Heart of Annihilation by C.R. Asay Page B

seating conditions. The rear hatch lay across the ground, a hospitable ramp waiting patiently for the commander, Justet, and, hopefully, Thurmond.
    The quiet drone of a motor hummed into the silence. I dropped to my chest, wide awake now. Headlights raced across the buildings and the plane before the tires squealed to a stop beside the ramp. I pulled my rifle closer to my body.
    After a moment, the Hummer clunked into reverse and moved in a backward arc until the front was lined up with the ramp. The gears changed again, and the Hummer disappeared into the belly of the plane. Headlights danced in the puny windows of the C-130, and everything went dark again.
    A few moments later a couple Deuces, with braced canvas tents covering the gear in the back, grumbled from behind the row of hangers. They parked in a neat diagonal row near the hatch of the plane. The headlights glared in my direction, as though to flush me out. Soldiers swarmed from the vehicles, muffled shadows behind the lights.
    I counted figures as they unloaded duffles, boxes, weapons, and crates from the vehicles and carried them into the plane. The accuracy of the count was sketchy at best, and there was no sign of anyone looking remotely like a POW.
    It took everything I had not to fall prey to the guilt over my role in Thurmond’s abduction. It would be fine. He’d be fine. He was a soldier.
    One of the Deuces started with a hefty roar. It lined up with the plane’s ramp, headlights sweeping the tarmac, and eased after the Hummer into the belly of the plane. Red taillights winked against the torsos of the men as they followed it.
    I swung the sling of my M-16 over my head, so the rifle hung down my back, and got to my feet. My knees inquired shakily if I really, truly wanted to do this. The transport aircraft roared to life with a sudden, jarring rumble. I dropped back down.
    I couldn’t see the red painted flight line, the one guarded by the SPs, but I had to assume it wasn’t being watched. Not on an off-book mission such as this.
    Another Humvee rumbled up next to the plane and screeched to an angular stop. There was just enough light coming from the National Guard fire station a few hundred yards away to highlight a pair of long legs strapped in combat boots as they stepped from the missing front passenger door.
    The tall, slender form, the stern cut of the hair hanging at a precise angle from under the beret, the slashing scar across her eye, and the sharp features bringing to mind a resolute hornet—there was no mistaking Major Kuntz, the commander.
    My focus deteriorated. I wasn’t surprised. Angry, maybe. My confidence in the chain of command and belief in the inviolability of military leadership was scarred beyond redemption. But her hard, irrefutable presence was still hard to swallow.
    No wonder she’d been so mad when I’d socked Justet in the mouth. Was that why she’d sent me into the armory when Justet was about to show up? For an offense as small as that?
    Unless there was something else. Something she’d hinted at last night when she was setting me up for a beating. I couldn’t remember the precise words she’d used, what with being assaulted and marked for death and all. But it itched in the back of my mind, like the memory of a memory you can’t pin down.
    The commander’s mouth pressed in a hard line. She placed one hand on her hip. The other hung stiff at her side, long fingers twitching to the beat of some abrupt tune in her head. She rotated slowly on the spot, taking in everything around her. She paused, her eyes burning into my location. I couldn’t have felt more vulnerable had I been standing in the middle of the runway waving my arms and shouting.
    A movement from the plane made her look away to regard the man coming down the ramp. I crouched low, my boots crunching softly on the weeds. I couldn’t hear Lieutenant Justet’s voice as he shouted to the commander over the roar of the propellers. Major Kuntz nodded with