Chapter Two

      Quentin would give his left arm at that moment for a fully-equipped Special Operations Craft-Riverine, or SOC-R as they called it, and his favorite machine gun. Deadly accurate on his aim, he’d have that chopper down in seconds.

      But they weren’t in the navy boat. Instead they were in a raft designed to float, not move swiftly through the water. Hell, they could swim faster than they could maneuver the raft. But swimming wasn’t an option. They were up to their necks in alligators and bad guys. “Now would be a good time for the team to show up.”

      “Come on, LT,” Montana prayed aloud.

      “The only way they’d get here in time to help is if they were already on the Pearl, headed in this direction.” Quentin sucked in a breath. “There’s only one way to get us to the trees faster.”

      “You got a motor in your pocket?” Sawyer quipped.

      “No.” He slung his leg over the side of the raft.

      “What are you doing?” Becca asked.

      “Going for a little dip.” He winked. “Can I get a kiss before I swim with a bunch of hungry alligators?”

      She shook her head and reached for his arm. “Are you out of your mind? Get back in the raft.”

      He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. “You can slap me later. I’ve got a job to do.” He rolled over the side and eased into the water without making much of a splash. His heart pounded as he stared at the tall grass near a mound of sticks and mud. He’d stay as far away from the alligator nest as he could, but he had to get the raft beneath the trees before the people in the helicopter spotted them.

      Grabbing the tow line from the front of the raft, he held on tight and side-stroked, pulling the loaded craft with him. Everyone helped by paddling with their hands. They moved faster than they had before, but not fast enough to make the trees before the helicopter swung around and headed their way.

      “Duck!” Quentin called out.

      As the chopper neared, the sound of a machine gun blast ripped through the air, but bullets didn’t hit the water near the raft.

      The chopper pulled up suddenly, altering its direction. More gunfire sliced through the marsh.

      “God bless the lieutenant,” Sawyer cried out.

      Montana whooped. “It’s the cavalry!”

      Quentin swam to the side of the raft to see what they were yelling about and his heart swelled. A SOC-R watercraft skimmed across the water, headed for the hovering helicopter, the gunners firing live rounds.

      “Don’t stop paddling,” Duff advised. “That helicopter is armed. If they take out the boat, they’ll still come after us.”

      With renewed purpose everyone in the raft paddled and Quentin dragged them along, closing the distance to the trees and the relative concealment the overhanging branches would provide.

      By the time he reached the shadows of the cypress trees, his muscles were screaming and he couldn’t quite get enough air.

      “Quentin, get in the raft. We can take it from here,” Duff said.

      “Just...a...little...farther.” Too exhausted to say more, Quentin kicked and pulled.

      “Get in the boat now!” Duff said. “Sawyer, Montana, get him!”

      Sawyer grabbed the line Quentin held and dragged it back toward the boat, pulling Quentin up to the rubber sides.

      “Get in, now!” Duff yelled. He grabbed Quentin’s right arm, Sawyer caught the left and they hauled him over the side, dumping him into the bottom of the raft and then pulling his legs in behind him.

      Quentin stared out at the helicopter and the navy boat duking it out a couple hundred yards away. “They could still come after us.”

      “Yeah, but there wouldn’t be anything left of you to shoot at, if that giant gator got to you first.” Duff nodded toward a small island.

      Quentin sat up in time to see a twelve-foot-long alligator slip off the land into the water and head their direction. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I’d have gotten in a lot faster.”

      “You don’t think it will take a bite out of the raft, do you?” Natalie asked, scooching toward the center of the crowded craft.

      “Never met an alligator that liked a mouthful of rubber. But if it’s a female, and she’s guarding a nest...” Quentin pointed to a large mound near the shore, “she might attack to protect her clutch of eggs.”

      “Not much in the way of choices.” Montana shook his head. “Either we go out in the open for the helicopter to use us for target practice, or brave an angry mama gator.”

      Quentin wasn’t as concerned about the alligator as he was about the helicopter circling around to attack the navy boat again. He wanted to be on that boat, manning his position as gunner.

      The reassuring sound of the machine guns spitting out ammo was music to his ears. Several bullets hit their mark on the fuselage of the dark chopper. The aircraft jerked to the side and plummeted toward the ground for a few heart-stopping seconds and then leveled off. As if the pilot debated whether to continue the fight or cut his losses, the aircraft hovered over the marsh a couple hundred yards away from the SOC-R. Then it rose straight into the air and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

      A cheer went up from the occupants of the raft. The navy boat turned and made its way toward the wreck survivors.

      Quentin looked forward to getting out of the swamp and back to his apartment where he could strip down, shower and dress in clean dry clothing. In the heat and humidity, his wet jeans and shirt were beginning to chafe in all the worst places.

      The navy watercraft pulled up alongside the life raft and stopped. “Rip” Cord Schafer, Trent Rucker and Jace Hunter leaned over the side to help the flight attendant, pilot and copilot into the boat.

      Montana