Firstborn

“I know that. And Annie, I know what you’re up against. If there’s anyone in my squadron who can turn this man around, it’s you. You’re the only woman pilot on base, and I know this sounds like gender prejudice, but maybe, just maybe, Trayhern won’t take the same arrogant tact he’s taken with other pilots he had to work with if he partners with a woman.”

“And if I can’t get him to be a team player, sir?”

“All you have to do is come to me and tell me.” Dugan shook his head. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to be the one to boot Morgan Trayhern’s son out of the military, and if that happens, no service will ever allow Jason to reenlist. He’d be out. Castigated. But if you come and tell me he’s not fitting in, then I will give him a bad conduct discharge without any qualms.”

Annie found she had a hundred questions racing through her mind. Time was so short—only one month before combat duty. She knew it took at least three months for two pilots to get used to each other. They sat in the Apache together, flew together, worked together, and their relationship was like a marriage of sorts.

“Sir? Has Chief Trayhern ever worked with a female pilot before?”

Dugan smiled grimly. “No. As you know, there are only three women in the U.S. military who have qualified for Apache training thus far. That’s not counting the Black Ops squadron in South America, of course, which is nearly all female. He’s flown only with men.”

“What makes you think he’s going to respond positively to me, then? If he’s never flown with a woman, how do we know how he’ll respond to me?”

“That’s a good question,” Dugan murmured. “And I don’t have an answer, Annie. But I’ll tell you one thing—your marks listed in your personnel jacket, in flying and training, are 4.0. You’re the best I’ve got. Your crew has won every trophy in and out of the squadron, and I know it’s because of you, your ability to lead, as well as your ability to be a team player. You don’t leave people out or behind, Annie, and that’s the mark not only of a good leader, but of a real people manager.”

She saw his hazel eyes brighten with hope. The praise was wonderful, but the assignment sucked. “I do try hard to make everyone feel a part of my tribe.” She grinned wryly.

“There’s a lot to say for you being Native American, Annie. I’ve learned a thing or two from you myself. I’m convinced that what you’ve learned from being brought up in your community can help us here in the Army, too. Teamwork is everything. I’ve seen you take people who felt disenfranchised and make them a valuable part of your squadron ‘family.’” He smiled again. “And if Jason Trayhern is to have a prayer of learning how to fit in, I can’t think of anyone better than you to be his teacher.”

The responsibility was nearly overwhelming. Annie felt the weight settle on her shoulders. It was bad enough that she had to train hard and rigorously herself for the next month, to get ready for Afghanistan, where her life would be on the line every single day. Her copilot had to be someone she trusted with her life. How was she going to manage to do all of this?

Looking up, she murmured, “Sir, this is an incredible challenge for me.”

“I know it is, Annie. And I’m sorry to lay it on you. But no one is better qualified to save this young man from himself. He’s a fine pilot, but he’s a loner. Do your best, okay? I don’t expect miracles, and if it doesn’t pan out, it’s not going to reflect poorly on your personnel record, believe me.”

“Okay, sir, I’ll give it a go.” She managed a lopsided grin. “But I don’t know who I feel worse for, him or me.”

Dugan chuckled. “I understand. Listen, stay in close touch with me on this. I want to know what’s going down with him.” Glancing at his watch, he continued, “Chief Trayhern will be arriving here at 1000 hours. He’s to come directly to me, and I’ll give him a talking to and a warning. Then he’ll go through personnel, and finally, he’ll be taken over to your hangar. At that point, he’s all yours. Because the regiment is going over to Afghanistan in a month, I’m assigning him temporary billeting at the B.O.Q., Bachelor Officers Quarters, here on base.”

“Yes, sir. It wouldn’t make any sense to try and find an apartment for only thirty days. By 1300, he should be through personnel paperwork?”

“Yes.”

Annie stood up and came to attention. “I’ll do what I can, Colonel Dugan.”

“Good enough, Chief Dazen. Thank you in advance. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!” Annie did a snappy about-face and left his office.

Once outside the three-story redbrick building, she decided to walk the mile back to the hangar area. She needed time to get over the shock of her new assignment and try to adjust to this bad news.

