Light Up the Night (22 page)

The craft moseyed up until she touched the base of the ramp and towered above them. The roar of her fans was almost painful despite the muffs. Then, with a sigh as her lift fans eased, she settled to the deck.

The tall front rubber bladder, looking ever so much like an angry child holding a mouthful of breath right before she screamed, abruptly deflated. The front of the ship, a tall steel wall, tilted toward them and landed with a clang on the well deck ramp not ten feet from them.

The thing was overwhelmingly huge. As it went silent, Sly pulled off his head muffs and waved them forward.

“There was no way to adequately explain this vehicle. I thought it better to show what it could do so that you could decide on its utility in this operation.”

She estimated the width carefully. “I could land a Little Bird on this thing.”

Sly nodded. “By about two feet to your rotor tips. Actually you could land one fore and one aft; she's long enough. But if you hit the least little wave you'd bang the side, and I'm not willing, nor is my precious baby certified, to allow you to scuff up my ship. I had something else in mind.” Then he pulled out a piece of chalk and began sketching on the ship's deck plating.

Billy pitched into Trisha's bunk, the poor man positively weaving. He lay there like the dead while Trisha leaned on the door frame and watched him.

Damn the man for screwing up her personal life. He was making her feel things she didn't appreciate. She'd never before cared if a guy shared his past with her or not. She'd actually preferred not. This time Trisha was pissed at him because he wasn't telling her all of his past.

And she'd long since accepted that there could be nothing long term with any guy as long as she was in the service, because her life was mission based. If she wasn't in Somalia or some other hellhole, she'd be off on training assignments.

There was a reason that most of her relationships didn't survive more than a few weeks. She'd never understood the guys who married a civilian. That always seemed downright cruel to her. The wife never knowing if her husband was still alive, because Special Ops missions were often planned and performed under communication blackouts. Maybe the women liked being alone, but Trisha didn't think so. It was a hard road that way. No wonder so few of the families survived.

Some made it work. Hell, there were three couples in SOAR right now. Lola had Tim Maloney who flew with Dusty. Connie and Big John, Dusty's other mechanic. Kee Stevenson not only had her Air Mission Commander husband, but even had her adopted daughter along most of the time because as AMC, Archie didn't fly on the front line during missions anymore.

But what place could she and Billy have, even if they did want something longer term? Once this assignment ended, they were in different branches of the service. Even their limited vacation time probably wouldn't overlap. Once, maybe twice a year they could get together for a good tumble between the sheets, which with any other man would be enough. Not with Billy the SEAL.

She'd thought he was asleep, but he lazily raised a hand and waved her toward him. Trisha wouldn't join him since it would just increase the hurt when this ended. Which was inevitable.

That resolve lasted about three seconds, then she stepped over and curled up beside him. They sighed with relief in unison.

Fully clothed, they lay together, and it was the closest she'd ever felt to anyone, far closer than naked sex. His hand brushed up and down her back, his heart loud against her ear. Despite their difference in stature, they fit together so well. How could she ever resist that?

“I shouldn't have said that before,” his voice rumbled in his chest beneath her arm.

“What?” Though she knew. Normally would have been glad to toss it back in his face. But now a new and different Trisha had slipped into her skin, and pretending that she hadn't been hurt by his withholding from her somehow made it so that she truly was less hurt. It was his past and his business; they weren't tied at the hip.

“You're a goofball, Irish.” He knew exactly what she was doing.

“And proud of it.”

His low chuckle was a wonderful sound.

“I don't like talking about Somalia. My dad died there.”

“You told me. During the Battle of Mogadishu in 1993. I remember.” It was a day that was also burned into the brain of every SOAR pilot on the planet. Two forty-million-dollar Black Hawks had been knocked out of the sky by rocket-propelled grenades worth only a couple hundred dollars each. And in that moment, a thirty-minute operation within moments of successful completion became an eighteen-hour disaster of epic proportions.

Five pilots and crew chiefs had died and had their bodies dragged around the streets. Another had been held in captivity for ten days despite a desperate need for medical attention. Six Deltas and an equal number of Rangers had died as well. Three others dead and more than eighty wounded.

