Blaze of Glory (12 page)

Bobby
guided
the
aircraft
toward
the
camp
but
this
time
didn’t
turn
away.
This
may
seem
like
a
simple demonstration
for
General
Renshaw
and
local
military
and
political
figures.
But
their
small
group,
along
with the
General,
understood
there
was
a
secondary,
underlying
mission
as
well.
This
was
also
a
practice
run
for the
real
deal,
when
they
would
deliver
flyers
to
cover
dropping
Army
soldiers
in
to
retrieve
the
agent—and hopefully
Gracie’s
father.

Normally,
the
leaflets
contained
info
such
as
rewards
for
handing
over
wanted
individuals,
instructions
for surrendering,
political
messages,
details
on
where
to
tune
a
radio
frequency.

For
now,
focus
remained
on
working
out
the
bugs
so
things
went
pictureperfect
when
it
counted
most.

When
lives
were
at
stake.

Bobby
dove
down
to
treetop
level
and
spoke
to
the
crew
over
the
headset
built
into
his
helmet.
“Let’s
get this
done.
Get
both
packages
ready.
We
are
sixty
seconds
out
of
the
first
drop.” Gunners
would
unload
the
two
batches
of
leaflets
out
the
back
hatch.
Then
while
everyone
was
distracted with
the
floating
leaflets,
the
Army
Deltas
would
unload
just
minutes
away.

Since
these
leaflets
would
just
fly
out
over
their
own
camp,
Bobby
wondered
what
Gracie
had
printed
on them
and
then
he
wondered
why
it
even
mattered
to
him
what
Gracie
did,
damn
it.

“Roger,”
Stones
responded,
a
fearless
fella
who’d
earned
his
call
sign
for
his
largecajones
in
combat.

“Ready
when
you
are,
sir.”

“Stand
by
in
the
back,”
Bobby
ordered.
“Fifteen
seconds
and
counting…ready,
ready…now.”

“Off
and
away,”
Stones
answered
in
back
as
the
three
gunners
would
begin
tipping
the
boxes
aft.

Leaflets
flew
off
into
the
slipstream,
filling
the
air
and
falling
into
the
tent
camp,
some
catching
in
the
trees.

The
CV22
roared
over
the
lines
of
tents,
engines
howling,
music
blaring,
with
paper
streaming
out
and
as suddenly
as
it
appeared,
it
was
gone.

Bobby
worked
the
rudders
at
his
feet,
banking
the
plane
left.
“Clear
of
the
camp.
Music
off.
Ready
with
the second
package?”

“Roger
that,
sir,”
Sandman
answered
this
time.
“Standing
in
the
door.” Face
sat
in
the
copilot’s
seat
while
watching
over
and
grading
Bobby
in
the
aircraft
commander’s
place.

“Come
twenty
degrees
right.
The
clearing
is
five
miles
away.”

“All
right,
start
transition.”
Bobby
jockeyed
the
controls
to
begin
slowing
the
aircraft
down
while
Face leaned
forward,
looking
for
the
landing
zone.

“I
got
it
visual,”
Face
confirmed
with
his
typical
calm.
They
made
a
good
team
that
way,
balancing
each other
out.
“Get
ready
in
back.”

Bobby
settled
the
big
aircraft
into
the
opening
in
the
trees
until
it
was
just
a
few
feet
off
the
ground.
Now time
to
practice
the
rest
of
the
mission—offloading
the
troops.
In
the
back,
a
team
of
twelve
Special
Forces soldiers
launched
themselves
off
the
back
ramp
and
flattened
into
the
elephant
grass.
These
same
men
would bring
out
the
U.N.
spy
and
Gracie’s
dad—saving
or
condemning
him.

Stones
shouted,
“Go,
go,
go,
everyone
is
clear.”

Bobby
climbed
the
aircraft
over
the
treetops
and
began
the
transition
to
forward
flight.
Soon
they
were
at
full speed,
leaving
the
landing
zone
far
behind.

“That
went
pretty
well,”
Bobby
said
over
the
interphone.
“Did
we
get
most
of
the
leaflets
into
the
camp?”

“Yes,
sir,”
Stones
answered.
“Some
went
out
the
end,
but
most
got
in
there.
We
succeeded
in
doing
our
part to
get
SpongeBob
SquarePants
elected
as
the
next
president
of
Cantou.”

“Suhweet.”
Bobby
laughed
with
the
rest.
Apparently
Dr.
Gracie
had
a
sense
of
humor
after
all.
“Nice
job, everyone.
Let’s
get
this
sucker
home.”
Bobby
put
the
aircraft
into
a
climb.
“Give
me
a
steer
point
back
to
the camp,
Face.”

