“You’re right about that. We’re it. No land vehicles can get anywhere near the epicenter of the quake, which is located in south L.A. Right now, we’re limited to helicopters ferrying food, water and medicine, or transporting those who need surgery to this hospital. We’ve got C-141 Starlifters bringing everything we need in to this airport, and taking some of the injured out to a hospital in Seattle.”
“Yes, I saw a couple of Starlifters being unloaded on the apron,” Rhona murmured. “This airport is overwhelmed with traffic, both rotocraft and fixed wing.”
“Yes, we are.”
“I figured the pilots stationed here are about worn-out and you could use some fresh replacements. I’m volunteering to do that.” Rhona leaned forward, her voice low with concern. “I’m qualified to fly the UH-1N Huey, and the CH-46E Sea Knight, Morgan. I see they have both models down at the airport. Are you in a position here at the base to get me slotted as a relief pilot in either of them? I’ll go wherever you need me. I’d use my own chopper but it has been retrofitted for crop dusting. I left it tethered at my airport.” She smiled a little. “A pilot is a pilot, right?”
Morgan felt a wave of warmth move through him. How like Rhona to volunteer. She was a good, strong woman who had an enduring work ethic and sense of community. “I think your Navajo blood is showing,” he stated in a husky tone. “This community is reeling from this earthquake and you’re pitching in. You could have stayed in Bonsall and fought for your own survival.”
Shrugging, Rhona grinned. “Not me. I like being where the action is, Morgan. You know that. I might be a civilian now, but you can’t take the military out of my blood.” She saw Morgan’s blue eyes gleam approvingly. He picked up his pen and studied her thoughtfully.
“Sure you wouldn’t like to close up your crop-dusting business and come work for me? I can use someone with your patriotism and moxie.”
Laughing, Rhona shook her head. “Nah. Thanks, though, Morgan. I love to fly. I love Mom Earth. Being a crop duster and helping out with the food we put in our mouths makes me feel good. I guess I’m more Indian than I ever thought.”
“Just because you don’t live on the res doesn’t lessen your ties with your people,” he said.
“That’s true,” Rhona murmured. “My parents supported my decision to leave the navy. I had many talks with both of them. My mother, who is full blood, thought turning my energies and focus toward helping the earth was a far better use of my time.” Rhona grinned.
Rummaging through a pile of papers teetering on his crowded desk, Morgan said, “Your mother’s right. It’s the navy’s loss, though…. I’ve got the flight schedules here. Let me look through them.” He scowled and ran his index finger down the pilot roster. “Ah…here we go. Lieutenant Nolan Galway just lost his copilot to a bad case of food poisoning….” Morgan lifted his head. “With no electricity except here on base, we’re learning that the box lunches we’re making in the chow hall need better refrigeration. We had four pilots go down. Nolan’s copilot was just taken out by Starlifter to Seattle. He had a dangerous kind of food poisoning. If it’s not nailed with antibiotics, it could stop his kidneys from functioning.”
Shaking her head, Rhona murmured, “There’re all kinds of things out there that can bite us in the butt if we can’t keep foodstuffs properly refrigerated.” She patted her well-worn navy knapsack. “I walked twenty miles today and ate nothing but some granola bars. They’re a safe bet because they don’t need refrigeration.”
“Wise woman,” Morgan replied. “Yeah, we’re overwhelmed here. Our refrigeration units are crammed, and with more planes and pilots coming and going, and civilians pouring into the base for food, water and medicine, we’re running into food poisoning more and more.”
“So, you want me to partner up with Lieutenant Galway? Stand in as his copilot and work his flight schedule?”
“Yes, I do.” Morgan picked up the phone. “Let me contact Ops and get you officially on the roster.”
“I’ve got proof of my flight proficiency and training right here if you want to look at them.” She patted her knapsack, which rested on her lap.
Shaking his head, Morgan punched in the number for the flight desk officer at Ops. “Not necessary. I know you’re qualified, Rhona.”
Her heart beat a little harder. Looking around the small, spare green office, Rhona realized she had missed life in the military, after all. Well, maybe some of it. What she didn’t miss were the Neanderthal males who thought women pilots weren’t their equals. Her hearing keyed on Morgan’s deep voice as he spoke to a Major Hickman, who was apparently the commanding officer of the pilot roster judging by the discussion Morgan was having with him. Smiling to herself, Rhona decided Morgan could charm a dead person back to life, he had such a persuasive gift of gab. Not many people had it. At Thane and Paige’s wedding, Rhona had been entranced by Morgan and his blond-haired wife, Laura. They were such a loving couple. What was nice was they’d been married for a long time and were obviously still in love and happy with one another.
