Happy daylight savings day...and yes, I'm discombobulated. I always am on the weekends we change time. My apologies for being late with this post. Here is the first installment of Marco's story. Please review it, and if you're so inclined to purchase--which I encourage--all my author's proceeds benefit the Wounded Warrior Project. Please join me in supporting our troops who stand on the ragged edge of freedom and those who would see us perish in darkness.
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The rotors thrummed, changed pitch, and lifted the Blackhawk helicopter into the frigid night wind. The Middle Eastern tribesman who had crawled aboard as the bird hovered settled into one of the webbed seats in the back of the small cockpit and tried to get comfortable. He braced his booted feet on the rucksack he’d thrown on the floor and drew his knees up high enough to rest his arms on them. Lieutenant Colonel Marco Domenico yanked off the rope agal holding the filthy ghutrah in place on his thick hair, tugged on a black watch cap one of the soldiers handed to him, and slipped on a headset. He then draped the loosened cloth around his face hoping it would offer some warmth for the exposed skin not covered by his heavy black beard.
He keyed the mike in his headset. “Holy Mother of God, it’s cold in here. Someone needs to pay the heat bill.”“You say that every time you get on one of my birds. Must be getting forgetful in your old age.” The Nightstalker pilot grinned at him over his shoulder, his face looking like a green space alien’s in his night vision goggles.(To be continued March 15)