His
buddy
punched
buttons
on
the
navigational
panel.
“There
you
go.
Heading
to
our
parking
spot.”
Soon the
tents
of
the
camp
became
visible
again
on
the
horizon.
“Prepare
for
landing,
crew.
Start
transition
to hover,
Postal.”

“Roger
that,
starting
transition.”
Bobby
began
the
steps
to
slow
down
the
aircraft
and
move
the
propellers
to the
helicopter
configuration
when
suddenly…

Red.
One
of
his
displays
began
blinking
a
malfunction
message.
Shit.

“Well,
look
at
that.”
He
regulated
his
breathing
in
spite
of
the
potentially
deadly
malfunction
unfolding
in front
of
him.
Steady.
In.
Out.
Breathe.
“The
engines
won’t
transition
up.
I
seem
to
recall
that
is
a
notsogood
thing.” The
whole
craft
went
darkly
silent
while
he
thought….

“Going
to
backup
mode,”
Bobby
decided
and
mentally
crossed
his
fingers—wow,
wasn’t
that
a
personal vote
of
confidence?—pushing
more
buttons
only
to
see
the
red
malfunction
light
remain
blinking.
Definitely not
good.
“Face,
we
got
nothing
here.
That
is
supposed
to
be
impossible
according
to
the
tech
order.” Face’s
usually
calm
expression
appeared
a
bit
too
pinched
for
Bobby’s
peace
of
mind,
but
still
Face
left
him in
control.
“Start
over
and
check
all
the
switches
and
circuit
breakers.
And
hey,
guys
in
back,
scan
the circuitbreaker
panels.”

The
headset
crackled
to
life
from
a
gunner.
“Everything
is
nominal
back
here.” They
couldn’t
land
with
the
propellers
pointed
forward.
With
the
rotors
forward,
the
props
would
tear
into the
ground
before
the
landing
gear
touched
down,
ripping
apart
the
plane
and
likely
exploding
the
whole damn
craft—turning
the
six
souls
inside
quite
crispy.

This
definitely
sucked.

He
refused
to
injure
anyone
on
his
crew,
much
less
die
or
lose
his
plane.
And
even
though
he
and
Gracie weren’t
an
item,
he
knew
her
well
enough
to
realize
how
traumatizing
it
would
be
for
her
to
watch
this explode
into
a
flaming
hell.

When
had
he
gotten
to
a
point
where
her
hurt
became
his
hurt?
Somewhere
along
the
line
they’d
become friends.
A
female
friend.
A
first
for
him
and
something
he
didn’t
know
how
to
deal
with
yet.
And
definitely couldn’t
deal
with
at
this
particular
moment.

“Well,
we
can’t
land
with
those
props
pointed
as
they
are,
so
I
guess
we
better
try
some
more
crap.”
His mind
raced
with
options,
training
taking
control
over
emotions.
“Pull
and
reset
all
the
circuit
breakers
and
see what
happens.”

Flight
engineer
Vegas
began
pulling
out
breakers
and
pushing
them
back
into
place.
“Damn,
this
one
is freaking
hot.”
He
yanked
his
hand
back,
a
blister
bubbling.
“It
burned
through
my
gloves.” Bobby
jumped
in
on
the
interphone,
mind
racing
with
a
plan,
risky,
but
better
than
tooling
around
with
their thumbs
up
their
noses.
“It
burned
you?
Don’t
push
it
back
in
yet.
Let
it
cool
off.
If
we
set
up
for
landing, push
in
the
circuit
breaker
at
the
last
second
and
we
might
have
a
split
second
to
transition
the
rotors.
Face, does
that
work
for
you?”

“Beats
any
plan
I’ve
got.”
Face
shrugged,
a
hint
of
defeatism
not
quite
disguised.
“If
it
doesn’t
work,
we
can just
keep
on
going
and
set
up
for
the
next
idea.”

Bobby
turned
the
aircraft
back
toward
the
camp
and
began
a
landing
profile.
“Get
ready
with
that
circuit breaker
on
my
call,
Vegas.”

“Standing
by,”
the
flight
engineer
answered,
mouth
pinched
tighter
together
than
a
nun’s
knees.

Bobby
descended
toward
the
open
patch
of
field
stretching
through
the
dense
trees,
working
the
mental
math to
figure
out
when
to
call
for
the
breaker.
“You
ready
to
run
the
transition
faster
than
ever,
Face?”

