Deep Black

41

Lia punched the button on her handheld several times, frustrated that they had lost the feed from the Bagel. That didn’t mean it had been shot down or run out of fuel — reception was notoriously difficult in the Hind.

But it wasn’t good. Lia pushed against the restraints of the gunners’ cockpit. It was a tight squeeze, even for her. With the missiles and gun pod loaded on the stubby wings, she was paranoid about hitting the switches on the panels, even though the gear was fully safed.

Karr had gone too far this time. It was uncharacteristic — she was the one who took chances, not him, not like this. Jesus, he was out of his mind.

Dean’s fault. Karr obviously thought he had to impress the old fart.

Not that Dean was old, actually. Or a fart. Not a fart at all.

“How we doing?” Fashona asked over the interphone, or internal communications set.

“They’re working their way to the building, but I’ve lost the feed from the Bagel. Can you get higher?”

“I don’t want to show up on the radar. We’re just barely out of coverage range as it is.”

“We’re five miles away and five feet off the ground.”

“That would be twenty. The radar is definitely on and scanning.”

“I’d like to see what the hell is going on.”

“Relax. Karr knows what he’s doing.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

“Hots for Charlie Dean, huh? He’s a hunk.”

“Screw yourself, Fashona.”

“Physically impossible, though many have tried,” he said. “You want me to go over the target list again?”

“Why don’t you suck on a grenade?”

“If I go, you go,” he told her.

“That may be an acceptable trade-off.”