Aftershock.: A Novel.

By Joe Lane

Major Penelope Baldwin, accomplished pilot and tactician, could have expected a bright future and stable military career until a dubious flight mission over Al A’Zamiyah, Iraq results in the loss of her left leg, and any opportunity for motherhood.
As Penelope struggles in recovery, her mother Evelyn struggles to secure their financial future and cover mounting medical bills. Buying the lies of disingenuous bankers and marketing shills, Evelyn places her savings within the derivatives market, a bubble that (unbeknownst to her) is on the verge of bursting. The collapse will destroy what’s left of her finances, along with the investments and pensions of countless citizens.
Within months, on a wintry night in Georgia, a coked-up stock trader miscalculates a power turn in a Porsche coupe, sending its right front wheel over the curb and crashing into that which Penelope holds most dear.
The stage is set for a dedicated warrior, an American heroine, to turn her sights on those greedy, callous men responsible for ripping away her future.
Baldwin, along with Tessa Montgomery (Senior Chief USMC), Cynthia Washington (RN MSW), and six other highly competent women, all similarly devastated by the avarice, arrogance, and indifference of America’s ruling elite, channel their grief and rage, and their search for justice, to become a finely orchestrated and well-financed band of predators.
Several months later, several of the most powerful of America’s financial and political elite are slaughtered in forty-storied monuments to their egos. Then a terror―a terror so primal that it rends the very fabric of everyday life―is released into the homes, limos, and private jets of America’s quasi-monarchical class.
An invisible society of professional predators is leading a lethal attack on the long sacred relationship between money and politics. Two critical questions are explicitly raised by the attackers: When the voice of the few, the wealthy, the privileged is the sound of the money essential for election, can the voice of the common citizen be heard at all? Can an ethical government exist when the special interests it’s charged with policing have captured the political system and the means of election through their vast wealth?
How will the country’s people, political leaders, and top business executives respond? Find out by reading Aftershock, a heart-thumping fictional thriller by debut novelist Joe Lane.

Joe Lane is a true renaissance man. As consultant to businesses, he often speaks at regional and national conventions. He took up the business of golf, which led to him running the exclusive Golden Wings Golf Training School for ten years. He’s been flying planes since 1968―and is an instrument-rated pilot. He’s also an accomplished sailor. As a sailboat captain, he ran charters in the Chesapeake Bay for five years. He describes himself as “a decent skier, but a great fly fisherman.” He’s also an insatiable reader, reading as many as 40 novels a year.
Joe has lived all across the globe, from Tampa, Florida, to Columbia, MD, to the Washington, D.C. metro area, to Connecticut, and most recently in China. For nearly eight years, he lived in Zhaoqing City in the Guangdong Province of China, with his wife and partner, Barbara. They’re developing a Chinese chain of pizza restaurants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bancroft Press
• Release date: Jul 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781610881142

Book preview

love.

CHAPTER ONE.

Colonel Ben Selby, inside his command tent, was just beginning to issue next-day orders. Major, you’ll fly lead. We want the number four bird tucked inside the V.

Colonel, Al A’Zamiyah is heating up daily. Flying at that altitude will expose my crew to everything from RPGs to rocks. Do we really need to do the mission at eight hundred feet?

Major Baldwin. A man dressed in civilian garb stood as he spoke. You’ll be moving plenty fast to avoid any risk. At that altitude, you’ll—

Pardon me, sir. We haven’t been introduced, but it’s clear you’ve never flown a mission over hostile territory here.

Major, what I have or have not done here is of no concern to you. I’m sure your commander— he paused and looked at Colonel Selby —will explain to you that this mission is set and you’ve been selected to fly lead. If you think you aren’t up to the task, I’m sure Colonel Selby has other pilots who are.

Major Penelope Baldwin turned to the Colonel and, in a soft voice devoid of emotion, said, Pardon me, sir, but who is this cretin?

The man’s face turned deep red even though the temperature in the room was only about 45 degrees. A crisp breeze was blowing outside, and the tent’s gas heaters offered limited resistance to the desert night’s deep chill.

The civilian started to speak but Colonel Selby held up his hand. Major Baldwin, Mr. Foster is from Mr. Brunigg’s office. While you’re correct that he’s never flown anywhere here except from the airport to the helipad in the Green Zone at about eighty-five hundred feet, he speaks for Mr. Brunigg, so please refrain from voicing criticism, however appropriate it might be.