“I
was
born
ready.”

“All
righty
then,
Vegas,
push
it…in—
Now!”

Bobby’s
hands
raced
over
his
controls
and
displays
and
the
engines
began
to
rotate.
The
sound
of
the
gears moving
broke
the
relative
silence
of
the
aircraft.

“Music
to
my
ears.”
Bobby
lined
up
on
the
landing
area
while
the
aircraft
slowed.

“Full
transition,
ready
to
land,”
Vegas
prompted.

Pop.The
overheated
breaker
exploded
this
time,
but
it
had
held
long
enough
to
get
the
rotors
pointed
upward again,
thank
God.

Bobby
exhaled.
Hell,
even
he’d
been
tense
and
he’d
surely
seen
rougher
situations
in
training
and
combat.

He
couldn’t
avoid
the
reason.

Damned
if
all
he
could
think
about
was
finding
Gracie
and
kissing
his
newfriend
until
she
melted
into
his arms.

CHAPTER
NINE

GRACEMARIE
SIGHEDher
relief
as
Bobby’s
hovering
aircraft
landed
with
the
slight
“poof”
of
flying debris
on
the
runway.
The
aerobatics
of
the
flight
indicated
Bobby
was
the
one
at
the
stick.
He’d
told
her Face
was
riding
in
the
copilot’s
seat
as
an
instructor.
Once
Bobby
passed
all
the
training
and
tests,
he
would be
an
aircraft
commander
of
his
own
crew.
It
seemed
strange
to
envision
the
six
of
them
splitting
up.

Standing
by
the
observation
bleachers
in
the
whirlwind
stirred
by
the
slowing
propellers,
she
thought
of
how she’d
only
known
them
all
a
short
few
weeks
nine
months
ago,
and
a
handful
of
days
now.
These
were memorable
men,
pioneers
in
their
test
world,
strapping
themselves
into
a
plane
still
in
the
design
works,
so much
unknown.

Every
flight
was
a
lifeanddeath
matter
to
a
test
crew.

But
she
couldn’t
forget
the
more
important
part,
the
more
immediate
problem.
Her
father
was
in
that compound
with
spies
and
terrorists.

Her
father
battled
his
disease
with
a
fierceness
she
admired,
but
she
couldn’t
ignore
reality.
Her
father
was bipolar,
a
lifelong
mental
illness
that
required
constant
medication
and
monitoring.
Without
proper maintenance,
he
could
grow
overconfident
and
adjust
to
smaller
doses,
lose
his
edge
and
delude
himself
into going
off
the
meds
altogether.
She’d
seen
it
happen
twice
and
it
had
been
nearly
catastrophic.
Once
he’d become
a
near
hermit,
the
other
time
suicidal.

He
was
too
vulnerable
in
that
state
to
the
suggestions
of
those
wellversed
in
brainwashing.

Already
she’d
been
told
her
father
would
be
brought
out
in
two
days,
but
she
wanted
to
be
there
when
it happened.
She
knew
how
to
handle
him
at
his
worst.
As
much
as
she
admired
her
workmates,
she
couldn’t escape
the
fear
they
might
hurt
her
dad
to
subdue
him.

She
prayed
he
was
simply
hanging
out
enjoying
his
test
tubes
and
equations.
If
not,
at
least
she
could
ensure he
spent
a
lifetime
in
a
psychiatric
prison
rather
than
a
penitentiary
or,
worse
yet,
receive
a
lethal
injection
for treason.
She
could
be
his
advocate
until
he
was
hooked
up
with
a
psychiatrist
and
lawyer.

Everything
inside
her
rebelled
at
the
notion.
God.
She
understood
him,
thanks
to
all
her
training.
Which didn’t
make
it
hurt
any
less.

He
was
her
daddy,
the
same
man
who’d
bought
her
a
skateboard
at
six—he
was
all
of
twentyfour—and they’d
ruled
the
condo
parking
lot.
With
all
his
painful
mental
struggles,
he’d
worked
so
damned
hard
to
be a
good
father.

The
CV22
came
to
a
stop,
bringing
her
back
to
the
present,
engines
quiet,
the
hatch
door
opening
and filling
with
Bobby,
silhouetted
by
a
sunset.
She
couldn’t
deny
the
flipflop
in
her
tummy.
She
wasn’t
any more
immune
to
this
man
now
than
she’d
been
before.
Sometime
soon,
she
would
have
to
make
a
decision about
whether
or
not
to
be
with
him.
Dating?

