Page 4 of Alistair

“I want to join the Marines and learn how to fly everything. Jets, helicopters, all of it.”

“The Marines?” he said with a questioning nod. “Well, that’s something. You know that your mother and I will support you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’m just going to wash up, and I’ll be right down.”

“Sounds good, kiddo.” He walked slowly down the steps, his wife anxiously waiting for him.

“Well?”

“You know how we gave her a difficult name, hoping it would help to make her stronger?”

“Yes,” she frowned.

“We might have overdone it.”

A few short years later, Clark had entered the Marine Corps, enrolled in college, and worked a full schedule. Her parents had never seen her so determined. Petite, blonde, beautiful, and smart. She was the full package, and all those kids who made fun of her name, especially the boys, were regretting it. Their daughter was insanely focused on one thing. Becoming a pilot.

“Clark?” yelled her commander.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

“Yes, sir. It’s time. I want to try my hand at flying for someone else for a while,” she said with a smile.

“Someone else? Who else is better than the Marines?”

“Voodoo Guardians. Sir.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously?” he said, staring at her.

“Yes, sir. An old friend flies for them as well and recommended me for the job. They’ve got some sweet machines.”

“We know,” he frowned. Shaking his head, he just looked down at the best pilot he’d had for his team in a long time. “You’re good, Clark. They’ll be damn lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Clark had one last flight with her team. Dropping a group of Marines and DEA agents into a remote mountain area in West Virginia, they were shutting down an opioid factory run by a bunch of backwoods, wannabe chemists. Their concoctions had already killed more than three dozen people.

With only one place to land, they didn’t have a choice but to be placed right in the middle of the whole damn camp. The minute the helicopter was seen, the drug dealers were firing. Fortunately, they were also taking their own medications. The Marines and DEA agents were faster and far more accurate.

As the team scrambled, handcuffing those that were still alive, the rest gathered evidence. Clark stayed close to her helicopter, not wanting anyone to mess with her bird.

“Got two for you, Clark,” said one of the agents. “I’m locking them to the floor.” Their handcuffs were secured to the floor of the chopper, and he left her there to mind them, although they weren’t going anywhere. The men were both in jeans and flannel shirts with worn work boots. One of the men had two earrings in his left ear, the other with a fake designer watch on his wrist.

“Well, ain’t you pretty,” smirked one of the men. Clark said nothing, not even bothering to turn to look at them. “Nice ass, nice tits. I bet you’d give me a wild ride, wouldn’t ‘ya, honey?”

“Shut the fuck up!” yelled one of the Marines. “Don’t take that shit, Clark. Bust him in the mouth, or I will.”

Clark only nodded. So used to not listening to ribbing or teasing from anyone, she was immune to their comments.

“I won’t be in jail forever, girly. Just know that I don’t forget a pretty face. Ever.”

Something about the way he spoke to her sent a chill up her spine. She turned to stare at his face, embedding it into her memory. She stared so hard, he was the one that turned away from her glare.

All totaled, thirteen dealers were killed, seven hospitalized, and five jailed. Five days later, she was carrying her bag to her car when the Marines from the last mission approached her.

“Clark!”

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