At this, Herman Foster went livid. You better listen very closely, Colonel Selby. I will not be talked to in this manner. You had—

Herman, Colonel Selby interrupted, I know your position and I know you’ve advised Brunigg that this mission is without risk to anyone. I also know you’re full of shit. And you can tell the viceroy I said so. Or, for that matter, I’ll tell him personally. However, I do know an order when I see one, so let’s dispense with the drama and get the necessary planning done.

You’d best listen to me, Colonel. Your troops and your insolence will cause you more headaches than you can imagine. I’ll—

You know what, Herman? I think to ensure the success of this mission, and the safety of Mr. Brunigg and his passengers, you need to fly in the lead bird with Major Baldwin. Ben looked towards Penelope with an almost imperceptible nod as he picked up his phone. That way you can advise Mr. Brunigg immediately if we see any hostiles. Keep him safe.

Excellent, Colonel, Penelope said. My number-two gunner is due to rotate out in two days. Mr. Foster is about the same size, so the Kevlar jacket and chaps should fit fine. She turned to Herman Foster with a smile that would cause a grizzly to reconsider messing with this woman. If you’ll report in about twenty minutes before departure, I’ll have Lieutenant Parker suit you up. It’s a hell of a view at that altitude . . . sir.

Foster was preparing to launch a fierce tirade warning of unimaginable retribution when Colonel Selby spoke into the phone. Sergeant, get me Mr. Brunigg’s office. I have crucial information about our mission I need to discuss with him.

Foster and Selby stared at each other for a few seconds. Proceed with our mission as originally planned, said Foster. We’ll deal with this later.

Sergeant, said Selby, cancel that call.

* * *

After the meeting broke up, Penelope sat on the makeshift conference table. Thanks for your support, Colonel.

None needed, Major. Those, ah, political geniuses are trying to get us all killed, I think.

On this one, it sure seems so. May I ask what exactly is so important that Mr. Brunigg and his three, ah, passengers, need this mission carried out right now?

You may ask, Major, but I can’t tell you. It’s stupid as hell. I did all I could to get it aborted. But it’s above your pay grade, I’m afraid.

Got it.

Penelope started to leave when Ben put his hand on her shoulder, Pen, you be goddamn careful on this one. I know what they’re up to and it stinks. I tried to kill it, but Brunigg is blind, deaf, and dumb to any ideas that aren’t his or that don’t come from the White House and their flock of so-called experts. A’Zamiyah is getting more unfriendly almost daily, and four birds in that formation at that time of day and altitude are going to attract a lot of attention. Regardless of orders, at the first sign of hostiles, you go emergency and protect your people and your birds. I’ll take care of any flak from the Emerald City.

She nodded and put her hand gently over his. As his hand slipped off her shoulder, every nerve in her body radiated an intense heat. He watched her leave and wondered if she knew how desperately he wanted to protect her. He had been sending her on mission after mission since their deployment. Each time, the knots in his gut grew more intense. But this time, this totally FUBAR mission was being carried out purely for political reasons. Shit, if this one went south, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

Colonel Ben Selby sat down in his chair and put his head in his hands.

What the fuck are they thinking?

* * *

Blue Ice Command. Blue Ice One. Over.

Blue Ice One, Blue Ice Command. Whadda you got, Major?

Sir, we got too goddamn many people on their roofs watching us. Request permission to climb to two five zero zero.

Hold Blue Ice One . . . Negative on two five zero zero. Maintain current altitude and heading.

Blue Ice Command. Colonel, we’re coming up on that section of open ground with trees and good cov— Incoming two-thirty.

Penelope and her copilot gave it all the left foot they had. Penelope yanked the stick hard left and back as she twisted the throttle to full power. The Blackhawk banked hard as the giant turbines spooled up and the rotors took ever bigger bites of air trying to get them some altitude.

Blue Ice flight, hostiles at two-thirty. Evasive bravo, evasive bravo.

Two of the three other Blackhawks broke hard left at angles 30 degrees apart, their turbines straining. Number four did a quick right—up to forty-five hundred feet as fast as it could and then straight back to the Green Zone.

A second salvo of RPGs from three different rooftops caught Blue Ice Two head on. Blue Ice Three gunners cut down the shooters and continued to climb.

Incoming, eight-thirty. Penelope yanked the stick hard left again to try to circle the round. They made it, but then a fusillade of small arms fire caught their tail rotor and shredded it.

