Chapter ThreeTwo Years Ago, June 14, 2320 Hours (Alabama Local Time)
The downgraded hurricane had been beating the s**t out of southern Alabama as a tropical storm when she’d gotten off the plane at Fort Rucker. It was a real “sicker” of a flight, everyone who wasn’t a seasoned flier had been puking their guts out for the entire second half. Even some of the old hands lost it just from listening to all the others.
Carmen would admit that she’d regretted the gut bomb bacon-cheeseburger she’d had just before flight, but refused to be humiliated by seeing it again quite so soon.
She was a Night Stalker crew chief—at long last Fully Mission Qualified. And FMQ Night Stalkers didn’t lose their s**t because of a little lumpy air. Nonetheless glad to be on the ground, she shouldered her duffle,
