Dragonslayers: Critical Mass Part 1

It was time. Colonel Eagle Tryggvesson logged out of her email account, turned off the computer, and stood. She gazed out the wall of glass making up one side of her office. The valley below was awash in spring colors. Somewhere in that green, her unit was doing field maneuvers and sniper training. She longed to be with them, but another, more important duty called.

Leaving her office, Eagle headed down the hall to the living quarters she shared with Lieutenant Colonel D.M. Elliott—her husband. Despite military regulations regarding marrying within the chain of command, they’d ignored the rule, and together, had developed the most powerful small Special Forces team in the U.S. arsenal. Their commander, Admiral Raymond Connors, head of the U.S. Special Operations Command (USSOC) vehemently opposed their relationship. That was until the entire team threatened to resign their commissions if charges were brought against Eagle and D.M. Only then did he realize how special they were.

Eagle opened the door, went in, and walked to the bedroom. Another wall of glass gave a different view of the valley. The Knight’s Keep was a ten-story glass and steel building tucked away in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Originally designed as a retreat for high-ranking officers and an intelligence-gathering platform, possession of the base eventually fell to the Dragonslayers, and a determined Eagle Tryggvesson. Her dream in life was to command an elite unit, and with years of hard work, she’d accomplished it.

Opening a closet door, she retrieved a suitcase. Laying it on the bed, she began opening drawers, taking out clothes. Hmm, only two weeks, so I shouldn’t need much. With little thought, she haphazardly packed clothing into the bag. Then she went to the closet and selected a few pairs of jeans and slacks, grabbing matching blouses as well. As she was folding them, the door to their room opened and she heard D.M. enter.

Hello, my love, he said, stopping at the doorway to the bedroom. I wondered when you’d start packing. The colonel was still dressed in armor with black web gear over it.

Considering my flight leaves in five hours, I suppose I should’ve started sooner.

He approached and took her in his arms. Aw, you’re just excited.

Nervous as hell more like.

It’ll be fine, I’m sure.

She looked up at him. I wish you were going. Reaching a hand, she gently played her fingers through his black hair peppered with strands of gray. It seemed that each day D.M. grew a bit more gray. The stresses of the job had not been kind to any of them.

He kissed her. "I’d like to, but someone has to stay home and mind the children."

Well, Tige did last time.

Yeah, and now we have even more children to babysit.

True. She slipped his embrace and resumed packing.

D.M. went to his dresser and opened the top drawer. Since I won’t see you for your birthday, I have something for you.

You shouldn’t have.

I wanted to. He handed her a small wrapped box. Promise me you’ll open it on the day.

If something else doesn’t get in the way.

He smiled broadly. Now wouldn’t that be a real present?

It’s not like we planned it that way.

Yeah, but it’d still be cool.

I guess.

D.M. sensed her anxiety. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Okay, spill it, what’s wrong?

She continued to fold clothes, laying them in the suitcase. Was this a good idea? I mean now? What were we thinking?

Yes, it was. We were thinking ahead, and that’s why we did it. He rested his hands on his lap.

But is it fair?

Truthfully? No. He reached and took her hand. But timing wasn’t exactly on our side either.

She sighed. What I wouldn’t give for a time machine.

Sorry, my love, that’s a bit too far over my head. But, I can build you a fancy bulletproof box if you want.

Unfortunately it won’t do the trick.

You’re gonna have to be strong—strong for the both of us…I wish I could be there.

Maybe we should’ve waited. I mean I only have eighteen months and I can retire.

Little late now. D.M. gestured for her to sit on his lap.

She sat down, trying to get comfortable on the hard plastic thigh plates. Yeah, I suppose so.

He wrapped his arms around her. God, I’d love to make love one more time before you leave.

Eagle poked at his armor. It’d take you longer to shed the armor. Besides, it’ll be lunch in a few minutes.

Yeah, bummer. He kissed her. I’ll make up for it later.

I promise… she said, pausing, I’ll sing the songs for him.

Songs?

The songs telling stories of his warrior father.

What will he know of that? He’s a baby.

Tradition. From as far back as I can remember, my mother sung me songs of the warriors in our clan.

Your father wasn’t much of a warrior, was he?

No. So it’s even more important the tradition be carried on with Gryffin.

I understand. He kissed her again, then nudged her. Better get some lunch.

She stood. Yeah. After, Jake’ll fly me to the airport.

D.M. looked at her suitcase. Got everything you need?

Think so. Since I’m staying with Sigrid and family, I don’t need much.

