Hearts in Flight

by Patty Smith Hall

  The tree line thinned, giving way to a field. The velvety stems of dandelions stung her shins like nests of angry yellow jackets. Off in the distance, over the next grove of towering treetops, sat Kennesaw Mountain. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the gun power from eighty years before; hear the sickening thud as the mini ball hit their blue or gray target.

  “Look, Mama! Soldiers!”

  Maggie searched amongst the foliage for the source of the childish voice. There, beside a pink dogwood, stood a young boy, no more than nine or ten. Tow-headed and skinny, his mud-caked knees peeked out from holes in his thread bare denims. Merrilee had written to her about the housing storage and how tent cities had sprung up in the outlying areas where the Civilian Conservation Corps had set up camps five years ago. Folks must still be desperate for work if this patchwork of tents with strings of wet clothes connecting each canvas like a telephone wires was anything to go by.

  “Tent trash,” a man behind her whispered.

  Maggie glanced around. Who had said such a hateful thing? The boy flinched as if he’d been slapped then run back into the woods. She longed to go and find him, search for his mother and figure out if there was any way she could help. Later, she’d talk to her aunt and see if they could make a visit to these people, maybe share some things from Merrilee’s victory garden.

  Cresting the mud-walled trench near the base of the mountain, Maggie picked up the pace, sprinting for the open field like a runner pushing toward the finish line. The tall grass swished softly against her, the muscles in her calves and thighs screaming in protest.

  “Company, halt!”

  Dropping her hands on her knees, Maggie closed her eyes, blowing puffs of air through puckered lips. She pressed her chin to her chest, stretching out the tight muscles in her neck.

  “Keep moving, Maggie,” Wesley gently ordered. “You’ll be glad you did this evening.”

  Maggie glanced up, a shower of droplets blurring Wesley’s image. Rain-soaked strands of hair curled in waves against his forehead, giving him a rakish look like Clark Gable or Errol Flynn. His white cotton t-shirt clung to the chiseled muscles of his chest and stomach, narrowing into the waist of Army issue shorts.

  Maggie gulped in a lungful of air. Okay, there was an attraction, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed from her objectives. Not by some good-looking flyboy who had no intentions of letting her live her dreams.

  She lowered her head. “I don’t think anything is going to help my poor old muscles later, sir.”

  “Just keep moving.” She heard a smile in his voice.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Straightening, Maggie broke into a walk, the scent of fresh earth slowly replacing the fierce burning in her lungs. She stopped and flexed, first to one side then the other. Even through the stringy mess of her hair, she could see a colorful burst of dogwoods, azaleas and bluebells blooming on the mountain. Jackson always loved the spring. Every year, he’d goat her into a springtime run up the mountain. And every year, she’d followed him.

  But not this year. Not ever again.

  “Attention!”

  Maggie snapped into a rigid stance, her eyes straight, her shoulders back.

  “I would have thought that a five-mile run through the backwoods would silence any further comments from the peanut gallery.” Wesley weaved in and out of the squadron’s crooked lines. “But some of you think you can still flap your gums.”

  She tensed. He had heard the comment about the tent camp. Good. Always better to correct misbehavior right away.

  Wesley marched over to a man so thin, a gust of wind might blow him away. “So, who was it, Meldrum? Who made that crack back there about the tent camp?”

  The man’s silence sent a chill down her spine. Wesley couldn’t expect the guy to rat out his buddy, not if he wanted to keep the trust of every other member of the squad. Time seemed to slow down as she waited for an answer.

  But there wasn’t one.

  “See you at the top, Lieutenant.”

  Lt. Meldrum’s face blanched and for a minute, Maggie thought he might break. Instead, he jogged to the tree line along the mountain’s rim then faded into the landscape.

  Over the next few minutes, Wesley called out another name, and then another, giving them the same opportunity to rat out their fellow pilot to no avail.

  Finally, it was down to herself and Jimbo. Wesley paced back and forth in front of them. From the slight slump in his shoulders, she thought he might have given up. Then he stopped directly in front of her. “Maybe the little princess will be more accommodating.”

