Tactical Strike
Tactical Strike
By Kaylea Cross
Gunship pilot Captain Candace Bradford has worked long and
hard to earn her rank and position within the male-dominated world of Air Force
Special Operations. She’s not about to let anything or anyone jeopardize that,
let alone one sinfully tempting man who seems determined to cause her nothing
but trouble. Even if she’s starting to fall for him.
As an elite Combat Controller, Staff Sergeant Ryan Wentworth
is used to overcoming adversity in order to complete a mission. Breaking through
Candace’s prickly exterior and into her heart is a challenge he can’t let go.
But just when he’s begun to gain her trust, they’re thrown together in the field
facing an overwhelming enemy force.
Candace and Ryan find themselves on the run, searching the
skies for an emergency extraction. But one dangerous enemy has an agenda in mind
and he’ll use whatever means necessary to achieve it, including using American
forces to do his dirty work.
Don’t
miss
Deadly Descent,
also
by
Kaylea
Cross
.
87,000 words
Dear Reader,
It’s a known truth among the people who have to nag me to
meet the deadline on these letters that I get writer’s block when I sit down to
write them. I’m always excited to tell you about what’s in store for the month,
but I often get stuck figuring out how to start it off. So these letters are
always late (sorry, people in production!). I had particularly bad writer’s
block this month, so I was especially impressed when I realized that this March,
all of the authors with books releasing at Carina Press have written multiple
books, and many of them have long careers in writing. How do these authors do
it, writing multiple books a year, for years, creating new worlds, new
characters and unique stories? It’s amazing to me, even after ten years in this
industry, that there are people with this gift. And I’ll admit it, I’m a little
jealous they have that gift. But I’m thrilled to introduce you to the books
releasing this month from these incredible authors.
I know it’s a little past Valentine’s Day, but it’s
always
time for chocolate and romance, and Christi
Barth brings us both in
A
Fine
Romance
, the second contemporary romance in her
Aisle Bound series. And if you missed the first book,
Planning
for
Love
, make sure to grab that as well!
We have six! other authors joining Christi with sequels.
Lynda Aicher heats up the pages with an emotionally gripping, smokin’ hot BDSM
romance,
Bonds
of
Need
. Dee Carney also offers up lust and love in one
package in her erotic paranormal romance sequel,
Hunger
Awakened
.
Veteran author Vivi Anna brings us
The
League
of
Illusion
:
Prophecy
, a
steampunk romance with an illusionist, a hunt for a missing brother, an
incomplete map and a psychic! Relative newcomer Nicole Luiken follows up her
debut fantasy romance,
Gate
to
Kandrith
, with the second in this duology and the
conclusion to the story,
Soul
of
Kandrith
.
R.L. Naquin offers the sequel to
Monster
in
My
Closet
, her debut novel. In
Pooka
in
My
Pantry
, empath Zoey Donovan is marked for pickup by
Death. But when she refuses to die on schedule, she has a to-die-for reaper to
deal with. And watch the battle of wills between a female gunship pilot and a
combat controller hero in romantic suspense
Tactical
Strike
by Kaylea Cross. Kaylea’s first book in this
series,
Deadly
Descent
, remains one of Carina Press readers’
favorite romantic suspenses!
Alyssa Everett follows up her debut offering,
Ruined
by
Rumor
, with a new historical romance, though it’s
not a sequel. In
Lord
of
Secrets
, he’s her new husband…and he’s strangely
reluctant to consummate the marriage. What secrets are keeping them apart, and
keeping him from her bed? If you like your historical romance with a paranormal
twist, returning author Laura Navarre brings us
Magick
by
Moonrise
, which combines Tudor England with the
Faerie kingdom of Camelot. When the two worlds collide, can a fallen angel’s
passion for an innocent Faerie princess save both realms from destruction?
Carina Press authors W. Soliman and Cindy Spencer Pape both
return with installments in their ongoing series. In
Lethal
Business
, W. Soliman brings us back to The Hunter
Files with another Charlie Hunter mystery, where Charlie must answer the
question: “Why kill the survivors of a sinking ship?” And Cindy Spencer Pape
continues her popular steampunk romance series, The Gaslight Chronicles, with
Cards
&
Caravans
. Knight of the Round Table Connor MacKay has met his match in
fortune-teller Belinda Danvers.