Blue Ice Command, Blue Ice One, we’re going in.

Blue Ice One . . . Blue Ice One . . . Major . . . Blue Ice Three, what’s your status?

Sir, we’re out of their range for the moment, but Blue Ice Two is gone and Blue Ice One is down. Repeat, Blue Ice One is down.

Captain Sparks, can you cover until rescue arrives?

Affirmative on that, sir. Anybody on the ground even looks sideways at Major Baldwin, we’ll cook ’em.

You do that, Captain. I’ll have rescue and backup on the way in five. You’ll be on your own for about fifteen to twenty. Can you see any survivors on Blue Ice One?

Negative on sightings, sir, but she put that damn thing down right-side up.

"Alright, Captain. Make sure both of you make it back. Is that clear?"

Roger that, sir.

Colonel Selby put the mike down and turned towards Herman Foster.

General Steve Crandall put a restraining hand on Colonel Selby’s shoulder. Colonel, get your rescue team there and get those people back. I’ll deal with . . . He let the word hang. He grabbed Herman Foster by his coat sleeve as he moved towards the door. Mr. Foster, I think it’s best if you come with me. Foster tried to pull away. Now, Mr. Foster. Before . . . He let his warning penetrate Foster’s arrogance in the same manner a rattlesnake tells an unsuspecting hiker it’s time to pay attention.

Foster grunted his disapproval but hurriedly followed General Crandall out of the radio room all the same.

CHAPTER TWO.

Ben Selby turned back towards the communication control center. Sergeant, alert rescue.

They’re already in the air, sir. Rescue One says they’ll be on site in fourteen. I got two Apaches rerouted. They’ll be there in twelve. I—

Blue Ice Command, Blue Ice Three. Sir, I’ve got a group of what appear to be civilians starting to gather. They’re moving towards Major Baldwin. Permission to engage.

Ben grabbed the mike. Captain, any sign of arms or—

Negative, sir, but they’re getting too damn close.

Captain, do not engage directly, but make it unmistakably clear that if anyone puts a nose across a line your gunner’s gonna lay down, they’ll never complete that first step.

Roger that, Colonel.

* * *

Blue Ice Command, Rescue One, over.

Go ahead Rescue One.

Sir, it doesn’t look good. The copilot and one of the gunners are gone. Specialist Winters has multiple injuries we can see, and from the positioning of the body, there are a lot of broken bones. His breathing is shallow, but limited external bleeding.

Major Baldwin?

It’s bad, sir. She has multiple wounds in the lower body. Her left leg is . . . well . . . it’s really bad. There’s a lot of blood from a head wound but impossible to tell how severe. Her systolic is 60 palp and likely falling. We’ve got her on the stretcher with an IV. Captain Richards is working on her. We’ll be in the air in about twenty seconds. I’ve alerted the hos.

Got it. Get those people there, One. Do you need anything from us?

Sir, I’m not a religious man, but if you have any such folks there, I suggest they start praying . . . Okay, tell the two Indians to clear a path for us . . . Sir, lifting off now. Will be at FOB Abu in under twelve.

Ben Selby looked at his radio operator as he walked to the door. Sergeant, notify me if anything changes.

Sergeant Garcia saluted. As Colonel Selby opened the door, the sergeant spoke. Sir, I’m one, and I’m praying for ’em right now. They gotta make it.

* * *

After several hours of surgery on Penelope Baldwin, Colonel Emily Li met with Ben. I’m sorry, Ben. We had to take most of her left leg. There’s a portion of skull that needs to be replaced. She has visceral injuries involving intestines, uterus, ovaries, bladder . . . We’ve decompressed and diverted, and got some reasonable control of the hemorrhaging, but I’d say it’s at best fifty-fifty she’ll ever regain consciousness. We need to get her to a field hospital as soon as we’ve stabilized her enough to make the move.

Winters? Ben asked.

Colonel Li ran a hand through her coal black hair. Then she put her surgical cap back on and stuck her hands in her field jacket to warm them. He’s stable and the injuries are not terribly severe, but I think he’ll be on his way to Germany on the next available flight, and there given a ticket home.

Thanks. Is there anything I can do?

I wish there was. She paused, kicked the ground, then seemed to study the Milky Way for a few beats. Maybe you could convince the Emerald City boys to lay off their grand plans a bit. Maybe get fewer of our people shot up. Get the fucking toilets in our . . . Oh, forget it!