  Every nerve in Maggie’s body jerked alert. How dare he take Merrilee’s story about her name and use it against her. She’d thought Wesley was better than that.

  “Well, Maggie?”

  “Well what, sir?”

  The shape of his mouth changed, pressing into a taunt line. She glanced up and read the truth in his eyes. He didn’t want to order her up that mountain any more than she wanted to go.

  Wesley leaned in close. “You and I both know Jimbo made that comment.”

  The words were gently spoken as if he were whispering words of love rather than an accusation. Maggie stared straight ahead. If Jimbo had made that comment, then he deserved whatever Wesley threw at him, but Maggie wasn’t so sure of his guilt. Until she was, the man’s censure wouldn’t be on her hands.

  “Miss Daniels?”

  Whether she liked it or not, these men were her brothers in arms. They may never respect her but she needed their trust if she ever expected to get off the ground. She lifted her chin and for once, held her tongue.

  Wesley edged closer. Frustration rolled off him in waves. “Then I’ll see you at the top, Ace.”

  6

  “When are you going to put me on the flight schedule, Captain?” Maggie asked as she walked beside Wesley down the corridor.

  He glanced down at his clipboard. Her question was getting harder to avoid, especially when a flight assignment appeared to be the only thing on her mind. What would she say if he told her the truth, that he had no intentions of putting her in the cockpit until he was given a direct order? He decided against it. Better to leave her in the dark.

  “I believe this is our stop, Miss Daniels,” he replied, opening the door, then stood aside to let her pass.

  He almost ran into her when she ground to a halt just inside the door. “What are we doing here?”

  He smiled to himself. Moving up her testing in the Bell’s pressure laboratory had been a brilliant idea. A steel box the size of a crypt stood in the corner, an occasional hiss disturbed the silence of the room. Oxygen cylinders lined the wall behind the man he recognized as Wib Hubbard sitting at the controls. Wib had been a sophomore the year he had arrived at Georgia Tech, an aeronautical engineering major just like himself, and a good one.

  “Wib.”

  The man glanced up from the instrument panel and gave him a brief nod. “Wesley. How are you doing?”

  But when his gaze shifted to Maggie, he blinked as if witnessing a mirage. The stool he was sitting on fell as he stood and hurried to a desk in the opposite corner.

  “You haven’t answer my question, Captain Hicks,” Maggie said, a hint of aggravation lacing her voice. Her pale green eyes bore straight through him like a drill bit through cadmium-plated steel. “What are we doing in the pressure lab?”

  At least, he’d gotten her off the subject of flight schedules for the moment. “I can’t assign you to the schedule until I’m convinced you’re capable of handling the stratospheric temperature changes and pressure conditions at the attitudes the B-29 flies.”

  “Don’t you think the boys in Washington thought of that before even considering me for this mission, Captain?” Maggie crossed her arms and stared at him as if he didn’t have a lick of sense. “I’ve done this before and passed.”

  “I haven’t seen those results yet.” Wesley glanced back down at his clipboard. No, he hadn’t read those re
sults. Hadn’t even examined her file like he should have, but he had heard plenty. If only half the stories were true, it’s no wonder why the brass had picked Maggie for this mission. She was most likely the best pilot in his squadron.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t understand,” she stammered, her hands balled into tight knots beside her. He really shouldn’t get this much enjoyment of keeping Maggie off balance but he did. “I’ve trained the exact same way that all your men have and I’ve passed all the tests.” She paused for a moment. “Why am I the only one in the squadron being retested?”

  Because I made a promise to keep you safe. A twinge of guilt raced through him. Why should he feel dishonest about keeping his word? He glared at her. “Are you questioning my orders?”

  “No sir. Simply inquiring.” Her gaze met his, never wavering, never retreating. She must have realized there would be no more discussion because she snapped out a quick salute then headed for a row of flight suits hanging along the wall.

