He should shut up, except damn it all, he was working to survive on a lot of levels today. Must be the whole holiday season dragging him down. Since a gunman's siege at his college right in the middle of December semester exams, he dreaded this time of year. He'd hoped to make happier memories with Alicia in front of a fireplace with a bottle of merlot, some mistletoe and no clothes.
er 1
Mukluks planted on the flight deck, Lieutenant Colonel Joshua "Bud" Rosen, USAF, prepped to hurtle from the hovering helicopter onto the arctic tundra.
Over the years he'd been shot at by MiG-29s, pulled mind-blowing G-forces in his F-15E Strike Eagle, launched missiles on targets no bigger than a blip on his radar. But never had he faced anything more terror-inducing than this imminent mission. And he faced a jump of only five feet.
Of course, the knot in his gut had nothing to do with the snowcaps below and everything to do with his assigned partner.
Josh braced in the open door of the Army's Blackhawk helicopter, bitter winds howling. Chopper blades stirred a cloudy void waiting to swallow him, and his partner as well. Just the two of them. Alone. Not at all how he'd planned to spend the holiday season with her.
His hands fisted inside his gloves. Only twenty-four more hours left of the Air Force's five-day Arctic
Survival Training—"The Cool School."
Before assuming his newly appointed position as second in command of the Alaska based F-15E squadron, he needed to complete the extreme weather survival course. Just his luck, his teammate for the final land navigation exercise was none other than his soon-to-be ex-wife, Captain Alicia Renshaw-Rosen.
Freezing his ass off was the least of his worries.
His spouse of less than six months stood beside him in the gaping portal, ready to leap into this mock-up of a crash-survival scenario. Her feathery short blond hair stayed hidden beneath the fur-trimmed parka, only a small oval of weather-chapped skin visible, but enough to assure him her pert nose wasn't sporting its habitual smile-scrunch. Then she flipped her snow goggles down, shielding even more of her face from sight.
A five-foot-six dynamo, his pilot wife packed curves and confidence even layers of drab, green cold-weather gear couldn't disguise. Not that he would ever see her strip away her uniform again, and damn but that grieved him as much as the loss of her uninhibited laugh in his life.
How ironic that once they'd finally received a joint assignment to Alaska they'd split before unpacking even half their boxes.
"Go!" called the helicopter crew chief. "Go! Go!"
The repeated words snapped Josh back to the present. Finally, action. Screw musing.
He plunged into the alabaster void. Frigid winds locked around him, burned through layers of protective clothing, froze a path to his lungs.
"Ooof." Boots slamming to hard-packed snow, he hit the ground, rolled to his side to absorb the landing shock, a helluva lot less than if he'd actually punched out of his fighter with a parachute.
"Alicia?" he shouted over the growl of the hovering Blackhawk. He shoved to his feet and crunched through the caked tundra.
"Here and in one piece." She scrambled up through the swirling powder. "Let's haul butt."
Side by side, they trudged at a molasses-speed run toward the tree line, clearing the area before the departing Blackhawk kicked up a fresh blizzard. Ten yards later he dropped to his knees beside Alicia, aircraft behind them. He covered his face while she mirrored his actions. The chop, chop, chop of the helicopter blades swelled, faster. Wind beat his back. A flurry of white blinded him. Howling winds and sheets of ice dominated his senses.
So why could he still hear Alicia breathing beside him?
Would it suck this bad all day, with him completely aware of her every breath? Talk about a never-ending afternoon.
Only one day past the winter solstice, the actual daylight hours would be short, about four hours of full sun plus the haze of dawn and dusk. But every minute stretched before him twice as long. Hell, the past days "camping" with her and their classmates had already stretched tension to a frozen thread.
Slowly, order was restored in the outside world at least. Snow settled. Quiet descended.
Standing, he took his bearings—tree line to his left, iced spruce and stark birches. Snowcapped mountains from the Alaska Range tipped the horizon. They faced a four-hour walk at most before dusk. Thank God the overnight portion of the newly implemented land navigation exercise had been scratched due to an incoming storm.
He extended a hand—which she ignored to rise on her own. Alicia swooped her bulky mitten-gloves over her parka to dust snow free. And poof. Just that fast an image of her magnificently and illogically na*ed in the drifts popped to mind. His very own voluptuous snow angel wore nothing but her short blond hair all whispery around her face, frost flakes glistening on her eyelashes and...elsewhere.
"C-crap," Alicia chattered. "It's c-cold out here."
Not where he was standing.
Batting along the fur ringing her hood, she knocked off persistent ice. She paused midswipe, angling her head his way.
"What's wrong?" She arched around to check behind her. "Did I drop something in the jump?" Just all her clothes in his imagination. "You've got snow on your nose there."