Sighing internally, Rhona realized that would never happen for her. The look in Laura’s eyes as she’d gazed adoringly up at Morgan during the ceremony was something Rhona kept in her heart of hearts. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a man adore her, love her, in the same way?
Hearing Morgan hang up, Rhona lifted her chin and looked at him. He seemed pleased.
“You’re in,” Morgan said. “Major Hickman is jumping up and down for joy.”
“He knows I’m a woman?”
“Yes, and he didn’t bat an eyelash over it. In his book—and he’s the head of the flight desk operations over there—you’re a warm body who knows how to fly a chopper. He doesn’t give one whit about your gender.”
“Great!”
Morgan frowned. “You’ve got to be hungry. Twenty miles you walked? That’s a helluva hike, Rhona. You look a little tired, too.”
Shrugging her thin shoulders, Rhona murmured, “Listen, growing up on the res and running after a flock of sheep, I could put in twenty miles a day keeping up with them as they foraged for grass on that red desert.”
“Still,” Morgan said, standing, “I told Major Hickman you’d see him in about two hours. You need to get some food in your stomach.” Brightening as he came around the desk, he asked, “Were you able to let your parents know you’re okay? I’m sure they’re worried sick about you since Bonsall is south of the epicenter of the quake.”
Rising, Rhona murmured, “Yes, I have a cell phone.” She patted the leather case on her belt. “I got ahold of Paige in Sedona. There’re no cell phones up on the res, so I called her and asked her to contact my parents the old-fashioned way—via a real live telephone.”
Chuckling, he slid his arm through hers and guided her toward the door. “Good. I’m sure they’re resting easier knowing you’re safe. Come on, I’m going to take you to see Laura. She’s up at the hospital recovering from ankle surgery. I’ll order in a tray of food for you while you two chat and catch up with one another.”
“Laura’s hurt?”
“Yeah,” Morgan said wryly. “We were out here celebrating New Year’s at a hotel when the quake hit. Luckily, a marine search team—a woman and her dog—found Laura under the rubble. I’d escaped because I was down at the bar having a drink with an old friend. I ran out of the hotel before it collapsed, but Laura wasn’t so lucky. But thank God they found her and got her out of there. A marine helicopter flew us here, and while she was preparing for surgery, I volunteered myself to Logistics. Laura is recovering well, but she’s confined to the hospital for now. While she’s there she’s taking care of a baby girl they found in the rubble near the hotel. The mother died, unfortunately, but Laura is helping out the nurses on the Obstetrics floor by feeding the baby and keeping her warm and safe in her arms.” He smiled fondly. “Laura loves babies. Besides, it’s keeping her busy and keeping her mind off the fact that her leg is hoisted up on weights and she can’t go anywhere. You know
how active she always is? Well, this staying in bed twenty-four hours a day is wearing on her. Taking care of the little girl is a healthy diversion for her.”
Rhona opened the office door. “Gosh, what a story, Morgan! You two always seem to be where the action is.”
Once out in the busy passageway, Morgan dropped his hand from her arm. She followed him down to the end of the corridor, where he pushed open the door. It was near dusk, about 1700, or 5:00 p.m. The sun was setting, the sky a blood-red color. That symbol wasn’t lost on Rhona. Her Indian heritage had taught her to read nature as a reflection of humankind. And right now, Los Angeles was hemorrhaging, as thousands of people lay dead or dying. Just the thought dampened her spirits.
Morgan led her down another crowded passageway. “Believe me, this was one time that Laura and I weren’t looking for any action at all. I’d planned this little getaway for us some time ago, as a Christmas surprise for her.” Shaking his head as he opened the outer door and held it for Rhona, he muttered, “And here we thought we’d enjoy a nice, quiet five days away from my office and her demands, and just enjoy one another….”
Rhona followed him down the metal-grate stairs to the lawn below. Although night was approaching rapidly, and the lights were on, Camp Reed was a beehive of nonstop activity. As they left the Logistics building, she could see the airport, and all the helicopters coming and going. She itched to get into the cockpit again and fly one of them. Watching her step, she hurried beside Morgan along a cracked sidewalk toward the hospital, which was about a quarter of a mile away.
Rhona was in awe at how busy the whole place was. The airport was obviously too small for all the airplanes and helicopters that were crowding in there, bringing in lifesaving foodstuffs and medical help. The pilots must be exhausted. They had to be. The quake had struck seven days ago, and now, as the ongoing emergency only grew worse, they had to be running on frayed nerves and sheer guts and determination to reach helpless people who desperately needed the supplies they flew in.
