Page 119 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

My jaw clenched as I considered my options. I had to consider the terrain. There were fences. Trees. Soft ground from planting. Animals. The barns.

“Get air support to flank the farm,” I said. “That’s my way in and it will be our way out.”

“Herc, I need you to think about this,” Chief’s voice came through. “Chopper One just touched down from the evac zone. He says the whole area is compromised. Visibility is zero, winds are chaotic, and the fire’s moving faster than we’ve ever seen.”

I jerked the yoke hard toward Sullivan Farm, my decision already made. “What else did he say?”

A pause. Too long. “He said it doesn’t look good, son. The smoke is so thick you can’t see ten feet in any direction. Landing blind in those conditions is suicide.”

“Chief, I’m not asking for permission.”

“Dalton.” His voice dropped, taking on that fatherly tone he used when he was trying to talk sense into me. “I can’t officially authorize this. You know that. If something goes wrong, if you don’t make it back, I can’t protect you. This would be completely off the books. Your choice, your responsibility.”

I could hear the conflict in his voice. The man who’d become like a father to me, torn between his duty to his people and his duty to the mission. But I also heard something else. It was the same thing I felt burning in my chest. He’d do the same thing if he were in my position.

“Understood, Chief. This is my call.”

“Herc—”

“We’re not losing anyone else.” The words came out harder than I intended. “Not when there’s a chance I can get them out. Not when I can do something about it.”

Silence on the radio. Then Chief’s voice, quieter now. “What do you need?”

That was Chief. He knew me well enough to know I was going whether he blessed it or not. And he cared enough about all of us to help me try to bring them home.

“Keep everyone else clear of the farm. I need a clean approach. I’m dropping my load to clear a path. Get Wild Bill to take my run.”

“Copy that. Laser, you heard him. Set up a perimeter around Sullivan Farm. Keep that corridor open.”

“Roger,” Laser’s voice came through, tight with worry.

I could picture their expressions. Anyone on comms would have that same pinched look. They all assumed I was flying into certain death. We all had our ghosts, our moments when we’d been too late or too far away. This wasn’t going to be one of those moments. Not today.

The farm came into view through the smoke, a patchwork of fields and fencing, with a long stretch of relatively flat ground near the main house. It wasn’t ideal, but it was doable. I’d landed in worse conditions, though never with stakes this high.

I thought about the last thing Janna had said to me. That I might as well bury myself next to my friend because I was already halfway in the ground. Maybe she was right. Maybe I had been living like a dead man, going through the motions without really being alive.

I knew the layout of town well enough to know the quickest route from the farm to Main Street. I wasn’t thinking about roads. There were more direct paths. I swept around again, dropped in altitude, and hoped I had enough to cut a clear path. I hit the button and dropped a fat line of fire retardant along the path I intended to travel, assuming I survived the hard landing.

I dropped the landing gear and throttled down for the final approach. Corn stalks whipped past the cockpit, then wheels slammed hard halfway into the field. It was far harder than I wanted, but it held. The force of the impact had my entire body rocking forward but I held onto the yoke out of sheer desperation. I mowed through the field, praying I didn’t start a fire.

When the plane finally came to a stop, it took me a few seconds to orient myself. I was pretty sure I cracked a rib or two. My head had slammed against the seat pretty hard.

But I didn’t have time to catalog injuries. Every second counted.

I hit the radio. “Pickle, come in. Where are you?”

Silence. My heart sank.

Hold on, baby. I’m coming for you. Just hold on, Janna.