lots to race her horse across when she was home.
And fewer neighbors to give her grief.
She was still mightily puzzled and disturbed by her late breakfast. More accurately, her mother’s cooking of the late breakfast: the food and the singing. And then there was the strange text from Jake who’d ignored her calls this afternoon. She hoped Nada would give her a ring and she could run it all by him. He was always a voice of reason and reassurance.
She heard a helicopter in the distance, but that was nothing unusual. A unit of Army Air National Guard was based at Knoxville Airport and OH-58 observation helicopters flew over all the time.
Scout knew what kind of aviation they were because she’d flown in enough copters during her training to be able to differentiate. Scout halted Comanche and cocked her head to the side to hear more clearly. There was something different about this helicopter. A different thrum to the rotors and engines. A UH-60 Black Hawk, and it was coming closer.
Comanche was startled as the Black Hawk helicopter raced in, just above the treetops, and banked hard barely thirty feet overhead. Scout got the horse under control with great difficulty as the chopper landed in the field in front of her. A side door slid open and a man in camouflage fatigues hopped off. He jogged toward her with the gait of a man who wasn’t used to jogging. He had a small camouflage bag in one hand.
His face was flushed red when he reached her. “Scout, I’m Colonel Orlando. I’m here from the Nightstalkers.”
Scout slid off her horse. She looked past Orlando at the chopper. There was a door gunner, weapon at the ready, and Scout had no doubt there were real bullets in the machine gun. “Where’s Nada?”
“He’s en route to the rally point,” Orlando said. He gestured toward the chopper. “We need to go now.”
“What about Comanche?”
Orlando put a hand on her elbow. “I’ve got Acme support coming. They’ll find your horse and stable it. You can count on it.”
“But—” Orlando cut her off.
“Scout, I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to discuss this. We have to move now.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a piggy bank. “Nada said to give you this.”
Scout reluctantly let go of the reins and took the bank. She allowed Orlando to lead her to the chopper.
“Really sorry to be in such a rush,” Orlando repeated, and she sensed he was. “Normally I do a test on a new recruit. Harvey, or the suicide bomber, or something like that, but Nada vouches for you and that’s good enough. You’ve had three months of training, which is barely enough to get you in the Army, never mind the Nightstalkers. But you’ve already worked with the team. And you’re still alive, so that’s a pretty good test that you’ve passed. Twice.”
They reached the helicopter and Scout hopped aboard, placing the piggy bank on her lap. Orlando had a little more trouble getting on board, but the second he was inside, the chopper lifted.
The import of what Orlando had said struck her suddenly. She had to shout to be heard above the blade and engine noise. “Does that mean I’m a Nightstalker now?”
“Not up to me,” Orlando said.
“Are we going to Area 51?”
“Nope.”
“Is this in regard to my text?”
“No idea.”
“My training?
“No clue.”
“Well, okay.” Scout saw Comanche standing calmly where she’d left him, peering up at the receding helicopter. The horse didn’t seem that upset, but then again, it was a horse. Then she shifted her gaze. Scout could already see the Knoxville Airport directly ahead. “Where are we going?”
“New York City.”
“Cool beans,” Scout said. “I’ve never been to the Big Apple.”
An F-14 Tomcat was waiting for Roland at Naval Air Station Whidbey Island, engines throttled back, pilot at the ready.
Roland got out of the truck, still dressed all in black, his face covered with camouflage paint, his field pack over one shoulder, his other
And fewer neighbors to give her grief.
She was still mightily puzzled and disturbed by her late breakfast. More accurately, her mother’s cooking of the late breakfast: the food and the singing. And then there was the strange text from Jake who’d ignored her calls this afternoon. She hoped Nada would give her a ring and she could run it all by him. He was always a voice of reason and reassurance.
She heard a helicopter in the distance, but that was nothing unusual. A unit of Army Air National Guard was based at Knoxville Airport and OH-58 observation helicopters flew over all the time.
Scout knew what kind of aviation they were because she’d flown in enough copters during her training to be able to differentiate. Scout halted Comanche and cocked her head to the side to hear more clearly. There was something different about this helicopter. A different thrum to the rotors and engines. A UH-60 Black Hawk, and it was coming closer.
Comanche was startled as the Black Hawk helicopter raced in, just above the treetops, and banked hard barely thirty feet overhead. Scout got the horse under control with great difficulty as the chopper landed in the field in front of her. A side door slid open and a man in camouflage fatigues hopped off. He jogged toward her with the gait of a man who wasn’t used to jogging. He had a small camouflage bag in one hand.
His face was flushed red when he reached her. “Scout, I’m Colonel Orlando. I’m here from the Nightstalkers.”
Scout slid off her horse. She looked past Orlando at the chopper. There was a door gunner, weapon at the ready, and Scout had no doubt there were real bullets in the machine gun. “Where’s Nada?”
“He’s en route to the rally point,” Orlando said. He gestured toward the chopper. “We need to go now.”
“What about Comanche?”
Orlando put a hand on her elbow. “I’ve got Acme support coming. They’ll find your horse and stable it. You can count on it.”
“But—” Orlando cut her off.
“Scout, I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to discuss this. We have to move now.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a piggy bank. “Nada said to give you this.”
Scout reluctantly let go of the reins and took the bank. She allowed Orlando to lead her to the chopper.
“Really sorry to be in such a rush,” Orlando repeated, and she sensed he was. “Normally I do a test on a new recruit. Harvey, or the suicide bomber, or something like that, but Nada vouches for you and that’s good enough. You’ve had three months of training, which is barely enough to get you in the Army, never mind the Nightstalkers. But you’ve already worked with the team. And you’re still alive, so that’s a pretty good test that you’ve passed. Twice.”
They reached the helicopter and Scout hopped aboard, placing the piggy bank on her lap. Orlando had a little more trouble getting on board, but the second he was inside, the chopper lifted.
The import of what Orlando had said struck her suddenly. She had to shout to be heard above the blade and engine noise. “Does that mean I’m a Nightstalker now?”
“Not up to me,” Orlando said.
“Are we going to Area 51?”
“Nope.”
“Is this in regard to my text?”
“No idea.”
“My training?
“No clue.”
“Well, okay.” Scout saw Comanche standing calmly where she’d left him, peering up at the receding helicopter. The horse didn’t seem that upset, but then again, it was a horse. Then she shifted her gaze. Scout could already see the Knoxville Airport directly ahead. “Where are we going?”
“New York City.”
“Cool beans,” Scout said. “I’ve never been to the Big Apple.”
An F-14 Tomcat was waiting for Roland at Naval Air Station Whidbey Island, engines throttled back, pilot at the ready.
Roland got out of the truck, still dressed all in black, his face covered with camouflage paint, his field pack over one shoulder, his other
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