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Stone jotted it down on a notepad. “Anything else?”
“I’m good with a knife.”
Rodriquez interjected, “Throwing or fighting?”
“Both.”
“Damn girl, you’re downright lethal,” Johnson added.
Out of the blue, Stone asked, “Who are you dating?”
Huh? “Why do you need to know that?”
“Answer the question,” Stone snapped.
I fought down the urge to give him the one-fingered salute. “I don’t date.”
“Ever?” There was a note of disbelief in Stone’s voice.
“My father said it would interfere with my training.”
“Your father is an ass,” Tex said.
“Yes, he is.”
His curiosity evident, Johnson asked, “Other than flying, what do you do for fun?”
Sally, my battle buddy, had gotten me hooked on shopping. “I like to shop.”
They all laughed like I had said something funny.
The radar screen flashed a warning. “Another incoming missile.”
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, duck and cover, Razor and Vapor are on the rocket,” an F-16 pilot announced.
I rolled my eyes. Duck and cover. Seriously?
“Rocket jockeys wouldn’t last ten minutes in the field,” Johnson groused.
In the distance, a fireball erupted.
A sigh escaped me. “Roberts isn’t going to stop until one of us is dead.”
“He’s never tangled with the Alpha Dogs,” Sergeant Stone said. “He’s a dead man walking.”
Johnson hollered, “Hoorah!”
“We are swift. We are silent. We are deadly,” Tex interjected.
Rodriquez bellowed, “Hoorah!”
God save me from testosterone. My stomach clenched when I noticed the oil pressure was dropping. “Houston, we have a problem.”
All the men barked in unison, “What kind of problem?”
“We’re losing oil pressure, and I need to land before the engine shuts down.”
“I’ll notify the air-traffic controller that we’ll need a rescue chopper,” Stone said.