37
“What did you do to my bird, John?” Major Beale’s voice came clear over the intercom. They weren’t ten minutes into the night’s mission.
Kee knew they were probably safe from any hostiles here, but sharpened her attention outside in case they had to put down. Clear field, a couple of goats, they should be okay.
“Wasn’t me. What’s wrong?” He sounded panicked. Kee was a good mechanic, but she wasn’t a chief. John was chief of the bird and he worried about it a lot. Which was a good thing considering the abuse the major heaped on the poor thing.
“Nothing. She’s found more guts than I thought she had. Maybe she needed a vacation, too. At least she didn’t have to eat so much fish. Mark had me eating trout three meals a day. I didn’t know the man was a maniac fisherman when I married him.
