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Chase moved in beside him. “They’ll be fine. This is a walk in the park for Zain, and Bodie’s an ex-Ranger. You’ve seen him in action, firsthand. The guy’s hardcore.”
“In the field. With overwatch, and a team backing him up.”
“We have a team.”
Foster grunted. “You know this is way outside my comfort zone. It’s been a hot minute since I was in Flight Concepts and did anything remotely like this.”
“I’d put my life in your hands any day, brother. Whether it’s in the air or on the ground.”
“Let’s hope you’re still that enthusiastic when bullets start flying.” He nodded at Chase’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”
Chase waved him off. “Golden, Pony Boy.”
Saylor cleared her throat. “Not to interrupt the bromance, gents, but we’re coming up on our final destination. And this looks like it’s going to be even worse than the first. There’s a freaking rip tide causing all sorts of mixed messages. My only option might be running her ashore.”
Foster froze. “If we run the boat onto the rocks…”
“Yeah, it could make our return trip a bit more difficult. Unless you’d both prefer to swim to shore?”
Foster looked at the crashing waves as they shot twenty feet into the air, the black rocks a stark contrast to the thick clouds. “Not sure that’s a viable option. Even if I was a SEAL, which I’m not. You do whatever’s necessary. We’ll adapt.”
Though, that meant either hiking it out and borrowing whatever vehicles those bastards used to get there or flying the chopper. And the weather was getting to the point even he was questioning if it was doable. Adding the fact he hadn’t flown in months — had all but hyperventilated the last time he’d been in a cockpit —the situation only looked bleaker.
Foster pushed aside the doubts. If Mackenzie needed him to man up, he’d sit his ass in that seat and be the warrior she needed him to be. Period.
Not having Chase or Saylor call him out on the viability of him actually piloting the helicopter saved him from having to say the words out loud without choking on them. That, all his tough talk aside, he simply wasn’t sure if he could get behind the controls without puking. Hell, passing out. Not that he wouldn’t try, but…
Saylor cursed when the wind abruptly kicked up, blowing them off-course as the waves crested higher, breaking over the bow and sweeping one of the life buoys overboard. She spun the wheel, fighting against the current as rain burst from the sky, instantly cutting their visibility in half.
She focused on the nav screens, somehow avoiding a scattering of rocks when they appeared out of the mist, the jagged surfaces rising above the water like death-colored monoliths. The hull scraped over a reef when the next wave bottomed out, the eerie sound sending shivers along his spine.
Saylor huffed as she pounded her fist on the wheel. “Looks like we’re taking on a bit of water. I’ll make for the least rocky section. Be prepared for a rough landing.”
She worked the throttles again, pulling back when the vessel hit another shoal, likely busting more holes in the hull, before she gunned it. The bow tipped up, the boat leaping forward as the next breaker lifted them higher, carrying them over the last part of the reef then crashing them onto the shore.
The impact sent them tumbling across the deck, the next wave surging over the side and dragging them to the edge. Foster grabbed Saylor’s outstretched arm, preventing her from getting washed overboard as the water receded, the next breaker already inbound.
But Foster was up and moving — yanking Saylor to her feet. They grabbed what gear they could, then jumped over the side, landing in the swirling surf. The receding water clawed at their legs, tripping them a couple times as they raced for the shoreline, Chase hoofing it beside them. They reached the base of the gravelly sand as the water broke against the shore, swiping them off their feet then rolling them up the beach. Foster managed to grab some roots, stopping him and Saylor from getting dragged back into the surf as it retreated along the slope, lapping against the wreckage as it waited for the next deadly surge.
Chase scrambled up beside him once the tide ebbed for a moment, getting Saylor upright and moving as Foster dragged his ass to higher ground. Salty spray misted through the air as rain blanketed the cliffs. Another boom of thunder rang out in the distance, the thick bank of clouds drawing closer.
Foster leaned against the cliff. “Saylor? Are you okay?”
She grunted, glancing at her boat over her shoulder. “Not my finest hour.”
Chase scoffed. “We’re all still breathing. That’s a win in my books. And it’s not like you had any other options. Those waves would have torn us apart if you’d tried to go farther out to sea. Sorry about your boat, though.”
Saylor shrugged it off. “You do realize that by leaving her here, anyone can salvage her.”
Chase nodded, scouring the horizon. “Yeah, they’ll be lining up any second now.”
Saylor crossed her arms. “Not funny. And, at least, she got us here. That’s honestly more than I expected. And while it pains me to walk away, boats can be replaced. People can’t.”
Foster leaned in close. “Try to remember that when we’re facing all those guns. And don’t make me regret asking for help. Mac will have my ass if you get hurt on my watch.”
“Relax, big guy. I can handle myself.”
Foster simply nodded, then started toward the hint of a trail way off to their right. He resisted running the rest of the way, keeping his pace metered. He needed to remain calm. Collected. Until the time was right to break loose.