Wait until dark, p.30
Wait Until Dark,
p.30
“Uh, thanks.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” He made it sound as if it was completely his doing and was a pleasure. Clearly a southerner. Not deep-fried South, definitely not Louisiana, no real accent, but a soft, pleasant weave to the words. Unhurried speech. And an inborn politeness that was too often lost these days. She could feel the familiarity of Tim’s speech pattern relaxing her.
He saluted—she could make out the motion as a silhouette against the soft glow of the cockpit readouts behind him—then he faced out the gunner’s window before the left-side chief’s seat.
She hadn’t seen the bird falling out of the night sky until it was too late and the dust had blinded her. It was definitely a Black Hawk, but she hadn’t heard it until it was right on top of her.
They’d made her wait outside the normal circle of field lights, beyond the edge of the pavement. And still the bird had surprised her.
Looking around, it took her only moments to assess why the unusual treatment.
The cargo net behind her kept extra cans of munitions from sliding around. Outside the bird, she could make out the weapons pylons sticking out to either side where serious missiles and cannon were hanging.
They’d picked her up in a DAP Hawk? A Direct Action Penetrator Black Hawk was the nastiest piece of hardware ever thrown into the night sky by any military, and only the Night Stalkers regiment of US Special Operations Forces flew them. There’d been twenty of them built—ever.
If a girl was gonna hitch a ride, this was about the sweetest muscle car she could land in. She’d always had a dumb-as-a-brick weak spot for guys with muscle cars, but never stuck around long because they always had to drive. Half the reason she’d gone pilot was that she got to drive.
But the rotors sounded odd. Wrong. She’d flown over a thousand hours in Black Hawks, over a hundred in a DAP during training. To have the sound be so different was as if she’d gone to sleep and woken up on a different planet.
She leaned out the cargo door, but there was nothing to see in the night.
“She’s a quiet one, ma’am.” Tim must have noticed her actions.
A quiet one. Stealth?
Lola had forgotten. She’d flown a quieted DAP Hawk on an actual mission once, well, at the end of one. She’d been so wound up and terrified of screwing up that she hadn’t noticed the differences at first. The stealth one that had hard-landed in bin Laden’s compound back in 2011 was the only one the public knew about. Here was another.
They’d fetched her in a stealth DAP Black Hawk. This wasn’t a muscle car. This was a friggin’ big-block GTO with a turbocharger and nitro. Made a girl feel special. It made up for any lack of a “welcome aboard” moment. And made up for the dust that still coated her like an oil slick.
No wonder they’d had her stand in dirt beyond the field lights and kept the rotors going. This bird was not a sight meant for casual eyes. She had to take a pull on a water bottle from her thigh pocket, rinse a bit, and spit out the door and into the roaring wind to clear the last of the grit from her mouth.
Clear of the airfield, her eyes were adjusting to the night. Lola could make out the stars above. And the complete lack of lights below. Primitive agricultural. As soon as you were away from the cities, fires and oil lamps were the only nighttime lights Afghanistan had going for it. It wasn’t merely dark down there; it was a blank slate visible only by night-vision gear.
Inside the Hawk, she could make out enough in the darkness to identify the Miniguns in front of both of the crew chiefs who lived their lives facing sideways and craning their necks out the gunner’s windows. If they were using the standard setup, the guy who’d helped her aboard would be a dead-on gunner who could also fix a helicopter blindfolded, and whoever hunched over the right-hand gun would be the chief mechanic who could also shoot better than most people in the Army.
Copilot forward to the left and pilot forward to the right. That was her seat. But it wasn’t. She bit her lip, hoping she’d made the right choice. She’d given up the pilot’s seat in a CSAR, combat search-and-rescue bird, to fly copilot in SOAR.
Two years of training before they’d let her aboard for a mission, and that was after she’d already been flying for seven years. She’d thought that was ridiculous when she heard about it. Two years later she wondered if that had been enough time. From CSAR, the jump to SOAR was like going straight from a tricycle to NASCAR. It had been a hard two years.
“Y’all welcome aboard, Chief Warrant 3 Lola LaRue.” She could see the pilot turn his helmet slightly toward the gap between his and the copilot’s seat. The voice wasn’t the guy who’d helped her, Tim Maloney. Normally lousy with names, his had stuck easily.
The pilot was clearly trouble. He said her name in the drawn-out slurring way so many had before. Not even the accent was real—faked Texas. Badly faked.
So, if it was gonna play that way, it was time to “pull on her soldier.”
“Yes, sir. Appreciate the lift.”
“Lola LaRue.” He said it again like he was rolling it around on his tongue.
Shit! was the only thought she could come up with. She’d hoped SOAR was above this. More than hoped, believed. Stupid, girl. Really damn stupid.
“Somebody named y’all that?”
