An Honorable Woman

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.

The moment he hit the targeted altitude, he heard Anderson snap, “I want an inside loop.”

Gus was surprised, but didn’t hesitate. Immediately he sent the aircraft nose down in a sharp descent toward the green-and-brown earth. The Apache was the only helicopter in the world that could do an inside loop. Because gravity would drain the fuel from the lines on other machines, none but the Apache could attempt this maneuver. Boeing engineers had figured out how to keep the fuel pumping to an Apache’s engines to keep it from dropping out of the sky.

Cam was pinned back in her seat as gravity built during the loop maneuver. She felt the sureness and confidence in Morales’s handling of the Apache as he executed the required moves. They had eaten up ten thousand feet of airspace in the process, and now, as he brought the shrieking Apache into the lower part of the loop, gravity tried to pull them to the earth.

Cam had had to take the controls from the two other pilots at this point because they were awkward and lacked the confidence to get the screaming helicopter up and out of the dive. Morales, she knew, would finish the loop without her intervention.

As Gus brought the Apache back to its original altitude, he felt a thrill of joy arc through him, and he laughed. It was a sound of triumph. When he heard Chief Anderson laugh with him, his heart opened with an incredible sense of happiness. She understood his joy. Knew how he loved riding this fearless machine, which could do nearly anything that was asked of it.

“That’s incredible!” he said, emotion in his voice.

“Vertical dive to ten thousand.”

“Yes, ma’am!” And he plunged the Apache straight downward, the rotors thumping hard and sending battering waves of vibration through his body.

Pleasure surged through Cam as, for the next twenty minutes, she put Morales through his paces. He was nearly flawless in his command of the Apache. It was a relief to her. At least one of the three pilots on her team had the goods to do interdiction work. Concerned about the other two, Cam wasn’t sure what to do. Putting that worry aside, she ordered Morales back out to sea to follow their designated corridor back to the air base.

Over the Pacific, Gus began to relax. He knew he’d done well on the flight test. “Are you sorry yet that you asked me to be your X.O.?”

Cam lifted her head and stared down out of her cockpit. Below, she could see the green helmet Morales wore, but not his face. “Not at all.”

“Then,” he suggested, “when we’re alone, could we be on a more friendly footing with one another? Could you call me Gus?”

Cam smiled slightly. “So long as the other pilots don’t overhear us, that’s fine. You can call me Cam.”

“Cam? Now, that’s an interesting name.”

“Short for Camelia. My mother had three daughters, and she named us after her favorite flowers—camelias, iris and dahlias.”

“Very nice,” Gus murmured. “I’m an only child—an army brat. My mother had me and said that’s it. One kid born in a helo and no more dramatics.” He chuckled indulgently. Below, the dark blue of the Pacific blazed with gold highlights as the sun sank closer to the western horizon.

“So, you were a handful, eh?”

Shrugging, Gus swept his gaze from the instruments to the ocean below, then to the sky above. It was a habit and a necessary part of flying. “I was a good kid.”

“You seem like you would have been.”

“Oh?” He was very curious about how Cam saw him.

Laughing a little, she said, “You strike me as someone who is very serious about work, but also knows how to play and be a big kid at times, too.”

“Very perceptive,” he murmured. “But that’s why you’re the C.O. You have this radar vision to see straight through your personnel and know what and who they are.”

“Oh, don’t give me that kind of credit,” Cam protested, frowning. “This is my first time at it. I’m learning as I go. The hunt and peck method, with a lot of mistakes along the way.”

“I’d say you’re doing real good so far.”

Mouth flexing, Cam looked up, enjoying the view of the sparkling ocean beneath them. With Gus, she could relax. He made it easy for her to banter with him. “Well,” she muttered, “I’m not so sure of that. At least not yet.”

“I’d say you’ve done a credible job of handling those two jay birds.”

Smiling, Cam said, “Thanks.”

“They threw the kitchen sink at you. I was shocked. I watched you deal with their insubordination and turn it against them. I know a lot of C.O.’s who would have strung them up on court-martial charges. You did it differently than a man would, but I think your way may give them a chance to grow instead of being canned. You were patient and firm with them. You let them know what their choices were, and then left them to hang themselves if that’s what they wanted to do. I found your method very instructive.”

