Chapter OneSince when do people get shot down on training missions?”
“At the moment I’m more worried about the North Sea,” her copilot shot back.
Night Stalkers Chief Warrant 3 Debbie Rosenthal decided that he had a point.
Tonight the North Sea was being thrashed by a mid-December Force 9 severe gale—that felt like a Force 12 hurricane the way it shook her helicopter. It slammed them around in all three dimensions with the ease of a beach ball. Command had decided that gale force winds in the fifty mile-an-hour range was a good excuse for training.
Debbie hadn’t argued.
First off, Command wouldn’t care what a mere CW3 said any more than her father had. He’d disowned her the day she’d joined the Army rather than marrying a good Jewish boy.
Second, such an on-the-edge flight fit her ow