If
he
agreed
and
if
she
could
keep
her
fluttering
nerves
under
control.

None
of
which
she
could
finish
thinking
about,
because
Bobby
strutted
toward
her
with
all
that
lanky, indolent
style
that
made
thinking
damn
near
impossible.

She
steeled
her
spine
and
her
will
before
she
jumped
in
feetfirst
without
thinking.
“Bobby,
that
wasn’t
the music
I
gave
you
for
the
exercise.
This
is
about
winning
over
the
enemy,
not
scaring
the
crap
out
of
them.”

“Yeah,
but
you’re
not
my
enemy.”
Wind
whipped
dust
and
leaves
around
his
big,
booted
feet.
“Today’s selection
brought
a
smile
to
the
face
of
all
of
us
who
cut
our
teeth
watchingApocalypse
Now,
and
dreamed of
one
day
shrugging
into
the
uniform,
flying
the
craft
so
low
it
spread
the
water
while
that
song
played.”

“You
dreamed
of
that?”
She
couldn’t
resist
edging
for
a
peek
into
what
made
Bobby
tick.
He
seemed
so antiestablishment
she
often
wondered
why
he’d
chosen
a
military
career.

His
wicked
smile
shone
brighter
than
the
setting
sun
heavy
on
the
horizon.
His
crew
obviously
picked
up
on the
matingdance
vibes
and
steered
clear
of
the
two
of
them,
granting
a
modicum
of
privacy.
“Did
you
rat me
out
to
the
General?”
he
said,
ignoring
her
question.

“Hell,
no.”
She
wasn’t
a
tattletale.

His
megawatt
grin
broadened
as
the
outdoor
sensor
lights
clicked
on
in
the
darkening
night.
“Because
he liked
it.”

Busted.
“Apparently
he’s
a
big
fan
of
the
movieApocalypse
Now,
too.”

“I’ve
always
been
a
lucky
bastard.”

Lucky?
Uhuh.
She
suspected
he’d
done
his
research.
She
was
learning
Bobby
sported
more
of
a
brain under
all
that
jetblack
hair
than
he
led
people
to
believe.
“Or
you
read
his
bio
online.”

“Do
you
expect
me
to
play
a
freaking
lullaby
next
time?”
He’d
shifted
gears
in
the
conversation
so
fast
the ground
rocked
under
her.

“Not
a
lullaby
per
se,
but
we
should
keep
in
mind
inthis
situation
we’re
trying
to
win
people
over,
not
scare them
spitless.”

“Damn.”
He
snapped
his
fingers,
stepping
closer.
“I
guess
that
rules
out
any
songs
alluding
to
the
end
of
the world
and
feeling
fine.”

“Most
definitely.”
Had
she
brushed
her
teeth
before
coming
here?

“That’s
too
bad.”
He’d
definitely
brushed
his
or
popped
in
a
mint,
the
peppermint
scent
filling
the
scant space
between
them.

She
considered
backing
away,
but
with
bleachers
behind
her,
she
only
had
about
two
inches
of
space
and the
movement
would
reveal
her
vulnerability.
“I’ll
have
the
new
CD
for
you
tomorrow.”

“I’ll
be
waiting.”
He
braced
a
hand
past
her
on
the
metal
seat.

“Not
that
you
intend
to
use
it.”

“Now
why
would
you
say
that?”

“Because
you
don’t
take
orders
well.”
She
admired
the
rebel
in
him
even
as
it
frustrated
her.

His
face
went
as
still
as
the
air.
No
expression,
but
a
definite
chill.
“I
always
do
my
job
and
I
do
not
break rules.”

Her
professional
instincts
told
her
he
fuzzed
the
lines.
“If
that’s
what
you
want
to
tell
yourself.” His
hand
fell
away
from
her
and
he
straightened.
“Get
the
hell
out
of
my
head,
Dr.
Lanier.” She
blinked
back
her
surprise
at
yet
another
quick
shift.
“I’m
not
trying
to
psychoanalyze
you.”

“The
hell
you
aren’t.”
His
face
closed,
he
stepped
back
in
an
unmistakable
notrespassing
air.

“I’m
sorry
if
you
felt
I
wasn’t
respecting
your
boundaries.” A
corner
of
his
mouth
twitched.

“What?”
she
asked,
indignant.

“There
you
go
getting
all
prissy
again,
and
somehow
that’s
still
sexy.”
He
drummed
his
fingers
against
his thigh
in
his
typical
constant
motion.
More
predictable
than
that
strangely
silent,
still
second
of
his.