Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of Stone

“My father had a ‘talk’ with York’s commanding officer. I don’t know what was said. I do know that from that day forward, York straightened his act out. He doesn’t like women. At least, not military women pilots.” Her nostrils quivered. She stood in front of them, her legs slightly apart for good balance and her arms crossed. “He was never fair with any of us. I challenged him. I called him what he was to his face. I’d like to have decked him.” She balled her hand into a fist. “Just because we were women, he wanted to fail us.”

“But you didn’t fail,” Morgan said.

With a disgusted snort, Maya moved to her chair, her hands gripping the back of it as she stared malevolently down at him. “Only because I had my father’s influence and help. Otherwise, he’d have canned every one of us.” Maya jerked a thumb toward the windows where Machu Picchu’s black lava sides rose upward. “And you know the funny thing? Every woman in that company volunteered to come down here with me and take this spec ops. They didn’t like the odds, the army’s obvious gender preference toward males getting all the good orders and bases, while the women got the dregs. Screw ’em. I said to hell with the whole army career ladder and came up with a plan for this base. My father backed it and I got it.”

Maya’s voice lowered with feeling. “I’m sure the army was glad to see all of us go away. Out of sight, out of mind. Well, that’s okay with us, because we have a higher calling than the army. We couldn’t care less about our career slots or getting the right bases and orders to advance. We love to fly. All any of us wanted was a chance to fly and do what we love the most. We’re linchpins down here, holding the balance between the good people and the bad guys, and we know it. What we do makes a difference.”

Morgan stood and placed his napkin on the table. “I’m sorry to hear how tough it was on you and your women friends, Maya. I’m sure the army realizes what assets you are. Your stats speak for themselves.” He held her angry green gaze. “But York is the best. You have my personal promise that when he arrives, he will not be the same man you trained under before.”

“I will not allow him to step foot on my base.”

Morgan held her challenging stare. He heard the low, angry vibration in her tone. “You’ve got to learn to trust me, Maya,” he said huskily. “I want only the best for your squadron. You’ve earned that right. If Major York steps out of line, you call me and I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

“I don’t want him back in my life!”

Her explosion of anger and pain echoed around the room.

“If you don’t accept him as your I.P., you forfeit everything on those papers.” Morgan pointed to the table where they lay.

Still glaring, Maya looked from him to the papers. She desperately needed those new D models. Her pilots deserved to have the safety the new copters would afford them. And she was dying without the necessary funds for spare parts for her old Apaches. Swallowing hard, she looked slowly back up at Trayhern.

“Very well,” she rasped, “authorize the bastard to come down here.”

Chapter 2

“Major York, if you don’t want to be kicked out of the U.S. Army and asked to resign your commission, I suggest you take this temporary duty assignment.”

Dane stood at attention in front of his superior’s desk. “Yes, sir!”

“At ease,” Colonel Ronald Davidson said, and gestured toward a chair that sat at one side of his huge maple desk. The winter sunshine of December moved through the venetian blinds and painted shadows throughout his large office. Was it an omen of things to come? Dane had a gut feeling it was.

Dressed in his one-piece, olive-green flight suit, Dane took the orders and sat down. Davidson’s gray eyes were fixed on him and he knew why. Trying to choke down his fear, he tucked the garrison cap he’d been wearing into the left shoulder epaulet of his flight suit. He sat at attention. The tone in his C.O.’s voice made his heart beat harder. Dane knew he’d screwed up—again—with a woman Apache pilot in training to upgrade to the D model. Was this his death sentence? He tried to concentrate on the neatly typed set of orders before him. Reading rapidly, he felt a little relief began to bleed through him.

“Sir, this is TDY for six weeks down to Peru, to teach some spook ops pilots D model characteristics?” He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. Dane thought the colonel had called him to this office to tell him to resign his commission because of his latest mistake. Obviously, he’d been wrong, and more of the tension leaked out of him. The last thing he’d expected was an assignment like this.