  Wesley stared at her. If only the rest of his squad had an ounce of the spunk and loyalty she’d demonstrated in the last few days. He’d seen it when she’d chose Kennesaw Mountain over ratting out a fellow pilot. While he didn’t agree with her decision, he respected her sense of duty.

  She rejoined him, a leather and fleece jumpsuit slung over her arm, a pair of boots dangling from her hand. “I hope this one fits better than the last monkey suit I had wear. It was so large I had to fold up the sleeves and pants legs to reach the controls.”

  Wesley hadn’t thought about that. Standard Army issue wasn’t made to fit the delicate curves of the female form. Looked like the Army was no more prepared for women flyers than he was.

  “Where’s the restroom?”

  Wib joined them. “Down the hall to the left, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” Maggie gave the man a grateful smile then turned to Wesley. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  After the door clicked shut behind her, Wib turned to Wesley. “You’re not seriously thinking about putting that girl through the pressure chamber, are you?”

  Wesley didn’t have to ask the engineer’s opinion of a female in his laboratory. His wide eyes and slack jaw was proof enough. He clapped a hand on Wib’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. She’s done this before.”

  “But I haven’t,” the man answered. “And there’s nothing in the manual about testing a woman. What if she gets sick or passes out in the middle of the test? What am I supposed to do then?”

  The image of Maggie prostate on the floor of the pressure chamber bothered him. But he had a job to do. “Look, she’s got to be tested. Major Evans is considering her for a co-pilot position on the B-29.”

  “The War Department’s going to put a woman at the helm of the flying coffin?” Wib shook his head. “They’re having enough trouble getting the boys into the cockpit as it is.”

  “Yeah, I know, which is why General Arnold decided to let the WASP give it a try,” Wesley replied with a sigh. “He figures that if girl can fly the fort, then the guys will see that it’s not that dangerous.”

  Wib didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, Wesley. It’s one thing to ration food and gas and stuff, but putting our women in danger? I don‘t feel right about it.”

  Neither did he, but it didn’t matter what he thought. Maggie would eventually get her flight assignment and off she’d go, in harm’s way.

  Away from his protection.

  Uncomfortable with that thought, Wesley scratched the back of his head. “Look, just do the test. If anything happens to her, I’ll take full responsibility.”

  “Thank you, Wesley, but you don’t have to do that. We’ve all got a job to do.” Wib walked back toward the steel chamber. “Even when we don’t like it.”

  “I appreciate that, Wib.” Wesley jammed his pencil into his pocket. Lord, why am I fighting this battle for Maggie? I don’t even want her in one of my planes.

  “Are we ready to get started?” Maggie asked from the doorway.

  Wesley turned to look at her. The leather flight suit hung off her petite frame as if she were a little girl playing in her mother’s closet. Rolls of thick leather pooled over the sides of her loose boots. The hard soles clunked heavily against the tile floor when she started toward him.

  Wesley met her half way, working hard not to notice how dainty she appeared, even though the oversized jacket and pants erased all signs her feminine curves. White fleece from her flight cap rimmed her face, making her cheeks appear even rosier than usual.

  How could any woman so lovely climb behind the controls of the flying coffin?

  Wesley reached for her elbow. “Here, let me help you.”

  Through the soft leather, her arm stiffened beneath his touch. “Do you help the rest of your men like this?”

  “No,” he replied, holding on to her just a bit tighter as they took a couple of steps. “But they’re not about to slip out of their boots.”

  Maggie surprised him by laughing. “I guess you’ve got a point there.”

  It took several more seconds to finally reach the steel double doors of the chamber. She leaned against him as she slowly lifted first one foot, then the other over the metal railing.

  Wib joined them at the door. “Good afternoon, Miss Daniels. I’m Wib Anderson, lead engineer in the pressure lab. I’ll be conducting your test today.”

  Maggie pushed up her sleeves to free her hand then extended it to the man. “Nice to meet you, Wib.”

  “Nice to meet you too.” Wib held her hand just a second longer than Wesley thought necessary before letting go. “I have to be honest with you, ma’am. I’ve never tested a woman in the chamber before.”

