Ride the Thunder Page 6

  “Yeah, you’re right. Photos are everything.” Didn’t he know that? Of course he did. Rhona seemed to have a sensitivity he lacked. But then, that’s what separated men from women, he told himself stoically as she started to bring the Huey in for a landing on the baseball diamond. A thousand feet below, he could see Señor Gonzalez with his young men beside the battered flatbed truck, waiting patiently for the next shipment to arrive.

  This time, Nolan ordered Rhona out of the cockpit once they powered down and the engine was shut off. He made his way out of the sliding door and onto the ground. Señor Gonzalez moved forward slowly, leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand. The ten Hispanics with him, all tall, athletic young men, stayed behind him respectfully, even though he walked at a snail’s pace. As Nolan stood beside the Huey, waiting for Rhona to disembark, he wished that the rest of America’s youths would respect their elders as these Latinos did. The country would be a far better place for everyone.

  Rhona jumped to the ground beside Nolan and tugged at the chafing flak vest. Her hair was still tightly wrapped so that it stayed in place when she took off her helmet. As she did so she saw Señor Gonzalez’s weatherbeaten face light up with surprise and then pleasure.

  “Ah, we have a señorita pilot, eh, Lieutenant Galway?” he said by way of greeting as he stopped beside the Huey next to Nolan.

  Scowling, Nolan said, “Yes, sir, we do. This is Lieutenant McGregor. Lieutenant, this is Señor Gonzalez, the leader for area six.”

  Rhona stepped aside to allow the young men to start taking boxes out of the Huey and putting them on the truck, which was being slowly backed into place nearby.

  “Nice to meet you, sir. I’ll be seeing a lot of you in the coming weeks.”

  Gripping her gloved hand warmly, the old man lifted it and placed a circumspect kiss on the back. “We welcome you with open arms and open hearts, Señorita McGregor. Surely you have a first name?” He smiled and released her hand.

  Heat rushed to Rhona’s face at the old gentleman’s courtly behavior. She’d never had her hand kissed by anyone. “Why, er, yes, sir, I do. You can call me Rhona.”

  Eyes twinkling, Manuel looked at Nolan. “Not only is she helping you to fly to us, but she is very beautiful. I envy you, Lieutenant Galway.”

  Grumpily, Nolan said, “She’s just another pilot, Señor Gonzalez. Nothing more.” He really didn’t mean that, but he couldn’t help being testy right now. Seeing the shadow cross Rhona’s face at his words, he felt like a heel. Why was he gigging her like this? Because she was a woman in his cockpit, that’s why. And Nolan knew that was not a good enough reason. He’d never treat a male copilot like this; he’d never been snotty and snide about anyone in front of others.

  Rhona, however, ignored his immature behavior. “Señor, are those homes on fire a part of your area?”

  “Eh?” Manuel slowly turned and looked at the rising plume of black smoke smudging the sky. “That? No, Señorita Rhona. That is area five.”

  “How’d the fire start?” Nolan asked, relieved to change the topic.

  Shaking his head, Manuel muttered, “They call themselves Diablo, devils, Lieutenant Galway.”

  “Devils?” Nolan demanded. “Who or what is that?”

  “We are receiving word from the people of area five that there is a gang who call themselves Diablo. They are deliberately setting fire to the homes.”

  “What?” Rhona exclaimed in surprise. “Why on earth would they do that? Isn’t there enough havoc and grief without deliberately setting fires?”

  “Sí, señorita,” Manuel agreed gravely. He lifted his cane and jabbed it toward the smoke. “My young men who are responsible for guarding our area have told me about them.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Nolan growled. “A band of white men calling themselves Diablo are doing this? Why?”

  “My sons—” Manuel began, then broke off as he looked warmly at the young men who were hustling to get the boxes off the Huey and loaded onto the truck. “Well…they are not really my sons, but that is what I call them.” He looked at Rhona, his face growing gentle. “I have many sons and daughters here in our barrio, señorita. Perhaps not blood family, but a greater family, of the community.”

  “Yes,” Rhona murmured, “I understand what you’re saying.”