Savoring his praise, Cam felt more relief flow through her. Folding her gloved hands on the board in her lap, she muttered, “I wasn’t expecting that kind of reception, to tell you the truth.”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “I wasn’t, either. Those two do a lot of bluffing, but this time they were serious.” He smiled and sheepishly admitted, “I wanted to speak up and defend you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. It would have eroded my authority.”

Gus chuckled. “I still have some old officer-and-gentleman habits ingrained in me from my dad. Women are still goddesses to be worshipped on a pedestal, not hung out to dry.”

Unable to help herself, Cam laughed with him. “You’re good for my soul, Gus. Thanks for being here.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure.”

The sincerity in his baritone voice moved through Cam like a lover’s caress. She sat there assimilating the sensation. She’d heard the huskiness, the emotion, behind his words. Knowing that Gus meant them, Cam felt a little more confident in how she’d handled the two rebellious pilots.

“What, exactly, am I to do to help you as X.O.?” Gus asked. He saw they had five miles to go before he initiated the turn to fly over San Diego. He wished he could slow time down, but knew he couldn’t. The only thing missing in this private and personal conversation was being able to see Cam’s facial expressions, her reactions to what he said. Some of it he could hear in her soft, low voice.

“Not protect me when I’m toe-to-toe with either of those pilots in future, that’s for sure.”

He heard the derisive tone in her voice. Frowning, Gus murmured, “They shouldn’t have gone after you like that. They did it because they don’t respect women in general, not just you.”

“They’re not used to working around military women,” Cam agreed quietly.

“Part of it is the Mexican culture,” Gus said.

“I know. I was warned of it before I took this mission.”

Brightening, Gus made the turn. San Diego spread out for miles along the coastline, and the windows of the tall skyscrapers in the downtown area glimmered golden, reflecting the setting sun. “Well,” he drawled “at least one of your team isn’t prejudiced against women.”

“You. I think it’s because you’re part Indian. My C.O. comes from Indian and Brazilian heritage, and she’s from a matriarchal culture like yourself. That’s probably why.”

Nodding, Gus paid strict attention to flight protocol at this point. “My mother drilled into me at an early age that women are just as strong, smart and capable as men. She was right.” He really didn’t want this flight to end, because he was enjoying talking to Cam so much. Making the next turn, they began heading over the border toward Tijuana.

Moistening her lips, which were dry due to the desert environment, Cam gazed down at the landscape. Tijuana was a major border city, a city of haves and have-nots. The poor lived up on the hillsides, sometimes in shacks made of cardboard, with pieces of corrugated tin for roofs. It was a heart-wrenching sight to her. No one should live in that kind of poverty.

As Gus brought the Apache in for a perfect three-wheel landing, Cam felt sad. He had been the only positive part of her day. She gritted her teeth, girding herself for her next duty, which was to talk individually to each pilot about what she saw as his weaknesses and strengths. The task was not going to be fun at all.

Cam missed the camaraderie of her sisters, as well as her fellow pilots at the BJS base in Peru. Akiva had been right; when one assumed a leadership role, the fun of being a pilot went out the window—pronto. Having no one to talk to on a personal level weighed heavily on Cam.

She gazed out the windshield as the rotors stopped turning. Below, a U.S. Army crew tethered the rotors and the chief of the ground crew gave the signal that it was safe to open their individual cockpit covers. Until Mexican Army crews could be trained to take over these jobs, the U.S. Army would supply ground crews to Mexico.

Pushing up the canopy, Cam unharnessed herself, trying to tuck all her fears away. Somehow she had to look confident and authoritative, as if she knew what she was doing when she talked to Antonio and Luis. It wasn’t going to be pleasant.

