Under Fire: The Admiral Read Online Free Page A

smelling me anymore.”

Chapter 2
     
     
    Gemma cautiously made her way to the edge of
the beach. She went down on her haunches, not moving for several
minutes until she was sure the coast was clear, literally, in each
direction and the boat was little more than a dot on the water. The
dark clouds building over the ocean stretched as far as she could
see and were the reason the boat spent so little time searching.
There was no chance of escaping the storm but they could shelter in
that protected inlet. She estimated they had an hour, at most,
before they’d need to stop to shelter from the coming monsoon.
    Walsh was standing, shrugging into his pack.
“Sorry about that. I’ll do better next time.”
    She nodded, wondering if he was sorry about
the talking or smelling or both. She silently retrieved her pack,
heading north . No need to check if Walsh was following. He
made more racket than a squad of professional noisemakers.
    “Hey. How long are we going to walk? What
about water? I’m thirsty. Not a good thing. Thirsty means I’m
already dehydrated.”
    She glanced at the dark clouds. “Storm
coming,” she said and picked up her pace. The front was traveling
faster than she estimated and that meant stopping sooner.
    “I said . . .” he yelled.
    “I heard you. Twenty minutes.” She waved an
arm. “Keep moving.”
    Some curses reached her but the snapping of
branches and dry fronds underfoot didn’t slow down. She tracked a
few paces deeper into the jungle looking for a safe place to set up
the tarps and hammocks and finding one too good to pass up.
    Walsh caught up, breathing heavy, but said
nothing. He stood hands on hips, head back, grimacing and sucking
in deep breaths. Normalizing adrenaline levels mixed with
sauna-like conditions were playing hell with both of them.
    “We’ll spend the night here. When you get
your breath back, pick up coconuts. We’ll have to drink the water
from them until we can collect rainwater.”
    “Aye, aye,” he said and sucked in a breath,
“survivor woman. Any . . . other orders?”
    “Don’t go on the beach and . . . look for
live things before you pick the coconuts up.” His lips and mouth
moved. She couldn’t tell if it was silent cursing or attempting to
work up saliva. He went in the direction where coconuts littered
the ground.
    “Wait.” It was obvious he needed water and so
did she. She didn’t need him getting sick or passing out. She took
a knee, removing a knife from the sheaf at her ankle.
    “Geezus, woman. What else are you
hiding?”
    She ignored him, fingered several vines
checking for critters. Selecting one three inches in diameter, she
hacked and sliced until it was severed. “Come here.”
    Before he reached her the vine dripped water
like a leaky faucet. “It’s the jungle juice joint.” She shoved the
vine in his direction. “Drink.” He hesitated. “Go ahead, it’s
clean.”
    “What about you?”
    “Drink.” She shoved the vine to his mouth.
“Look around.” She flipped a hand over other vines, sending them
swaying. Plenty here.” Oh. She got it. He didn’t trust her.
She sliced through another vine. The moment the liquid began to
drip she tipped her head back, holding the cut vine over her open
mouth. It tasted damn good. Walsh did the same.
    She was exhausted. Getting a shelter built
would be difficult. Battling with the plane’s yoke to keep them in
the air as long as she could put a world of hurt on her arms. She
sure as hell didn’t want Walsh to know. She wanted him to see her
strong and competent, follow her lead without question or they
would never get to that village. There was five days of survival
food in the packs. Water from vines, coconuts and afternoon rain
would keep them well supplied. If she pushed hard, it was
conceivable they could be upstream at that village in forty-eight
hours. She handed her vine to Walsh and shrugged out of her pack
but didn’t put it down.
    “When you’ve had enough, get the