His Woman in Command & Operations: Forbidden: His Woman in Command / Operation: Forbidden - Lindsay McKenna

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Nike gave him a thumbs-up. To her right, the first Chinook was taking off. Above them, an Apache circled to ensure no enemy was close to the U.S. Army helicopters. It felt good to have that firepower and she could hardly wait to get back to civilization. Andy left the seat and walked to the rear. Once she took the helo skyward, the ramp would be lowered and he’d be sitting out on the hip with the machine gun, watching for possible Taliban attacks from below.

      Even though the helo shook and shuddered around her, Nike loved the sensations. Strapping in and tightening her harness, she radioed to the other helos. Within a minute, the rotors were at takeoff speed. Just feeling the Chinook unstick from the surface made Nike feel good. She saw a number of women and children at the village’s edge watching in wonder. It was impossible to lift a hand and wave goodbye to them. One of her hands was on the cyclic, the other on the collective. Together, these kept the helicopter in stable, forward movement.

      Most of all, Nike was relieved to leave Gavin behind. She felt guilty, but pushed all that aside. As the helo moved out over the green, narrow valley below, she followed the other Chinook at a safe distance. Within a minute, they’d begin their nap-of-the-earth flying, one hundred feet over the terrain in order to avoid being brought down by their enemy. Pursing her lips, Nike focused on the business at hand. For at least an hour, she wouldn’t have to think about Gavin. Or about his kiss that had rocked her world.

      * * *

      “Any word from that A team in Zor Barawul?” Nike asked the communications tech in the ops building. It was nearly midnight and Nike couldn’t sleep. She was worried about Gavin and his team interdicting the Taliban in the valley.

      The woman shook her head. “Nothing—yet.”

      “Okay, thanks,” Nike muttered. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her trousers and walked out of the small building. Above, the stars twinkled brightly, looking so close Nike could almost reach out and touch them. There wasn’t much light around the camp, which helped keep it hidden from the enemy. She had a small flashlight and used it to get to her tent.

      Just being back on the roster and assigned an Apache helicopter made Nike feel better. At least she was off the workhorse helicopter list. Despite this, worry tinged her happiness. Five minutes didn’t go by without her thinking of Gavin or remembering the heated kiss they’d shared.

      “Dammit,” she breathed softly. Why, oh why couldn’t she just let that kiss go? Stop remembering the strength of his arms around her? The pressure of his mouth caressing her lips as if she were some priceless object to be cherished?

      Upon reaching her tent, she pulled the flap aside and then closed it. The warmth from the electric heater made all the difference in the world. Each of the twenty women Apache pilots got a small tent with a heater and a ply-board floor. The cot wasn’t much, but it was a helluva lot better than what she’d had at the village.

      Because she was on duty for the next twenty-four hours, Nike remained in her clothes. She took off her armor and boots and laid them at the foot of her cot. She had to sleep, but how? She worried about Gavin and his team. Had they discovered the Taliban coming across the valley yet? Lying down, she brought her arm across her eyes. And then, in minutes, she fell asleep—a small blessing.

      Chapter 6

      “This week, you’re assigned to the CH-47,” Emma Trayhern-Cantrell, the XO, told Nike as they sat together at an ops table. “You’re going to be bringing in supplies to several boundary villages. And we’re short on copilots, so you’re flying without one.”

      “Thanks,” she told her XO. Nike nodded and tried to hide her disappointment. For a week, she’d flown the aggressive Apache and done her fair share of firing off rockets and rounds to protect A teams up in the mountains hunting Taliban. Because she loved the adrenaline rush, it was tough to be relegated to a lumbering workhorse instead.

      Her XO handed her the list of villages along with the supplies to go to them and the times of delivery. Emma Trayhern was all business. She had the red hair of a Valkyrie with large gray eyes and a soft mouth. She had her uncle Morgan Trayhern’s eyes. However, Nike already knew that this Trayhern child was no pushover even if her face spoke of openness and compassion. Emma was an Apache pilot and as tough as they came.

      “I know you’re bummed. CHs don’t rock.” Emma tried to smile. “There’s always dirty work along with the rockin’ Apache. You’re just lucky enough to have skills in the CH-47.”

      “Yeah,” Nike said grumpily, folding up the orders. “I wish they’d give us another Apache or two.”

      Shaking her head, Emma said, “They’re stretched to the max over in Iraq. We get the leftovers. It sucks, but it is what it is.”

      “I’m not so philosophical,” Nike said, rising. It was near dawn, a red ribbon on the eastern horizon outside the ops hut. Already, the air base was in full swing and with plenty of action.

      “You hear anything about your guy? Captain Jackson?”

      Giving Emma a frown, Nike said, “He’s not my guy. How did that rumor get started?”

      Grinning, Emma folded up the huge map and left it on the ops table. “Blame your load master, Andy.”

      “Blabbermouth,” Nike muttered.

      “We were expecting the Taliban to go down through that valley near Zor Barawul, but they didn’t. I told Dallas that I thought someone from the village probably sneaked off to tell them the A team was in town, so they took another trail into the country.”

      “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Nike said. She put the paper into the thigh pocket of her dark green flight suit. “When I was there overnight, there was a lot of wariness toward Americans.”

      “Well,” Emma said, “you’ll be delivering the last load of the day to them. If you get a chance, stay on the ground for an hour and find out what’s going on. I like to get eyes and ears out there on those villages. Dallas wants to keep a check on them and whether they get slammed by the Taliban.”

      “Good idea.” Nike wasn’t too sure she wanted to spend an hour on the ground to visit with Gavin. She saw the curiosity in Emma’s eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

      “Do it at each stop, Nike. We want you to talk to the leader of each team and get their latest assessment.”

      It wasn’t a bad idea, Nike thought as she put on her black BJS baseball cap. “Okay, will do,” she promised. “This is going to be more like a milk run.”

      Emma walked her to the door. “I hope you’re right. But be careful. Those four villages are not on our side. Yet.”

      “Getting food, medical personnel and medicine in to them on a regular basis will help,” Nike said, opening the door. The crisp air was barely above freezing. Nike would be glad when June came. Everyone said it got warmer at the beginning of that month. In the mountains at eight thousand feet, a local gardener told her that there was less than a ninety-day growing period. This made gardening tough, which was why most people had goats, chickens, sheep and few vegetables. Certainly, fruit was scarce, too.

      Clapping her on the shoulder, Emma reminded her, “Be careful out there. Dallas does not want to lose any of her pilots.”

      Grinning, Nike gave her a mock salute and said, “Oh, not to worry, XO. We’re a tough bunch of women.” She decided to swing by the base exchange and picked up four boxes of dates and four pounds of candy for the kids. Dates were a delicacy usually eaten only at the time of Ramadan. Poor villages couldn’t afford such a wonderful fruit and Nike wanted to give it to the wife of the chief of each village. The meaning of her exchange would go far with the women of the village to cement a positive connection. And the children would love the sweets. That made her smile because the Afghan children were beautiful, so full of life and laughter.

      * * *

      Gavin was surprised as hell

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