An Honorable Woman. Lindsay McKenna

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      How badly Cam wanted to break down the all-business facade with Morales. She liked his easygoing nature. Earlier, when he’d walked around the gunship as part of the ground check, she’d seen his eye for detail. He missed nothing. How friendly a C.O. could be with her X.O. was something Cam hadn’t a clue about. Was an executive officer like a best friend? Someone she could confide in? Or should she trust her X.O. only up to a certain point and try to keep an emotional distance from him? Cam wished she could talk to Maya about this. And she would, tonight, after she went to her barracks room. In the meantime, she would simply enjoy Gus’s warm, low laugh, which sent tingles through her for no explainable reason.

      “Once you hit the San Diego vector at Imperial Beach, make a ninety degree left turn and head out to sea for fifteen miles, Chief Morales.”

      Below her, Cam saw the sagebrush-covered hills of Mexico disappear as they moved into U.S. airspace. She pressed a button in the cockpit, which sent out an automatic signal to the radar scanners that swept the border area, showing who they were. Cam had no wish to be intercepted as a possible unfriendly aircraft.

      Below them the dry hills were covered with twelve-lane freeways and housing estates. San Diego was a beautiful large city on the Pacific Coast. Ahead she could see the graceful sweep of the Coronado Bridge, connecting the island of the same name, with its naval air station, to the city.

      Morales, so far, had a light, silken touch with the Apache. When he made the requested turn out toward the deep blue, sparkling ocean, Cam smiled.

      “Your hours are showing, Chief,” she murmured, marking down a grade on her sheet regarding his flight skills.

      “Oh?” Gus watched the light green of the ocean turn to a marine blue, indicating deeper water, as they flew quickly away from the coast. The western sun was shining straight into his eyes and he was glad for his visor.

      “You have a nice touch with her.”

      “I love this woman.”

      Chuckling, Cam said, “You see the Apache as a ‘she’?”

      “Always did. Always will.”

      Luis and Antonio didn’t. To them, it was merely a machine to be wrestled around in the air. “That’s good,” she stated.

      “Every helicopter has its own personality. I’m sure you’ve noticed that?”

      Pleased that he’d speak with her as an equal, Cam said, “Oh, yes. We have names for each of our ladies down at the squadron.”

      “Any hangar queens?” These were helicopters that broke down frequently and spent more time in the hangar than flying on missions.

      Laughing, Cam said, “No. The Apache has a pretty low breakdown record. No hangar queens, thank goodness. The way we push them, they’ve stood up when they shouldn’t have over the years even in high humidity. An Apache’s a tough machine.”

      “I’d like to know more about your squadron, any time you have a free moment to fill me in.”

      Hearing the excitement in his voice, Cam said dryly, “Chief, it’s a black ops, so I can’t say much about it.”

      “That’s what I thought. Well, you can’t blame me for asking, can you?”

      “No. Nice try. Okay, once you hit the five-mile mark, I want you to turn ninety degrees south.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” On the mark, he brought the Apache over in a quick, banking turn. From this elevation, he could still see the rim of land to his left and the mighty Pacific spreading out to the south and west.

      “Good. You’re going to fly southward exactly twenty miles. We’re going to parallel the Baja Peninsula, as you well know. At the twenty-mile mark, you will execute another ninety degree left turn, moving due east. That will take us into our authorized military flight test area.”

      “That’s all mountains and hills, with very little population,” Gus said.

      “That’s right, Chief. Our playground for the next eight weeks.”

      “I used to hike in those mountains,” Gus said.

      “Really?” Cam was hungry to know something about Morales on a personal level. “How old were you?”

      “I told you my mom is Yaqui Indian?”

      “Right, you did.” With his golden skin and the hint of a tilt at the corners of his large eyes, Morales reminded her of a lean, golden jaguar. There was a strength to him as well—quiet, powerful and yet steady. Cam could feel it. There was something so solid and grounded about him that it made her want to trust him. The man was terribly good-looking, in her opinion. One moment he’d appear serious and mature, and the next he’d give her that unexpected, little-boy grin of delight. She liked him more than she should, Cam realized.

      “My father was an attaché to the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico when I was a kid, and he used to take me over here to go hiking. My dad is a great outdoorsman to this day.”

      “A hunter?”

      “No, a hiker.”

      “Did your mom go along?”

      “No. My dad has a great love of the land, and he would show me animal tracks and interesting plants. We’d take a camera along and shoot the birds and animals we saw. I have scrapbooks at home filled with pictures we took.”

      “Better to shoot them with a camera than a gun,” Cam said.

      “Right on.”

      “And yet you’re an Apache pilot. A combat pilot who will have to pull the trigger someday, and possibly kill someone. How does that set with you, Chief Morales?”

      Making the turn at the twenty-mile mark, Gus pushed the Apache toward the brown-and-green looming mountains in the distance. “I don’t know. All my targets have been wooden, with no human involvement.”

      It was a good answer.

      Cam got down to business. “All right, Chief, I’m going to give you a series of flight maneuvers. When I give the orders, I want them executed immediately. Understand?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Gus felt his heart speed up a little. Below, the ocean was an aquamarine color, indicating it was becoming shallow. Up ahead rose mountains that were anywhere from two to six thousand feet in height. The bumpy foothills in front of them were lined with green valleys filled with brush and short trees; the sloping sides were dotted with sagebrush and cactus. Beyond them the tops of the mountains were bare and brown.

      Gus tightened his hands around the controls as he anticipated the series of flight commands Chief Anderson would put him through.

      “Climb to twenty thousand.”

      Instantly, Gus followed her orders. The engines howled. The Apache strained. Nose up, the helicopter clawed for the blue sky, which was dotted with white cottony clouds. The gravity pushed Gus back in the pilot’s seat. It was always a good feeling to him. This was what he loved best—flying this powerful, responsive machine.

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