Make sure you leave some space.

Why?

You’ll see. He led the way to the dining room. Upon entering, the rest of the team stood.

As you were, gentlemen, Eagle said, taking her seat. As she looked around the room, all she saw were smiles. It seemed they were caught up in the excitement, too.

Captain Jake Collins remained standing while the others sat down. He went into the kitchen and came out with a package wrapped in brown paper. It was roughly fifteen inches square by eight inches high. "This is from all the uncles. He placed it on the table in front of her. Open it after the blessed event."

"Uncles and Dad," D.M. corrected.

Eagle placed her hands on top of the box. Emotions inside were threatening to make her cry. She fought it. Thank you. Thank you, all.

Jake went over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He figured D.M. wouldn’t mind. You tell little Gryffin he’s got eleven uncles who’ll kick the crap outta anyone who dares bully him.

She giggled. Um, yes, I will.

He pointed to D.M. And you send him lots of pictures he can share with us.

On my list of things to do.

And most important…

Yes?

Enjoy being a mommy.

That was it. Eagle started to cry. She was both happy and sad over the whole ordeal. A big part of her wanted to be a mother to their son, an equally big part wanted to remain a warrior. There was no way she could have both. Sigrid agreed to keep and raise Gryffin until Eagle retired. The biggest fear Eagle had was her son not knowing his parents. Living and working in the Special Forces community meant life was not a guarantee.

After lunch and saying good-bye to everyone, Eagle met Jake at the elevator. He grabbed her bag. I’ll take that.

Thank you.

Sure, you’ll be toting it for a while once you reach Norway.

Yup. Along with changing planes, getting a rental car, you name it.

D.M. said you’re staying with family.

Sigrid’s family—her husband Hakkon, and two children.

I bet that’ll be nice.

Strange.

The elevator arrived and they stepped in.

Why strange? Jake asked, poking the button for the hangar deck.

I’ve spent so little time home in these last years I’m beginning not to feel Norwegian anymore.

Aw, come on, have some funky fish, gooey peas, and potato tortillas and you’ll be good as new.

She giggled. Where on earth did you hear that?

D.M. told me. Viking food doesn’t sound too appetizing.

Lutefisk is an acquired taste. But the lefse are quite nice—you’d like them.

Those the peas?

"No, those are grønnerter stuing. Lefse are the potato tortillas as you call them."

That’s what D.M. explained they were like.

The doors opened and they walked into the hangar.

I took the liberty of preflighting, in case you were in a hurry. He led the way outside to where a Warhawk helicopter sat on the deck.

Appreciated. For some reason I was lacking the motivation to pack.

I thought you’d be thrilled to go.

Mixed emotions.

Jake opened the rear door and laid her suitcase on the floor. He helped Eagle in, and hopped in after, closing the door. Going forward to the cockpit, he settled into the pilot’s seat. Well, we got at least a thirty-minute flight, so you can spill your guts to Dr. Jake if you want.

Thanks. She put on a set of headphones with a mic.

The captain pushed buttons, flipped switches, and soon the rotors turned. So is Norway a real pretty country?

Yes, it is. Although D.M. didn’t think too much of the north.

Too cold?

And no trees.

He’s the one who likes the desert.

He didn’t like my frozen desert.

True, he hates the cold.

Once the rotors were up to speed, Jake contacted Security Control. Delta Sierra three-two-three requesting permission for liftoff. We’re headed to Reno airport.

Roger, Delta Sierra, you’re clear.

Thank you, control. Jake eased the copter into the air and headed northeast. Nice day, huh?

Lovely day. I wish I could’ve been in the field with everyone.

Trust me, it wasn’t fun.

Oh?

I swear D.M. and Tige put us through the ringer.

Training’s important, you know.

Yes, but trying to free climb a solid granite wall in armor isn’t. He increased altitude and adjusted course to fly around a particularly large mountain. I was glad Kip was at the top with the anchor rope; I fell twice.

That does sound daunting.

They flew along for several minutes, both enjoying the view.

So what’s with your mixed emotions about going home? Jake asked.

Eagle glanced at Jake. She’d known him a long time and trusted him. He didn’t always have the best advice, but he was kind, patient, and a willing set of ears to listen. Timing, really.

No missions coming up, are there?

No, not that. I mean maybe now was not the time to have a baby.

Because you’re both still in?

Exactly. I hate the fact we’ve asked Sigrid to bear the child, give birth, and raise him until such time as I can retire.

Which is a ways off, right?

The soonest is eighteen months.

And do you wanna retire?

