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aircraft, giving it one last visual check. His practiced eye looked for leaks, loose panels, cut tires, safety pins not removed. Even though the crew chief and his flight engineer, Technical Sergeant Mike Hale, had gone over the aircraft, he still found a loose screw on an access panel aft of the left wheel well. He buttoned it up and made a mental note to mention it to Hale.
    A bus from Passenger Services stopped in front of the revetment and a lone officer climbed off followed by a sergeant with a clipboard. He gave Flanders the passenger list and quickly climbed back aboard to deliver other passengers to waiting C-130s. Warren studied his passenger, a young and attractive woman wearing a new set of jungle fatigues. The black-coloured rank on her collars announced she was a captain, and the small caduceus over her left breast pocket identified her as doctor. She was carrying a six-foot pole covered by a blue sheath; a guidon. He suppressed a smile. “The lady with the Golden Spirochete,” he murmured. He walked over to introduce himself. He read her nametag – Pender.
    Flanders glanced at the manifest and introduced them. “Captain Warren, our passenger, Captain ...”
    “Doctor Livingstone, I presume,” Warren said, interrupting the loadmaster. He liked the way she looked at him with bright, inquisitive hazel eyes, talking his measure. She stood five-foot nine-inches tall in her jungle boots, definitely too broad in the hips to be considered stylish, but extremely feminine. Her dark-blonde hair was pulled back in a bun and framed high cheekbones and a perky nose that was just a little too small for her face.
    She laughed. “Mr. Stanley, I presume.” She extended her right hand.
    He was captivated. “Sorry, wrong continent, wrong man, wrong century. I’m Mark Warren, your pilot for this fun-filled flight to Nakhon Phanom.”
    “Lynne Pender.” They shook hands. Her grip was unusually strong for a woman.
    “Ever been to Thailand?” Reluctantly, he released her hand.
    She shook her head. “I just arrived on base last week. Fresh out of Sheppard.” Doctors, dentists, and nurses did their basic training at Sheppard Air Force Base in Wichita Falls, Texas. For most, it was a short prelude to a two-year tour before returning to civilian life.
    “I see you get to deliver the Golden Spirochete.”
    “Do I detect a trace of humour, Captain?”
    “I’m trying to hide it,” Warren replied.
    She forgave him with a smile. “It is funny. But I’m a surgeon and like to think I’ve better things to do.” That explained her firm grip. She didn’t mention that she had been assigned the duty after being introduced to Colonel Mace and firmly rejecting an offer to share his bed. Fortunately, that situation had been covered at Sheppard in an informal training session with a veteran nurse. Her “no” was followed with a reference to the chaplain. The trip to Nakhon Phanom was Mace’s revenge, a pathetic attempt to stroke his damaged ego. For the most part, Captain Lynne Pender considered it an adventure but felt better venting her frustration.
    The Passenger Service bus was back and slammed to a halt. A different sergeant jumped down, closely followed by the two captains from Intel, Judith Slovack and Ronald Huckabee. The sergeant helped them off load four suitcases and two stuffed B-4 parachute bags with all their personal belongings. Flanders, the loadmaster, quickly signed the manifest and helped the sergeant and two officers lug their bags to the loading ramp at the rear of the aircraft.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” Flanders said in a loud voice. “I am Staff Sergeant Glen Flanders, your loadmaster for this first-class flight to Nakhon Phanom. By regulations, I am required to brief you on emergency procedures. In the event of a fire, you will hear me shout ‘Follow me!’ Please do so in order to avoid becoming a crispy critter. Once we have your bags loaded, follow me aboard and we can finish your passenger brief