Estimates placed the Somali dead between three hundred and three thousand. The date was still celebrated in Somalia as “Ranger Day,” the day the Somali clan militia beat the United States Army. And they had.

Trisha had never thought before about the parallels of an undertrained, over-armed militia beating the U.S. Army and the USS
Constitution
beating the British. Now wasn't the time to be bringing the idea up with Billy.

“You asked if I ever did anything not in the best interests of the team.”

“Shh.” Trisha brushed her hand over his chest. “It's okay. Just let it rest.” She wondered if he was aware just how tightly he was holding her, as if she were some lifeline he couldn't quite grasp.

His voice was tight when he at last found the words. “I'm the last person you want in Somalia. I volunteered, practically forced my way in when the opportunity came up. But I don't have a cool head about it. I still want to hunt down and kill every single shooter from that day. I don't care that there were tens of thousands of them. I want them taken down so badly. It's not right. I shouldn't be there. I can't be trusted.”

She'd have sat up to look at him if she could, but his desperate grasp wouldn't let her move. It barely let her breathe. His voice was ragged with the exhaustion and the strain.

“Look, tough guy. I'm going to ask you a couple questions you asked me once.”

“Okay.” Billy's hand actually shook where it wrapped around her. What did it take to make a SEAL's hands shake? Had the man ever been more vulnerable than this moment? She'd bet his hands had been steady enough when he buried his mother. He'd been hurt, sad, but somehow this was worse for him. She didn't need to know how, but she hoped she could help him fix it.

“Have you missed a single mission because of this?”

“No.” His voice was soft.

“Have you held back or hesitated or corrupted your mission even the least little bit since you volunteered for Somalia?”

“Never! I wouldn't do that.”

“Didn't think so.” She patted him on the chest and waited for him to remember that he had asked precisely those questions of her while she'd been freaking out over being shot.

It took a minute. Maybe two. Then his death grip around her waist eased enough for her to breathe again as he understood that he hadn't betrayed his own commitments to serving what he believed in.

A low chuckle rippled through him. “Okay, hotshot. I think you got me with that one.”

“Have you made a single action of revenge for your father's death?”

“Not even that. As I said, you got me.”

“No. I haven't had you yet, but I'm about to.”

***

Bill didn't need more of an invitation than that.

Trisha O'Malley had worked under his skin like a drug until he couldn't stop needing her. He'd tried. For three days in Galkayo he'd done the dance with the pirates and done his best to forget about her, and it hadn't worked in the slightest.

She sat up and over his hips and started to strip down, but he stopped her. He wanted to enjoy this, because he had a bad feeling about tonight's mission. And he wanted to show this woman how truly amazing she was while he was still sure he had the chance.

He trapped her hands in his and pulled the lower hem of her shirt back into place. Then he began tracing her form through the fabric, smoothing out her T-shirt so that not a single wrinkle interfered with his investigation.

She glared at him with those crystalline blue eyes, but he ignored that. Her glares didn't scare him anymore. It was simply her instant-on temper response. He had been with a redhead or two in his time, but they had been calm, steady women. Actually one had been a total ditz worthy of the worst blond jokes, but very sweet. Few would dare accuse Trisha of being sweet, and she definitely had the fiery temper so often associated with her coloring. Maybe Bill was losing his mind, but he was thinking there was a very sweet woman deep down inside one Patricia O'Malley.

She might not like the name, but he did. It was more true to who she was on the inside. There was a quiet, thoughtful girl in there named Patricia who had sat silently with him beneath the maple trees of Vermont. Who had planted flower seeds upon his mother's grave and beamed at him when he'd imagined himself piloting the USS
Constitution
over the high seas. Patricia was the woman slowly melting in his arms.

He traced each rib as he worked his way up to follow the line of where ribs met breast, as sweet a curve as any that ever existed. When he let his fingertips map the terrain of her breasts, her eyes fluttered closed on a sigh.

This was a different woman. She'd always made love to him. Active, even aggressive, and occasionally wild. Now she was passive, letting herself become lost in the sensations of his investigation.

