A.M. Scott's Blog, page 14

Operation Strong Soul

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know Missoula and a bunch of other cities and towns in Montana flooded this spring. It wasn’t surprising–record snowpack plus a long, wet spring leads to flooding. I’ve previously written about the sandbagging operations, those are all wrapped up. What isn’t wrapped up? The recovery.

Like most disaster recovery, it’s slow. The one in Missoula is super slow, because of the length of time property was under water and how slowly the river receded.

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Several church groups have been out helping in various ways, but there’s a ton of work to be done and timing is tricky. No matter when Team Rubicon did a recovery operation, it would be too late or too early for some homeowners. Our operation ended up being too late, but since many of our members have summer-only jobs, we can only do small operations in the summer months.

On the last weekend of June, we kicked off Operation Strong Soul–the name fits Missoula so well! We helped a couple of older homeowners well outside the city limits cleanup sandbags and muck out a garage. And inside the city, in the worst of the flood area, we moved more sandbags, mucked out an office and a storage shed full of precious memories and salvaged some fencing.

Did any of those things get a family back in their house? No, unfortunately. Our timing was too late for most houses and some are still pumping water out. But, it did help five families move on, mentally and physically. And sometimes the mental component is more important than the physical. Sometimes, just a small helping hand can give a survivor the strength to continue the work, rather than giving up.

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Not only that, but we gave three Team Rubicon members the chance to participate in their first operation, to finally see their training pay off. We also brought elements of our sandbagging team back together again and gave our State Ops Chief, Alex, her first chance at Incident Commander. She knocked it out of the park!

Once again, Team Rubicon was small but mighty, making an impact beyond our size.

Big thanks are due to Nathan and Jennifer of Missoula Flood Support and Missoula Recovers; Nancy and Ron of Emmanuel Lutheran Church for writing a grant request and Thrivent Financial for filling that grant, allowing us to eat way better than we normally do; Christ the King Catholic Church for providing a comfortable home away from home; and the Red Cross of Montana for loaning us cots. And to the people of Missoula who continue to support us so enthusiastically–Thanks!

Stay Strong Missoula–you’ve got Soul!

My Guest Post on Delilah Devlin’s Blog

As promised, here’s the guest post I wrote for Delilah Devlin’s blog about our last day of sandbagging: https://www.delilahdevlin.com/blog/

Enjoy!

 

Keep Missoula Weird

More than a popular bumper sticker, it’s a way of life in Missoula, Montana. Sometimes that leads to rather strange, wild and crazy things, but it also leads to amazing compassion and action. All of that was displayed in May.

The Clark Fork River runs through the middle of Missoula. It’s beautiful, despite being hemmed in by the city. It’s loved by kayakers, fishermen, floaters, tourists…everybody, really. But sometimes, it reminds us of the power of water. Montana’s snowpack broke records this year, then we had some particularly strong rainstorms, and it combined into a 40-year flood. While areas of Missoula flood semi-regularly, new areas flooded, to the point that three mobile homes floated down the river and three others were removed before they followed suit. Brand new subdivisions, in supposedly safe areas, flooded or were inundated by groundwater.

Some homeowners knew it was coming, they’d seen it before. They had sand and bags delivered early and started building walls and dikes. One house has a sandbag wall around the entire house, with a flamingo pool float out front. Been here before, we’ll survive it this time too, the bird says.

But the newer homeowners and renters? They were shocked, sometimes in complete denial and terribly unprepared. Fortunately for them, Missoula is weird. People came forward and started helping, wherever and however they could. Churches came forward, purchasing sand and mobilizing their congregations. Construction companies and dump truck owners stepped up, donating more sand. But the effort was unfocused and a bit chaotic.

I live well south of Missoula, but the emergency managers and other disaster organizations in the area know me. I was driving north to offer help when Missoula County called me, asking for Team Rubicon’s help in managing the spontaneous volunteer efforts. Of course, I said sure, we’ll give a shot. I had no idea how the weird people of Missoula would amaze me.

I gathered my small TRibe of dedicated Team Rubicon volunteers, including one who drove eight hours to my house straight from wildland firefighting training. We met in Missoula at the Orchard Homes Community Life Center, to survey and plan how to organize the sandbagging efforts.

But that’s not what happened.

Sandbags were desperately needed by homeowners, right now. So, our small band of intrepid leaders swung into action. The Seventh Day Adventists kicked off the effort, begging the major companies in the area for sand and buying more when their generosity ran out. Both Western Excavation and Knife River donated lots of sand and trucking, but they had commitments to honor too. So, how could we get more sand, fast?

