked to field test a highly classified new attack/assault vehicle that could prove critical to future battlefield operations.”

      Cari clamped her mouth shut. She had no comeback for that. Neither did Kate or Jill. Like the male officers assigned to the Pegasus project, they’d been chosen based on their experience, expertise and ability to get things done. They were among the best their services had to offer and darn well knew it.

      Still, she wasn’t about to let the marine who alternately irritated, annoyed and attracted her have the last word.

      “If any of us want to stay in uniform,” she said tartly, “we’d better get off the subject of my personal life and onto the task at hand.”

      Swirling her chair around, she clicked the mouse to save Jerry’s e-mail. She’d answer him later, when she figured out what the heck her answer would be. Another click brought up the analysis program. Wiping her mind clear of everything but the task at hand, she began drafting her preliminary post-mission report.

      She was still hard at work when Captain Westfall wove his way through the racks of equipment to join his crew some time later. His expression was unexpectedly somber for a man who’d watched his baby perform flawlessly.

      “Let me have your attention, people.” His steel-gray eyes swept the crowded area, dwelling on each of his officers. “I’ve just received a coded communiqué from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Pegasus test cadre is being disbanded effective immediately.”

      Shock rippled through the group, along with a chorus of muttered exclamations.

      “What the hell?”

      “You’re kidding!”

      “Why?”

      Captain Westfall stilled the clamor with an up-raised hand.

      “Our cadre has been redesignated. We’re now the Pegasus Joint Task Force. Our mission is to extract two United States citizens trapped in the interior of Caribe.”

      The announcement burst like a cluster bomb among the stunned officers. Cari’s mouth dropped open, snapped shut again, as her mind scrambled to switch from test to operational mode.

      A map of Caribe flashed into her head. It was a small island nation, about sixty nautical miles off the coast of Nicaragua. Its internal political situation had been steadily worsening for months. The island’s president for life was battling ferociously to hold on to his sinecure. In response to his repressive tactics, rebels had stepped up their action and the fight had turned bloody.

      The Joint Chiefs of Staff had alerted Captain Westfall weeks ago about the possibility of using Pegasus to extract U.S. personnel, if necessary. As a result, he’d compressed the test schedule until it was so tight it squeaked. Evidently the deep-water sea trial Cari had just completed would be the final test. From now on, it was for real.

      But two hours! That was short notice, even for a military deployment. Westfall made it clear they were to use that time to draw up an op plan.

      “The U.S. began evacuation of its personnel this morning,” he advised. “All are accounted for and are in various stages of departure except two missionaries. A squad of marines has gone into the interior after the missionaries and will escort them to a designated extraction site.”

      “I’ve flown over Caribe,” Dave Scott commented grimly. “The jungle canopy is two or three hundred feet thick in places. Too thick to permit an extraction by air.”

      “And rebel forces now hold the one road in and out of the area,” Captain Westfall confirmed. “The only egress is by river.”

      “Pegasus!” Cari breathed. “Now that he’s demonstrated his sea legs, he’s the perfect vehicle to use for an operation like this.”

      “Correct. Captain Scott, you’ll fly Pegasus on the over-water leg from Corpus Christi to Nicaragua. Their government is maintaining a strict neutral position with regard to the political situation on Caribe but has given us permission to land at an unimproved airstrip just across the straits from the island.”

      Dave gave a quick nod. “I’ll start working the flight plan.”

      “Once in Nicaragua, Lieutenant Dunn will pilot Pegasus to Caribe and navigate up the Rio Verde to a designated rendezvous point. Major McIver, your mission is to make contact with the marines and bring out the two stranded missionaries.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “You’ll be operating under strict rules of engagement,” Westfall warned. “To avoid entangling the U.S. in the internal political struggle, you’re not to fire lethal weapons unless under fire yourself. Questions?”

      Her blood humming at the anticipation of action, Caroline joined the chorus of “No, sir!”

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