Last, this month we welcome to Carina Press contemporary
romance author Kate Davies with the first in her Girls Most Likely to… trilogy,
Most
Likely
to
Succeed
. Though Kate is new to Carina, she and I
have worked together as author/editor for years, and I’m happy to have her
writing for Carina Press. I hope you enjoy Kate’s charming contemporary voice as
much as I do.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your
thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
.
You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter
stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
The mission of a Combat Controller is to
deploy by the most feasible means available into combat and non-permissive
environments. Combat Controllers are Special Tactics Operators who establish
assault zones while simultaneously providing air traffic control, fire
support and command and control communications in the joint arena.
Additionally, Combat Controllers expertly employ all terrain vehicles,
amphibious vehicles, weapons and demolitions. First There.
Hooyah!
—Combat Controller mission statement
Chapter One
“Take cover! Move, move!”
M-4 carbine up and ready, Air Force Staff Sergeant Ryan
Wentworth pounded across the dusty ground toward the safety of a rock
outcropping as the firefight raged around him in the darkness. Bullets impacted
only yards in front of him, kicking up sprays of dirt, tracer fire arcing
through the night lit up in green by his night vision goggles.
He tore across the remaining distance and skidded to his knees
behind the rocks to join the rest of his teammates, a Special Forces A-Team.
Breathing hard from the run and the exertion of carrying over a hundred pounds
of gear at this increased altitude, he went into a crouch and got on his radio
to the F-18 he had holding to the west. “We’re taking heavy fire. Request
immediate CAS to our position.” He relayed the coordinates quickly and
clearly.
The pilot responded a moment later. “Roger that, Echo two
seven. I’m inbound to your position, ETA thirty seconds.”
“Copy.” Ryan plugged a gloved finger into his ear to help drown
out the background noise of the gunfire going on around him, the distinctive
bark of AK-47s clear over the rest of the din. “Enemy position two hundred
meters to our southeast, near a Russian tank. Target marked with laser.”
“Copy.”
Ryan raised his SOFLAM to his goggles and peered through an
opening in the rocks at the enemy out front, hidden behind the ancient rusted
remains of a long-abandoned Soviet-era tank.
“What’s the status with our air, Sergeant?” Captain Hawking,
the ODA team leader, yelled from Ryan’s right.
More rounds impacted in front of their cover, these close
enough to elevate his heart rate. “CAS en route, coming up on station.” He
stared through the laser target designator to paint the tank, his heart pounding
hard and fast. A well-placed shot near there would wipe out the enemy force with
one blow.
On either side of him, the other SF operators stretched out in
their defensive position, all firing precise shots to keep the enemy pinned down
behind their own rocks. Seconds later the distinctive roar of an approaching
fighter jet echoed across the vast, darkened plain.
The radio squawked. “Raptor four one, on station.”
Music to his ears. Ryan kept his eyes trained on the target
through the device’s viewfinder. His fingers tightened around it, anticipation
roaring through his veins at the high-pitched scream of the fast mover’s
engines. Still aiming the laser at the target with one hand, he radioed the
pilot back. “Copy. You’re cleared hot.”
“Roger that.” A pause, then, “Weapon away.”
An instant later there was a slight hissing sound as the
Hellfire missile streaked toward its target, following the invisible beam of
light from the SOFLAM. In less than a second the weapon impacted the target and
exploded. The old Russian tank shot off the ground in a ball of fire and rained
flaming pieces of metal onto the cold Afghan soil, while a sonic boom echoed
across the desolate Afghan landscape. There was no return fire from the
enemy.
Ryan grinned. This never got old. “Direct hit,” he told the
pilot. “Cease fire and RTB. Thanks for the help.”
“Roger,” the pilot answered, so calm he almost sounded bored.
With the target eliminated, the Hornet nosed sharply upward and banked east
overhead, winging its way back to base. It toggled its wings once in salute as
it passed them before streaking away and vanishing in the distance.
In the wake of the massive explosion’s report, silence rang in
the cold November air.
Ryan turned to Hawking with a smug smile. “And
that’s
how it’s done.”
The A-Team leader grinned and slapped him on the back. “Yeah,
you did okay...for an airman.” He said it tongue-in-cheek, though Ryan knew the
whole team respected his presence here. The team had its own radiomen trained in
CAS, but Ryan had JTAC training that allowed him to call in fast movers, and his
presence freed the rest of the team to focus on the objective at hand while he
worried about calling in air support when needed.
