many capacities. They want their best pilots to learn from ours. Our flight crews refuel and rearm Apaches faster and better than anyone they’ve got up there in the U.S.A. I have crew specialists wanting to work with us and see how we do what we do. And—” she smiled at Angel “—now even Special Forces are sticking their nose into our black ops.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, that letter, which I want you to read, is from the head of Special Forces, General Rutherford. He wants a Sergeant Burke Gifford, an A team paramedic teacher, to come down here and train with you.”
Angel’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Me?”
“Yes. Read on.” Maya waved her hand at the file resting on Angel’s lap.
Angel rapidly scanned the official-looking letter, which had been penned by the general. It was basically asking that Gifford be allowed to work with the paramedic at BJS in order to understand unique aspects and uses of their medical model, and how it might be utilized in other places of combat, black ops or not. Brows bunching, Angel read the last paragraph. “This is too much….” she murmured.
Maya chuckled. “Yeah, ain’t it?”
Looking up, Angel said, “This general knows of me. He actually refers to me as the Angel of Death.”
“Your legend precedes you, Paredes.”
Maya’s dry wit wasn’t lost on her. Angel saw the spark of humor in her C.O.’s eyes.
“What I find interesting is that some of the little extracurricular activities you engage in, the tricks you employ as a Quero Indian, trained in your Incan traditions, is getting their attention.”
Angel gulped. She’d always sensed that Maya knew about her mystical background, but it wasn’t ever discussed, at least not openly as they were doing now. Rather, Maya simply accepted it as a part of her, just as Maya had her own mystical traditions.
“Er…ma’am…”
“You’re in a pickle, Paredes.” Maya chuckled indulgently, watching the twenty-eight-year-old paramedic sit there and blush. Angel had copper-colored skin, thick, short black hair and very large, wise-looking dark brown eyes. Like most Quero people, she was short and stocky and strong. Few knew the inner workings of the Quero, the royal bloodline of the Incas of the past. But Maya did. Knew them well.
“Your skill has gained the attention of a general. Now,” Maya drawled, “if it was the sergeant putting in this request, I could blow him off and circular file it. As it is, your reputation for saving lives when the person shoulda croaked has reached General Rutherford’s ears.”
Gulping again, Angel said, “And you can’t blow off a general. Right?”
“Bang on, Paredes. You’re reading this one correctly.”
“But,” Angel sputtered, tapping the letter repeatedly with her index finger, “I can’t teach them what I know! First of all, this guy—”
“Sergeant Gifford?”
“Yeah…him. Well, he wouldn’t believe it, anyway. He’s a paramedic. Undoubtedly dyed-in-the-wool and tied to the traditional Western medicine model.”
Shrugging eloquently, Maya said, “The dude has some pull if he can get a general to write this proposal and request for him. He’s the head medical instructor for all of Special Forces training. So he’s got something going for him.”
Angel snorted softly. “Yeah, it’s called the curiosity of a cat, ma’am. That’s all.”
“There’s a photo of him on the next page. Take a look.”
Unsettled, Angel scowled and lifted the letter, finding a colored photo beneath. The man’s face was square, his jaw hard and set. His gray eyes reminded Angel of a cat’s, and for some reason that bothered her or perhaps drew her. She instantly rejected the latter possibility. Gifford was dressed in his Class A dark green army uniform, the red beret worn by Special Forces members in place on his dark brown hair. She saw the weathered lines at the corners of his eyes, indicating he spent a lot of time out-of-doors. His mouth was thinned and unsmiling. Of course, this was an official army photo, in which no one smiled. Still, she dug into the man’s face, studying his craggy features, with her intuition open.
Gifford was not a pretty boy. She saw a scar above the dark, thick slash of his right eyebrow. His nose, strong and dominating, reminded her of a condor’s beak. It had obviously been broken in the past. The merciless look in his light gray eyes, those black pupils huge and staring back at her, undid her for a moment.
“This dude don’t take no prisoners, does he?”
Chuckling, Maya said, “Doesn’t look like it on the surface.”
“He’s got a face like the Andes.”
“Yeah, all lava and granite. Tough.”
“I don’t see compassion in him,” Angel said, feeling energy drain from her. “I’m looking for something face-saving in this guy. I don’t see it.”
“I think he hides behind that mask in the photo,” Maya said gently. “Don’t panic on me, Paredes. It would be the first time I’ve seen you hit that button.”
Lifting her head, Angel tried to smile. “Sorry, ma’am. I am rattled.”
“Look at it this way,” Maya counseled with a twisted smile. “You need help right now because of your injury. Gifford asked for six weeks, to tail you around to see what you do and how you do it as a paramedic for BJS. Let him be your hands while you train him in to help the doctor. He can be like a puppy following at your heels.”
“What about my, er…other skills, ma’am? I don’t have to show him that, do I?”
“No. Not unless you think it’s right. We’d at least have a pair of hands here to help us while you recover. He’s a trained paramedic. He can stand in for you, Angel, and help Elizabeth. Overall, it’s a good fit for our present predicament.”
Mouth thinning, Angel took another look at Gifford’s stiff, almost defiant expression. The man was like a hungry raptor ready to leap out of the photograph and grab her. Strangely, she felt her heart respond. She was confused. Gifford’s face was not forgiving in any way. He was a professional soldier and there was absolutely no softness in him.
“He doesn’t look like he’s got a drop of sensitivity in him,” she moaned. “The women aren’t gonna like that. We get along better with more responsive types.”
“Well,” Maya said, “if Gifford tries to strong-arm anyone here, I think they’ll straighten him out pronto, don’t you?”
Angel saw her C.O. grinning like a jaguar, her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s true, we don’t take guff from anyone—especially men.”
“Bang on, Paredes. You’re the one who’s gonna be saddled with him, and so you’re the one whose gonna take it on the chin, so to speak. You’re tough, though, and my bet’s on you to stop this guy in his tracks should he decide that just because you’re a woman—and petite—he can ignore you or run over you.”
Snorting,