Fortunately, Missoula is weird. People came to shovel sand, they brought their trucks to transport bags to where they were needed and donated lots of money. Cash is king in any disaster and key to a successful response. Church at the Gates, a Southern Baptist congregation, stepped up with huge donations for sand. Independent truckers delivered for free, and Time Rental donated sand and trucking over the weekend, so we could keep filling sandbags and stretch our budget further. Volunteers came out in droves, to fill bags, deliver bags, and go to affected homes to build walls. Local businesses brought food and water. Boyce Lumber volunteered their company forklifts and drivers. Schools brought busloads of students to fill bags for an hour or more.

Really, we were incredibly fortunate in so many ways, especially since our first site was way too small and in a very congested area. Everyone was cooperative and attentive, so no one got smashed by a giant dump truck, chopped off a foot with a shovel, threw out their back by lifting a too heavy bag or a billion other things that could have gone horribly wrong. Moving our operations to Ft Missoula was a huge relief, giving us enough room to work safely.

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My part of the operation ended on a particularly weird and wonderful note. Maggot Fest, an annual rugby tournament, occurred that weekend. Since rookie rugby players are put through a tryout period, and several teams decided to help Missoula and put their newbies through a physical wringer at the same time. I wrote a guest blog for Delilah Devlin about that day; I’ll link it here when it comes out next week.

In the end, we had over 2100 spontaneous volunteers, 1967 tons of sand, 112,000 sandbags built, and 92,000 sandbags delivered. We also gained more than 40 new volunteers for Team Rubicon. We helped save a lot of homes. And, because of the amazing generosity of Missoulians, we did it efficiently, cheaply and safely.

Keep Missoula weird!

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Copyright © AM Scott, 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Overhead sandbag photo courtesy of K. Kirkbride, all others AM Scott.

MISCON

The last two weeks, I’ve done nothing but sand. Filling sandbags, getting more sand for volunteers to fill more bags, taking care of the volunteers, all of it has been about the Clark Fork flooding homes in Missoula.

Now, I’m doing something for me. Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I’m attending MISCON, the Missoula SF convention.

For those of you who have never been, it’s a mixture of wild, wonderful and weird. I highly recommend it. Rather than waste words, let me show you.

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Lightwave: Clocker is LIVE!

It’s alive! My book is alive. Only on Amazon, but it’s out there! I’m weirdly excited and terrified all at the same time. Because of all my Team Rubicon work in Missoula, I haven’t been able to do much promotion or anything, but I still got it out there before my publication date – win!

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/amscott

Coming Soon! Lightwave: Clocker

I’m so excited! I will publish Lightwave: Clocker May 21st, 2018!

The book is currently in the hands of my proofreader–a miracle occurred and I sent it early–and the artwork is completed and completely awesome.[image error]

For now, I will only be publishing on Amazon. I know some of you are Nook or iTunes fans, but as a new author with a small following, Kindle Unlimited on the ‘Zon is pretty necessary for discoverability. I don’t plan to leave it on there forever, and a special offer will be coming to all of you soon to get your very own copy free! Stay tuned!

Book 2.0, Lightwave: The Sisters of Cygnus will release in mid-June. A Prequel Novella, Lightwave: Nexus Station, the story of how Lightwave’s Security Officers met, will be available this summer too–but only to those who sign up for my newsletter. Sign up link is coming soon!

Book 3.0, Lightwave: Falling Star, is written–it will be out this fall.

My next post will be all about Team Rubicon again. We’re kicking off Operation Get Yer Goat, a fire mitigation project in partnership with the Five Valleys Land Trust. We’ll have a bunch of bad-ass people running chainsaws, stacking up firewood and piling slash. I’ll post more pictures than I did last time!

Have a great week!

Operation Slow Snow

Here I go again with the boring refrain. It’s been too long since I did a blog post. Sigh. You’d think I’d learn. But I had a good excuse this time.

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(Photo by Irv H. TR Canada – The ASM & AM cut firewood)

This winter has been rough for everyone, but the northern tier of the county got hit really hard in January and February. For example, the Highline of Montana—stretching from the east side of Glacier to the border of North Dakota—has been deluged with snow and cold.

“But, they’re used to that, right?”

Yes, but not like this. Normally, the weather in Montana gets cold and snowy, then warms to above freezing for a few days, then plunges back down. Those warm stretches allow the snow to crust over, preventing it from drifting. That didn’t happen this year. Blowing and drifting snow blocked major highways for weeks. People had to tunnel out of their own homes. Propane trucks couldn’t get to houses and woodpiles were buried under feet of drifting snow. And for the elderly and remote, it was truly difficult. Snowmachine was the only way to reach some houses.