A cruel smile creased Ben Selby’s face. Well, Emily, I know one Emerald City boy who’s going to have a very unpleasant evening.

Colonels Li and Selby shook hands and headed off to their pre-ordained rounds.

* * *

Later that night in the Green Zone, Colonel Selby stood in Brunigg’s office with Herman Foster and General Crandall. The heat from the barely restrained hostility was dampened only a little by the intense desert cold.

There’ll be no public discussion of today’s mission, said Brunigg, looking directly at General Crandall. That means not a single word. Am I clear on that, gentlemen? There was dead silence. Good. Herman, make sure the press release gets out later tonight. I don’t want anybody asking questions we’ll have to dance around in the morning.

Brunigg sat down, picked up a cup of coffee, propped his tasseled loafers up on his desk, and looked at Selby. Colonel, I’m sorry you lost people today. That’s always a bad outcome. Send my condolences to each family.

I’ll do that, sir. May I ask, sir, did you and your guests get to see the property you were so interested in?

General Crandall looked at Brunigg, then Ben. Colonel, been a tough day. Let’s let it ride for now.

"You ought to listen to your boss, Colonel," Foster snapped.

Ben Selby nearly made it to Herman Foster before General Crandall stepped between them.

* * *

Evelyn Baldwin, Penelope’s mother, had met Ben several times at officers’ events in the States. After she answered the phone and heard his voice, she must have dropped the receiver―he heard a clanking sound and a choked voice saying, I’m sorry. Hello?

When Ben spoke, he knew what she must have been expecting. Evelyn, it’s Ben Selby, Penelope’s commander.

Oh, please dear God, please don’t let it be this . . .

She’s been hurt, but she’s in a field hospital. Her vital signs are stabilizing. He heard her expel a breath of anguish, and of relief.

How bad is it, Colonel?

Please call me Ben. It’s bad. Her injuries are life-threatening. However, I have to tell you what one of her fellow pilots said at the crash site. He told me not to forget she ‘had eaten three bowls of nails for breakfast.’ She’s tough, Evelyn. She’s really tough.

For God’s sake, cut the crap. When will she be coming home?

I don’t know. Once she’s stable enough, she’ll be flown out to Germany. After that, they’ll send her to Walter Reed. But I don’t know when she’ll make that first step. There was a long silence before Ben spoke again. I’ll call you the minute anything changes, but I’ll also call you at least every other day no matter what. I promise.

Thank you, Colonel. She’s all I’ve got. Please see to it she makes it home . . . alive.

I give you my word, I’ll do everything that can be done, even if I have to bang heads in Baghdad. I’m expecting an update every twelve hours from her medical team. The minute I know more, I’ll call you.

* * *

The every-other-day calls stretched out for three weeks. Then, one Friday, at three in the morning, Evelyn’s phone rang. She started to grab it, but her hand froze in place. Is this that last call? Please, dear God, don’t let it be that.

She allowed the phone to ring on incessantly, and no matter how much she willed it to stop, it just kept ringing. Finally, she picked it up. Her voice was so small she wondered if the caller even heard her.

Evelyn, it’s Ben Selby. She’s scheduled to leave for the Landstuhl Medical Center in about three hours. They’ve decided she’s strong enough to make the flight. I knew those goddamn nails were good for something.

Oh God, I was so afraid this was—never mind. Is she awake?

No, but all her vitals are strong, and brain activity seems normal. She’s still on critical, but damn, Evelyn, she’s making that first transfer. I’ve got a good friend in the surgical department there. I spoke with her as soon as I heard the news. Her name is Gretchen Morris. She’s one of the best neurosurgeons on the planet. She’s a civilian. I’m sending you an email with her contact info. She’ll be in touch with you as soon as Penelope is settled in. Then you two can watch over our girl together.

When Ben exited the Emerald City, his driver asked, Where to, Colonel? Ben realized he was stymied. If I go back to squadron HQ, I won’t see her again for a very long time. Maybe never. He had visited and talked to her almost every day since the shoot-down. He had even told her the why of that stupid fucking mission. He told her other things he had never dared tell her before. He wondered if she had heard him. He guessed not.

The driver cranked up the Humvee and looked at the Colonel. The field hospital, sir?

Yes, Sergeant, the hospital.

CHAPTER THREE.