Hell no!

Jake chuckled. Now that’s the feisty Viking I know so well.

I want everything but I can’t have it. She laced her fingers together. I envy Cap.

Because he’s got the wife, kids, and his dream job?

She nodded.

Yeah, but he’s a daddy only on the weekends. And he has Cara and Cynthia to take care of the kids. I don’t see D.M. being a Mr. Mom.

And I don’t see myself being a Mrs. Mom even in eighteen months.

Life is a game of sacrifices.

Are you sure this is going to work? asked Demyan Utkin as he watched a four-foot-square lead block being brought to the rear of a shipping container. A forklift held the block suspended by chain from two eyebolts on top. It was late at night in the Novosibirsk Oblast Russian bentonite clay mine. The southwestern Siberian weather was cold despite being late May.

Do you think I’m stupid? Maksim Kuznetsov replied. I’m a nuclear physicist; it’s my job to know if it will work or not.

Okay, okay. But we have over thirty pounds of Uranium 238. That’s a lot of hot stuff.

Yes, I know. I smuggled every ounce of those thirty pounds. Kuznetsov waited until the forklift had placed the hefty container down. He approached and flipped eight stout latches. Then he looked toward the cab of the forklift. Okay, lift.

The forklift driver slowly raised the forks, lifting the top off the container.

Utkin peered inside. There were four neatly drilled holes, each about half the size of a picnic thermos. Each hole was separated by nearly a foot of lead. It will be enough?

Yes! Kuznetsov barked.

Have you tested it?

Of course, I tested it. The amount of Uranium 238 scatter radiation matches the amount coming off the clay. The radiation detectors in the U.S. port will alert.

That’s bad, right?

No. They will check the shipping manifest and see there is bulk clay headed to a facility in Nevada for processing into cat litter.

They won’t look inside?

Demyan, would you want to open the back of a shipping container and have thousands of tons of clay dump all over the place?

Mmm, guess not.

Kuznetsov went to the back of his car, removing a radiation suit. You might want to keep some distance. Even in the shielded containers, this stuff is hazardous. He pulled on the suit.

Utkin retreated about fifty meters. Far enough?

Yes, the containers won’t be out long.

What about the forklift driver?

I gave him a lead vest to wear. His exposure is minimal. He rolled a heavy metal box to the lead container. Inside were four small containers of Uranium 238. Kuznetsov quickly placed the containers into the four openings.

Once they were in, he pointed for the forklift driver to lower the top. He made sure the lid fit snugly over the edges of the specially designed unit. It had taken him nine months to scrounge enough lead necessary to make the container, and another month to test it. He was confident with all the loose clay, the port authorities would not search the cargo container.

Kuznetsov closed the latches and signaled the driver to load the lead block inside the shipping container. It would be placed about two-thirds in, allowing for clay to fill around it.

Is it safe? Utkin asked.

Yes, safer than it was. He removed his mask and hood. Did you make travel arrangements?

We’ll catch separate flights out of Moscow in a week. On your visa application, I put the purpose of your travel as visiting your sister, Maryia, in Nevada.

Good, and then to Green River, Utah.

Why there?

Because there’s plenty of background radiation from all the American bomb testing and a radium dump site. Their sensors won’t pick up the radiation because we’ll be not far from the dump.

Sounds like a solid strategy. But how will we transport after?

Kuznetsov finished getting out of the radiation suit. You’ll see.

I have the container scheduled to go out of the Vostochny seaport and arriving in Los Angeles in a couple of weeks.

That’s fine. It gives me time to get the rest of the plan worked out.

D.M. sat at Eagle’s desk. She’d been gone but a day and he already missed her terribly. Jake strolled in carrying a bundle of mail. Hey, boss. I figured I’d bring up the mail for us. He flipped through envelopes and dropped three of them on the desk. Two for you, one for Eagle.

Thanks.

Oh, the one for her, it looks important.

The colonel picked up the envelope. From Admiral Connors. He prepared to open it.

Should you do that?

Eagle told me to deal with all her mail.

Ah, right.

D.M. ripped the envelope and removed a formal invitation. You are cordially invited to the promotion of Brigadier General Anthony Scott to Major General…Seventeen hundred hours on the eighth of June. RSVP.

Ew, Jake said, shaking his head. She won’t be back by then, will she?

No. He looked in the envelope and found a slip of paper. Hmm, what’s this?

What is it?

Looks like a personal note from the admiral. He wants to meet with Eagle.

Sounds odd.