Since I’m the Montana State Administrator for Team Rubicon (teamrubiconusa.org – Disaster is our Business, Veterans are our Passion), I attend meetings of the Montana Voluntary Organizations Active in Disaster. Montana is a big state, so we ‘meet’ on the phone, especially during emergencies. During January, February and March, I spent many hours on the phone, listening to the needs of communities and figuring out what, if anything, we could do to help. Finally, a project came up where Team Rubicon could be effective.

The United Methodist Church in Columbia Falls (west of Glacier National Park) got several truckloads of logs delivered to support the Blackfeet Tribe in Browning, Montana (just to the east of Glacier National Park) but they had no chainsaws. A few hardy souls came over from western Montana and cut firewood, but not enough. They needed more help. A perfect mission for Team Rubicon—we excel at hard, physical labor activities.

However, we don’t have large numbers of Team Rubicon members in Montana—there just aren’t a lot of people here, one of the many reasons to live in Montana. So, to make this work, we needed help. We also didn’t have much time, certainly not enough time for me to travel from the southwest part of Montana to the north-central and figure out exactly what we were walking into. It took me many hours of emails and phone calls, but I eventually got enough information to write the required documents and get Operation Slow Snow approved in a just couple of days.

A small, but hearty team traveled to the frozen north. TRibe came from Missoula, Kalispell, Helena and Seattle, Washington. On our way, Starbucks in Missoula donated coffee and Evans Ace Hardware in Hamilton donated badly needed chainsaw chains. Once we arrived, the Browning United Methodist Ministries welcomed us with hot cooked meals and a comfortable place to sleep. After a hearty hot-cooked breakfast, we fielded four saw teams to start cutting firewood.

Why teams? Because running chainsaws is inherently dangerous. We make it as safe as possible by always wearing full personal protective equipment and employing spotters. You would be amazed at how many people will walk up to someone running a chainsaw without considering the danger involved. Also, logs roll, snap, twist and bounce sometimes—even dry logs do. In addition, most of us are not professional sawyers—we’re lawyers, mechanics, engineers, and retirees. An extra set of eyes and hands are critical for safety. It was particularly important once additional volunteers showed up on site to split and load the firewood for delivery—there were a lot of people in a relatively small area, with lots of vehicles moving around.

We cut all day, breaking for a hot lunch again supplied by the BUMP team. It’s a luxury we don’t often get, so we really appreciated it. After lunch, another saw team showed up—this time, our neighbors from the North—Alberta, Canada rode to the rescue. And ‘rode’ is the right term—the team in question are both retired Royal Canadian Mounted Police!

The next day was quieter. The local community, after battling the snow and cold for weeks on end with no rest, took a well-deserved day off. A couple of our members had to return to their homes, but we still ran four saws most of the day. Joe, the local heavy equipment operator, stuck around to help us with his skid steer, which we appreciated—single logs are much easier to cut than a big pile.

We all left for home late that afternoon, tired and sore, but happy. Nothing feels as good as helping people who desperately need it. Did we cut all the logs they had or all the firewood they needed? Unfortunately, no. But, we did give them a good head start, and the opportunity to take a day off without feeling guilty. And even better, we now know each other, so when disaster strikes, we’ll get called. Unfortunately, with all that snow, the call may come sooner rather than later—sandbagging, anyone?

Something we say in the disaster response community is “All disasters are local.” What does that mean? It means you have to rely on yourselves first. Help may come, but it takes time. Every organization has processes meant to keep their people safe—there’s no sense in creating a disaster on your way to help someone else. The more people involved in your local community, the better off you will be in a disaster. Does your city, county, province or state have a Community Organizations Active in Disaster (COAD) organized? Are you a member of a voluntary disaster response organization? If not, please consider joining. And join now, before disaster strikes, so you’re trained and ready.

There are many organizations out there—Team Rubicon is just one, although I think we’re the coolest—everyone can help in some way. Even homebound individuals can help—Team Rubicon and many other organizations used people across the country to take calls from flooded out homeowners in Texas last fall. All they needed was a phone and an internet connection. The right organization for you is out there! Religious, non-religious, people-centered, animal-centered, building-centered, hard labor, desk work; every variation exists.

Here’s a list of national organizations: https://www.nvoad.org/voad-members/national-members/

If none of these organizations appeal to you, there are probably many smaller organizations in your area. Look them up and get involved now, before disaster strikes.

 

Too long

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Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve updated my progress – it’s been a busy month in the Scott household.