Upbeat and chipper, LaRue. “My daddy. I think he wanted me to grow up to be a stripper.” She’d discovered that taking it head-on was the only thing that worked.
“Looks like y’all’ve done gone and disappointed him and probably many other men besides. ’Specially if you’re half as purdy as your file photo says you is.” He actually drawled “purdy” into a weird kind of over-Texas-saturated slur.
“Disappointed the hell out of him. And I look way better than my stupid Army photo.” It was true and to hell with him.
A deep chuckle.
She swallowed hard and dug down into her Creole badass, street-girl soul for the serious load of rude she’d be needing to launch. A deep breath to tighten her gut. Okay, here it comes. Stupid joke about maybe a private performance, or maybe a private one for his crew, or—
“Well done, Chief Warrant. Welcome to SOAR.”
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Take Over at Midnight
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Wait Until Dark
About the Author
USA Today and Amazon #1 Bestseller M. L. “Matt” Buchman began writing on a flight from Japan to ride his bicycle across the Australian Outback. Just part of a solo around-the-world trip that ultimately launched his writing career.
From the very beginning, his powerful female heroines insisted on putting character first, then a great adventure. He’s since written over 70 action-adventure thrillers and military romantic suspense novels. And just for the fun of it: 100 short stories, and a fast-growing pile of read-by-author audiobooks.
Booklist says: “3X Top 10 of the Year.” PW says: “Tom Clancy fans open to a strong female lead will clamor for more.” His fans say: “I want more now…of everything.” That his characters are even more insistent than his fans is a hoot.
As a 30-year project manager with a geophysics degree who has designed and built houses, flown and jumped out of planes, and solo-sailed a 50’ ketch, he is awed by what is possible. More at: www.mlbuchman.com.
Also by M. L. Buchman
* also in audio
Thrillers
Dead Chef
One Chef!
Two Chef!
Miranda Chase NTSB
Drone*
Thunderbolt*
Condor*
Ghostrider*
Raider*
Chinook*
Havoc*
White Top*
Start the Chase*
Romantic Suspense
Delta Force
Target Engaged*
Heart Strike*
Wild Justice*
Midnight Trust*
Firehawks
Main Flight
Pure Heat
Full Blaze
Hot Point*
Flash of Fire*
Wild Fire
Smokejumpers
Wildfire at Dawn
Wildfire at Larch Creek
Wildfire on the Skagit
The Night Stalkers
Main Flight
The Night Is Mine
I Own the Dawn
Wait Until Dark
Take Over at Midnight
Light Up the Night
Bring On the Dusk
By Break of Day
Target of the Heart
Target Lock on Love
Target of Mine
Target of One’s Own
White House Holidays
Daniel’s Christmas*
Frank’s Independence Day*
Peter’s Christmas*
Christmas at Steel Beach
Zachary’s Christmas*
Roy’s Independence Day*
Damien’s Christmas*
Christmas at Peleliu Cove
Henderson’s Ranch
Nathan’s Big Sky*
Big Sky, Loyal Heart*
Big Sky Dog Whisperer
Tales of Henderson’s Ranch
* * *
Shadow Force: Psi
At the Slightest Sound*
At the Quietest Word*
At the Merest Glance*
At the Clearest Sensation*
White House Protection Force
Off the Leash*
On Your Mark*
In the Weeds*
Contemporary Romance
Eagle Cove
Return to Eagle Cove
Recipe for Eagle Cove
Longing for Eagle Cove
Keepsake for Eagle Cove
Love Abroad B&B
Heart of the Cotswolds: England
Path of Love: Cinque Terre, Italy
Where Dreams
Where Dreams are Born
Where Dreams Reside
Where Dreams Are of Christmas*
Where Dreams Unfold
Where Dreams Are Written
Where Dreams Continue
Science Fiction / Fantasy
Deities Anonymous
Cookbook from Hell: Reheated
Saviors 101
SF/F Titles
The Nara Reaction
Monk’s Maze
The Me and Elsie Chronicles
Non-Fiction
Strategies for Success
Managing Your Inner Artist / Writer
Estate Planning for Authors*
Character Voice
* * *
Don’t miss a thing! Get a free collection!
www.mlbuchman.com
Originally published in 2013. Re-edited 2021 for improved reader experience but still the same great story.
Copyright 2021 Matthew L. Buchman
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.
Receive a free book and discover more by this author at: www.mlbuchman.com
Cover Design: Melody Barber
Cover images:
Set of crosshair scope target © thaneeh.gmail.com
Giant outdoors explosion with fire and black smoke © icholakov01
Black bodybuilder in casual clothes isolated on a white background © iulianvalentin
Glamorous young woman in black leather jacket posing near white wall © mtoome
The Soviet tank on a white background © nikolz
Army Helicopter Rescue © Troy Darr, U.S. Army
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M. L. Buchman, Wait Until Dark