Yeah. He tossed everything on the desk. Something going on we need to know about?

Maybe. Are you gonna go?

I suppose I’ll have to. I’m commander in her absence. Whatever he had to say to her, he can say to me.

Maybe it’s a mission for us.

She’d have said something if it was.

Eagle doing some super-secret squirrel stuff on us?

I dunno. He stood and went around the desk. Guess I’ll find out.

They left the office and joined the rest of the unit on the training floor. Captain Mark Kippie Te Ika and Lieutenant Jon Red Knife were in the middle of the mats sparring with obvious vigor.

I’m surprised Eagle didn’t take hand-to-hand off the schedule. Things have gotten rather rough lately, Jake said as he watched.

A moment later, Kippie hit the mat, blood flowing freely from a gash on his lip. Jon stopped. Oh, sorry.

Ow.

D.M. regarded Jake. I think I’ll be rewriting the schedule this evening.

Probably a good idea.

Replace with more shooting and field maneuvers in battle rattle.

The last part doesn’t make me happy.

I’ll even throw in an extra sortie with the Badgers.

Now you’re talkin’!

I’ll gotta check with logistics to see if we have enough fuel.

I can do that. No sense in running yourself ragged because Eagle’s gone.

Thanks.

Kippie got up and went to the first-aid kit. One of the team medics, Lieutenant Sam Waters, already had it open and was tearing a gauze pack. Looks like it hurt.

Bugger! That Indian hits like a ton of bricks! He took the gauze and held it to his lip.

Pretty sure he’s said the same about you.

Good thing we’re on the same side, right?

I’d hate to run into you as enemies. Sam gestured. Lemme take a look.

Kippie removed the gauze, blood still oozed.

Think you’re gonna need a few stitches.

Shit. I won’t be looking my best for the weekend.

Hot date?

Wild Horse.

Ah.

How come you don’t go, mate?

I did, once. Wasn’t my thing. The girls are nice and all, but I’m old-fashioned and prefer a more meaningful relationship.

Cap found some true love there.

He’s probably the only guy in a hundred years to do so.

Kippie dabbed at his lip. Well, I guess I’ll go see the doc about this. He headed to the elevator, passing D.M. and Jake.

You okay? D.M. asked.

Yeah, Sam says I’m probably gonna need some stitches; heading there now.

I’ll be changing the schedule. No more hand-to-hand.

Aw, bummer, it’s one of my favorites.

I don’t think Eagle’d be happy to return home to a bunch of busted-up personnel.

Probably right.

That evening, D.M. was sitting on the sofa in their room working on the laptop, when there was a knock on the door. Yeah, come in.

Jake entered. Hey, I spoke to the loggies and they said we only have enough fuel for one extra sortie for either Wolverines or Badgers.

I was hoping to add a couple sorties of both.

Not happening.

Sim time?

Jake shrugged his shoulders. Better than nothing, I guess.

Checked the weather; it’s supposed to be downright awful for the next week.

As in…?

Potential for strong storms and plenty of dry lightning.

Dry lightning?

A phenomenon in which clouds can still produce electricity without raining much, if any. One of the biggest sources of wildfires in the west.

Been bone dry here, too.

I think our best bet would be plenty of range time in the basement.

The snipers will be thrilled.

We all need to learn to shoot better and farther.

Guess I can’t argue that. He sat down across from D.M. Heard from the wife yet?

She made it to London. Still got a ways to go.

And then it’s just waiting for the blessed event?

Yup.

Going stir-crazy?

D.M. looked at Jake with a surprisingly calm expression on his face. Absolutely.

Don’t know how you do it; you’ve always been so cool and calm about stuff.

The exterior may look cool and calm, but the interior is about ready to disintegrate under the stress.

Think he’s gonna have lots of hair?

Dunno. I remember my mother saying Frank and I were both born bald as cue balls. And I know Ben was bald, too.

Well, however he comes out, I’m sure he’ll be a knockout with the ladies.

The colonel smiled broadly. Pretty confident of it.

Maksim Kuznetsov boarded a plane at Tolmachevo Airport in Novosibirsk Oblast heading to Moscow. There he’d catch a British Airways flight to London, stay a couple of days, and then on to Las Vegas. He hated air travel. Of course he also didn’t have a sister named Maryia who lived in Nevada; a clever smokescreen to throw off customs officials. Demyan Utkin stood in line a few feet away. Neither man acknowledged the other. It was time to start the operation.

