Free Risk Taker by Lindsay McKenna Page B

pocket, telling the panicked copilot to turn and sit still so he could cut into the upper sleeve of his flight suit to examine the wound.
    Sarah’s mind leaped ahead. Tait was too green to be of much help. She switched channels and made a call into E.R. at Bagram, alerting them to their location and the status of their two Marine patients. By the time she was done, Pascal had cut Tait’s sleeve to examine the injury.
    “You’ll live, Mr. Tait,” Pascal drawled. “Just a flesh wound. You’ll be fine. I’ll put a bandage on it and when we land at Bravo, you can go over to the dispensary and they’ll patch you up. Congratulations on getting your first Purple Heart.”
    Pascal eased out of the cockpit, then turned and shared a private smile with Sarah.
    Sarah got it. “Tait, get on the horn and apprise Major Donaldson we’re heading for Bagram.” She wasn’t going to let him sit there crying and acting helpless. It was time he sucked it up and became a team member. She needed his focus on those damn overhead throttles.
    “Hey, Chief Benson,” Tait said. “You got blood on your right arm.”
    Snorting, Sarah said, “Make the call to the major, will you? I’m fine.”
    Tait gawked at her.
    She glared over at him, daring him to say one more word.
    He quickly went back to making the call to Donaldson.
    * * *
    Ethan wearily climbed out of the Night Stalker helicopter that had just landed at Camp Bravo. The sun was low on the western horizon. His men followed him, all of them walking a little slower, exhausted by the long firefight. The good news was the A-10 Warthog had made the defining difference. The Marines finally owned the firefight after the Hog spewed its load of bullets and bombs all over the lower slopes of that hill.
    The concrete revetment area radiated heat, increasing the temperature. As they walked toward Ops, Ethan watched as a Black Hawk with a red cross on its nose landed. The cockpit area was shot up, some of the Plexiglas destroyed. Halting, he knew it had to be Sarah’s helo. Why was she landing just now? She’d left the hill hours ago. He wanted to wait and talk to her.
    Turning, he told his men to get cleaned up, get some chow and ramp down. He’d be over at SEAL HQ later to write up a report on the mission. As beaten up as he felt right now, Ethan had to see her.
    Sarah was the last crew member off the bird. She felt tiredness creeping through her limbs. Pascal checked out the radio before he left for Ops. Major Donaldson wasn’t going to like what he saw. Her Black Hawk was pretty well shot up and a new Plexiglas would have to be installed. Not good for his bottom line. She shrugged, climbing out, pushing up her visor. As she did, she noticed Ethan coming her way. Instantly, her heartbeat sped up. He was dirty and sweaty, his cammies soaked. His M4 was in a sling harness across his chest. He looked damned good to her, and she felt suddenly lighter.
    Ethan met her with a smile, seeing the exhaustion in her eyes. There was blood on the right side of her face. The shards of Plexiglas had exploded in on her. His eyes missed nothing as he rapidly examined her standing there, one boot resting, her hip at an angle while pulling off her Nomex flight gloves.
    Damn, but she was a warrior. Ballsy as hell. It was the first time he’d seen her in action, and she took no prisoners. The smile that came to her face drove heat straight down through him.
    “You must have flown straight to Bagram. How are the two Marines?” he asked, drawing to a halt about six feet away from her. She removed her helmet; her black hair was in a loose ponytail.
    “I don’t know,” Sarah said, meeting his glittering eyes, feeling Ethan’s touch without ever being touched. “They were alive when we transferred them over to Bagram E.R. Pascal, my medic, is an 18 Delta guy. He works miracles.” She put her helmet into the canvas bag, pushed her kneeboard into it and picked it up.
    “I hope they make it,” he said,