  “Of course you do. You’re a very bright and alert young woman. You miss little.” He smiled benignly. “My sons who patrol the edges of area six have talked to the people of area five, which is next to us. Yesterday they were told this gang of men were raiding and stealing food out of the mouths of children there. When the leader of area five refused to give them water and more food, they killed him at gunpoint.”

  “Damn,” Nolan growled. Rubbing his chin, he studied the smoke. It was less than two miles from where they stood.

  “That’s awful,” Rhona whispered. “And they’re setting the fires to get even?”

  “Sí, that is what we hear. If the people in the house do not give them food, then Diablo sets fire to their home and holds them at gunpoint so they cannot rescue anything from it. The family is forced to stand there and watch their place burn to the ground. This is so very sad. It is bad enough that the earthquake has us as prisoners. To have a gang of men with rifles going around and killing and hurting others…well, it is too much. Too much…”

  Nolan saw the last box being removed from the Huey. He looked over at Rhona. Her face was sad, her gray eyes filled with compassion as she looked down at the old man hunched over his cane. When she reached out and touched his bent shoulder, Nolan felt his heart fill with such a powerful yearning he was caught completely off guard. What would her long, slender fingers feel like sliding across his own shoulder? Wonderful. And nurturing. Yes, that was it: Rhona was very maternal, very mothering and caring. That appealed strongly to Nolan.

  His brows dipped. “We need to saddle up,” he told her in a tight voice.

  Rhona nodded and patted the old man gently. “We’ll be back.”

  “Sí, and we are muy, much, grateful.” Manuel smiled sadly. “Without you, without your help, the people of my barrio would die a terrible, slow death. Just know that this truckload of bottled water goes to our babies and into the mouths of our thirsty children….” With that, he stepped back and waved goodbye to them.

  January 8: 0800

  Rhona flew in taut silence. Nolan looked angry. And he moved restlessly in his seat as if he had ants in his pants. She didn’t know what to make of that, because she didn’t know him that well. Deciding to risk it, she spoke up. Within twenty minutes, they’d land back at Camp Reed and she might not get a chance to talk to him.

  “What’s bothering you?”

  Nolan’s mouth quirked. “I’m that readable?”

  Chuckling, Rhona said, “You act like you’d rather be anywhere than in this cockpit right now. You’re restless.”

  Sighing, Nolan rasped, “I’m worried. Worried about that damned gang.”

  “Is this something new going on?”

  “Yeah, it is.” He rubbed his chin and shook his head. “I’ve got to talk to the major at Ops. There’s got to be something we can do about this. I don’t want those sons of bitches comin’ over into area six. Señor Gonzalez looks out for the core of the barrio—where all the kids, the babies especially, are staying. They’re trying to gather all the mothers and children together, where they can get them food and water. But if this gang goes in there…hell—” Nolan broke off, frustrated.

  “What about that marine squad that’s going in? Aren’t they supposed to supply law enforcement?”

  “Yes, they are. But that’s ten men—er, people—covering a two-square-mile area, on foot. You can’t possibly keep everyone safe if there’s a gang roving around.”

  “The sergeant and his squad will probably set up a base camp and operate out of it, right?”

  “Yeah, for sure. Probably in the core of the barrio, near where Señor Gonzalez has his house…or what’s left of it.
There’s nothing left standing in the barrio. As you saw, everything was destroyed.”

  Nodding, Rhona bit her lower lip. She guided the Huey onto the military reservation and began to drop altitude in preparation for landing. “That’s awful, what happened. Do you know who’s flying into area five?”

  “No, but I’ll find out.”

  “Do they have any law enforcement there?”

  “I dunno. Like I said, when we land, I’ll make a call to Ops and see what I can find out.”

  He’d said “we” and not “I” this time, Rhona noted, feeling heartened. She saw him reach for the mike and call the tower for landing instructions. Heart singing, she hoped that his concern for the people would continue to outweigh her presence in his cockpit. From the worried look on Nolan’s narrow face, she felt that with time, he’d adjust to her presence, and it would no longer be a big deal. Fervently, Rhona hoped that was true.