They boarded the plane and sat several rows apart. Volya Alkaev and Rodion Mateev, two other Chechen Russians with ties to the terror group were already in Moscow awaiting flights to the United States. Some were to gather in Green River, Utah by the end of June, others would disperse to major cities and act as liaisons to local terror cells. They would begin planning a plot that would shake the American people to the core.

Two other Russian-born men would also be joining them. Akim Orlov was the son of a premier nuclear scientist who had studied more of his father’s notes than the old man probably knew about. Kazimir Filipov spent several years in Syria assisting the insurgency in gaining control over several key cities. His job was acting liaison between ISIL, or the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant in the Middle East, and the growing factions of terror cells in the United States who were salivating for revenge against airstrikes and military involvement in their holy war.

The six Russians would be joined by a dozen ISIL in America members who would help carry out the plot. Jihad had been sworn on America and they were willing to sacrifice their lives in order to exterminate as many infidels as possible.

Major Cabbott Westmoreland stood on the hangar deck getting a breather between training sessions. The weather was warm, dry, and a stiff westerly wind blew. As he surveyed the landscape, he caught a faint whiff of smoke. Going to the edge, he looked around the valley, finding no source of the smell. Still it persisted, enough to get the attention of his highly trained nose.

He went inside and down to the eighth floor, stopping at Lieutenant Frank Elliott’s office. Frank?

Oh, hi, Cap. What’s up?

Any forest fires been reported around here lately?

No, why?

Pretty sure I smell smoke from the west.

Frank checked his computer. There’s a big fire west of Bear Valley.

Hmm, maybe that’s what I’m smelling.

Weather’s been crazy lately. I’ve been keeping an eye on things. Another bad year for fires.

Way too dry out there.

There’s another small fire south of Dardanelle. Don’t think it’ll be an issue.

Something doesn’t feel right.

Your spidey senses at it again?

The major nodded.

I’ll make sure I go up a couple times a day and do a visual.

Thanks.

CHAPTER TWO

Eagle lay in bed staring at the plain white ceiling. Downstairs, she heard two rowdy children playing. Occasionally, Sigrid or Hakkon would tell them to be quiet. She hated to admit it, but she didn’t feel like she belonged anymore. Norway felt like a foreign country, not home. Thousands of miles away, her husband and her team were going on with life. She longed to be with them.

Ørn! Frokost! Sigrid called, saying it was time for breakfast.

Ja, jeg kommer, she replied, getting out of bed. Despite being upstairs, the room was cold so she’d slept in sweatpants and a thick t-shirt. Her stomach growled. She’d been there three days and was finally shaking the jet lag. As she was pulling on a sweatshirt, her phone chimed indicating she had a text. Eagle grabbed the phone from the nightstand. The text read: I love you and miss you. And happy birthday, my love!

She sighed deeply and texted back: I miss you, wish you were here. I love you more than you know.

The reply was simply the heart emoji.

Tucking the phone into her pocket, Eagle headed downstairs. As she reached the bottom, she had to dodge a little boy roaring by carrying a toy car. Across the room, the girl—who was only a year older, was screeching at the top of her lungs at something on TV. Hakkon came from the kitchen and yelled at her. He saw Eagle standing in the middle of the room looking quite frazzled. Sorry, the weekends are the worst, Hakkon said in rather broken English.

Umm, it’s okay.

They are usually better behaved.

I’ve been hanging around my friend’s house; they have two young girls.

Sigrid came from the kitchen to wrangle the children. Agnar! Elisabet! Nok dere to! She saw Eagle. Did you sleep okay?

Yes, thank you. Eagle saw the large size of Sigrid’s stomach. She had maybe days to go and then Gryffin would be brought into the world.

Sorry about the kids.

It’s fine. They’re kids.

Are you ready for one?

I’m trying to convince myself I am.

Sigrid rubbed her tummy. He’ll be a good boy.

How do you know?

He’s not given me a moment of trouble my whole pregnancy. She gestured to the kids. On the other hand, these two gave me nothing but grief!

Eagle smiled. But it was a fake smile. Gryffin would be at an impressionable age when he came to the United States, and Eagle was confident there would be problems adapting to a new life. He’d be taken away from the woman who gave birth to him, raised him for more than a year, and then made to live with a family he didn’t know. Eagle was feeling more and more awful about the whole idea.

Come, children, time for breakfast, Sigrid said, guiding them to the kitchen.

Hakkon looked at Eagle. Are you okay?

A lot on my mind.

Yes, I’m sure so.

I can’t thank you enough for everything you’re doing.

You are family, that’s what matters.

