8
Cal was barely conscious as he watched them unload the helos. The chilly nighttime air had no effect except to make him shrug on a flannel shirt. He hadn’t been able to sleep.
Courtesy of the International Date Line and way too many time zones, after twenty hours in transit, it was oh-dark-thirty-something two days after they’d left California at ten a.m. It was like Thursday had never existed except in some body-numbing vibration machine. His ears still rang though the C-17’s engines had cycled down more than thirty minutes earlier.
Jeannie made a lousy counterpoint to his mood, having slept nine straight. She kept bubbling over with how great it felt to be back on home soil. How much she couldn’t wait to try the first Firehawks ever to enter Australia. Thanking him several times for
