Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

Gabby reached for his Mountain Dew. "Where's Bo?"

Scorch shot over his shoulder. "Had some other appointment."

"Hmm." Gabby's combat boot twitched nonstop against the leg of the table while he banged back a gulp from his soda. "Wonder if his flight attendant's in town?"

J.T. hoped so since it would keep the squadron player occupied if Nikki came home for the weekend.

Cobra, the squadron's previous player but now happily married to one of the flight surgeons, hooked a boot on his knee. "If his girlfriend's not back soon, she'd better hurry. Word from my wife has it that the nurses flocked to the clinic yesterday when he got his cast sawed off."

Scorch swung his gas mask from the floor to the table. "About time he pulled his weight around here again."

They needed all the flying hands up and running. World deployments already taxed manpower, and the current surveillance flights added an extra load. But stopping the terrorist drug activity would put a serious dent in cash flow for the bad guys. Their dirty money bought things like shoulder-held missile launchers off the black market.

Already, their squadron had lost two planes in just that manner. His, shot down by the Gomer in a boat nearly four months ago. Another plane piloted by Cobra later was nailed during an operation to rescue American hostages being held overseas. Cobra's Gomer had camped his ass out in a field three freaking miles away from the runway for the fateful pop.

Gabby whistled low. "Damn, but Bo's got the good life. Women crawling over him. Guess we old married guys have to live vicariously through him, huh?"

Old? Gabby was what? All of twenty? But he certainly was married—to a nineteen-year-old wife who worked checkout at the base commissary to help make ends meet.

J.T. remembered those days well. If life wasn't so crazy he'd have the talkative kid and his wife over for a few meals and mentor him. Except Gabby and his wife would probably run screaming for divorce court with him as a model.

Cobra ducked to the side, lifted a brown grocery sack from under the table and passed it to J.T. "Oh, hey, Tag, when we heard you were coming today, we decided to throw you an impromptu baby shower like we did for Crusty a few months ago when his little half brothers came to live with him. We all chipped in and got you a few things."

Ah hell. If Gabby's goofy-ass grin was anything to go by, J.T. could smell a roast coming. He took the bag from Cobra. Crewdogs cut zero slack when razzing their own. The best way to handle it? Play along.

And plot the, comeback.

Already plans formed to ink permanent marker around the earpieces on their headsets so they would walk around for hours after landing not knowing about the doughnut rings circling their ears. And the beauty of it all? Nobody ever suspected him. Usually funnyman Bronco took the fall.

J.T. fished his hand into the bag. "Earplug holder?" He shook the suspiciously light canister. No sound. He cocked an eyebrow at Cobra. "Empty?"

"Bo thought you'd need earplugs to block out the baby hollering, but then Colonel Dawson reminded him that all you old guys are just about deaf anyway from so many years on the flight line. So Bronco stole the plugs out to take home for when his kid's pitching a fit."

Chuckling, J.T. dug in the bag again, pulling out a bottle labeled … Viagra. Ah crap. "Damn, guys, it's brutal around here today."

Gabby leaned forward. "Well, not totally. This bottle's empty, too, since it's mighty obvious you don't need that, either, old man."

At least the kid had a sense of humor buried in all that chatter. J.T. jerked the two bulky remaining items, larger, soft packages.

"Huggies and Depends." Cobra announced the obvious with a wicked grin. "'Cause you'll both be going into diapers at the same time."

"Same foods, too," Scorch added. "Should have thought to add some of that rice cereal and strained carrots my sister feeds my niece."

And the roast got hotter. J.T. pivoted toward Spike. "Just decided to sit in on the class, did you?"

Spike loosened his palm-tree tie. "Wouldn't want to miss out on a good party, even brought along a subscription card for TV Guide," he said, patting along his jacket pockets as if searching. "For all those nights you'll be walking the floors."

More smart-ass quips rippled through the room until someone shouted over the fray, "Hey, what happened to those Viagra pills? Maybe I can find some use for them."

Cobra snagged the empty bag and dumped the "gifts" inside like a nice "hostess." "Since Tag didn't need them, we dished them out to the lieutenants for experimentation."

Rolling her eyes. 1st Lieutenant Darcy Renshaw strode across the room and plopped into the seat next to her fiancé, Spike. "Just what those dorks need, more ego inflation."

J.T. dropped the brown bag by his feet. "Well, thanks, everybody. You are all too, uh, generous."

"Ahhh—" Cobra chuckled low "—that's only the beginning."

"Seriously, man." Scorch cruised the front legs of his chair to a landing. "We'll be getting together a real celebration later. Just couldn't resist this now. Congratulations."