He shifted their position so slowly that perhaps she didn't even notice, until she lay back upon the narrow bed and he knelt on the floor beside her. He couldn't tell what he felt. Like a man at worship before the most amazing gift he'd ever been given, or like a lion toying with his prey before he devoured it. He'd started at the former and felt well assured that he'd get to the latter.

Trisha's hair was soft between his fingers. It had grown in the month he'd known her, gone from a chop cut done with a knife when she was bored with it, to a soft frame for her exquisite face. At rest, she was also different, rubbing her cheek into his palm as he brushed the lightest of touches over her closed eyelids. Lips that were…

He sounded like he was on a mapping expedition. Well, maybe he was. Studying the terrain for possible strike and extraction zones, seeking out the strengths and weaknesses of what lay before him. Discovering responses that appeared to be a revelation to Trisha as well as to himself. He slowly stripped her bare and gloried in what he found, both the familiar and the new.

She gave herself to him, giving of her body and of who she was without holding back, without caution, without question. Absolute trust. It was the most incredible experience of his life. No one knew both the past and the present version of him. No one knew what drove him.

No one except Patricia O'Malley. And from her he received the absolute faith and surrender that didn't give an inch of ground but gave absolutely everything else. Too humbled to speak, he simply buried his face in her bare belly as he knelt before her. She slid her hands into his hair and simply held him there.

It was a long time before he removed his own clothes and set about devouring this woman and satisfying the both of them. A long time when he didn't think, didn't act, but simply existed in a space that wasn't one person and a team, but was two people together.

***

Trisha knew she was done for when Billy rested his head on her bare stomach. She knew that against all odds and beliefs in how the world worked, she actually had found the one and only man for her. And it was scaring the shit out of her.

She felt his uneven breathing as emotions dug through him, emotions he might never be able to give voice to but that ran deeper than any ocean beneath a ship's keel.

Keeping her eyes closed, she let the images travel through her. Images of how he'd looked. Raging at her for rescuing him. In the sunlight of that waterfall in upstate Vermont as they swam and played. Naked, scarred, and so powerful it was impossible to credit except he was there before her, flesh and blood, warm and alive. And the way he looked at her when they made love, as if he could see all the way down into her soul.

When he moved over her, when he shifted from the tender investigation of her body, which had to be one of the most romantic things any lover had ever done for her, she wasn't ready for the flight of emotions.

As his mouth took her in, suckled upon her, she felt a draw all the way into her very core. She could imagine a child with this man. A child she had never wanted nor imagined until this moment. When he at long last drove into her, and he swallowed her helpless cry with his kiss, she felt truly joined to another for the first time in her life.

She'd never let him go. She wrapped her arms and legs about him, rising to his rhythm. Burning to his every touch, she finally exploded beneath him and he showered her with all the passion and desire that he normally kept locked so deep inside.

Joined as they were in the flesh, a part of him deep inside her, she could feel how it truly felt to become one.

Two more Black Hawks had flown in from the aircraft carrier during the daylight hours. They were Sea Hawks adapted for the Navy. The big change was that they had hinged tails for improved shipboard stowage. They also could be rigged for antisubmarine warfare as fast as the
May
could have her armament changed out. For this mission, these two birds were configured for simple transport.

With them aboard, the
Peleliu
was at its deck capacity without having to fold rotors or shift any craft down the elevators. It made the ship feel suddenly crowded and hectic. They'd also steamed within forty miles of the coast to improve flight times. No other assets were close enough to be in position in time, so it was the
Peleliu
's operation.

At the preflight briefing, it became clear that the Navy guys were just as happy to leave the forward missions to SOAR. Not that they were any less gung-ho, but their equipment simply wasn't up to the rigors required by this mission. Had some mines that needed sweeping? They were your guys. Nap-of-the-earth flying in the dead of night into a hot battle zone and bringing everyone back out? That was the Night Stalkers.

“The plan is based on the same methods General Garrison used in the Battle of Mogadishu,” Billy had told the briefing room.

Trisha was proud of him that he managed to say that without flinch or hesitation. It was a good plan that they'd found no way to improve on it even after sleeping on it. What little sleep any of them had gotten. She couldn't speak for the rest of the crew, but hers had been short. Actually, Lola's, Connie's, and Kee's husbands looked terribly pleased with themselves as well despite the late session last night, this morning, whatever it had been.