Lightwave Publishing LLC is a reality and I have a bank account and PayPal set up. I’ve also sent my book brief off to Deranged Doctor Design – my chosen cover designer. They do my favorite covers in the space opera genre, they’re reasonably priced and they know what sells.

I also typed “the end” on book three of my space opera series! It currently sits at 93k words with a cliffhanger ending. I didn’t want to do a cliffhanger, I like to have each book wrap up to some extent, but this one insisted. What can I do? The book is in charge, I’m just the writer.

I want to thank fellow authors Lou Cadle (cli-fi) and Eric T. Knight (fantasy and adventure westerns) for their help and encouragement. We’ve been writing “together” in a chat room – the encouragement with a little competitiveness helps a lot. They’re the reason I’ve finished weeks sooner than I planned.

So, now that I’ve got three Lightwave novels finished, I’m revising the first one. There’s some inconsistencies I’ve got to fix and far too many adverbs to kill off. I still plan to publish early this summer.

One of the reasons I haven’t updated you for a while is my work with Team Rubicon. We had a Regional Conference – I brought home a nasty cold along with a very nice jacket and Hydroflask (thanks, Jonas!) – then a training session in Bozeman and a wildland firefighter tour through southern Montana. The TRibe is increasing in Montana!

Finally, I hope everyone is having as good a day as I am. Today is our 25th wedding anniversary. Yes, the Amazing Sleeping Man and I have been together through conflicting careers, military madness, crazy moves, and semi-retirement. In a very surprising move, the ASM presented me with the beautiful ring pictured here – down on one knee and everything!

Love you forever, ASM!

Gonna make a resolution, that I’ll never make another one…

I don’t make resolutions, but I do make plans. Since I was a strategic planner and project manager the last half of my military career, it comes naturally. So, here’s my big goal: 2018 is the year I independently publish. I’m going to let you know how it’s going along the way.

I made the decision to independently publish—aka ‘go indie’—for several reasons. The first is monetary. While having the power of a major publisher behind you can mean more sales, the publisher takes the majority of the revenue. As an indie, I control what I spend and keep everything I bring in.

Second, I’d no longer fully control my book. Somebody else controls my intellectual property. While changes aren’t usually made without the author’s approval, it can (and has) happened. And there’s still pressure to change to an editor’s desires to increase sales. Sales are important, but they’re not the only thing that’s important to me. I also want a say in my book covers and blurbs, even though that could hurt me too—picking the wrong title or cover can be a sales killer. I also have to find my own editor and other staff, although much of that I can do on my own.

Third, even traditionally published authors end up doing much of their own marketing and publicity these days. Why make the effort and not get the rewards?

Will it be easy? No. But I’m pressing ahead.

Since this is a second career for me, and I work occasionally for a lawyer friend, the first business decision I made was to consult with that same lawyer. He suggested I start a limited liability company. While being sued as an author probably isn’t common, anyone can be sued for anything these days, and we have assets to protect. I’m also older than your average starting writer, so thinking about what happens to my intellectual property when I’m gone is important. By forming an LLC, these issues are easier to deal with. And, I can rope my husband, the Amazing Sleeping Man, into the whole scheme by making him a member. It’s my evil plan to make him do all the financial work associated with the business when I’m wildly successful. With the new tax laws, there may be some tax advantages too.

I’ve officially started Lightwave Publishing LLC this week. Next, I’ll open bank and other financial accounts, and contact my chosen cover artist. I’ll write about that one separately.

Oh, and that resolution stuff? Well, I did make one. I–along with a billion others–will lose weight this spring. Do you want to know how that goes too? Two and a half pounds so far! Not bad since I attended a Team Rubicon Region VIII conference last weekend, with lots of food and drink. And fun, too.

What’s your resolution this year? Or will you never make another one?

The blog title is from “Trip Around the Sun” sung by Jimmy Buffett and Martina McBride, a favorite of mine. Enjoy!

 

Copyright © AM Scott, 2018

Night Shift Christmas — A short, sweet romance — Free!

Calendia Martin is happy to work Christmas. With no family near and few friends, she’ll take the extra-long shift and avoid the whole Christmas glad-tidings-and-good-cheer-thing. But Christmas has other plans for Callie…

Night Shift Christmas will be on this website through 2017 as my gift to you. If you’d like to give a gift in return, share this link. Or donate to Team Rubicon. Thanks!

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Technical Sergeant Calendia Martin walked down the dim, dripping, drafty tunnel of Cheyenne Mountain Air Station, avoiding the puddles of ice, her footsteps echoing in the o’dark-thirty silence. She didn’t mind working on Christmas—Bryant could watch his kids, two and four respectively, madly ripping open presents. And Winters would have Christmas with his family. She glanced at her watch. Bryant would probably be blessing and cursing her in just a couple of hours. She laughed, the sound bouncing around the tunnel, mixing with the snowmelt running and dripping from the rock overhead in an oddly cheerful mix.

