She'd wanted to see Jack today, but God, not this way, peering powerlessly through her windscreen as he came in for a crash landing.
Fire streamed from the left wing, trailing out into the night sky. The hulking gray plane screamed toward them.
Helplessness screamed over her just as thunderous. "Tell me what's happening," she asked Crusty as if that gave her control, some kind of active role. "What's he doing? What's he thinking?"
"He's fine, Tiara. Trained. In control."
"Tell me, damn it."
Crusty angled toward her while facing forward. "He's losing fuel fast out the hole in the left. Losing weight. Which screws with the center of gravity because of all the gas still on the right. He'll be shifting fuel to the left even though it drains, too."
"He's feeding the fire to stay upright?"
"Basically. He needs to land quick. As long as he's going fast, the flames are behind him."
But when he stopped to land...
She listened to Crusty beside her and Jack's voice over the headset, absorbing the words of both men.
Crusty depressed the mike button. "Cobra? Dude, you'd better plant this one. There's threat on the right. And you can't turn left into that dead engine without crashing. You're not gonna make it around for a second approach. You need to throw it into an inflight thrust reverse."
The C-17 was the only plane in the world that could perform that maneuver. She'd once heard Jack brag about it. But was now the time?
God, it sounded insane, on fire and slowing while still in the air. Once he lost speed, the flames wouldn't be streaming behind. If the plane ignited, he would have nowhere to run. But Crusty was infamous for jerking the plane around, knowing its limits after years as a test pilot.
Please, please be right now.
And suddenly the speed slowed. The plane seemed to hiccup midair. Hard, steep and fast, the
C-17 descended, landed.
Lights sparked in front of her eyes as if all those bees in her brain had become lightning bugs. She swayed, grabbed the back of Crusty's headrest to steady herself.
He patted her arm. "Breathe, Major. Breathe."
"Oh. Yeah." She exhaled, gulped in two more breaths until her world steadied and she remembered to listen.
To Jack. On the ground. Alive.
"Alpha, which way do you want us running?" Jack asked.
Oh, God, to think he could sprint out of the plane into enemy territory. She tried to envision where the Rangers might be now.
"Haul ass toward the medivac plane," Colonel Cullen instructed. "I'll have some of my guys cover your six."
Monica gripped the headrest harder, her world flipping all over again, with relief this time. She would see him in minutes. She needed to hold him, warm, solid and alive. Time to quit running from the fact that she loved Jack Korba. Fully. Completely. Not someday, but right this minute and forever.
"Will-co, Alpha," Jack answered. "Heading for the medivac plane pronto. In fact, that works good for me. 'Cause I believe I've been shot in the ass."
Sweat making tracks through the grit on his men's faces, Drew issued orders in person and over the radio. Sand rode the night wind, thicker by the minute. He inched the Ranger wrap cloth higher over his mouth and nose.
The battle had been won but their work wasn't over. The airfield was secure. The compound taken. Korba's crew was safe in the medivac.
Gunfire only echoed in his memory now instead of his still-ringing ears. Fast, furious and efficient, they'd implemented their attack plan. Reports of wounded trickled in, but so far no KIA—killed in action—on their side. All their preplanning paying off.
Drew issued orders to begin SSE—sensitive site exploitation—for booby-trapped buildings and un-captured stragglers. Still no sign of Ammar al-Khayr yet. But they would find the bastard.
Something they needed to do fast with the sandstorm rolling in. Once the storm hit, they would have to lock down tight until it passed, which gave those stragglers who were too damned accustomed to sandstorms a chance to maneuver.