Read Online Wait Until Dark (The Night Stalkers) by M. L. Buchman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M. L. Buchman
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“Advanced Distributed Aperture System” (the vendor’s techs insisted on calling it by its full name every time) consisted of nine distributed cameras in five mountings, all feeding a carefully interlaced view onto her visor.
She and John had been saying ADAS as a word, but the right word was “miracle.” When she looked down, Connie’s screen blanked. That made perfect sense. She was now asking the equipment to look straight down at the hangar floor and it showed her blank concrete, 2.2 meters below the Hawk’s center. But in flight, she would see a landing zone or an underslung load.
John, also helmeted, stood a dozen feet to the side, apparently frozen in place as she was… except that his head wasn’t moving.
She blinked to shift her field of focus.
His attention appeared riveted at a blank wall.
Then she did the triangulation in her head. If he were in his seat and looking through the ADAS, he’d be staring at…
Her! He’d been close by her side for three days, hovering inches away as they joined in the installation and training. So close that his rich, earthy essence had been a constant awareness even in the moments when he wasn’t nearby. But he wasn’t inspecting the equipment. He was watching—
Connie tore off her helmet and threw it aside. Only the quick grab of a tech kept it from bouncing and rolling across the concrete.
She slammed back into the harsh reality of Hangar 14.
The tech was trying to ask her what was wrong. All the noise of a dozen people working on two helicopters that had been buffered by her helmet now hammered against her, overshadowed by her own harsh breathing.
For three days she’d fit in. At least a little.
Emily Beale, once again standing back to observe the progress, slowly tipped her head a little to the side and watched her. Another inspector. Some question on the Major’s features. A question without a good answer, as if she’d just bitten down on a lemon.
Connie didn’t know. Didn’t care.
John remained as he had been before, riveted. Staring at what she’d do next from his helmet world. Inspecting her like she was a goddamn bug on a platter. Like she was an oddity to be observed and would never fit in. The only one she’d ever fooled was herself.
She saw a door and headed for it. By the time she hit the push bar, she was at a run. The outdoor cold slapped her hard, but she was numb inside and couldn’t feel it other than as icy knives in her chest. On the far side of the door she kicked into a sprint.
Connie ran across tarmac and taxiway. She ran over the field and crossed the narrow two-lane road named Nightstalker Way. Ran until she slammed against the perimeter fence where it faced the trees and rolling terrain that surrounded this side of Fort Campbell.
Breathe.
She couldn’t breathe.
And she had no idea why.
Chapter 13
John found Connie plastered against the perimeter fence like spaghetti thrown against a wall. Or a cartoon cutout. But this was no cartoon.
Her hands were clenched into the wire as if holding on for life. Maybe they were. Her face pressed against the wire. Her breath billowed in cloudy gasps into the cold morning air. Nothing beyond the fence except low hills and trees.
Night Stalkers were as steady on the ground as in the air. They prided themselves on their smooth and steady attitude. Same way they flew.
Let the Rangers brag to each other, pretend whatever battle they were about to para-jump into juiced them up. Maybe it did, or maybe that was just a fear reaction. Let the Delta operators crawl aboard a chopper dragging the bodies of friends back across the thin line of safety after a mission gone to hell.
SOAR provided the stabilizing touchstone to both.
John had seen this before. Reality slammed into you at the strangest of times. All that cool caught up with you, and the steel-hard casing every SOAR flier kept wrapped around their inner core blew out sideways when least expected. Never in combat. Too busy staying
She and John had been saying ADAS as a word, but the right word was “miracle.” When she looked down, Connie’s screen blanked. That made perfect sense. She was now asking the equipment to look straight down at the hangar floor and it showed her blank concrete, 2.2 meters below the Hawk’s center. But in flight, she would see a landing zone or an underslung load.
John, also helmeted, stood a dozen feet to the side, apparently frozen in place as she was… except that his head wasn’t moving.
She blinked to shift her field of focus.
His attention appeared riveted at a blank wall.
Then she did the triangulation in her head. If he were in his seat and looking through the ADAS, he’d be staring at…
Her! He’d been close by her side for three days, hovering inches away as they joined in the installation and training. So close that his rich, earthy essence had been a constant awareness even in the moments when he wasn’t nearby. But he wasn’t inspecting the equipment. He was watching—
Connie tore off her helmet and threw it aside. Only the quick grab of a tech kept it from bouncing and rolling across the concrete.
She slammed back into the harsh reality of Hangar 14.
The tech was trying to ask her what was wrong. All the noise of a dozen people working on two helicopters that had been buffered by her helmet now hammered against her, overshadowed by her own harsh breathing.
For three days she’d fit in. At least a little.
Emily Beale, once again standing back to observe the progress, slowly tipped her head a little to the side and watched her. Another inspector. Some question on the Major’s features. A question without a good answer, as if she’d just bitten down on a lemon.
Connie didn’t know. Didn’t care.
John remained as he had been before, riveted. Staring at what she’d do next from his helmet world. Inspecting her like she was a goddamn bug on a platter. Like she was an oddity to be observed and would never fit in. The only one she’d ever fooled was herself.
She saw a door and headed for it. By the time she hit the push bar, she was at a run. The outdoor cold slapped her hard, but she was numb inside and couldn’t feel it other than as icy knives in her chest. On the far side of the door she kicked into a sprint.
Connie ran across tarmac and taxiway. She ran over the field and crossed the narrow two-lane road named Nightstalker Way. Ran until she slammed against the perimeter fence where it faced the trees and rolling terrain that surrounded this side of Fort Campbell.
Breathe.
She couldn’t breathe.
And she had no idea why.
Chapter 13
John found Connie plastered against the perimeter fence like spaghetti thrown against a wall. Or a cartoon cutout. But this was no cartoon.
Her hands were clenched into the wire as if holding on for life. Maybe they were. Her face pressed against the wire. Her breath billowed in cloudy gasps into the cold morning air. Nothing beyond the fence except low hills and trees.
Night Stalkers were as steady on the ground as in the air. They prided themselves on their smooth and steady attitude. Same way they flew.
Let the Rangers brag to each other, pretend whatever battle they were about to para-jump into juiced them up. Maybe it did, or maybe that was just a fear reaction. Let the Delta operators crawl aboard a chopper dragging the bodies of friends back across the thin line of safety after a mission gone to hell.
SOAR provided the stabilizing touchstone to both.
John had seen this before. Reality slammed into you at the strangest of times. All that cool caught up with you, and the steel-hard casing every SOAR flier kept wrapped around their inner core blew out sideways when least expected. Never in combat. Too busy staying
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