She walked around the final bend, showing the badge pinned to her collar to the lone guard stationed at the massive blast door. The poor guy was wrapped in so much cold weather gear she could hardly see him. The guard said, “Merry Christmas,” white teeth flashed in a smile, and his arm waved her through.

She smiled back. “Merry Christmas to you too. Stay warm.”

He snorted a laugh. “I’ll try. Just a couple more hours.”

Continuing through the semi-truck-size double-airlock doors, she crossed the cavernous space. The high rock walls, covered in white plastic—in a mostly futile attempt to keep the snowmelt from dripping on everyone and everything—amplified the sound of running, dripping, and splashing water. The damp cold quickly penetrated her coat. Callie passed plastic-wrapped pallets of emergency supplies, one adorned with a big red bow in an odd attempt at holiday spirit. She shook her head. MREs were nobody’s idea of a good present.

She mounted the steps, boots ringing on the corrugated metal, and stepped into the first of the bland, beige, slightly musty three-story buildings housing the various military operations centers. Even on Christmas, crews staffed each center, continuing their mission, keeping the country safe, night and day, every single day. Holidays meant little to the enemy.

The corridors themselves were unusually empty, so for once, Callie could see everything. The beige metal walls looked more like a Navy ship than a building; it was easy to forget you were thousands of feet under a mountain. Callie smiled. It looked like a Navy ship because Naval shipbuilders did the design and construction; they thought all the metal would help in a nuclear attack. By the time they finished building, the nukes were so big there’d only be a glowing hole left. She plodded along, footsteps echoing from the raised flooring despite the worn industrial carpet squares.

No, she didn’t mind working Christmas, she didn’t even mind working a sixteen-hour shift on Christmas. She’d only been stationed here three months. Too new to get Christmas leave, her options were limited. One, she could sit in her apartment and sulk. Two, accept one of the many thoughtful Christmas invitations and make awkward conversation with people she hardly knew. Three, hang out at the base chow hall with all the other newbies. None of those options held any appeal. She’d far rather work, letting someone else enjoy the Christmas cheer.

Trudging along, the hollow thuds of her feet varied in tone and volume; probably because the number of cables, conduits, fiber, and equipment hidden under the flooring varied too. Decades of military operations with hundreds of different computer systems left miles and miles of ghost cable—maintenance techs constantly had floor tiles ripped up, trying to figure out which cables and pieces they could safely remove. You had to step carefully in Cheyenne Mountain.

She kept walking down the hall, turning into a much narrower passage, meant for crew only. No, the only thing she didn’t like was the way her fellow crew members wanted to split this shift; coming in at zero-two-hundred was not her idea of fun. Why couldn’t Winters just leave at zero-six? Callie grimaced. Some Christmas.

She made the turn into the even narrower stairway, barely wide enough for two people to pass by, and up three flights of steep stairs—whoops, no, they were ladders. Callie grinned; if she didn’t use the correct naval terminology, someone would surely point it out. Loudly.

Finally, she reached the Space Surveillance Operations Center door. Another massive, metal door, decorated with security warnings and measures, an obvious camera staring at her face. Callie worked through the security protocols and opened the door. Inside the big, dimly lit room, many of the crew members were staring at the front of the room, oddly colored lights washing across their faces. In this light, the four different service camouflage patterns looked even less ‘uniform.’ From the sarcastic male voice booming out, they were watching The Santa Clause. Occasionally, one looked down at a computer and typed, then returned to the movie. She walked to the back of the big room, passing the three rows of half-empty computer stations, and into the tiny break room. Putting her coat on a hook and her purse in her locker, she remembered to transfer her badge to her uniform collar then went back out to the ops floor.

“Hey Callie, thanks again for coming in at this ungodly hour. I know it’s a big ask, but it lets me get home in time for Christmas service with the family. I gotta drive all the way to Durango, and it’s snowing. I owe you,” Staff Sergeant Winters said, his coat and hat clenched in his hands. A big grin sat on his pale, round face, his brown eyes twinkling with happiness.

“No worries, I don’t mind.” Much, she thought.

“Well, the sum total of nothing happened last night. Normal, normal, normal. Just lots of work for us, nothing for the rest of these guys, waiting for war to break out. Any. Second. Now.” He shrugged and grinned again. “So, are you good?”

“Yeah, go.” She tossed her head towards the door. “Be careful on the drive!”

