While it was easy to file away thoughts of Tibet, the image of flying with Pete the Rapier dressed only in his briefs as her personal butler wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.
Pete kept an eye on the pair of Little Birds as they were refueling in a swamp along the Black Warrior River watershed of northern Alabama. The ground team would report on just how well they did, but they looked good from where he sat forty feet up and a hundred yards to the side in the Chinook. SOAR training had made sure these people were good or they would have long since been washed out.
But were they good enough?
The attack came a quarter mile after they left the refuel point. He knew it was inevitable even if he didn’t know when.
The trainees hadn’t a clue.
Two AH-64 Apache gunships waited side by side
