2
Unable to sleep, Denise drove back to the airfield from her townhouse at the foot of the mountain a couple hours before first light and started working on Firehawk Oh-Three. The night was cool but not chilly, one of the last warm fall nights. No one here except her, her helicopters, and the sleeping forest. She could unwind and focus in the silence.
It didn’t take her long to find the patch over the hole made through the hull’s skin by the bullet that had nicked the hydraulic hose. After that, her inspection went much faster. She went to every single patched hole and poked around until she could figure out the trajectory of whatever had punched it. This craft had endured a rough life. She cataloged thirty-four hits that penetrated the hull and numerous grazes that had only creased the