“Oh, I will be.” He was already heading for the door, putting his coat on as he wove his way around the desks.

“Sergeant Winters, I’m not too worried about your drive there since you’ve been on nights, but when are you coming back?” Lieutenant Colonel Carns called out from his seat towards the front of the room.

“Oh, don’t worry, Sir. I’m off for the next three days, so I’ll be staying home, and shifting back to day cycle while I’m there.”

He nodded. “All right. Be careful. Drive smart. And Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks, Sir, you too.” SSgt Winters walked out the door, whistling a Christmas carol that clashed dissonantly with the movie soundtrack.

“Well, it may be normal, normal, normal, but since we’re short a crew member, we’ve got a lot of work to get done, and Sergeant Winters was too distracted to be efficient.” Lieutenant Colonel Carns gave her an inquiring look. “I hope you’re ready to work and work hard, Sergeant Martin.”

“Yes, Sir. I’d rather be busy.”

“Got that in one.” He spun back to his terminal.

She logged on to the computer and got to work. Her piece of the mission might not be exciting, but updating the orbits on the eight-thousand-plus objects circling the globe at 17,000 miles an hour was important. Sure, they were mostly pieces of junk, like old rocket bodies and dead satellites, but that junk could be deadly for the folks on the International Space Station and cause catastrophic damage to working satellites. Knowing the precise orbit of each piece was critical; the ISS and the working satellites could maneuver and miss the junk.

She clicked object 25544 and discarded the bad sensor readings. You’d think the computer could do a better job, but the radars and optical sensors tracking all this junk weren’t much newer than Cheyenne Mountain, and the computer systems were almost as old. Fortunately, space is big, so it was rarely necessary.

Before she knew it, the zero-six shift change arrived. Lieutenant Colonel Carns went home, and Lieutenant Colonel Lewis sent her off to get some breakfast. One of the on-coming crew grumbled, but he shut up when Lewis barked out she’d come in at zero-two for a sixteen.

Stomach rumbling, Callie headed back out to the narrow corridors, taking each corner slowly. Between the solid steel construction, the narrow spaces, the airlock doors, and the stairway—no, ladder—entrances that required two one-eighty turns in quick succession, it was all too easy to run into someone. And since a large number of those people outranked her, she had to be careful. It was also easy to get lost since all the corridors looked the same: bland, beige metal, grey carpet over the hollow flooring.

Blast it. Callie thought she knew the way to the chow hall, oops sorry, dining facility, by now. But no, she faced an unfamiliar door. She spun around and ran smack into a solid wall of Air Force camouflage.

“Whoa there. Are you okay?” A deep male voice asked from above her head.

She looked up and took a quick step back. Dang, this guy was tall. And broad. And solid muscle. Callie rubbed her nose. Oh, thank heaven, he wasn’t an officer. “Sure Sergeant…” she looked at his name tag quickly, “…King. I’m sorry, I thought I knew where I was going, but I’m lost. Again.”

The wall of camo shifted with his shrug. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to everybody.” He smiled, white teeth in a tan oval face with dark brown hair and eyes. A friendly face, one that looked like he smiled and laughed a lot. “Where are you headed?”

“The chow hall.”

He chuckled, the low sound coming out more like a rumble. “Come on. I’ll show you back to the dining facility.” He winked as he emphasized the name.

Callie stepped up next to the man-mountain. “Thanks. I thought I knew my way around now, but I guess not.” She sighed.

King waved a hand. “It’s all too easy to get turned around in these corridors. They’re all the same boring beige. I still get lost now and then, and I’ve been here two years.” He grinned down at her. “The only difference is that I can figure out where I am once I start paying attention, but you probably have to go back to the main entrance and start over, right?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Three months.”

He threw out a hand in a half wave. “Well, then, you’re not doing too badly. I won’t let some of my folks wander the halls by themselves for a good six months or more.” He laughed.

King had an infectious laugh, low and booming. She couldn’t help but chuckle and check out his twinkling eyes. As they neared the dining facility, more people entered the corridor, all of them looking tired and down. The jumble of different uniforms didn’t help; all varying shades of dirt, they just added to the dreary atmosphere.

She tried to move over to the side to thank Master Sergeant King and let him get back to what he was doing, but the press of people behind her made that impossible. They shuffled up to the entrance, hemmed in by the crowd. The scent of warm butter, cinnamon, and slightly burned toast made her stomach rumble.

“Thanks for your help, Master Sergeant King. I appreciate it.”

He smiled a big, friendly smile. “No problem. Actually, getting something to eat isn’t a bad idea. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. Much better than eating alone.” She smiled back, then turned to give her order to the cook. They moved down the food line, trays in hand and found a table towards the back of the rapidly filling room.