Turning away, Hawking was already on the radio, announcing an
end to the exercise.
As soon as he gave the command, two hundred meters from their
position the “enemy” force stood up and emerged from behind cover—a few of the
A-Team members and their Afghan National Army charges, well out of harm’s way
from the impact site farther downrange. With the exercise completed, Ryan
ditched his ruck and rose to stretch his legs and back, breathing in a deep
lungful of the clean, cold air. Nothing like a live-fire training mission to get
the blood pumping in the wee hours of the morning, even if it was pitch dark and
colder than a witch’s tit out here at the ass end of nowhere.
“Want me to call for extraction now?” Ryan asked Hawking, his
muscles sighing in relief at the respite from all the weight he’d been hauling
around. The whole team was beat after being out in the field for so long.
The other man shook his head, a wicked grin spreading across
his face. “Nope. Seems our original LZ has been compromised. We’ll have to hump
it four clicks down the mountain to the secondary LZ.”
Ryan and the others groaned at the fabricated hiccup. They’d
already covered more than that distance on the way in from the infil site,
carrying full combat loads. Ryan had even more weight than the others because of
his radio equipment and extra batteries.
Smirking, Hawking waved an arm toward the other team and
shouted, “Let’s move.” Turning back, he aimed a positively evil grin at Ryan.
The captain didn’t insist on formality while out in the field, but he never
relaxed his expectations when it came to training. Then, he turned into a
legendary hard-ass. “Thought we might top the morning off with a jump before we
head back to base. Just for you, Went.”
Ryan withheld another groan as the other team members around
them snickered. Sadistic bastard. One would think he’d be used to the ribbing he
always took about his aversion to parachute jumps by now. Still burned
though.
Hawking slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s only because I care.
Don’t want you to lose your edge on account of lack of practice.”
Yeah
,
right
. Lack of practice, his ass. He’d already racked up more jumps
than some guys who’d been in the service for twenty years or more. Resigned to
enduring whatever else the relentless team leader dished out until they got back
to Bagram, Ryan shouldered his heavy ruck and started out with the others,
moving in a wedge formation to counteract any surprise attacks along their
route. Couldn’t be too careful out here in no-man’s land, where things could go
to shit in an instant.
One by one they all fell in line with the Afghans bringing up
the rear, maintaining overwatch as they began their march.
“Another few hours and we’ll be showered up and in the chow
hall,” Hawking called cheerily over his shoulder, his idea of a pep talk.
Despite his fatigue, Ryan perked up at the mention of the chow
hall. They hadn’t had a shower or a hot meal in three days, but those weren’t
the only reasons why he was suddenly eager to get back to base in a hurry. If
they got there by the time the sun came up, there was a good chance a certain
unforgettable Spooky pilot would be arriving back from her nightly sortie around
then as well. Since the sexy but prickly captain was a creature of habit and
always sat in the same place in the chow hall, he knew exactly where to find her
at breakfast. He could just imagine the look on her face when he joined her—like
she’d just bitten into a lemon.
At least then he’d know she wasn’t ignoring him.
“That grin mean you’re looking forward to a jump?” Hawking
asked suspiciously.
Ryan toned the smile down. “No, sir.” It meant he had more
interesting things on his mind. Specifically a curvy five-foot-ten blonde
gunship pilot who’d saved him and his team a few weeks back and he couldn’t stop
thinking about.
Though he hadn’t seen her in the two weeks since, it probably
wasn’t long enough to suit her. Even after he’d made a little headway by
personally thanking her for what she and her crew had done, she’d still had a
permanent stick up her butt around him, trying her best to pretend he didn’t
exist and calling him
Sergeant
whenever she was
forced to acknowledge him. Captain Bradford was a total professional and a rigid
rule follower who’d probably never breached any sort of protocol in her whole
life.
She needed mussing up in the worst way, in his opinion. And
he’d love to do the honors.
“Went, wipe that smirk off your face,” Hawking warned then
shook his head in disappointment. “Fine, no jump for you.”
Oh yeah, now he’d definitely be back to base in time to see
her. “Yessir.”
