WHUMMP.
Another pyrotechnic went off close by, spattering enormous clumps of mud and dirt into the air. The blast knocked her sideways… right into another coil of barbed wire.
Caught in the entanglement, Nadia strained to move. Barbs jabbed and tore at her sleeves, ripping through the tough camouflage cloth and drawing blood. A loose strand had even wrapped itself tightly around her prosthetic blades. Ignoring the pain, she yanked a pair of wire cutters out of one of her equipment pouches, curled up, and went to work — grimly slicing through the metal strands pinning her in place. She needed to free herself as fast as possible and keep going.
But it was too late. Whistles blew shrilly, signaling the end of the exercise.
“Shit,” Nadia muttered. Suddenly exhausted, and fighting down tears of frustration, she sat up and finished cutting herself free. Despite her best efforts, she’d failed to complete the course in the required time.
Two
Perched on a chair, Brad McLanahan saw the door to Colonel Henryk Pietrzak’s office swing open. He stood up, straightening to his full, broad-shouldered height.
Neat and trim in her Special Forces dress uniform, Nadia Rozek stepped out into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind her. As always, he felt a warm glow inside at the sight of the beautiful, dark-haired young woman — coupled with a lingering sense of awe that he’d been lucky enough to win her affection. When he’d joined the fledgling Iron Wolf Squadron four years ago, he’d thought their relationship would just be a short, fun romp for both of them. A sort of “pretty local girl has a wild fling with a lonely expatriate American” deal. But now he knew differently. Nothing about Nadia was frivolous. She was tough-minded, intensely passionate, and totally fearless… and he couldn’t imagine life without her.
“How did it go?” Brad asked gently, already suspecting the worst from the distant look in her blue-gray eyes.
“Not well,” Nadia admitted. “Though he wishes otherwise, Colonel Pietrzak will not return me to active-duty status, at least not as a combat arms officer.” Her mouth turned downward. “In light of my injuries, he believes the risk to me and to those under my command would be too great.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently, the best I can hope for is a rear-area headquarters staff post… or perhaps an assignment as a tactics instructor at either the Kościuszko Land Forces Military Academy or the National Defense University.”
Internally, Brad winced, imagining her reaction to the suggestion that she spend her days pushing paper from one side of a desk to the other or delivering lectures to bored junior officer cadets. “Ouch. So… did you leave the guy in one piece… or should I call for medics and an ambulance?”
For a moment, the shadow of a smile ghosted across her face. “Despite my fearsome reputation, I do have some sense of military decorum, Brad. The colonel is alive and quite well. For the moment.”
“Then what did you tell him?”
Nadia sighed. “I asked for more time to consider my other options.” Her expression darkened. “I only wish I knew what they were.”
Get your game face on, McLanahan, Brad thought. This was his big chance. He cleared his throat nervously. “Yeah, well, see, as it happens, that’s kind of something I’ve been talking over with a few folks.”
“Oh?” Her mouth tightened slightly and she folded her arms. “And which folks are those, exactly?”
“Me, for one,” someone said from over her shoulder.
Caught by surprise, Nadia spun around. And then she stiffened to attention. The newcomer raised a hand with a nod and an easy grin, silently ordering her to stand at ease. “Mr. President?” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”
Piotr Wilk shot her an easy grin. “At ease, Major Rozek.” Wiry, fit, and not quite fifty, Poland’s president still looked more like the veteran fighter pilot and charismatic air-force commander he’d once been than the political leader he’d become. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “I flew here from Warsaw this morning at Captain McLanahan’s suggestion.”
Recovering quickly, Nadia looked skeptically from one man to the other. She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And should I understand then that the two of you have been settling my future for me? Behind my back?”
Still smiling, Wilk shook his head. “Not at all, Major,” he replied. “Consider this more of a brainstorming session.” His expression turned more serious. “Colonel Pietrzak is a good man and a fine soldier. His determination to maintain the highest physical standards for the officers and soldiers under his command is commendable.”
Reluctantly, Nadia nodded.
“But Pietrzak is not Poland’s commander in chief. That is my role,” Wilk continued. “What is more important is that I know you better than he does. I have seen your abilities with my own eyes. So in this narrow case, I believe it might be reasonable, even just, to waive certain standards—”
“No,” Nadia interrupted fiercely. “With respect, Mr. President, you must not pull strings on my behalf in this matter. Not for any reason. You would harm the good order and discipline of our armed forces.”
Wilk shook his head. “I doubt any damage would be lasting, Major. Remember, you are one of our nation’s most decorated and accomplished soldiers. No one of consequence would resent a small accommodation on your behalf.”
Nadia was silent for a long moment.
Brad held his breath.
“But I would,” Nadia said finally. She swallowed hard. “I do not want special treatment… or pity.” She straightened her shoulders. “Colonel Pietrzak’s tests were fair. In certain ground combat conditions, my prosthetic legs clearly put me at a severe disadvantage.” She blinked hard, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “And though I wish with all my heart that were not so, it is obvious that the real world will not yield to my wishes.”
“Very well.” Wilk smiled. “Your courage and honesty do you great credit, Major.” He glanced at Brad and nodded slightly, acknowledging that the younger man had been right about how she would react. He turned back to Nadia. “Which means we must find another way to use your skills in Poland’s service.”
“That might be difficult,” she said, not bothering to conceal a touch of bitterness. “I can run, but I can’t crawl. I can shoot, but I can’t overcome obstacles that keep me from closing with the enemy. Of what use is a soldier unfit for combat? How can I serve my country now?”
“You can fly,” Brad said simply. He brushed his fingers across her helicopter pilot’s badge, the gapa, a silver eagle with a golden laurel wreath clutched in its bill. “Remember?”
Bewildered, Nadia stared back at him. While she could certainly fly helicopters, even with her prosthetic legs, the same limitations that kept her off active-duty status would still apply. No one would risk sending her behind enemy lines where she might be shot down — and forced to evade capture on foot. “Poland has plenty of civilian transport pilots,” she said, choosing her words with care. “I do not think she needs another.”
“I agree,” Wilk said. “But that is not what Captain McLanahan and I are proposing, Major Rozek.”
“Sir?”
“Our strategic situation has changed,” he reminded her. “And for the better. Which is something I would have believed impossible all but a short time ago.”
Now there was an understatement, Brad decided.
Four years before, America’s then-president, Stacy Anne Barbeau, had refused Poland’s call for help when Russia’s ruthless leader, Gennadiy Gryzlov, launched a war of aggression. Even Article Five of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization would not dissuade Barbeau — and if the U.S. wouldn’t respond, neither did any other member nation. Only the advanced combat robots and other high-tech weapons, innovative tactics, and intelligence expertise provided by the Iron Wolf Squadron and its corporate parent Scion, a private military company, had allowed Poland to survive. But the cost in lives and equipment had been painfully high.