  “I understand. Just remember that I’m going to be flying at the same attitudes as the guys are so I need to be tested exactly like them.” Maggie tugged on the straps of her flight cap, using her hand to push clouds of fiery curls beneath the leathery binding.

  “But what if you pass out?” He looked back at Wesley as if for assurance. “It has happened with the men a couple of times, you know.”

  Her lips curved into a playful smile that sent warmth racing down his spine. “Better here than at thirty thousand feet.”

  A chuckle rose from deep down, but he caught it before it had the chance to escape. That was another thing he realized he liked about Maggie. Her cheeky sense of humor.

  Wib must have liked her joke too because he laughed. “Okay then. But please tell me if you feel sick or get too cold, won’t you?”

  “I will.”

  “Then let’s get started.” Wib walked back to the instrument panel and sat down.

  Wesley had never noticed how thick the hatch was until he closed one panel of doors. He leaned inside. Maggie had already slipped the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, then pulled the straps tight.

  “You remember how this works?”

  One perfectly arched eyebrow lifted. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it, Captain.”

  “I’m ready.” Wib called out from behind him.

  Wesley stepped back. With a quick salute, Maggie grabbed the door handle. The clang of the solid steel, the click of the lock had never bothered him, but today, the sounds echoed in his ears.

  He walked around to where Wib sat, holding a microphone. “Okay, Miss Daniels. I’m going to take it through the standard procedures and see how you do.”

  “Roger.” Maggie’s voice cracked over the speakers.

  For the next few minutes, Wib put Maggie through the paces, first at lower altitudes where the p-47 and P-51 were flown, then at the B-29’s levels. “How are you doing in there?”

  “It’s a bit cold, probably because this monkey suit doesn’t fix right.” Her voice strong in a sea of cracks and pops. “Other than that, I’m great.”

  “She’s holding up a lot better than I would have thought” Wib adjusted a gauge. “She’s a natural at this.”

  It figures. Wesley nodded. “Great.”

&nbs
p; But it wasn’t great, wasn’t even close to being good, not if he wanted to keep to his word to Merrilee and keep Maggie safe, at least for a while. Maybe he should give her an assignment ferrying repaired planes back to their bases. Anything to keep her out of the Super Fortress.

  Grief crashed through his veins. No, he’d broken one promise and his sister had paid for it with her life. His landlady was counting on him and nothing on this earth was going to stop him from keeping his word.

  “Miss Daniels, we’ve completed our testing. I need to get you readjusted to room pressure. Then you’ll be good to go,” Wib said into the microphone.

  A few moments later, the double doors swung open and Maggie stepped out. If she wobbled a bit, it was more from the oversized boots than any ill effects of the test. The thick leather soles clunked against the floor as she walked over to him. She pulled off her cap, shaking out a stream of auburn curls that flowed over her shoulders and midway down her back.

  “Not bad for a girl, huh?” Her smile taunted him.

  Wesley glanced at her. None of his pilots had ever looking as rosy or as appealing as Maggie after being put through the drill. It felt as if he was being tested, not her.

  He cleared his throat. “You’d better get changed. We’ve got some preflight checks to do before the day is gone.”

  The spark went out of her expression. “Yes, sir.”

  She was barely halfway across the room when Major Evans entered. His hand raised in a salute, Wesley snapped to attention, Whatever salute Maggie had given the major had been covered by her sleeve.

  “At ease.” Evans walked over to Maggie. “I heard you were in the pressure chamber, Miss Daniels. How’d it go?”

  “It went very well, sir, but Captain Hicks can give you more information.” She gathered her pants’ legs into her fists. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get changed.”

  “Oh, yes.” The major stood to the side as Maggie headed out the door. He walked toward Wesley, a wide smile across his face. “How did our girl pilot do?”

  Our girl? What was he doing, sharing Maggie now? Wesley held out Maggie’s test results. “Very well, sir. She didn’t have any problems with the atmospheric temperatures and pressure conditions. Wib feels that she’s a natural.”