As a man who lived for bending the rules, Ryan couldn’t help
enjoying ruffling her feathers a bit. He needed to figure out how to navigate
through all those prickles to the softness inside her. He’d caught a glimpse of
it that day when she’d reluctantly agreed to allow him to fix her bunk, then
later in the hospital with her friend, Devon. She might not like him all that
much yet, but he was determined to win her over.
Trudging along in line with the others, Ryan suppressed a smile
at the thought of the imminent fireworks in store. The day was already shaping
up nicely, and it wasn’t even dawn yet.
* * *
“Khalid.”
Glancing up from filling ammunition clips with his cold-numbed
fingers, he focused on General Nasrallah. “Yes?”
The old man beckoned him over with a jerk of his graying head.
Khalid rose and crossed to the rough, scarred table covered with maps that were
at least two decades old. Not that it much mattered. He and the other men knew
these mountains better than any Russian mapmaker ever could.
“We’ll be moving soon,” the general said in English, the
language they always conversed in when they didn’t want to be understood by
anyone else around. Khalid still had a heavy accent, but at least he spoke it
fluently. “I’ve been receiving reports that the Americans are planning more
missions into the mountains before the weather closes the passes. I’ll need you
to help get the men ready. We are stretched thin enough as it is—we can spare no
one.” He eyed Khalid’s healing left arm. “How is it?”
“Well enough.” His fingers flexed in response, causing a
gnawing ache to spiral through his upper arm where the bullets had passed
through the meaty part on the outside of his arm a few weeks ago. The cold
always made the pain worse. “The antibiotics we got have helped.”
Nasrallah’s amber gaze connected with his, quietly assessing
him with a barely concealed disdain Khalid had endured from the world since the
day he’d been born. And still, that answering flicker of resentment sparked to
life. “You are one of my most experienced soldiers now.”
He was. And Khalid knew exactly how much the general hated
that. “I’m ready to take the fight to the enemy.”
The old man nodded. “I know you are.”
If the general treated him with a resigned sort of tolerance,
at least it wasn’t with outright disgust for his weird yellow eyes or the red
tints in his dark hair that spoke of his shameful origins, when his mother had
traded her body for food and supplies to keep her family from starving during a
harsh winter early on in the war with the Soviets. Not like the people from his
village had always treated him. Like a pariah. Many times he’d wondered why
they’d allowed his mother to live, once they’d discovered she was pregnant by a
Russian out of wedlock. The only answer that had ever satisfied him was that
Allah had wanted them both to live. That was good enough for Khalid.
He raised his chin in defiance. The warrior blood in his veins
only fueled the need to prove himself something other than a worthless bastard.
He was smart and deadly. More than capable of leading his own men. “I want to
command.”
Nasrallah’s eyes hardened before he turned away to cross the
cave for something, dismissing him. “You have to earn that right.”
Khalid bit down hard and fought the angry retort before
responding. “I already have.”
The general whipped around, his face at once stern and weary.
“You have
not
. Fighting in one campaign and a
handful of battles does not make a leader, especially in this war. For all the
rage you bear the enemy, you still lack the discipline necessary for
command.”
A hot surge of blood rushed into his cheeks. “What more must I
do to prove myself?” he finally gritted out.
“Show me you can handle the demands of leadership. Earn the
respect of the men you fight with and demonstrate your ability to keep anger
from clouding your actions and judgments.” The old man walked back to the table,
a noticeable limp in his gait. “You have such potential, Khalid. More than even
you realize, I think.”
He lowered his eyes, startled by how much that small measure of
praise meant from such a great and revered mujahedeen as Nasrallah. Not that
he’d ever let the old man know it.
“I believe you were born to be one of Allah’s warriors,”
Nasrallah continued. “How great a warrior you become is entirely up to you.
Don’t waste the gift God has granted you.” He set a fatherly hand on his
shoulder, and Khalid struggled not to shrug off the touch. “Go see to the men
now. They are cold and hungry, in need of someone to look up to. We must get
them ready for the coming fight.”
Hearing the wisdom in the words, Khalid was besieged with the
sensation of something clicking into place at long last. Suddenly it was clear
to him what he must do. With a nod to his leader he headed out into the frigid
air beyond the cave’s mouth, filled with a renewed sense of purpose. He
was
a soldier of God and he would prove himself a
great leader. But sooner than anyone imagined.