The sun was hazy, the humidity stifling, and she was already sweating heavily. The street was busy with traffic, both desert-brown Humvees and many civilian cars. People in uniform and flight suits walked here and there with crisp efficiency. The home of the Screamin’ Eagles was a workaholic’s paradise, Annie thought. People were proud of the 101st Airborne’s historical tradition and strived to make it the top aviation division in the Army as a result. Everyone who wore the screaming eagle patch on their uniform did so with pride.

The tall, spindly pines planted between large-leafed maples stood at attention along the concrete sidewalk as she walked across the bustling Army base. The main headquarters, painted white, lay in the center of a diamond-shaped expanse of lawn bracketed by asphalt highways. Green shrubs along the walls of the diamond were trimmed to military perfection. But Annie was unable to appreciate the manicured beauty that surrounded her. Her mind and heart were elsewhere.

One month. One month to tame a lone wolf who didn’t want to be part of anyone’s team. And this wasn’t just any lone wolf. No, this was a famous one with a jaded past. Annie’s brow knitted as she walked. Settling her cap more securely on her head, the bill drawn low to shade her eyes from the sun, she kept to the inside of the sidewalk. When she passed an officer, she saluted. Enlisted personnel who passed saluted her. Warrant officers were not quite officers, but they were treated with deference nonetheless.

Automatically, Annie unzipped her right thigh pocket and pulled out the deerskin pouch that held her medicine necklace. After she’d shifted the necklace to her left hand to leave her right one free to salute with, she instantly felt the object’s warmth, finding it comforting and soothing to her anxiety and concern. Annie didn’t understand exactly why the necklace reacted when she was upset, but it did, and she absorbed the calming energy from it.

A pair of raucous blue jays screamed as they flew from one elm tree to the next ahead of her. That wasn’t a good sign—birds fighting and squabbling with one another. In Annie’s world of mystery and miracles, she knew nature talked to her, about herself and what was to come, whenever she would listen. Well, those birds had her full attention now. Would she and Trayhern be just like the blue jays—squabbling, bickering and screaming at one another? In four hours, she’d find out.

Chapter 2

Four hours later, Annie was flat on her back beneath the carriage of the Apache along with Specialist 3 Lance DeLong, one of her mechanics. They were lying side by side, looking up into the area where the chain gun was situated. The cannon, which looked like a long-barrel machine gun suspended beneath the fuselage of the Apache, could spit out 30mm rounds, instantly destroying whatever it hit.

Annie was so intent on what Lance was saying about a piece of hardware within the mounting that she failed to hear the solid, confident stride of someone coming her way. Only when the highly polished black shoes came to a halt less than two feet from where she lay did she realize they didn’t belong to one of her crew.

Hands freezing momentarily on the gun mount, Annie turned to Lance. “The new pilot is here. Can you handle this repair alone?” She searched the twenty-year-old’s round face.

“Aw, shucks, sure I can, Ms. Dazen. Not a problem.” Lance grinned, showing his uneven teeth.

Annie nodded and grinned back. “Okeydokey.” She rolled out from beneath the fuselage, her heart skittering with dread at meeting this infamous pilot. The polished shoes backed up to give her plenty of room to roll to her hands and knees and then get to her feet.

Raising her head as she brushed herself off, Annie saw the man was dressed in his class A Army uniform and standing with his feet apart, like a boxer ready to be struck. As her gaze ranged quickly upward, she realized that Jason Trayhern was tall, at least six foot two inches. When she looked into his square face and met his frosty blue eyes, her heart contracted in fear. The narrowed look he was giving her was one she might give an enemy.

Dusting off her hands, she thrust one forward. “Mr. Trayhern? I’m Annie Dazen, pilot in charge of this girl here.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the huge Apache helicopter behind her.

Jason scowled. Annie Dazen wasn’t anything like he’d expected. Standing at five foot nine inches tall, dressed in an olive-green T-shirt and cammo fatigues, she was curvy but clearly in top physical form. Her skin was a deep copper color and her thick black hair lay in one long braid down the middle of her back. But it was her eyes that drew him, melting the glacial reserve that usually protected him. They were a warm golden-brown, and they sparkled with life. The careless smile on her full lips told him she either didn’t know who he was or could put on a helluva good facade. As he gripped her hand, he found her long fingers strong and resilient. He tried to ignore the warmth radiating from her, and gave her hand a perfunctory shake.