On the ground, she saw Gus take off his helmet. He quickly ran his long fingers through his short, thick black hair, taming it back into place. When she looked at him, he grinned at her like an excited little boy. In that moment, all her consternation dissolved beneath the warmth and joy in his eyes as he held her gaze. Taking off her own helmet, Cam set it on the fuselage of the Apache as the ground crew rapidly worked around them. She had her hair in a ponytail, and reaching up, she loosened it so that it flowed down around her face and shoulders once again.

Unexpected hunger sizzled through Gus as Cam’s hair flowed like a chestnut cape around her proud shoulders. The sunlight caressed her as she picked up her helmet and tucked it beneath her left elbow, then picked up her clipboard. The breeze lifted some strands, highlighting the gold-red tones. She was incredibly beautiful to him in that moment. The world seemed to stop turning for Gus as Cam looked up at him from only a few feet away. The voices of the ground crew, the calls of the seagulls wheeling above them, the noise of a diesel fuel truck coming toward them, all dissolved. He was aware only of her. That oval face dotted with girlish freckles, those thoughtful but worried green eyes of hers and her very soft, parted lips all conspired against him.

As their gazes locked and held for an instant, Gus felt the armor he’d placed around his heart crack. He literally felt and heard it, and the sensation was startling. Frightening. Euphoric. He stood there staring at her, and really looked at Cam for the first time, man to woman.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to tear his gaze from hers a second later. But not before he saw her cheeks turn a distinct rose color. Had he seen her eyes change? Had they really become a velvet green with flecks of sunlight in them as she’d stared back at him? Trying to shake off the sensation, because it wasn’t appropriate under the circumstances, Gus turned away. But he remembered her eyes. They were like dark, placid green pools he’d seen in the jungles of the Yucatan peninsula that he’d visited with his parents as they taught him about his ancient Mayan heritage. If she met her, his mother would whisper that Cam had “jaguar eyes.” Eyes that now held Gus frozen, a captive—but what an eager one he was! To his consternation and shock, he realized that he could have fallen helplessly into Cam’s gaze, a willing prisoner.

Turning, he fell into step with her as they headed back to the barracks. Cam kept a casual distance between them, and glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, Gus wondered if she’d felt anything toward him in that crazy moment out of time. Her cheeks were still a high pink color, and she was looking down at the ground, her brows drawn downward. Realizing abruptly that she probably hadn’t, Gus found himself in an unexpected quandary.

He liked Cam. Liked everything about her, probably more than he should, given their professional relationship. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he took off his flight gloves and jammed them into the left pocket of his flight suit. Within moments they would be at the two-story barracks, climbing the outside wooden stairs to the second floor, where their H.Q. was located. Time. He needed some quiet time to think about what had just occurred. Tonight, when he went to his assigned cubical on the first floor, and the lights were out, he’d feel his way through it all. Maybe then he’d get some answers.

Chapter 5

Exhausted, Cam walked down to her small room on the first floor of the barracks—her “home” until she could find an apartment near the base. Darkness had fallen. After spending so much energy talking individually to the two arrogant Mexican pilots, she was emotionally whipped. Gus had been a dream in comparison. He’d hung on every word of her critique of his flight performance, asked good questions on how to become better the next time around. Gus was her only bright spot in the whole day.

Heart heavy, Cam realized she wasn’t even hungry. It was 1900 and she knew she should eat, but she was too upset. Being a leader was harder than she’d ever envisioned. Gaining a new respect for her own C.O., Major Stevenson, Cam unlocked the door to her room. Stepping in, she turned on the overhead light. Earlier in the day, when she’d arrived at the base via commercial airline, she’d thrown her two pieces of luggage into the room, shed her civilian clothes and quickly donned the dark green flight suit worn by U.S. Army aviators.

Looking around as she quietly closed the door, Cam decided that even though this was a spare room, it was posh in comparison to her digs at the cave in Peru where the squadron was based. Here she had a double bed, a wooden dresser with a mirror, and two large metal lockers to store her few clothes in. A television, DVD player and radio were all unexpected bonuses to her. At BJS, no one had these things, though one building on the other side of the mountain—the mining operation that was a front for their black ops—had a satellite dish where off-duty personnel could go watch television and find out what was happening in the rest of the world. It was a treat to have time to do that.

