Cindy Gerard - The Way Home

NUMB, JESS HUGGED her arms around herself, listening as Ty rifled around in the bedroom, tossing his things into his duffel.

J.R. Alive. Of course, she wanted it to be true. Wanted it with everything in her. Her mind had been racing, her heart sick, thinking about what he must have endured during his years of captivity. Mike said the Afghan woman told the patrol J.R. was injured. How badly? In what way? What horrible things had they done to him?

And what was she going to do if they brought him back? She loved Ty. But she was married to J.R. He would need support. He would need her support. As far as he knew, he had a wife waiting at home for him.

Tears filled her eyes.

What if neither of them came back?

“Jess.”

She jerked her head up as Ty walked out of the bedroom, his expression grim, his eyes somber.

“You could die there,” she said, unable to stop the tears.

He dropped the duffel and came to her. Wrapped her in his arms. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. We’ll bring him back. I promise we’ll bring him back.”

“And then what?” she asked, feeling selfish and conflicted and confused.

“Then we’ll figure things out.” He touched a hand to her hair. “We’ll figure things out,” he repeated, but she knew he felt the same disbelief and sense of falling apart that she did.

“I can’t lose you, too.”

He kissed her hard. “You won’t. That’s a promise.”

She clung to him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He held her tightly against him. “I’ve got to go. Mike’s waiting.”

“Come back to me.”

It felt as if a part of her soul was ripped away when he finally let her go, gave the dog a gentle pat, and, without looking back, walked out the door.

Kandahar Air Force Base, end of October

STRAPPED INTO THE COPILOT SEAT, Ty glanced over as Mike lifted the Mil-17 chopper they’d dubbed the “Reaper” off the helo pad. His brother still had the gift. The bird moved effortlessly into the night, seemingly guided by Mike’s thoughts alone. Ty had had that kind of connection with his own bird in Iraq. He felt a moment of nostalgia for his Nighthawk and hoped there was a heaven for helicopters, because she had died saving his life.

And now they might die trying to save the life of a man who had, by all accounts, died a long time ago. A man who, if he ended up being alive, would kill any chance Ty had of marrying the woman he’d planned to share his life with… and that was the last place he needed to go tonight.

Head back in the game, he sensed that as they spun up higher and headed toward the mountains, the thin, dry air coupled with a full load of weapons on the outboard pods and the weight of the team in the back caused the chopper to handle a little sluggishly. It didn’t bother Mike. He flew the bird like the pro he was.

“Piece of cake,” Mike had assured him after their brief but intense mission prep minutes before takeoff. “She’s not much different from the Mil-8 I flew in Sierra Leone. Nuance, bro. It’s all about nuance.”

Nuance, hell. Ty had studied the crap out of the Mil-17 in the event he had to fly this Russian-made bird, which was different from any he’d ever flown. Even the rotor spun clockwise rather than counterclockwise like his old Nighthawk. Major difference. If something happened to the aircraft, the direction the rotor spun could make a difference whether they crashed or gently landed. But he was ready. He could take over if he had to—he just hoped he didn’t have to.

Ty glanced over his shoulder. Everyone sat quietly, no doubt rerunning the mission plan and their final briefing over and over in their minds.

“Once more for posterity, boys and girls.” Nate Black addressed his fourteen team members, his face somber.

“Operation Aces High Assault Plan: Zero one hundred hours, we fly the Mil-17 chopper, code name Reaper, from Kandahar en route to the target village of Salawat, Mike Brown at the controls, Ty Brown in the copilot seat. Waldrop will be your flight engineer for this all-expenses-paid trip to the wild and wacky world of Taliban land.”

“Sorry, guys. I’m fresh out of peanuts and soda.” Waldrop’s ad lib earned him a few snickers and cut the tension in the room.

“Zero three hundred hours,” Black continued, “Bravo squad consisting of Reed, Green, Jones, Mendoza, Coulter, and yours truly, along with Alpha squad Cooper, Taggart, Santos, and Carlyle, will fast-rope down to the south edge of the village and make our way to the dwelling identified by drone surveillance as possibly housing Special Forces Medical Sergeant Jeffery Albert.

“From zero three-fifteen to zero three-thirty hours, we conduct a search of the dwelling, attempting to find and ID subject. If found, we will secure him and the two Pashtun civilians who have assisted him, make our way back to the extraction point, and return to base.

“The operation will be monitored and assisted from home base with drone surveillance and operational management by Charlie squad members Crystal Reed and B. J. Mendoza.”

“I can promise you more than peanuts and soda if you guys keep your heads down and come back safe and sound.” Crystal flashed a smile tempered with concern.

“Just to be clear,” Johnny Reed cut in, “that wasn’t an all-inclusive you my wife made a promise to. That was an all-inclusive me—and thanks, babe.” He winked at his wife. “Keep your motor running, ’cause Daddy’s gonna hold you to that promise when he gets home.”

Black gave Reed a “Seriously?” look. “You done?”

Reed grinned. “Just getting started.”

“Zip it,” Black ordered, then glanced around the room. “Questions? No? Well, there should be, because we’ve received updated intel indicating there’s increased radio traffic from the Taliban, who have recently upped their numbers in the area as they apparently broaden their search for an escaped prisoner. Guess we know who that might be.

“So look sharp, people. We could run into some heavy resistance, and I don’t want to have to explain to Crystal here or anyone else why I brought you home with bloodstains on your tighty whities.”

He looked around the room, seemed satisfied that all teams were aware the danger meter had ticked up several clicks, and continued. “Contingency plan: If the extraction helicopter is lost or damaged during the operation and/or the team is engaged by enemy combatants, Charlie squad here at base will assist remotely by calling in necessary air or land support. Ground teams will commandeer local vehicles, then make our way to FOB Shaker to be extracted during normal resupply missions.