“Yeah, I’m Jason Trayhern,” he said abruptly. He released her hand because it felt like fire itself, and saw her smile widen.

“Welcome to the Eagle Warrior Squadron. You’re now part of the 101st Screamin’ Eagle family, and that’s a proud heritage to carry.” Annie gestured around the huge hangar, which held four Apaches in for routine maintenance. “This is our home away from home. You’ll be spending a lot of time down here with us.”

Her voice was like smooth sipping whiskey, and it ruffled his icy armor. “I would expect to,” he said, biting off his words with official coolness. Her hair was coming loose from her braid, and her T-shirt was soaked with sweat. And no wonder. It was eighty-five degrees in here, and the humidity was just as high. He was sweating in his class A uniform, and envied her in the everyday clothing most people wore on the base. He desperately wanted to get out of his uniform.

“Well,” Annie said, “I assume you’ve already talked to Colonel Dugan? Been through the personnel game?” She tried to sound upbeat and glad to see him. Truth be told, Annie wanted to step away from this warrant officer, who was a grade below her in rank. That made her the commanding officer, and he had to follow her orders, not vice versa. Oh, it was true, he was ruggedly handsome, with that square, aggressive chin. She was sure most women would swivel their heads to look at this dude. He was definitely easy on the eyes. Yet Annie could feel his tension, and saw it reflected in his narrowed, darting gaze. A part of her felt sorry for Trayhern, because being new was always a pain in the butt. His mouth was thinned, too, telling her he wasn’t at ease in the situation. Seeing a film of sweat covering his brow just beneath the edge of his beret, she realized he must be very hot in the wool uniform.

“Yeah, I went through those volleys.”

Annie heard the repressed anger in his taut tone of voice. Though he held a black cowhide briefcase in his left hand, there was no question he was in a fighter’s stance. Why? There was no one here to make him feel that guarded or intimidated. Maybe that was the problem, Annie thought. He didn’t trust anyone.

Giving him her best official smile, Annie said, “Well, come with me. I’ll take you to the squadron locker room. We’ll get you squared away with a locker, and in the meantime enjoy the wonderful air-conditioning inside.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jason glanced around. He noticed that nearby crews, three to a helo, were all circumspectly looking at them. He was sure everyone knew that Dazen was getting a new pilot who’d just been transferred in. But did they know about him? The truth, that is? Had his black cloud of bad luck followed him here, too?

As he swung in behind Dazen and followed her across the spotlessly clean concrete floor toward the west flank of the hangar, he realized that this was a spit-and-polish operation. Not that the squadron he’d left hadn’t been, but Jason could spot little things that told the tale. He’d heard that the 101st was a top-notch unit, and now he believed it. The Screamin’ Eagles were the best. He was surprised that he’d been sent here, because normally only the cream of the aviation crop landed here. He hadn’t expected such a plum. When Butler had called him in for new orders, Jason had thought he was going to be relegated to some Army outpost—out of sight, out of mind.

Now he tried to ignore the gentle sway of Dazen’s hips as she walked in front of him. He didn’t want to be drawn to her as a woman. Colonel Dugan had read him the riot act, making it clear that if Jason screwed up here, he was out. Period. A BCD. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? More than anything, Jason wanted to avoid a bad conduct discharge. That black mark would haunt him the rest of his life, he knew. It was wretched enough that he’d been kicked out of Annapolis in his third year. He’d never live that down in a million years, given the military dynasty that was his family heritage.

Grimly, he forced himself to quit thinking about the sordid past. All it did was bring up pain, and that was something he was trying to avoid at all costs. He’d had enough of that to last for ten lifetimes.

Dazen opened a door, and when they stepped inside a narrow passageway, a delicious coolness hit him.

“Whew!” Annie said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, “what I’d give to have air-conditioning out in that hangar. Southern weather sucks!” And she laughed.

He walked at her shoulder. “You aren’t from the South?”

“Me?” She looked up at him and grinned. “No. I’m a full-blooded Apache from the White River Reservation near Show Low, Arizona. Land of desert, high mountains, low humidity, lakes and thousands of pine trees.” She saw his eyes thaw ever so slightly. “Where do you come from?”