The Right Stuff. Merline Lovelace

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СКАЧАТЬ Her green-and-black jungle BDUs stretched taut over a trim, rounded rear. The enticing view had Mac grinding his teeth. Wrenching his glance away, he jammed another clip into his belt.

      Okay. All right. He could admit it. The idea of Lieutenant Caroline Dunn marrying anyone, including a pansy-assed JAG, rubbed him exactly the wrong way. The woman had tied him up in knots more than once in the past few months. If he hadn’t learned the hard way to avoid poaching on another man’s territory—or if Cari had given the least hint she was interested in being poached on—he might have made a move on her himself.

      But he had, and she hadn’t.

      With a little grunt, Mac reached for his assault rifle. He was checking the working parts when a low whine brought his head around.

      Pegasus was spreading his wings. Like the mythical beast he’d been named for, the craft fanned out its delta-shaped fins. When they locked in place, the engines slowly tilted upright. Another whine, and the propellers unfolded like petals. In this configuration, Pegasus would lift straight up like a chopper. Once airborne, Dave would tilt the engines to horizontal and fly it like a fixed-wing aircraft.

      The air force pilot was in the cockpit, clearly visible through the bubble canopy. Hooking a glance over his shoulder, he gave Captain Westfall a thumbs-up. The captain nodded and turned to Mac.

      “Ready, Major?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Lieutenant?”

      “All set, sir.”

      Cari’s calm reply did nothing to loosen the knots in Mac’s chest. He’d been air-dropped into Afghanistan by a female USAF C-17 pilot. Had a bullet hole patched up by a particularly sexy navy nurse. Had relied on enlisted female marines to provide ground support and combat communications. He valued and respected the vital role women played in the military.

      But this was the first time he was going into harm’s way with a woman at his side. If she’d been anyone other than Caroline Dunn, the prospect might not have put such a kink in his gut.

      Shouldering his assault rifle, he followed her through the open hatch.

      Four hours later Pegasus was once again in sea mode—wings swept back, engines tilted rearward, propellers churning water like a ship’s screws. Nicaragua lay well behind. Caribe was a gray smudge on the horizon. In between was a big stretch of open sea.

      An increasingly turbulent sea, Cari noted.

      “Kate was right on target,” she commented, pitching her voice to be heard above the engines as she steered her craft through rolling green troughs. “Looks like we’re starting to pick up some of the swells from that squall.”

      Mac responded with a grunt that earned him a quick glance. He didn’t appear to appreciate the craft’s agility to cut through the deepening troughs. In fact, he was looking distinctly green around the gills.

      “The seas will probably get higher and rougher when we hit the barrier reef around the island,” Cari advised. “You’d better pop a couple of those Dramamine pills Doc put in the medical kit.”

      “I’ll make it.”

      “That wasn’t a suggestion, Major.”

      The deceptively mild comment slewed Mac’s head around. Cari could feel his gray-green eyes slice into her, but didn’t bother to return the stare. He might outrank her on land. Aboard this craft, she was in command.

      She kept her gaze on the gray smudge ahead as Mac dragged out the medical kit. Only after he’d downed the pills as ordered did she slant him another glance. Like her, he was dressed for the jungle—web-sided boots, black T-shirt, black-and-green camouflage pants and shirt. Instead of a ball cap, though, a floppy-brimmed “boonie” hat covered his buzz-cut brown hair.

      He looked leather tough and coldy lethal. Not someone you wanted to suddenly come nose to nose with in the jungle. Cari had to admit she was glad they were on the same side for this operation.

      “Is this freshening sea going to slow us down?” he asked with an eye to the digital map displayed on the instrument panel.

      Their course was highlighted in glowing red. It took them straight across the fifty-mile stretch of open water, through the outer reef encircling Caribe and into a small bay on the southern tip of the palm-shaped island. Once inside the bay, they’d aim for the mouth of the Rio Verde and head some twenty-six miles upriver.

      “Pegasus can handle these swells,” Cari said in answer to his question. “We should arrive right on target.”

      “Good enough. I’ll confirm with Second Recon.”

      He’d already established contact with the six-man reconnaissance team that had been sent into the jungle to retrieve the American missionaries. Luckily, they were equipped with CSEL—the new Combat Survivor/Evader Locator. Not much larger than an ordinary cell phone, the handheld radio provided over-the-horizon data communications, light-of-sight voice modes, and precise GPS positioning and land navigation. The handy-dandy new device was state-of-the-art and just off the assembly line. Neither the rebel nor government forces in Caribe could intercept or interpret its secure, scrambled transmissions.

      “Second Recon, this is Pegasus One.”

      “This is Second Recon. Go ahead, Pegasus.”

      The marine in charge of the reconnaissance team sounded so young, Cari thought. And so grimly determined.

      “Be advised we’re twenty nautical miles off the coast of Caribe and closing fast,” Mac informed him. “We’re holding to our ETA.”

      “We copy, Pegasus. We’re about five klicks from the target.”

      Five kilometers from the mission put them about eight from the river, Cari saw in another quick glance at the digital display. The marines still had some jungle to hack through.

      “We’ll bundle up our charges as soon as we reach the target and proceed immediately to the designated rendezvous point,” the team leader promised.

      “Roger, Second. We’ll be waiting for you.”

      Frowning, Mac took a GPS reading on the team’s signal and entered its position with a few clicks of the keyboard built into the instrument console. His frown deepened as Pegasus plowed into another trough. The hull hit with a smack that sent spray washing over the canopy.

      “The swells are getting heavier.”

      “They are,” Cari agreed.

      He shot her a hard look. “Can’t we put on a little more speed? I don’t want to leave those marines sitting around, twiddling their thumbs with the rebel forces combing the jungle for them.”

      “We won’t.”

      The calm reply brought his brows snapping together under the brim of his hat. “Are you that sure of yourself or is this the face you put on when you’re in command?”

      “Yes, I’m sure,” she answered, “and what you see is what you get.”

      For the first time since they’d departed СКАЧАТЬ