his copilot. That meant her skills were commensurate to his, whether he liked to admit it or not.
Running his fingers distractedly through his hair, he glared at her. “Climb down off your high horse, will you, McGregor? Okay, you’re my co. I don’t like it, but I’m not gonna argue any further under the circumstances.” He saw his crew chief, Corporal Tavis Burt, ambling toward them. “It’s time to turn and burn, McGregor. You say you know Hueys. Well, I’ll be watching your every move until I’m satisfied you know what the hell you’re doing in that cockpit with me. If you’ve been out six months, your skills are gonna be rusty. You just sit in that seat and I’ll do the flying. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a pretty bauble taking up space in my cockpit to fulfill military and FAA requirements, and that’s it. I don’t need you. I don’t need your help or your input. Got it?”
A wave of hurt washed through Rhona. She stood there, digging her fingers into her hips to stop the anger from spilling out. The venom in his look, in his words, scalded her. She saw the crew chief, a young man with red hair and blue eyes, hurrying toward them.
“Yeah, I hear you, Lieutenant Galway,” she said with gritted teeth.
With a sharp nod of his head, he snarled, “Fine. Now make your walk-around, Lieutenant, and I’ll talk to my crew chief.”
The bastard. Rhona allowed her tense hands to drop from her hips. The walk-around was a necessary component of flying. She had to look for hydraulic leaks, make sure that all surfaces were intact and that nothing was loose or leaking. Beginning at the nose, she slowly moved around the Huey, her hand skimming the fuselage almost lovingly as she checked out the bird.
Trying to put Nolan Galway and his acidic hatred of her out of her mind, Rhona kept one ear tuned to the conversation between him and the soft-spoken, gangly crew chief, who looked to be in his midtwenties. Rarely did an aircraft have all instruments operational. There was always something that was down or needed to be fixed, but wasn’t essential to the act of flying. A crew chief went over those errors with the pilot, so he knew ahead of time that a button, knob or piece of software wasn’t working right. If it was bad enough, the bird would be grounded until the spare part could be replaced. As Rhona looked up to check the tail rotor of the Huey, she saw that the young crew chief had dark circles under his eyes. The realization that everyone was working long, arduous hours with little sleep hit her again.
As she came around to the fuselage door, where the dark green nylon netting held the cargo in place, the crew chief looked up. When he approached her, saluted and came to attention, Rhona did the same.
“At ease, Chief,” she murmured. “I’m Lieutenant McGregor. Nice to meet you.”
He flushed. “Yes, ma’am, same here.”
Rhona saw Galway enter the chopper through the door and work his way forward to the right seat, where the pilot sat. She focused her attention on the nervous crew chief. He had acne, which had scarred most of his face, leaving it pockmarked. Feeling for him, she smiled slightly.
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