In
flight above the North Atlantic
Thirty-five minutes
ago
I stood behind the pilot, and if my fingers
were dug a little too tightly into the soft leather of his seat,
then screw it. I stared out of the cockpit window at the blackness
of the ocean below.
The pilot said, “Captain. wishing won’t make
this bird fly any faster.”
“It might,” I said, and he
laughed.
The co-pilot tapped my arm. “You have a call
coming in on secure channel two.”
I went back into the cabin and screwed my
earbud into place.
“Go for Cowboy,” I said.
“The fish are in the water,” said Church.
“Two minutes to landfall. What’s your ETA?”
“Bailout in twenty, then drop
time.”
“Good hunting, Captain.”
“Yeah,” I said, and switched
off.
Top and Bunny were ready to go, their chutes
strapped on and their weapons double- and triple-checked. All of us
were heavy with extra magazines, frags, and flash bangs, knives,
and anything else we could carry. If we hit water instead of land,
we’d sink like stones.
“Alpha Team will hit the island in under two
minutes,” I said.
“Wish we were with them, boss,” said
Bunny.
Top studied me for several seconds. “It
ain’t my place to offer advice to an officer,” he said, “me being a
lowly first sergeant and all.”
I gave him a look.
“But I’m pretty sure there’ll be enough beer
left by the time we get to this kegger.”
“There goddamn well better be,” I
growled.