Soldier's Christmas (Wingmen Warriors 8)

And now their last night together had ended. "Any ideas on how to get them to scatter?" "I've been thinking about it. We could use the gyro-jet flare gun on them, but that could also signal

whoever set them loose in the first place." "Flare gun, last resort."

"Yeah, which takes me to plan B. How about break off one of those branches to your left. The less snow and more pine needles the better."

She heard him rustling on his branch. Clumps of snow thudded, rousing Fluffy and Cujo to glare up with ice-blue eyes. "Uh, okay, but do you mind if I ask what you have planned?"

"Flaming branches."

"Should work and won't be nearly as visible as launching a flare. But how do you plan to kindle a spark up here in the tree? And without burning us out?"

His arm extended with a Bic lighter in his fist.

Shock stunned her silent. But only for a second. "You had this all the time even though we're in an official training course?"

"Duh. What are you? New?"

So he was back to being an ass, sensitivity long gone, probably only generated to keep her occupied, anyway. "You snuck a lighter into survival school? Omigod. I can't believe you did that. What other contraband have you stuffed in your pockets?"

"Hey, back off. I checked the rules and nowhere did it say I couldn't bring one." "Well the rules don't say I can't have a pup tent, but you don't see me shoving one up my parka." "Somebody's mighty cranky without her morning coffee." At least he wasn't talking about her underwear anymore. "Damn it, Rose-Bud—" "Do you want out of this tree or not?"

"Light the damned branch." Lack of coffee? More like frustration from hanging out with the tender, funny Josh all night until even smart-ass Josh couldn't erase the warm glow swelling inside her.

"Yes, ma'am."

Rustling sounded behind her, followed by the flick, flick, flick as he worked the lighter. Alicia scanned the endless horizon, hazy purples and blues banding the skyline like one of her mismatched outfits that somehow went together. So many cold miles they had left to walk, and they were undoubtedly more than one degree off their original plan. If they even hit the river in one piece, would they turn right or left?

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.