Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1 Kumba Ranch Flathead Valley, Montana "YOU SURE YOU STILL want to do this?" Liz Riley asked the man in the left seat of the small vintage 1976 Lake Buccaneer amphibious aircraft. The plane floated comfortably on its hull at the western end of the lake, its fuel-injected 200-horsepower Lycoming IO-360 engine mounted atop the pylon behind the cockpit at idle. The big man next to her did not answer immediately. His eyes were focused ahead on the light ripples visible on the dark water. He tilted his head to the right, looking to the skies above. Blue with scattered clouds. Perfect flying weather. "You got this, Reece," Liz said.
Her voice was strong and confident, the southern accent a proud reminder of days lying in the grass in the backyard of her family''s house on the outskirts of Fort Rucker in Alabama, looking skyward, dreaming. The near-constant echoes of turning rotors from Black Hawk and Apache helicopters overhead had instilled in her a love of aviation. She would follow that passion into the Army''s Warrant Officer Flight Program and into the cockpit of an OH-58D Kiowa Warrior helicopter. Injuries sustained in combat cut short her Army career but did nothing to diminish her love of flying. James Reece turned to his passenger, a passenger who in this case was also his flight instructor and dear friend, Elizabeth Riley. She looked perfectly at home in the confines of the aircraft, almost as if it had been built around her. It did help that she was a full seven inches shorter than Reece''s six-foot frame. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail under a crimson University of Alabama ball cap.
Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses shielded her eyes from the glare. She was a professional in her element. "What?" she asked, prompting him to explain the look on his face. "You know, I intensely dislike flying." "You tell me that every time," Liz replied. "What you mean to say is, you ''used to intensely dislike flying.''?" "Ah, that''s it," Reece confirmed. "And, as I recall, it wasn''t necessarily the flying; it was the taking off and landing.
" "Once again: true," Reece said. "Just like jumping." "Out of planes?" Liz asked. "Yeah. I always loved the actual jump. Not a big fan of the pull." "Why?" "That was the moment of truth. Either that chute was going to open, or you were going to have a malfunction, in which case you would need to go through your EPs--your emergency procedures.
After that you would have a clean canopy overhead or you were fucked and would have to cut away. Once you did that you were stuck to that last option. I''d pack my main, but our riggers would pack our reserves." "I can see how that could be disconcerting," Liz said. "That was one of the reasons we kept our parachute riggers happy with cases of beer on jump trips." "Wise." "I also didn''t like the fact that you had a bunch of other jumpers in the air you needed to account for and who needed to account for you." "And the landing?" Liz asked.
"Well, with a static-line jump your landing is a hot mess regardless. You do what they call a PLF--a parachute landing fall. It realistically requires about two days of training. The Army manages to cram those two days into three weeks at Fort Benning. The PLF does help reduce injuries, but most of the time it turns into feet, ass, head." Liz laughed. "Didn''t they rename Fort Benning like they did Rucker?" she asked. "Fuck if I know," Reece replied.
"How about free-fall landings? Those look fairly graceful," Liz said. "With free fall it''s different. You can still hit hard, though, especially when you are loaded down with gear." "Well, in this case--no jumping," she said. "That''s good, considering we don''t have chutes," Reece observed. Liz ignored his comment. "We are going to take off, spend some time exploring northern Montana, and then land right back at the lake. I''ll be here if you need me," Liz said, motioning to the controls in front of her.
"That''s reassuring," Reece responded sincerely. He turned back to the instruments. "Might want to close the door," Liz reminded him. "Good tip," Reece said. He reached up, pulled the gullwing door shut, and twisted the latch. "What are our procedures if we have an engine failure?" Liz queried. Scouting the channel ahead for debris, Reece replied: "If we are on the lake I''ll power forward. If we are in transition, I''ll make a judgment call--but please feel free to take over.