She followed him into the kitchen and settled at the table. The kids were arguing with one another. Stillhet! Sigrid barked. They immediately quieted down. Takk, spis nå frokost, Sigrid said, telling them to eat breakfast. She regarded Eagle. Don’t worry, Gryffin will learn English.

I know. And thank you.

You will try to come visit as much as you can?

"Yes, try. With more people on the team, it’s hard for us to vacation together."

Hakkon munched on breakfast. I would think…with more you could have time.

Not in this case. It means more responsibility.

Ah.

Lately, however, we haven’t been busy. Eagle poured a cup of tea. But even if we can’t come visit, we can always Skype so Gryffin can see us.

Cabbott ducked as a sword whipped over his head. He wasn’t prepared for the follow-through that left him flat on his back with D.M. standing over him.

Ow, the major said, trying to get his breath after having the wind knocked out of him.

You okay? D.M. offered a hand.

He lay there for a few moments. I totally blew my defense, didn’t I?

And it’s why you’re on the mat.

Yeah. Cabbott accepted the hand and got to his feet. Something I gotta work on.

Another day. He then hollered, Dinnertime, to the rest of the team as he carried the practice sword to the cabinet and put it away.

Have you heard from Eagle lately?

Status quo.

Bummer.

In time.

Cabbott wiped his face with a towel. I think we’re more excited than you.

Fairly confident.

Why aren’t you?

Honestly? D.M. said. I’m terrified.

What? Why?

For starters, I never thought I’d live long enough to have a kid. So I’m not exactly sure of my parenting skills. And then there’s his eventual transition to America—which probably won’t go well.

"You’ll make a fine father. Shit, my kids love you. Sierra thinks you’re the greatest uncle of ’em all. Cabbott gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Besides, we’re right next-door, so when problems arise, there’s help."

Our one saving grace.

It’ll be a bit rocky for a while, and then things’ll come together and you’ll be a real family.

With a part-time father.

I do it, so can you.

The team headed up for dinner. D.M. still felt odd about sitting at the head of the table, so he left the seat vacant. Despite Eagle’s absence, the others extended the respect to D.M. by waiting for him to be seated before they took their places.

Anything? Jake asked.

"No, no, and for the twentieth time today—no!"

Sorry.

The rest of the table fell silent. It was obvious D.M. was not in the mood to discuss the happenings half a world away. The cell phone in his pocket buzzed indicating he had a message. Taking it out, he looked at it. All eyes were on him.

Well? Jake said, knowing he was one of the few who could pester the colonel without serious repercussions.

Sigrid’s water broke, he replied nonchalantly.

Immediately the room broke into wild cheers.

What time is it there? Jake asked.

Ten hours difference, D.M. replied.

So, like three in the morning?

Uh, huh.

Damn, it means little Gryffin missed being born on her birthday.

Tige disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two unopened bottles of champagne. Party time!

D.M. held up his hand. How about we wait ’til he’s born?

Come on, this is as good of an excuse as any to drink.

Please, no, he said softly.

Tige sensed the colonel’s apprehension and quietly returned the bottles to the kitchen.

I’m sure Sigrid’s in excellent hands, Cabbott commented.

D.M. sighed. The best my money can buy.

It’ll be okay.

Easy for you to say.

Remember what Cara went through with Ginny? I was a total train wreck.

I know if I was there I’d be no help whatsoever.

Us guys can’t help but feel helpless when it comes to this.

Times like this I’m sure the women are far stronger, D.M. said. Don’t think we men have the stomach for it.

Definitely!

Maksim Kuznetsov stepped off the plane in Las Vegas. Farther back was Demyan Utkin. They would go separate ways from the airport and eventually meet up at one of the casinos before making the roughly 350-mile drive to Utah. Across the United States, other members of the team were also making the journey. They had agreed to distance themselves as much as possible to avoid detection by American officials. Once they were on the ground, it was easier to travel without much notice.

As the line of passengers filed through customs, Kuznetsov had his passport ready. His handlers in Chechnya made sure everything was in order. He shuffled up to the immigration officer and presented his papers. The man looked them over. Purpose of your visit?

I am seeing my sister, Maryia, in Las Vegas, he said, trying to make his accent nearly unintelligible.

The officer looked him over. All right, have a nice time. And remember your visa is only good for ninety days.

Да. Девяносто дней, Um, yes, ninety days.