“Similar,” Billy continued, “except for the addition of an amphibious assault on three key locations. We believe this mission will have a high probability of success. Unlike the Mog, all personnel will fly in full armor with night-vision gear, extra ammunition, and canteens. We also will be flying at night where our superior technology should create a significant advantage. We will not be caught unprepared this time.”

There were many glances exchanged around the room. A couple of the senior guys on the
Peleliu
had been offshore for the Battle of Mog and powerless to help. The mess was partly caused because they'd flown during the daylight when the Tier One targets had been located, rather than waiting for the safety of night. And because they had assumed easy victory, they'd only gone prepared for an easy half-hour smash-and-grab operation. After eighteen hours of open warfare against thousands, food, water, ammunition, and medical supplies had been in desperately short supply.

Even after the briefing, when everyone was loading up on the flight deck, Billy stood in a whirlwind of constant questions. Everyone was turning to him, though he was far from the senior-ranked person involved.

Trisha watched as Michael arrived to clarify a point. Lieutenant Commander Boyd Ramis wandered over to report the ship's position. AMC Archie double-checked which chopper Bill would be on and how he wanted the assets spread. Rangers, Navy, Delta, SOAR, it didn't matter. They all came to him.

It was a miracle to watch. Bill had been aboard barely a month, but no one questioned whose operation it was. He personally had made a cohesive team of a wide range of some of the nation's top military assets. A born leader. She'd never seen him look better than all dressed in battle gear standing on the deck of the
Peleliu
with the sun setting behind him.

Heavy leather boots, khakis covered by an armored vest covered by desert camouflage and a utility belt that bulged with munitions. He again wore both a machine gun and a sniper rifle.

Trisha and Roland loaded up. The
May
was once again in her battle configuration, miniguns and rocket pods hanging to either side, and they checked her over extra carefully to make sure everything was ready.

They'd have twelve hours from sunset to sunrise. And for the half hour at either end, it would be best if they weren't over Somalia. They had debated about wanting to run the operation in the dead of night versus getting caught with their feet still on the ground at daybreak if something went wrong. It was decided that the latter was a greater risk, so they'd fly as soon as it was full dark and forego the advantage of a 3:00 a.m. attack.

Dusty James was the first one off, just past sunset. He was headed to an untracked stretch of desert most of the way from the coast at Hobyo to inland Galkayo. True desert, it received less than two inches of rain a year. That meant that even the Somalis who still belonged to nomadic clans—and there were many—would be unlikely to cross there.

Dusty and his transport Black Hawk, the
Vicious
, were delivering a crew of four to set up a FARP, a Forward Arming and Refueling Point. In this case, the FARP consisted of a large bladder of Jet A fuel, along with a couple of high-speed pumps for the Little Birds, and fresh ammo cans and rockets in case something went wrong and the battle got hot.

A C-130 would be off the coast in two hours in case a Black Hawk needed refueling. The Navy's Sea Hawks didn't carry midair refueling probes like their SOAR counterparts, so they each had long-range auxiliary tanks that they would draw down first and drop once empty.

Trisha already had the rotors spinning when Billy swung by to check on her.

“Hey, hotshot!”

“Hey, sailor!”

“Remember, you're my personal hammer. I want you off my left shoulder as much as possible.”

“Loud and clear, Billy.”

“That's Lieutenant Billy.” He grinned at her.

Trisha saluted. “Yes sir, Mr. Lieutenant Billy the Scottish SEAL, sir.”

“I love you.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He'd said it just as casually as could be. No way she'd misheard it. She tried to respond, but couldn't figure out how. It was as if her nerves no longer remembered how to fire.

“I know, pretty strange,” he continued blithely. “Bound to cause all kinds of problems. But it's true. I love you, Patricia O'Malley.”

“Oh shit!” It was the only reply she could come up with.

“Yep!” He acknowledged her complete discomfiture with a knowing smile. “Gotta go.” He kissed her, to which she could barely respond, and was gone.

Roland was eyeing her a bit strangely. But she couldn't even send him a Billy-sized scowl.

She was in so much trouble.