“So, I’m Josh King, and I work in network ops,” he said, holding out a huge hand across the table.

“Callie Martin, I’m in space surveillance.” She shook his hand, her not-so-tiny one engulfed in his. His was warm and strong, the fingertips callused.

“Ah, a space geek.” He grinned, laugh lines showing. “No wonder you can’t find your way around, there’s no stars to navigate by and no GPS.”

“Funny guy. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the stars or navigation, GPS or otherwise.”

He shrugged, the miles of camo covering his huge, muscular shoulders shifting strangely in her tired gaze. “Well, stay in long enough, and you probably will. It seems like all the space folks end up in GPS eventually.”

She smiled back at him. “I hope so. I’d rather make the short drive east to Schriever Air Force Base every day than the flight to Thule, Greenland once.”

He laughed again, the sound booming across the room. She smiled when everyone in the room turned towards him. Not a guy who worried about people looking at him, she thought. He was so big; he was probably used to the attention.

“I guess a year-long remote tour is always a possibility.” He winked. “I could end up there too. Anyway, this certainly isn’t your first assignment. Where are you from originally?”

“Nope, you’d be right there. Portland, Oregon.”

He tilted his head. “Hmm. How does someone from the liberal bastion of Portland, Oregon, end up in the Air Force?”

Callie shrugged. “She wants a college education, and can’t afford one, just like a lot of other folks.”

He nodded. “Good reason. Well, I’m an Air Force brat, from everywhere, mostly the South, and I joined for the same reason.” He chuckled. “Well, that and I had no idea what I wanted to do, and I really wanted to get out of the house.”

“Also a good reason. So, how long have you been in?”

“Ten years now. This is my fourth assignment. My first was at Vandenburg Air Force Base in California.”

“Ooh, California. Warm, sunny beaches. At least in the summer. I was there for training, but it was winter.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You didn’t miss anything. It’s the same in the summer. It’s foggy, and sixty-five degrees or the wind is howling, and it’s sixty-five degrees, and you can’t go to the beaches because the snowy plover is nesting.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, really.” Josh nodded ruefully. “The beaches are beautiful, but if you want sun and surf, you have to go an hour south to Santa Barbara or an hour north to Pismo Beach.”

“I knew I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque!”

He laughed again. “A Bugs Bunny fan! Excellent. I love those old cartoons.” He raised his brows in an inquiring look. “And why are you working on Christmas?”

“Single, no kids, newbie. You?”

“Single, no kids, supervisor.” They shared rueful smiles. Then he glanced up at the big digital time display on the wall, set to Zulu time, local, and half-a-dozen other locations. “Hey, I gotta get back.” He grimaced. “I need to get my guys to chow. It was nice meeting you, Callie Martin.”

“Nice meeting you too, Josh King.” They put up their dishes and walked out together.

He smiled down at her, heat radiating off his big frame. “Can you get back from here on your own? Or shall I walk you up?”

She smiled. She was reluctant to finish the first non-work-related conversation she’d had in a while, but she had to get back. Everyone else had to eat before breakfast closed. “Oh, I can get back, I just wasn’t paying attention. I came in at zero-two, and I’m a little tired.”

Josh nodded. “Ah, well then, I’ll see you around.” He turned at the next intersection, then spun, walking backward for a second to wave at her.

She smiled and waved back. “Thanks again!” Callie headed back upstairs, carefully paying attention to her route. She made it back and immersed herself in the never-ending work, making sure each orbit was as accurate as possible. A hand closed on her shoulder and shook it a bit. She jumped and looked up.

Lt Col Lewis looked down at her; head tilted slightly, eyebrows raised. “Sergeant Martin, are you okay? I’ve been calling your name.”

“Oh, sorry, Sir. I guess I got a little too focused.” She stood quickly; the room spun, and blood rushed. “Whoa, must have been sitting too long.” She put a hand on the back of her chair and blinked. The room stabilized.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Sir. Just been sitting longer than I thought.” She glanced up at the world time display. “Is it really eleven-hundred already?”

“Yes, it is. If you’re okay to walk, why don’t you get some food? And some water.” He still looked concerned. “You can do without sleep, or without food, but not without both. And you always need water.” He picked up her water bottle and handed it to her.

She nodded and drank. “Thanks, Sir. I’m fine. I’ll be back shortly.”

He nodded slowly. “Take at least thirty minutes and make sure you walk around a little. You need it!”

