29
The mild heat of the Mediterranean had spoiled Kee. The desert heat of the soccer-stadium airbase hammered against her brain as it cooked the briefing tent.
She looked around the scattered chairs and benches again, trying to fill in the missing pieces, but it wasn’t making sense. In an area where the entire company of eighty or so pilots, copilots, and crew could meet, there were six people.
The liaison was there for the C-130 Hercules tankers, which provided midair refueling. She and Archie. Clay, the pilot from one of the transport Black Hawks, sat on Archie’s other side. A couple rows up and over, a decent-looking white chick. A trim brunette who wore the fatigues of a warrior with the looks of the sitcom stunning girl next door. Clearly newly assigned to the forward base, she loo