Gretchen Morris’ office was cluttered with medical journals, patient folders, and unending stacks of research papers and books. On her desk were three monitors that called up MRI and CT scan images. There were two laptops, a MacBook Pro and a Dell Inspiron. They served as her second and third brains. The furniture was definitely government issue. The only other non-medical device was her coffeemaker, and it was anything but pedestrian; a Jura-Capresso Impressa combination coffee-espresso machine. Gretchen was almost as serious about her coffee as she was about her patients. She used nothing but the Jamaica Blue Mountain she had shipped in monthly from the States.

Gretchen filled her third cup of the morning. Evelyn, does Penelope have an allergic reaction to dogs?

No.

Gretchen offered to refill Evelyn’s cup, but she declined. As you may know, pets, especially dogs, have been paired with astounding success with patients having a variety of injuries. Somehow, the dogs seem to know the patient needs them and they respond in some way we don’t yet understand. If bonding takes place, the results are often just short of miraculous.

I didn’t know that, Evelyn said, the tears beginning to well up. Do you think one could bond with Penelope even though she can’t communicate?

I don’t really know. But given the results we’ve experienced, we’ve asked military families stationed here to bring us puppies for our patients, to be used in almost the same fashion as seeing-eye dogs. There’s a Golden Retriever named Cinnamon who seems to be particularly attuned to patients. Her first patient left for the States two days ago, so she’s ready for another assignment. She only attended him for a short while, but I . . . Well, it was amazing what those two accomplished in that time. I want to introduce her to Penelope.

You really think . . . Evelyn pushed more tears from her eyes. You really think a dog, I mean Cinnamon, might get through to her?

Gretchen sat down next to Evelyn on the small sofa. She’s been here six weeks. Her vitals are, for all practical purposes, normal. Her brain activity seems normal, too, but we can’t get her to wake up. She’s going to be transferred to Walter Reed soon, and I don’t want to give up until we’ve tried everything. I’d bring in a shaman if I thought it would help.

Evelyn knew Gretchen cared deeply for Penelope. She had spent every free moment trying different therapies and tactics. Evelyn had dropped in often during the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep and sometimes found Gretchen holding Penelope’s hand, talking to her, just telling her about the weather or her dislike of German food. If she thought Cinnamon might break through, then . . . When can they be introduced?

The next morning, Gretchen, Evelyn, and Cinnamon walked into Penelope’s room. Gretchen knelt beside the Golden and stroked her head. Then she took one of Penelope’s hospital gowns and let Cinnamon sniff it. Cinnamon took time to examine the garment thoroughly. When she was finished, Gretchen moved towards Penelope’s bed. Penelope, this is Cinnamon. Cinnamon, this is Penelope. I think she needs your help. How about you introduce yourselves?

Cinnamon came over to the bed and stood perfectly still. Gretchen took Penelope’s hand and lowered it to Cinnamon’s head. The instant she let go of the hand, it fell away. Cinnamon already knew what to do. She moved around until the limp hand lay on her head and stayed there. Gretchen waited a couple of minutes before putting Penelope’s hand back on the bed. Cinnamon would have none of that. She put her front paws on the bed and moved her snout with amazing deftness until she got it under Penelope’s hand.

I think we should leave them alone for a while so they can get better acquainted, Gretchen whispered to Evelyn. The two women turned and tiptoed out of the room.

When they returned two hours later, Cinnamon was on the bed with her front paws draped over Penelope’s right thigh, her head resting on her abdomen. Evelyn gasped just as her hand shot to her mouth. Oh, my God, she’ll hurt her! she cried as she hurried toward the bed.

No! Gretchen put her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder to stop her. No, those wounds are mostly healed. Somehow, Cinnamon knows she was injured there and wants to comfort her in some way. They’re doing fine. Let’s leave them alone until Cinnamon tells us she needs to go for a walk.

* * *

Around three in the afternoon, Gretchen, Evelyn, and Cinnamon came back from a long walk around the hospital grounds. The instant they got off the elevator on Penelope’s floor, Cinnamon took off to be with her new patient.

Two weeks later, the order for Penelope’s transfer appeared on Gretchen’s desk. She called Evelyn and asked her to meet in Penelope’s room that afternoon.

I’ve argued against executing the transfer order for selfish reasons, I suspect, Gretchen said. I can overrule it as her primary-care physician, but maybe we’ve done all that can be done for now.

Will Cinnamon come with us?

