Free Risk Taker by Lindsay McKenna

ounce of speed from those two engines.
    Within five miles of the hill, Sarah heard Major Donaldson’s pedantic voice come over her radio.
    “Black Dog One, this is Black Dog. Over.”
    Twisting her lips, she thumbed the mic. “Black Dog One. Over.” What the hell was he on the radio for? She’d already gotten approval from the Marines and SEAL HQ at Bagram to fly in and pick up the wounded men. She felt dread. There was no way he was going to tell her to back off this run now.
    “Loiter at five miles, Black Dog One. Over.”
    Tait’s mouth fell open, and he quickly looked to his right where she sat, confusion in his eyes.
    “That’s a negative, Black Dog,” she growled back. “We have a nine-liner, two critical, and I have approval from Bagram.” Would Donaldson back off now? Sarah swore under her breath after she turned off the channel so her crew couldn’t hear her conversation with her boss.
    “This is an order, Black Dog One. Loiter at five miles until I give you permission to fly in. Over.”
    Not a chance. Sarah keyed the mic. “You’re breaking up,” she said as she played with the mic, making it sound like she was. “Can you repeat? Did not receive. Over.”
    Sarah heard the major angrily repeat the order. She continued to key the mic, causing static disruption. Go to hell, Donaldson. If it were you on that hill, you’d sure as hell be screaming like a baby wanting a medevac to come and rescue your sorry ass.
    Tait appeared uncertain after hearing Donaldson’s order.
    “Just fly,” Sarah said. He was so damn green he didn’t understand that she followed Bagram’s orders, not her CO’s belated, secondary order. Bagram trumped Donaldson. Two men’s lives were on the line. They had family who loved them, maybe wives and children. Sarah was damned if she was going to let a few bullets and the threat of RPGs stop her from landing and taking them on board.
    “Hey, Chief Benson,” Pascal drawled, humor in his tone as he spoke to her on the ICS, intercabin system. “Having a little trouble with our radio, are we?”
    Sarah grinned sourly. “Yeah, it’s messing up. Gotta have it looked at, Pascal, once we get back.”
    “It’s been on the fritz before,” Pascal said, chuckling. “I’ll look at it and see what I can do.”
    In his early thirties, Pascal was an experienced medic and knew the dance. Then there was Tait, who scowled, his mouth set. He had yet to understand politics versus orders. She’d set him straight once they returned to Bravo.
    As she banked the Black Hawk, the helo thunking and the vibrations rippling through her entire body, Sarah heard Ethan’s voice on the radio.
    “Black Dog One, this is Avalanche Actual. Over.”
    “You got me, Avalanche Actual. Where do you want me to drop in? Over.”
    Sarah smiled to herself, knowing Ethan would instantly recognize her voice. If he did, it didn’t come through in his low, steady tone. He was speaking to her as if all were calm, but she could hear the fierce firefight going on around him.
    Ahead, she noted the hill and several RPGs exploding near the rocks where the Marines were pinned. Her heart rate went up. Taliban lurked on two sides of the hill, trying to come over the top like ants and overrun the Marines. Where to land? Did Ethan have a spot chosen?
    “Black Dog One, I’m putting out green smoke to mark your landing site. You’re going to have to come in on the south side of the hill and land downslope, just below the top of it. Over,” Ethan said.
    No doubt he was trying to land her helo downslope from the firefight. Bullets couldn’t bend, and it would mean they’d take less fire as a result.
    “Copy that, Avalanche Actual. Coming in hot. Out,” she answered, bringing the helo in swiftly. Sarah knew from experience that the Taliban would see them coming in and throw everything, including the kitchen sink, at them. Never mind Geneva Conventions clearly spelled out that a red cross on the nose of a helo meant no