The officer stamped the passport and handed it back. Kuznetsov grasped the handle on his luggage and nonchalantly rolled it toward the exit. He knew Utkin was going through the same thing, except his reason for visiting was simply as a tourist. Of course they intended to overstay their visas. It would be extremely rare for any of them to be caught and deported. For the most part, they planned to be well-hidden in plain sight.

Cabbott stood on the hangar deck, his nose tipped in the direction of the prevailing wind. It was there, he knew it. But convincing Frank of it was another story. Jake came out. Hey, what’s up?

Do you smell that? Cabbott said.

Jake took a few sniffs. Smell what?

I smell smoke.

Hm, can’t be good.

Can you take me up?

Umm, yeah. I was gonna preflight for a quick sortie.

Great. Go ahead. I’ll be right back. Cabbott hurried down to his room and grabbed a pair of binoculars. He returned to find the helicopter at idle and Jake in the cockpit. Climbing in next to him, he closed the door.

I told Frank what we’re up to, Jake said, putting on a headset.

Thanks. He probably thinks I’m out of my mind.

You’re the one with the million-dollar nose.

Let’s just say I have my days. He put on his headset and gave Jake a thumb’s-up.

Security Control, this is Delta Sierra three-four-three. We’re gonna take a look around.

Roger, three-four-three, you’re clear.

Should be back in ten mike.

Copy.

The helicopter lifted off and Jake hovered high above the building. So which way?

West. Can you take us over the lip of the ridge?

Yup, can do. He maneuvered the helicopter toward the west, keeping it fairly low.

Cabbott opened the small window and leaned down so he could put his nose to work. West and head south, please.

Right. He made a course correction that brought them lower in elevation. Smell anything?

Yeah, yeah, I do. Can you go more south? He looked through the binoculars.

Sure.

The terrain began to rise.

Whoa! Cabbott said, holding up his hand.

Jake stopped and hovered the helicopter. What?

Getting stronger.

I don’t see anything. We should be seeing lots of smoke.

Turn one-eighty.

Jake spun the craft around.

There!

Well, I’ll be…You’re right. Not far from Poison Lake. Seems to be a slow burner. He flicked on an infrared screen. Let’s see what this looks like with the new toy.

They watched the monitor and a small flicker of white ringed with red danced on the screen. The rest of the screen was dark blue indicating much colder temperatures around it.

Not much fuel in this area. But with the prevailing wind, it’ll reach denser brush. Looks like it’s headed straight for the base.

Shit. Probably caused by the dry lightning D.M. was telling me about. Jake looked around. Can it make it through the remaining snow pack?

With the crazy weather, it’s melting fast. Between lack of fuel and the snow, it’s probably what’s kept the blaze from spreading.

I doubt the forest service could get up here to fight it.

Doubtful. And they might not be aware of it.

Let’s get back and tell Frank.

You could radio him.

Naw, we’re heading back anyway. I needed to do a quick check-flight on the new avionics upgrade. Jake poked the location lock on the GPS. I’ve saved the coordinates.

When they landed, Cabbott went down to Security Control and Frank’s office. I found the source of the smoke.

Where?

Jake’s got it marked on the GPS in the Warhawk.

Frank got on the radio. Security Control to Delta Sierra three-four-three.

Roger, Security, go ahead.

Cap says you have the fire coordinates.

Yeah, hang on, I’ll transmit ’em through.

He watched as the coordinates showed up on his computer screen. Got ’em, thanks. I’ll alert the forestry service.

Delta Sierra three-four-three out.

Cabbott turned to leave. The snow pack is keeping it in check, but since it’s getting warmer, everything’ll melt and it might flare up.

Yeah, I’ll let ’em know.

The team met for dinner. D.M. was the last to arrive and found everyone standing, waiting for him. Take your seats, he said. As he was about to sit, his phone buzzed. Removing it from his pocket, he saw it was a message from Eagle. There were attachments. Opening the first one, he felt a flood of emotion wash over him. There, in the tiny frame of his cell phone, was a photo of Gryffin. It was everything the colonel could do to choke back tears. He was now a father.

D.M.? Jake asked.

He tried to get his composure but it wasn’t working. D.M. turned the phone around so the rest of the team could see. My son!

The room burst with cheers and congratulations. A tear still managed to roll down his cheek. Jake held out his arms. You’re the big daddy now! They hugged. Pretty soon the rest of the team was shaking his hand, slapping him on the back, or hugging him.

Oy! Can I get the champagne? Tige called over the ruckus.

Yes, you may, D.M. said, smiling. He sat down and looked at Cabbott, who was also smiling. Okay, I’m a dad.

Did she send the particulars?

Huh?