  January 8: 0830

  Rhona waited with the Huey as it was refueled and loaded, this time with MREs—meals ready to eat. She stood tensely as they were placed by the boxload onto the bird. Nolan had trotted over to the edge of the landing apron and gotten on the radio of a HumVee that was sitting nearby. The weather was growing worse. The wind was beginning to feel sharp to her, cutting through her lightweight, olive-green flight suit. The sky looked like it was going to dump rain at any minute. Marines hurried back and forth, responding to the threatening conditions. Everything seemed heightened and surreal. Rhona felt the tension. She couldn’t escape it. Seeing Nolan leave the HumVee and start trotting in her direction, she felt her heart pick up in beat.

  Nolan was a handsome man, there was no doubt. Rhona had noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring. Yet he was certainly old enough to be married. Did he have a wife and children? She suspected so.

  The look on his face was grim. Her heart began to sink as he slowed to a walk as he approached her.

  “This is crappy,” he told her, pulling on his Nomex flight gloves.

  “What is?”

  “The situation in area five. I just found out that the Diablo gang has just killed the pilot and copilot in the Huey that was taking supplies into that area.”

  “Oh, my God,” Rhona whispered. She saw Nolan’s eyes go feral. His mouth was hard. “No…!”

  “Yeah. I was just in touch with Lieutenant Mason. She’s second-in-command at Ops. They’re suspending flights to area five. They don’t have a choice.”

  “But…the people there…” Rhona whispered. “They’re being penalized because of that gang.”

  Nolan moved past her and made sure the cargo netting was secure. “Climb onboard, McGregor. We gotta turn and burn. I’ll fly this time.”

  In a daze, Rhona climbed into the cockpit and strapped in. Automatically, like a well-oiled machine, they went through preflight procedures before Nolan fired up the engine and the blades began to turn. Once they were in the air, she spoke.

  “What are we going to do? Is Camp Reed going to send in a squad to stop Diablo?”

  Shrugging, Nolan said wearily, “Like we have extra marines sitting around with nothing to do?”

  “I see….” Chewing on her lower lip, she asked, “Then what? What can we do?”

  “Not much!” Nolan laughed, a sharp, hard bark. Off to their right, more and more columns of smoke were rising into the sky. That meant the gang was burning more homes of the helpless and needy. His anger rose. His hands itched, because if he could, he’d put his .45 to the bastards who’d killed those marine pilots. He’d do it in a heartbeat. They wanted a war? Well, they’d got one.

  “You’re going to tell Señor Gonzalez?”

  “Of course. By the time we get there, another helicopter should have dropped off the squad of marines at the barrio.” Nolan gave her a hard, quick look, then added, “We’ve been ordered, after we drop this payload, to fly over to area five and try to pick up that Huey.”

  Gawking, Rhona stared at him. “You mean…?”

  “I mean we’re to land, and one of us is to fly it home. We got clearance from the FAA to fly it out. If it’s airworthy, that is. I hope the bodies of the men are onboard. If they aren’t, Lieutenant Mason wants us to try and find them and get them onboard. Marines don’t leave other marines behind.”

  The grim tone of his voice was like a knife sawing through her gut. “My God…” Rhona murmured.

  “You sure as hell didn’t volunteer for this kind of duty, did you?” Nolan gave her an assessing glance.

  Taking in a huge, shaky breath of air, Rhona whispered, “I know I’m not a marine. I was in the navy. And I can handle myself in this situation, as ordered. If you’re worried about me holding up my end of the deal—”

  “I am,” Nolan said frankly. “I’m finding myself seesawing here, worried that if anyone from Diablo gets anywhere near that Huey, they’ll start firing at us. We don’t have any ammo onboard except our pistols. They’ve got real firepower. I’m going to fly over the area and we’ll assess it. If it looks like the Huey is free and clear, with no one around it, then we’ll land.”

  She saw the fear in his eyes. Something else was eating Nolan alive. “I’ll fly it back.”

  “Like hell you will.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” He choked up for a moment. Getting ahold of his rage and grief, he whispered, “Because the guys onboard that Huey were good friends of mine. I know their wives…their kids. No, if anyone’s gonna fly that bird outta there with them onboard, it’ll be me.”

