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They were at the drop zone six kilometers northwest of Ravar, Iran, at one in the morning.
No one had slept through the heat of the day; a doze was all Lola had managed. She knew none of the others on her crew were any better off. She and Major Beale had traded off the flying every hour so they’d be as fresh as possible.
Viper and Vengeance, the two DAP Hawks, stayed high. Well, forty feet off the ground, about where they’d been flying since crossing the border. Any higher and they’d be popping up on an Iranian radar which would not be a good thing.
One of the Chinooks hovered nearby, it provided backup to the troop delivery bird and also carried a massive bladder of fuel sitting on her cargo deck. The days of a flock of C-130 tanker planes flying into the center of Iran undetected,