“That’s right,” Davidson informed him in a growl. Getting up, his body thin and ramrod straight, he tapped his fingertips lightly on the desk before him. “You’ll see I’ve assigned two other I.P.s and three enlisted men to accompany you down there to train these pilots. You’re to head it up—unless you don’t want the assignment, Major.”

Dane looked up. He got the gist of his commander’s warning. Yesterday, Warrant Officer Kathy Juarez had filed a gender complaint against him. Dane had been warned it was coming. Swallowing against his constricted throat, he scowled down at the orders. He’d opened his big mouth without thinking first, and the words had flown out. Dane was trying very hard to think before he spoke after his lesson four years earlier with another student, Chief Warrant Officer Maya Stevenson, and the group of women going through training with her. He’d cleaned up his act quite a bit, but sometimes, when he was dog tired and stressed out from the heavy demands on his shoulders, he’d slip up. And he had.

Davidson was giving him one last chance to shape up. There was no choice and Dane knew it. He either took this TDY or Davidson was going to make sure that this most recent complaint from a female pilot was going in his jacket. And once it got in there, his career was over. He would be better off resigning and saving them the trouble of putting the complaint into his permanent military record. It would be a black mark that would follow him until the day he died, a stain he did not want on his record. The army was on a crusade to make itself genderless. Male and female no longer existed. Just bodies. Just human beings. Well, Dane was having real problems adjusting to that new perspective.

“Just to give you a little background on this spook ops group,” Davidson continued in a milder tone, “it’s been shifted to Perseus, a Q-clearance organization within the CIA family. They operate on a need-to-know-basis by only a handful of people within the government. Morgan Trayhern is the boss. He’s asked the army for the best I.P.s we’ve got. The detachment known as Black Jaguar Base has twelve pilots who need upgrade training. The work they do down there is crucial to stemming the flow of cocaine from Peru into Bolivia. Because they cannot spare their people to come up here to Fort Rucker for training, you’re going to go down there and train them, instead.”

“I see, sir.” Well, Dane really didn’t, but that didn’t matter, either. What mattered was that his C.O. was yanking him out of this messy and potentially embarrassing situation and tucking him quietly away. Out of sight, out of mind. And out of trouble, as far as he was concerned. Because of Dane’s jaded past, Davidson, who was in his fifties, didn’t particularly care for him, though he respected his abilities as a teacher and pilot. It was a good thing, for Dane knew his career would have been over with this latest charge set against him.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. Warrant Officer Juarez was Hispanic, and he’d made the off-the-cuff remark that no South American could fly as well as a North American one. Stupid, yes, but he’d shot off his mouth to his new class of Apache pilots first without thinking about the consequences. And Davidson wasn’t happy about it or he wouldn’t be sending him away for a long time to let the situation cool down. Dane’s ill-timed comment reflected directly back on the colonel, too. Davidson was protecting his own hind end in this. He was up for general’s stars in another month. If this incident took off and the newspapers ran with it, Davidson’s stars were down the toilet.

“Sounds interesting, sir.” And it did. Dane had never been to South America, although he was born in Del Rio, Texas, a little border town, and grew up bilingual, even though they moved from base to base frequently.

“You’re getting the assignment because you speak Spanish, Major,” Davidson said heavily. “Everyone chosen is bilingual. This spook ops has Peruvian, and other South American pilots, as well as some on loan from overseas. Mr. Trayhern needed someone who could handle the different languages and get the job done. That is why you’re getting this TDY.” Davidson glared down at him. He picked up another paper. “And perhaps, while you’re gone, Major, I can sweet-talk Warrant Officer Juarez into dropping her legitimate charge against you. I’m sure you won’t make the same mistake twice, will you? After all, you’re going to South America to find out just how good the pilots are down there.”

Swallowing hard, Dane said, “Sir, I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

Scowling, Davidson glared at him. “You’re old guard, Major. You’re a lot younger than me, but you sound like the army back in World War II. Well, those days are gone and you’d better get with the new program of gender neutrality or your butt is history. You’d best make good on this mission, Major. I’m expecting a glowing report back from the C.O. of that ops about you and your men’s white glove behavior. Do you read me loud and clear?”