If we are airborne over six hundred AGL I''ll turn back. Turn will be to the right to avoid the mountains." "Correct." Reece scanned the lake and the skies to his right and left. "Skies and lake look clear," he said. "Clear," Liz confirmed, doing the same checks from her seat. Reece''s left hand went to the yoke. Liz''s eyes hesitated over his left ring finger, a finger that would soon be adorned with a wedding band.
A stainless-steel watch she knew had been purchased by his father, Tom, in Saigon during Vietnam was on his wrist below a powerful forearm. Reece''s arms had once hoisted her to safety in violation of orders in the war-torn streets of Najaf, Iraq. To Liz, it felt like yesterday. She suspected it always would. She would never be sure if it was the RPG or the resulting crash that had killed her copilot. Liz had struggled in an attempt to release his harness, the metal slick with blood. She screamed at him to wake up, even though his head was partially crushed and a large section of his upper-body cavity had been torn away. The unmistakable crack of AK fire from Muqtada al-Sadr''s Mahdi Militia penetrating the aircraft''s mangled frame forced her onto the streets of Old Town Najaf with her M4.
She remembered thinking that being killed in the crash would have been preferable to what would befall her should she be captured by the Mahdi Militia. She also knew that she would not be alive today had it not been for James Reece. Reece and his four-man sniper team had been in position just blocks away when they witnessed the helo go down. She found out later that he had radioed his command-and-control element back at the forward operating base and requested permission to move to the crash site. That request had been denied. A risk-averse higher command authority, concerned with the political fallout of losing five more SEALs in combat, had ordered Reece to stay in position to provide overwatch while an Army Quick Reaction Force was dispatched to the scene. When Reece heard Liz''s M4 start to mix with the sounds of AK fire, he moved to assist, in a clear violation of orders. Liz''s helmet had been torn off in the crash, and she had ditched her body armor so she could move unencumbered as quickly as possible toward friendly lines.
By the time Reece arrived, the adrenaline that had allowed her to escape the Kiowa had worn off. The back injury, the effects of which she still kept at bay with a vigorous MTNTOUGH daily functional fitness training routine, had all but immobilized her. She was also on her last round, a round she was saving for herself. Reece had stripped off his own body armor and secured it around the injured pilot. He then secured his helmet to her head, hoisted her over his shoulder, and ran to a stolen vehicle that his Teammate Boozer had maneuvered into a nearby alley. He didn''t stuff the hole caused by a bullet that passed through his calf until they had survived the harrowing drive back to base. For Liz it was an airlift to Balad for emergency surgery, then a flight to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany, and then another to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. For Reece it was an ass-chewing for insubordination and threats of Trident Review Boards, captain''s masts, and courts-martial.
Those threats quickly turned to accolades when Liz Riley''s commanding officer called the commander of Naval Special Warfare to express his gratitude to the entire SEAL chain of command for their quick thinking and audacity. He followed up by awarding Army Commendation Medals with Valor to Reece and his sniper team. The battle in Najaf had bonded Liz and Reece for life. Reece''s wife, Lauren, and daughter, Lucy, had become Liz''s family as well. After they were ripped from the earth she had been by Reece''s side as he brought those responsible to justice. In her mind, the debt she owed Reece would never be fully repaid. He deserves to finally be happy , Liz thought. Reece''s strength had returned after his recent ordeal in solitary confinement and the events that followed.
She knew that he and his friend and SEAL Teammate Raife Hastings trained every day, pushing each other on steep trail runs, swims in the frigid lake, and in the Sorinex gym they had set up in the barn. They had also improved the range on Kumba Ranch, the Hastingses'' sprawling property in the Flathead Valley, with barricades and TA Targets. Daily competitions with pistols, rifles, and shotguns kept the two men sharp. He looked stronger than Liz had ever seen him. She didn''t need to ask why he trained so hard. She knew. Though he didn''t talk with her about his time in the darkness, Liz knew it had left an impact. How could it not? His own government had locked him in a small cell with no light and no visitors for three months, an action tantamount to torture.
She didn''.