Soldier's Christmas (Wingmen Warriors 8)

Making it home in time for Christmas calls was now the least of her worries.

Chapter 4

Josh took a navigational heading off the sinking sun, wondering where the hell they would end this day.

Home? Pickup point?

Alone in the elements again?

There'd been no sign of anyone—good or bad. Their flaming-branches trick had worked like a charm.

Other than the fact that they couldn't recover the radio, since Cujo made off with it before they could even reconsider using the flare gun on him.

Now it was just the two of them, met only by a herd of musk ox in the distance, the occasional snowshoe hare. At least they hadn't run across any bears. A bear could down a moose with one swoop.

Alicia walked beside him now since they were both so damned cold and brain-numbed he was afraid he might lose her if she walked behind. Progress had been slow due to covering their tracks and frequent stops to warm up with a fire. Thank goodness his trusty Bic was holding out. Still they would have to take shelter soon.

Intellectually he understood that soldiers died in training.

Training hard kept combat casualties substantially lower. But he'd never expected to be a statistic.

Damn it, he wouldn't let the cold defeat him with negativism.

If they could just make it to the river. He was certain they were heading that way at least. They were more likely to stumble on help the closer they were to water.

People did live out here. The place wasn't totally abandoned. With some luck—or another miracle— maybe they would stumble onto a cabin, or at the very least a rustic Quonset hut, erected by the military or abandoned by some ice fisherman.

And if they found one?

Wait. Scratch that. Not if. When.

He must be colder than he thought if he was allowing doubts to creep in. Strange. He never worried about Alicia in the air. That wife of his had grit, focus and invincibility to spare in the clouds. But right now, he was scared as hell of being stuck out here watching her die.

"Talk to me," he demanded.

"Talk," she huffed, "to yourself, Rose-Bud." Apparently she had some grit left in reserve. "Still need that caffeine?"

She stomped ahead. Pissed?

"You're mad?" "What would I have to be mad about?" she snipped.

Uh-oh.

Alicia high-stepped around a drift. She walked along their zigzag path close to trees where branches blocked the bulk of the snowfall. God, she was hanging tough when he'd expected her to collapse long ago. His own muscles shouted in protest, but he was starting to realize Alicia was a wingman who held her own on the ground, too.

Why couldn't they apply that synchronicity to their home life as well as the workplace?

"You know what really torques me off, Rose-Bud?"

"Haven't a clue." But no doubt he was about to learn. He liked that about her, her take-no-shit attitude.

He liked a lot of things about her, such as her grit.

That grit also made it hard as hell to resolve anything. If he wanted to try. Which he didn't anymore.

Did he?

She ducked around a tree, her foot landing on a fresh patch of snowfall. "You let me work my butt off starting that fire in the cave and all the time you had a lighter."