Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of Stone by Lindsay McKenna Page A

the cave floor, beneath the 30 mm cannon that was suspended beneath the fuselage just below the first cockpit of the D model. Several of her crew chiefs were down on their hands and knees, peering up as he pointed out various parts of the long-nosed machine gun. She watched with interest, close enough to see his expression, but not enough to hear his voice. His square face was alight with enthusiasm. Why, he was even smiling! That caught Maya off guard. York was smiling. What a difference! In flight school at Fort Rucker, he’d neversmiled. Not once. She saw Sergeant Nuria Sedano, a Peruvian mechanic, laughing at something he’d said. Another crew chief, Sergeant Lucinda Huisa, was scrunched down on her hands and knees, her eyes narrowed intently, as York continued to extol the changes on this newest model.
    “Miracles do happen,” Maya muttered. She remained where she was. It was good to see her squadron so enthusiastic about the new helicopters. The other I.P., CWO4 Craig Barton, was sitting on the lip of the Blackhawk with his own crowd of interested admirers, pointing out details in the interior of the cabin.
    Happiness threaded through Maya’s heart. It felt good to see her crews eagerly engaged in welcoming the newest helos to their tiny base. Her team worked hard, relentlessly, and she asked everything of them, heart and soul, to keep the operation at peak performance. She wasn’t about to wade into the crowd and order them all back to their offices or maintenance areas. No, let them have this small reprieve. Goddess knew, Maya wasn’t able to give them much R and R in Agua Caliente, or even better, fly them to Cuzco for a weekend where they could really rest and have a little fun, dancing and drinking at the local clubs. They were a group of young women, nearly all single and in their early twenties. Maya knew that some had boyfriends in Agua Caliente or Cuzco, or back in the States. They signed up for a one-year gig down here, and she understood how tough it was for them to be separated from loved ones for that long. Yet they did it willingly, with a sense of real adventure, knowing the demands and responsibilities before they signed on.
    Maya’s heart swelled with pride at her crew. She could tell by the looks on the men’s faces, that thequestions being asked were professional and knowledgeable. Anyone expecting this group to be slow or stupid would be jolted, because some of the sharpest, most intelligent women in the U.S. Army were here in this cave. Maya had literally handpicked her team, all volunteers, during the years the base had been in operation. She was looking for bright, motivated young women who were competitive within themselves—not with others—and who took pride in doing a job right the first time around.
    Unable to resist the laughter, the pleasant talk, Maya moved quietly toward the closest group clustered around the D model Apache. She didn’t want to be spotted by the men, so she moved at an angle and stayed at the rear of the group. She saw Jake, the only man in this squadron, standing with his wife, Ana, and listening to the Texas CWO. Her real interest was centered on York, and she eased around the cluster toward the nose of the Apache, where he was still on his back beneath the cannon, explaining the differences between the old and new models to the three attentive crew chiefs.
    Dane felt Maya’s presence. Oh, it wasn’t anything obvious; he just sensed her nearness. Craning his neck to the left, he saw her standing at the rear of the crowd. Her catlike eyes were fixed on him. For a brief moment, his hand froze in midair, then he said to hell with it and went on explaining the technicalities of the helo to the crew chief who was lying on her side and looking up at what he was pointing at. His skin prickled pleasantly. Answering the crew chief as she pointed at the gun where his hand rested, and asked a question, Dane forced himself to pay attention to her and not be distracted