Full Throttle. Merline Lovelace

Westfall took a few moments more to introduce the project’s senior civilian scientists and engineers. That done, he and the entire group walked Dave over to the vehicle they’d gathered to test and—hopefully!—clear for operational use.

      Pegasus was as sweet up close as it had looked from across the hangar. Long, cigar-shaped, with a bubble canopy, a side hatch and fat, wide-tracked wheels. Designed to operate on land, in the air and in water. The gray-haired Captain Westfall stroked the gleaming white fuselage with the same air of proud propriety a horse breeder might give the winner of the Triple Crown.

      “You’re seeing the craft in its swept-wing mode,” he intoned in his deep voice.

      Dave nodded, noting the propellers were folded flat, the engines tilted to horizontal, and the wings tucked almost all the way into the belly of the craft.

      “The wide-track wheels allow Pegasus to operate on land in this mode.”

      “And damned well, too,” Dr. Richardson put in with a quick glance at the trim blond Major Bradshaw.

      “We encountered some unexpected difficulties during the mountain phase of land operations,” she told Dave. “You know about the virus that hit the site and affected Bill Thompson’s heart. It hit me, too, while I was up in the mountains conducting a prerun check. Cody… Dr. Richardson and Major McIver rode Pegasus to the rescue.”

      She’d corrected her slip into informality quickly, but not before Dave caught the glance she and the doc exchanged. Well, well. So it wasn’t all work and no play on the site after all.

      “Glad to hear Pegasus can run,” Dave commented. “The real test will be to see if he can fly.”

      He saw at once he’d put his foot in it. Backs stiffened. Eyes went cool. Even Caroline Dunn, the friendly Coast Guard officer, arched an eyebrow.

      “Pegasus is designed as a multiservice, all-weather, all-terrain assault vehicle,” Captain Westfall reminded him. “Our job is to make sure it operates equally well on land, on water and in the air.”

      There was only one answer to that. Dave gave it.

      “Yes, sir.”

      He recovered a little as the walk-around continued and the talk turned to the specifics of the craft’s power, torque, engine thrust and instrumentation. Dave had done his homework, knew exactly what was required to launch Pegasus into the air. By the end of the briefing, his hands were itching to wrap around the throttles.

      The rest of the day was taken up with the administrivia necessary in any new assignment. Major Bradshaw gave Dave a security briefing and issued a high-tech ID that not only cleared him into the site but also tracked his every movement. Doc Richardson conducted an intake interview and medical assessment. The senior test engineers presented detailed briefings of Pegasus’s performance during the land tests.

      By the time 7:00 p.m. rolled around, Dave’s stomach was issuing noisy feed-me demands. The sandwich he and the briefers had grabbed for lunch had long since ceased to satisfy the needs of his six-two frame. He caught the tail end of the line at the dining hall and joined a table of troops in desert fatigues.

      Like the officer cadre, enlisted personnel at the site came from every branch of the service. Army MPs provided security. Navy personnel operated most of the support facilities. Air force troops maintained the site’s extensive communications and computer networks. The marine contingent was small, Dave learned, only about ten noncoms whose expertise was essential in testing Pegasus’s performance as a troop transport and forward-insertion vehicle.

      He scarfed down a surprisingly delicious concoction of steak and enchiladas, then returned to the unit he shared with Russ McIver to unpack and stow his gear. McIver wasn’t in residence and the unpacking didn’t take long. All Dave had brought with him was an extra flight suit, a set of blues on the off chance he’d have to attend some official function away from the site, workout sweats, jeans, some comfortable shirts and one pair of dress slacks. His golf shoes and clubs he left in the truck. With any luck, he’d get Pegasus soaring the first time up and have time to hit some of New Mexico’s golf courses before heading back to his home base in Florida.

      Changing out of his uniform into jeans and a gray USAF sweatshirt with the arms ripped out, he stashed his carryall under his bed and explored the rest of the two-bedroom unit. It was similar to a dozen others he’d occupied at forward bases and a whole lot more comfortable than his quarters in Afghanistan.

      A passing glance showed Russ McIver’s room was spartan in its neat orderliness. As was the front room. Carpeted in an uninspiring green, the area served as a combination eating, dining and living room. The furniture was new and looked comfortable, if not particularly elegant. The fridge was stocked with two boxes of high-nutrition health bars and four six-packs of Coors Light.

      “That’s what I admire most about marines,” Dave announced to the empty trailer. “They take only the absolute necessities into the field with them.”

      Helping himself, he popped a top and prepared to attack the stack of briefing books and technical manuals he’d plopped down on the kitchenette counter. The rise and fall of voices just outside the unit drew him to the door.

      When he stepped out into the early-evening dusk, the first thing that hit him was the explosion of color to the west. Like a smack to the face, it grabbed his instant attention. Reds, golds, blacks, pinks, oranges and blues, all swirling together in a deep purple sky. The gaudy combination reminded Dave of the paintings he’d seen in every truck stop and roadside gift shop on the drive out. Black velvet and bright slashes of color. But this painting was for real, and it was awesome.

      The second thing that hit him was the silence his appearance had generated among the officers clustered around a metal picnic table. It was as if an outsider had crashed an exclusive, members-only party. Which he had, Dave thought wryly.

      His new roommate broke the small silence. Lifting an arm, McIver waved him over. “Hey, Scott. Bring your beer and join us.”

      “Thanks.” Puffs of sand swirled under Dave’s feet as he crossed to the table. “It’s your beer, by the way. I’ll contribute to the fund or restock the refrigerator as necessary.”

      “No problem.”

      The others shifted to make room for him. Like Dave, they’d shed their uniforms. Most wore cutoffs or jeans. Kate Hargrave, he noted with a suddenly dry throat, was in spandex again. Biker shorts this time. Black. Showing lots of slim, tanned thigh.

      Damn!

      “We were just talking about you,” she said as he claimed a corner of the metal bench.

      No kidding. He hadn’t been hit with a silence like that since the last time he’d walked in on his brother and sister-in-law in the middle of one of the fierce arguments they pretended never happened. As always, Jacqueline had clammed up tight in the presence of a third party. Ryan had just looked angry and miserable. As always.

      Jaci was a lot like Kate Hargrave, Dave decided. Not as beautiful. Certainly not as well educated. But just as tough and very good at putting a man in his place. Or trying to.

      “Must have been a boring conversation,” he returned, stretching his legs out under the table. “I’m not much to talk about.”

      “We were speculating how long it’s going to take you to get up to speed.”

      “I’ll be ready to fly when Pegasus is.”

      Kate arched a delicately penciled auburn eyebrow. “The first flight was originally scheduled for next week. After Bill’s heart attack, Captain Westfall put it on hold.”

      “I talked to him late this afternoon. He’s going to put the flight back on as scheduled.”

      The nonchalant announcement produced another startled silence. Cody Richardson broke it this time.

      “Are you sure you can complete your simulator training and conduct the necessary preflight test runs by