Time of birth, weight, length—you know.

Oh. He looked through the rest of the message. Gryffin Douglas Elliott, born one June at eight a.m. Weight is six pounds nine ounces, and length is twenty inches. He frowned. Fuck.

What?

I told her not to use my name.

Douglas?

Yeah.

Why?

Because I hate it. Why do you think I go by D.M.?

What was she supposed to use?

Diego.

Cabbott scratched his head. Diego?

A nickname my mother had for me when I was young.

He nodded. Something that meant a lot.

Yup.

Maybe she forgot. He rested his arms on the table. I mean childbirth is a pretty stressful event, so she probably wasn’t thinking straight at the time.

She wasn’t the one pushing out the kid!

Still…

D.M. sighed. Oh well, we’ll live with it.

Can’t you change it?

Not sure how much of a battle it’d be to get a Norwegian birth certificate altered.

Tige arrived with the champagne. Kippie helped by passing out glasses. When everyone had been served, Tige raised his glass. To young Master Gryffin, may he grow to be a fine, strong Dragonslayer!

Here! Here! Several of the men shouted and clinked glasses.

D.M. stood, glass in hand. The room fell silent. Thank you, Tige, for your words…But I wanna say that I hope my son, along with present and future children of this team never have to pick up a weapon to defend what they hold precious.

Amen, Cabbott said softly.

The colonel took a drink, set the glass down, and left the room. Jake hurried out after him. Hey, what’s up? Aren’t you gonna eat dinner? Are you okay?

He stopped. I’m fine.

Didn’t sound like it with the toast you made.

Considering I don’t drink, I’m not particularly good at making toasts.

Mmm, I guess. But you sounded down.

A big part of me wishes I was in Norway.

Jake put his hand on D.M.’s shoulder. You always preach that we can’t have everything.

Ten times harder when it’s your own flesh and blood.

Hey, we’ll cheer you up.

I’m sure you will. He headed toward their quarters.

Not eating dinner with us?

I’ll be right back. I figure there’s gonna be a lot more partying, so I was gonna put on an enzyme patch and pop a pill.

So you’re gonna party with us?

Sure…We need something to lift our spirits. This lack of work shit is dragging everyone down.

I wholeheartedly agree with you.

And if we’re hungover tomorrow, the training schedule can be forgone. I don’t think Eagle will say anything considering she’s not here.

Jake smiled. Oh, this is gonna be epic. We haven’t partied like this in ages.

Sigrid sat in the hospital bed holding little Gryffin tucked against her, letting him nurse. She looked over and saw Eagle staring out the window. What’s wrong?

I’m a mother and don’t feel like it.

Come, take him, he’s pretty full anyway.

She approached. Sigrid offered the infant to her. Eagle did her best to cradle him. Gryffin moaned and fussed.

He needs to be burped and rocked.

Mmm, okay. She sat down in the rocker and fumbled with trying to get a burp cloth over her shoulder. Getting the baby arranged, she did her best to rock and pat him on the back.

There, you got it.

This is a lot harder than it looks, Eagle said softly. I think I’d rather be neck deep in a firefight.

Motherhood is a challenge.

Yeah, I’ve seen you trying to keep yours under control.

Admittedly, they’d do better with more discipline. She got out of bed, stretched, and headed to the bathroom. I will make sure Gryffin—and the other two, know to respect their elders.

Thank you. She continued rocking. And I can’t say it enough for everything we’ve put you through.

Family takes care of one another. I know if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same for me.

Yes, I would.

Cabbott awoke with a stiff neck. He sat up and saw D.M. across the table, asleep on a chess piece. All around the rec room, men were passed out. Yes, it had been an epic party. Rubbing his neck, he stood and left the room. He needed some air. Going up to the hangar deck, he was distressed to smell heavy smoke in the air. To the southwest, gray billows of soot rose above the ridgeline. Aw, shit!

The major hurried to Security Control and found Frank. Have you seen what’s going on outside?

Huh?

The fire’s coming right at us!

Damn it. I called the forestry department.

And?

Uh, they said they’d look into it.

Obviously they haven’t, ’cause the fucking fire’s gonna come over the ridge!

What are we gonna do?

I doubt the forest service can get up here to fight the fire, so it’s gonna be on us. He turned to leave. I’m gonna go wake the dead and figure out what needs to be done. Cabbott went upstairs to the rec room. He stood in the doorway and hollered: Hey! Wake up! We got trouble!

Heads popped up.

Jake, the fire we saw yesterday… Cabbott continued.

Yeah?