Susan stared at herself in the mirror of the C-37B’s lavatory. No lump on her head, though one of her temples was distinctly sore where it had hit the airplane’s window.
No real pain in her gut. She knew how the latter had been done, though she’d never actually seen it—or experienced it. The gut punch had been abrupt rather than deep. Just enough for her stomach to decide something very bad was going on and it was time to abandon ship. The lingering soreness reminded her of aching stomach muscles after a case of food poisoning rather than of playing punching bag to an Australian Special Operations soldier.
She rearranged her clothes as well as she could with the aid of the tiny mirror before stepping once more into the cabin.
The rear cabin of the aircraft had two couches that could be