Cam’s new room had a small desk and a phone, and she’d brought her Mac titanium G4 laptop, which she’d use to communicate with her colleagues. Next to it she placed the very expensive iridium satellite phone.

Cam reached for the Velcro closing at the top of her flight suit and tugged it open. Pulling out the white silk scarf she always wore around her neck in order to stop the uniform from chafing her skin as she scanned the skies, Cam sat down. She needed someone to talk to. Someone whose advice could help her get through this messy situation. Picking up the satellite phone, she dialed a number.

“Stevenson here.”

“Maya? This is Cam. I hope it’s not too late?”

Chuckling, Maya said, “I figured I’d hear from you. And late? When I’m known to stay up half the night and then crash for a few hours on the bunk in my office? I don’t think so.”

“It’s great to hear a friendly voice,” Cam said, meaning it. She gripped the phone anxiously.

“So, you hit a brick wall with your pilots?”

Sighing, she nodded. “Yeah, two out of the three are challenges. Only one, Chief Gus Morales, is the material we’re looking for.”

“So, give me the down and dirty on all of them. Let’s talk.”

Relieved, Cam quickly related the day’s events. Her heart was beating hard in her chest because she didn’t want to disappoint Maya. She didn’t want her to think she wasn’t up to the job before her. Right now, Cam felt like a loser.

“Let me do some more background snooping on Dominguez and Zaragoza, okay? If they’re that bad, why the hell did the army allow them to pass? That’s my first question. Secondly, I know that the Mexican military have been putting only two students per rotation through Apache school. Why should these two get it, instead of guys who really want the training?”

Rubbing her aching head, Cam muttered, “I don’t know. There’s nothing in their personnel jackets to indicate why.”

Chuckling darkly, Maya said, “Personnel jackets are sanitized versions of reality, and tell you little. Don’t worry, I’ll get to Morgan and have him do some looking into the real records at the flight school at Fort Rucker, to find out what you need to know.”

“I feel inept, Maya.”

Laughing, she said, “Welcome to the real world of being a leader. Crappy, isn’t it?”

“No kidding. I sure have a new respect for you…for what you must go through every day down there, while all we do is climb into the cockpit and fly.”

“Well, Cam, you pilots put your lives on the line. I don’t. I fly a desk most of the time. I take other slings and arrows—glares, silent name-calling and outbursts of anger from time to time with my people, but that’s not often. And you’re in another league on this. With an all-woman squadron down here, we have a natural tendency toward teamwork and helping one another. Whereas with men, at least most macho ones, there’s nothing but rivalry. Some guys just don’t like to work together. They like to show off—strut their stuff and show you what they know as an individual, not a team member.”

Laughing softly, Cam nodded. “Well, the one bright spot, like I said, is Gus Morales. He’s a dream, really.”

“Yeah?”

Cam filled her in on the Mexican-American pilot.

“He was a good choice as X.O.,” Maya affirmed.

“Maya, I’m going to ask a stupid question.”

“No question is stupid, Cam. Only the one that goes unasked. What is it?”

Relieved that Maya didn’t mind holding her hand as she learned how to become a leader, Cam felt the courage to go on. She shifted in the chair and crossed her legs.

“I see the closeness and confidence you have with Dallas Klein, your X.O.—the confidence you have in her. I was wondering…well, do I want to create that same situation with Gus?”

Chuckling, Maya said, “X.O.’s are people, Cam. Sometimes you get lucky, like I did with Lieutenant Klein, who became an immediate friend. She’s someone I can blow off steam to, cry in front of, talk and laugh with. And whatever I say to her stays with her. She knows how to keep a confidence. She’s not a gossiper. As a leader, you can’t cry in front of your people. You have to look confident, strong and sure of yourself even if your gut feels like jelly and you’re questioning yourself every step of the way. The right X.O. can give you a safe harbor to vent your anger and frustration, share your humor over dumb things, mistakes, talk about your personnel, and in general, help you run the command. You want an X.O. who is perceptive, who can give you feedback and who isn’t afraid of you just because you’re the boss. You don’t want a boot licker.”