“Yes, sir, I hear you.” Dane stood up at attention beneath the man’s drilling, cold look.

“Sit down.”

Dane sat. He felt the C.O.’s anger avalanche him.

“I’ll be damned lucky if this warrant officer doesn’t go to the press with your remarks. Our women pilots are just as good—probably better—than our male pilots. They’ve distinguished themselves time and again, and you keep working against them. I don’t know what your agenda is, Major, but on this TDY, you’d better stuff it and work with the people down there four square.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“You and your contingent are leaving tomorrow at 0800. You’re taking a navy helicopter carrier down to Lima, Peru. The capital city sits right on prime beach-front property. You’re also taking two D model Apaches and a Blackhawk with you. You’ve got three I.P.s, one for each aircraft. One of the three enlisted instructors will fly with each of you. The aircraft, once assembled inside the carrier when it arrives at Lima, will be flown off it and you’ll rendezvous with elements of Black Jaguar at an agreed-upon time.”

“I see, sir.” Dane felt a little excitement. He’d never been on spook ops before. His world revolved around teaching pilots about the deadly beauty of the Boeing Apache. He lived to fly. And he was a good teacher, to boot—at least with male pilots.

“We’ve got an agreement with the Peruvian government, Major. Once those D models are assembled and brought up to the deck of the carrier, you will fly them on specific coordinates that will be preprogrammed into the flight computers. You will not, under any circumstances, be carrying hot ordnance on board. The Peruvian government wants those three aircraft to leave under cover of darkness, just before dawn. They don’t want any nosy newspaper reporters to get wind of us coming into their country or the president will have a lot of explaining to do.

“You will meet two Black Jaguar Apaches at a specific location deep in the mountains, far from the capital. They will then escort you to their base. As I understand it, it is dangerous where you will be flying. There is a drug lord, Faro Valentino, who has two Russian Kamov Ka-50’s assault helicopters that ply the same area. If they see you, they’re going to try and blow you out of the sky. It will be up to the C.O. of the base and their Apaches to protect you and fly shotgun. They will be carrying hot ordnance on board, in case the Kamovs jump you. There’s no guarantee they will. But the C.O. has informed us that you should expect attack. You need to review the terrain of the area and be ready to cut and run if that happens. You need to know where the hell you’re going and what you’re going to do to make sure these new D models aren’t downed before they get to their new base.”

Frowning, Dane said, “No hot ordnance for us in a dangerous situation? Isn’t that stupid, sir?”

Davidson grimaced. “Major, choose your words more carefully, will you? Didn’t you just hear me? The Peruvian government will not allow you to bring these assault helos over their territory with missiles, bullets or rockets. What if you crash into homes and kill people? They’re afraid that if the combat helicopters are seen, word will leak back to their press, and all hell will break loose. Having U.S. military aircraft flying in Peru is a political hot potato, anyway. We’re stepping on eggs. There is no way to get where you’re going, except by helicopter. The jungle where the drug lords produce their cocaine is wild, dangerous, country.”

“But they’ve got Apaches carrying ordnance.” Dane tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Why is it all right in one place in Peru, but not another? Why should I open up my crews to possible confrontation with a Kamov and get shot all to pieces?”

“We have a lot of political toes we just can’t step on,” Davidson said slowly, obviously at the limits of his patience with Dane. “Once you get the D models to the base, you’ll be able to train the pilots there. When everyone is up to speed, the D models will join the A models already there, and you can fly with hot ordnance.”

“So, we risk three helos and six people trying to get them to this jungle base?” Dane frowned.

“You will have two Apache A’s escorting you in, Major. Just follow the C.O.’s instructions, and things should go well. But as mission commander on this TDY, you need to realize that if the Kamovs attack, you have to have a plan on outrunning and outmaneuvering them because they can outgun you. The only thing standing between you and them will be those two A models rigged for combat.”

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.”