Lindsay McKenna - Morgan's Mercenaries - Heart of Stone

Unhappily, Dane nodded. “I see, sir.”

“Good.” Davidson reached for a folder and handed it to him in a brisk manner. “Here’s more info. Take a look at it.”

Opening the file, Dane nearly choked. The color photo of the C.O. of the Black Jaguar Base stared back at him.

“Problems, Major?”

Heat shot up his neck and into his face. Dane tried to squelch a curse as he sat there, pinned in place by his C.O.’s gaze.

“Sir…” he rasped, half standing, pointing at the photo in the file “….this is impossible…this can’t be…. I mean—”

“Captain Maya Stevenson is the C.O. of Black Jaguar Base, Major. And she’s your commanding officer on this mission.”

No! Dane sat down, before his knees buckled beneath him, disbelief thrumming through him. Those cool, half-closed emerald eyes, eyes that reminded him of a jungle cat, stared back at him. Maya Stevenson was the biggest thorn he’d ever had in his side. She’d nearly scuttled his career so many years ago. After she’d graduated into the Apache A model, she’d quite literally disappeared. Not that Dane was unhappy about that. He wasn’t. She was the in-your-face kind of woman who made him see red with great regularity. He didn’t like her independence. Or her chutzpah. She’d call him out every time he said something wrong—or politically incorrect. There wasn’t a day that went by when she was his student that they hadn’t flared up and had words, angry words, with one another. Worse, she’d reported him and he’d damn near lost his status as an I.P., had been threatened with losing his army career.

Davidson moved quietly around the desk, trailing his fingers along the highly polished edge of it. All the while, his gaze remained on Dane.

“A word of warning, Major York,” he whispered.

Dane looked up. “Sir?”

“Mr. Trayhern of Perseus, and myself, are all too aware of the dog-and-cat fight you got into with Captain Stevenson four years ago. If either of us hear a word from her that you or your crew are not being perfectly behaved down there, then things are really going to hit the fan. Big time. You will be training twelve women pilots, Major. And it’s well known you don’t get along well with women in the military. The crew you’re taking down is going to behave just as you do. So I suggest you clean up your act, accept that women make just as good pilots as men, and get on with your teaching and training down there.”

Dane stared down at the photo again, disbelief bolting through him. He felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. Maya was in a black, body-fitting flight suit. There were no insignias on the uniform, nothing to indicate her country of origin or that she was a pilot, much less in the U.S. Army. Her hair, as black as the uniform, was in a chignon at the nape of her slender neck. The look of pride in her raised chin, that confidence he’d always disliked about her, now radiated from the photo. He felt hot and sweaty—an adrenaline reaction. Davidson stood within a few feet of him, and Dane could feel his C.O.’s icy gaze drilling into his back as he looked at the photo.

“I feel like I’m being fed to the lions…sir.”

Davidson chuckled. “Maybe you are, Major, but this is going to be your final test to see if you can achieve gender neutral status. You pass this test, and I’m sure your career will continue. If you don’t, well…this is your last chance. Do you understand that?”

Bitterness flowed through Dane. He glared up at the colonel, whose gaze was unwavering. “I get the picture, sir. Frankly, this is a no-win situation.”

“It doesn’t have to be, Major, if you let your prejudice against women in the military dissipate. This can be a real turn-around mission for you. But it’s up to you. If you want to keep your caveman mentality about women, that’s your choice. Or you can see this as a golden opportunity to drop some old, archaic attitudes and embrace and support women in the military. They pay with their lives just like a man does. They deserve equal treatment and respect. It’s that simple.”

Sure it is. Dane clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening. Great. Just great. Not only would he have a woman C.O. lording over him, it was his nemesis, Maya Stevenson. And her father was still in the army and still a general. Dane felt hemmed in and no way out. Wiping his thinned mouth with the back of his hand, he closed the file abruptly.

“My secretary has everything you need for the trip south, Major. You’re to meet your crew at 0800 tomorrow morning at base ops. You’ll take a C-130 Hercules flight from here to San Diego. There, you’ll board the USS Gendarme, one of our navy helicopter carriers. They’ve already got the two Boeing Apaches and the Blackhawks disassembled and on board. Questions?”

Dane stood. He came to attention. “No, sir.”

“Very well, dismissed. Oh, and good luck, Major. I hear that Captain Stevenson has been giving a good account of herself and her women pilots down there. This just might be the eye-opening experience you need to convince you that women can do a job just as well as any man.” Davidson’s mouth lifted slightly. “And maybe better. But you go down there with an open mind and see for yourself.”

“Looks like a right purty city,” Chief Warrant Officer Joe Calhoun said in his soft Texas drawl as he stood, his hands resting on his hips. “Never been this far south before.”

Dane stood next to the other instructor pilot on the deck of the navy helicopter carrier anchored off the coast near Lima. Because the carrier was so large, it could not go near the shallow coastline. A thick gray blanket of fog had lifted hours earlier, and the sparkling lights of Lima, the largest city and capital of Peru, blinked to welcome them.

“Looks are deceiving at night,” he muttered. His stomach was in knots. The last week had been hell on him. Dane hadn’t been looking forward to this moment. Below, the mechanics were giving a final check on the Boeing Apaches before they were lifted by elevator to the deck where they stood. Glancing at the watch on his hairy wrist, he saw that in an hour they would be taking off.

Although it was December, it was summer in the southern hemisphere. A slight, humid breeze wafted by them. Around them, navy sailors worked quietly and efficiently, preparing the deck for the forthcoming helicopters. Joe, a Chief Warrant Officer 3, and Craig Barton, a CWO4, were under his command, and would be flying the other two helos. Craig, who had experience flying Blackhawks as well as Apaches, would take the Blackhawk into the base.

“Wonder if the women are as beautiful as they say they are,” Craig said, coming up to them and grinning.

Dane scowled. “This isn’t a party trip, Mr. Barton.”

“Hey,” Craig murmured, “I’m only kidding. You’ve been uptight ever since we came on board, sir.”

Warrant officers made up the ranks of most of the army’s helicopter pilots. Dane had been a West Point graduate and gone into helicopters aviation as a full-fledged officer, so the other men were beneath him in rank. They stood halfway between enlisted personnel and officers such as himself. They were sharp people with fine skills and had shown their capability to fly these deadly machines. The warrants had a long and proud history.

Dane managed a one-cornered smile. “I’m worried about the Kamovs jumping us.”

Joe snickered. “What’s there to worry about? We got two Apaches to protect us if things get dicey. From what you said, those lady pilots have had plenty of practice shootin’ at the bad guys, so I’m sure they can handle a little action, if need be.”

Yeah, like a bunch of women were going to protect them. Dane kept the acid comment to himself. He didn’t dare breathe a word of his prejudice to these two warrant officers. He’d worked with them for over a year and neither felt the prejudice against women that he did. Joe was half Commanche, born in Texas and twenty-six and Craig twenty-eight, both single, competitive, type A personalities. So was Dane, but he was twenty-nine and feeling like he was eighty right now. If only Maya Stevenson was not in this equation. Dane was still reeling from the shock of it all. Was she as mouthy and in-your-face as she’d been years ago? God, he hoped not. How was he going to keep his inflammatory words in his mouth?