“Yes, Sir.” Suddenly, Callie’s stomach was chewing on her backbone and rumbling unhappily about it. She checked her badge and wallet and headed back to the chow—dining facility. This time, she made it. She got her food from the bored cooks and ate quickly—there was no reason to linger in the almost empty room. Christmas.

The Colonel was right; she should stretch her legs a little. She could walk around the outside of the buildings and up the tunnel a little before she was due back. Callie smiled. Entering the maze of beige hallways, she bounced down the stairs towards the entrance. Swinging around the final stairway one-eighty, she tripped on something and fell forwards. Reaching out, she saw only black—the floor was gone! Clawing at the air, she stopped with a sharp jerk, her face a foot from the floor, her uniform stretched painfully tight around the front of her body. A band of steel circled her waist, hauled her upright, and pulled her into a solid, warm body.

“Whoa!” said a familiar deep voice. The arm tightened around her waist for a second, then released, letting her slide down to the floor.

Callie swallowed hard, stepped forward tentatively and turned, leaning against the solid, cold metal wall on the far side. “Whew. Well, Sergeant King, this seems to be your day to save me. Thanks.” She blinked and tried to recover.

Josh smiled at her and nodded. “My pleasure. Excuse me just a second.” He turned towards two wide-eyed Airmen kneeling on the other side of the hole. “And that, gentlemen, would be why we’re careful about where we place the carpet tiles after we peel them up. And why we use warning signs and safety cones.” Menace deepening his voice impossibly lower, he said, “Which I want to see up, yesterday!” He glowered down at the one-stripers, a massive fist clenched on each hip. “I believe you have something to say to Technical Sergeant Martin?” he bit out.

“Sorry, Tech Sergeant! Didn’t mean for you to get hurt!”

“I’m very sorry! It won’t happen again!”

The two boys spoke over each other, frantic in their apologies, scrambling to their feet. She looked down at them and snorted out a bit of a laugh. “I’m sure it won’t.” Callie turned back to Josh. “Thanks again, Sergeant King, hopefully, this won’t be necessary a third time.”

He grinned at her, laugh lines standing out around his mouth and eyes. “My pleasure. I love rescuing damsels in distress.”

Callie laughed. “Damsels in distress? Okay, that’s overselling the case just a tiny bit.”

“Well, sure, but it got you to laugh, didn’t it? Hey, come here a minute, will ya?” Beckoning with one hand, he led her halfway down the hall. Quietly, he asked, “Do you get off at eighteen-hundred?”

“Yes. Why?”

He smiled, a small, somehow sexy smile. “Well, I keep running into you today, but I haven’t in the past three months you’ve been here, so I figure if I’m going to see you again, I’d better get your number.” He tilted his head a little and turned up the wattage on the sexy smolder. “That is if you’re currently unattached and interested?”

She chuckled. “No grass growing under your feet, is there?”

He snorted. “There’s no grass around here, period.”

She laughed. “It’s a figure of speech.”

The huge shoulders shrugged, and he beamed down at her. “Yes, I know, I just like hearing you laugh.”

What else was she going to do? Sit home and mope? Or take a chance on the hot mountain of man in front of her? “Okay, sure. So, since we’re moving high and fast, do you want to share Christmas dinner together this evening?” She stared at him, challenge in her gaze. “Unless you had other plans?”

The sexy smolder was back at full throttle. “If I did, I’d break ’em. Meet you outside the guard shack after your shift change.”

“Sure.” She grinned. “Maybe you can catch me before I fall down the mountainside.”

He grinned and scanned her body. “The pleasure would be all mine,” he rumbled out.

Heat flushed in her cheeks, into her chest and pooled in her belly, but she laughed over her shoulder at him as she headed back.  Callie stepped carefully over the big hole and around the Airmen, scrambling to set up their worksite safety gear.

Unable to stop grinning, she considered working Christmas. Working Christmas wasn’t bad at all. She laughed, the sound echoing in the narrow, metal enclosure. Nope, somehow, she’d managed to get a pretty good present out of a raw deal. She smiled the rest of her shift.

***

A huge “Thank You and Happy Holidays!” to the men and women serving in our Armed Forces during this holiday season, especially those far away from their families. I appreciate everything you do and the sacrifices you make to keep our country safe and secure. I will pray for your safety and that you find some joy, no matter where you are. You can find joy in surprising places—just keep looking!

Another big thank you is due to my first reader/developmental editor/fellow author, Julia Davinsky. Thanks, sis!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Cheyenne Mountain Air Station is a real place; however, it no longer houses the Space Surveillance Center and security is far tighter than depicted. USAF Photo, http://www.af.mil.

Copyright © 2016 by AM Scott. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.