  Five

  January 9: 0100

  Rhona tried to get comfortable on the unforgiving ground of the tent she’d been assigned to. It was 0100, and she was exhausted. The sandy earth, although swept smooth of pebbles, cactus and other vegetation, was hard and uneven. It was cold with the January wind buffeting the tent’s closed flaps. Fortunately, the sleeping bag was a good one, made of goose down and nylon. For a pillow, she used her military jacket. On the other side of the small tent lay Nolan Galway.

  One thing Rhona hadn’t counted on was pilots bunking together. She’d mistakenly thought they’d be assigned to the B.O.Q., the Bachelor Officers Quarters. Silly her. She should have realized it would become a “hotel” for Logistics and Ops personnel who had to live, eat and breathe while keeping this entire mission moving forward twenty-four hours a day.

  So much had happened today that her head was spinning. Although she was fatigued from twelve hours of flying, she couldn’t sleep. Still clothed in her uniform except for the flak jacket, she moved onto her back, putting her hands behind her head and opening her eyes.

  The tents the pilots slept in were staked out in three lines, with two feet of space between them. Now she understood more clearly why Nolan was upset at her being his copilot. It meant they ate, breathed and slept together in tight, cramped quarters, both in the cockpit of their Huey and in their pup tent. Keying her hearing, she listened to Nolan tossing and turning less than two feet away from her. He, too, was restless. Rhona knew why; having to fly the area five Huey with the bodies of two of his friends back to base would have gutted her emotionally, too.

  Oh, Galway was a typical male, in that he shoved all his emotions deep down inside of him. But the rest of the day had been a special hell for Rhona while he sat stoically in the cockpit, more untalkative than usual. The few words he did utter were clipped, harsh. But all she’d had to do was look at his hard profile to know how much he was suffering and grieving.

  Outside, she could hear the larger jets taking off and landing. The pilots’ tent city was a quarter of a mile from the main airstrip. Every time a jet took off or landed, their tent shook and shuddered. How did anyone sleep? she wondered. And yet, right next door, Rhona heard the distinct snores of two male pilots. So someone was sleeping. Of course, they’d been pulling this grueling duty for eight days now, and this was only her first.

  Rolling over on her side, she saw a sliver of light filtering through the front flaps of the tent. It m
ade a jagged line down the center between their sleeping bags. A line of demarcation. The symbology wasn’t lost on Rhona. Nolan needed to talk. He needed to get the grief, anger and whatever else he was feeling off his chest. Would he snap at her if she started talking to him now? Rhona knew he wasn’t asleep.

  Risking everything, she sat up, the sleeping bag pooling about her hips. As she settled her hands on her crossed legs, she heard Nolan sigh heavily. Bracing herself, she sat quietly, hoping he would engage in conversation.

  “Can’t you sleep?” Nolan groused irritably.

  “No.” Rhona tilted her head toward him. The darkness in the tent wasn’t complete. With the sliver of light, she could just see his stoic profile. His hands behind his head, he was lying on his back, staring at the tent ceiling. Her heart beat a little harder when he slowly turned in her direction, his eyes glittering.

  “Helluva day,” he muttered to no one in particular, though he was very aware of Rhona. She was sitting up, her hands clasped in her lap, her hair loose and cascading beautifully around her lean, proud shoulders. Even in the dark, she looked beautiful. A huge part of Nolan wanted to simply turn over, crawl that two feet and find himself in her arms. He knew without a doubt from earlier today that Rhona had the compassion, the care, that he desperately needed.

  “I feel like a Mack truck ran over my chest,” he muttered, and lifted his hand to rub that area slowly.

  “No wonder.”

  “No…” He swallowed hard. Closing his eyes, he rasped, “Dammit, I couldn’t even make contact with the wives of my friends. The phone lines are down…. They live in Oceanside, in the same apartment building where I lived…and I can’t reach them, can’t tell them—”

  Wincing internally, Rhona heard his voice crack with repressed emotion. To hell with it, she was going to follow her instincts. Rolling onto her side, she lay down and propped herself up on her right elbow. Reaching out with her left hand, she allowed her fingers to drape gently across his shoulder. Being this close, she could see the glitter in his eyes. From unshed tears, she realized as a poignant shaft of emotion jabbed her heart.