I doubt it. It looks like the magic wasn’t there this time. Gretchen scratched Cinnamon’s head as she spoke. I’m sorry, girl. But we’ll find you a new patient as soon as . . . She realized she couldn’t say the words.

I thought . . . ah . . . she was so close . . . Evelyn couldn’t say the words either. When does the plane leave? I mean, what time of day?

It’s a morning flight. I’ll spend time tomorrow putting all her data together. It’ll go with her on the plane. They talked for a few minutes more about the logistics of the trip and setting up life in D.C.

Gretchen, you’ve been a Godsend. Any good that comes to Penelope will be because of you. Evelyn started to cry. Will I see you again before we leave?

Gretchen did what was necessary to hold back tears. Absolutely. I’ll ride with you to the airport. We’ll say goodbye there.

As Evelyn and Gretchen left the room, Cinnamon wedged herself even closer to Penelope.

* * *

The squadron commander offered a genuine smile along with his salute. Captain Baldwin, congratulations. The Lieutenant Colonel pinned the silver bars on her shoulders. I know that, one day, you’ll want my job. Until then, I’m very proud to have you in our squadron as the best damn pilot and tactician I’ve had the pleasure to command.

Penelope stood ramrod erect and completely still until Lieutenant Colonel Ben Selby stepped back. Then she snapped a perfect salute, smiled from ear to ear, and shook his hand. Colonel, I truly look forward to serving under you, and then taking over.

I know you do, and I know you will, he replied with an equally genuine smile. Maybe I’ll have the good fortune to be your Brigade commander.

With that, Penelope snapped another salute and marched off towards her platoon. The tingling in her right hand wouldn’t go away. When she returned to her position in front, she received a rousing, hu-ah!

That night at dinner, her mother couldn’t resist asking the same question as before. Why do you continue to pursue this career? You graduated from a great—

Mother, you know why. But I promise I will retire the minute I’m denied my second star.

Second star?

Well, after these double bars, there’s a gold leaf cluster, then a silver leaf cluster, then an eagle, and then a—

Penelope, that’s your entire life almost! What about family? Children? You talk so often about having children. It’s going to be difficult having little ones when you’re flying around in a—

Please, Mom, I’ll find the right man soon enough. And we’ll bring all the children to visit you, often. But not yet. Anyway, I know the man I want. He’s—

You’ve found somebody? her mother asked.

"Not really. But I know what he’ll be like. I’ve found the example—that’s all."

Who? It’s Ben Selby, isn’t it?

"Mother, Colonel Selby is my boss. He’s also engaged. I can assure you his interest extends only to how well I fly, and now to how well I lead our squadron. He—"

My darling, beautiful daughter. You are either blind, deaf, and dumb, which of course you aren’t, or you’re employing such willful blindness that it’s never before been seen in a conscious human being. I watched your Colonel Selby pin those bars on you. I was pretty sure he was going to wrap you in his arms and give you a kiss.

Mother, you’ve been watching too many romantic movies. I’m a newly minted captain, and he’s a soon to be full-bird Colonel. He—

And you’re a woman and he’s a man. Your father used to look at me that way, and I can tell you it had nothing to do with any business hierarchy. Plus, my dear, your uniform doesn’t hide your beauty.

Mom, you’ve lost it. He . . . I . . . I want to make it to squadron commander before I risk burdening a family with my . . . my unpredictable life. So please, let’s celebrate this step. Only a couple more to go. Plus, if we get involved in another shooting war, I’ll get there faster.

Or dead. Her mother’s tone was suddenly harsh. We don’t need another dead hero in our family.

I know. But Dad loved you, loved me, and loved his job. And the savage who shot him will eventually end up on a stretcher. Killing a cop is still a straight line to the death chamber.

But that— Her mother stopped. I worry about you every day. You’re so smart, so beautiful. I . . . Never mind. If those idiots in D.C. do get us involved in another shooting war, make sure one of them rides right seat with you, every mission. The tears were genuine, and Penelope knew her mother would never recover from the loss of her husband. But she had worked like the proverbial dog to earn these shiny new bars, and she was going to enhance them with an eagle or a star or two before she quit. Plus, it was spring, a new century was dipping its toes in the waters of a sometimes hostile world, and Penelope Baldwin was now in a position to move some of that water around a bit.

Later that night, Captain Penelope Baldwin surveyed her UH-60A Blackhawk. To her, it was simultaneously a thing of beauty and of menace. She’d been a copilot for only eighteen