Hurrying to catch up with Morgan, Rhona carefully dodged jutting pieces of sidewalk shoved upward by the force of the quake. One wrong step and she’d trip and fall. Not that she hadn’t on the way here. She had. Many times.
“I can hardly wait to see Laura!” she said enthusiastically as she finally came up beside him, eye-level with Morgan’s broad shoulders.
“Laura is going to be overjoyed to see a familiar face,” he assured her genially. “Right now, I try to drop in and see her for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “And we’re right on time for dinner with her.”
January 7: 1720
Rhona opened her arms and gave Laura a gentle, careful embrace of welcome. She saw the little baby nestled in a crib on the other side of the raised bed, so that Laura could pick up the pink-wrapped infant whenever she wanted.
Morgan ordered up three trays of food while the two women fussed over the sleeping infant.
“She’s so cute,” Rhona told Laura in a soft voice as she peeked into the crib at the sleeping infant. Glancing up, she asked “Do you have a name for her?”
Laura sighed and smiled. “No. Right now, she’s officially known as ‘baby Jane Fielding.’ We know her mother’s name was Fielding, but there was no identification on her body for her daughter.”
Morgan came over and kissed his wife’s cheek. “I just got word about possible relatives, honey.”
Laura brightened. “Oh, good. What did you find out?”
“Well, checking on this is going very slowly because of the earthquake,” he cautioned. “Priority is being given to the rescue efforts here in the L.A. basin. But I found out that the mother was adopted herself. The FBI has come to a dead end, and now they’re searching for the mother’s adoptive parents.”
Rhona smiled softly at Laura. “I’m sorry the baby’s mother died, but this little girl has the best of all worlds right now. She has you, Laura.” Rhona looked at Morgan, who stood by his wife’s bedside, his arm around her blue-gowned shoulders. “And you, Morgan. I wonder if you help change diapers?” She chuckled.
Giggling, Laura said, “Oh, yes, he does.” She patted the box of diapers on the bedstand. “He’s got lots of time in grade doing this for our own foursome over the years.”
Just then an orderly in white wheeled in a cart with three dinner trays. He was small, with short-cropped blond hair and hazel eyes. His smile was infectious as he pulled up to Laura’s bedside and said hello.
Rhona felt her stomach grumble. She realized how hungry she was. Nibbling on granola bars was okay, but when the orderly handed her an aluminum tray bearing a hamburger, steamed rice and broccoli, plus a dish of chocolate pudding, her mouth watered. Sitting down on a nearby chair, Rhona dove into the fare with gusto.
“Thanks, Morgan,” she said between mouthfuls. “I’m starving!”
Laura settled her own tray over her lap and took the utensils Morgan handed her. “So, you’re volunteering to fly here, Rhona? That’s wonderful.”
“Yes,” Morgan said, making sure his wife was properly set up to eat before he settled down in a chair with his own tray. “And she walked twenty miles today from Bonsall to do it.”
Eyes widening, Laura gave her a look of pure admiration. “That’s a lotta miles, Rhona. Aren’t you tired?”
“Yes, I am.” Rhona looked toward the window, where the venetian blind was up so that they could see the airport. “But not as tired and exhausted as I know those pilots are.”
“Well,” Laura murmured, pride in her voice, “we’re so lucky to have you here with us, Rhona. How many other people would do what you’ve done? Probably not many.”
“It’s my Indian blood,” she murmured. “Indians are very conscientious about their community, and they pitch in to help when and where they can.”
“I’m sure Lieutenant Nolan Galway is going to think you’re an angel come from heaven,” Morgan said. He put some ketchup on his hamburger, and then added mustard. “Right now, he can’t fly without a copilot. That’s a military rule. If something happened to him in the cockpit and he didn’t have a copilot to take over, the chopper would be lost. So—” he grinned and picked up the hamburger “—I’m sure he’s going to welcome you with open arms.”
Rhona sighed. “I sure hope you’re right, Morgan. But I’m a woman. Ex-navy. This guy is a marine, and you know how they feel about any other military service—like we’re not worthy and all that macho bull.”
Morgan eyed his chocolate pudding and decided to eat it next. “Hopefully, this guy isn’t like the infamous Neanderthals you had the bad luck to be with in your squadron.”
“Time will tell,” Rhona murmured. As she continued to wolf down the hot, tasty food, she wondered about that. With a name like Galway, he had to be of Irish heritage. The fact that she was Scot and Navajo would make them mix like oil and water. Still, as she sat in the hospital room, with the sounds of helicopters and jet engines muffled by the brick walls, Rhona was excited. A part of her missed the military. Would this helicopter pilot be happy that she was now his partner and copilot? Rhona knew that in the coming weeks her life would not be her own. It would consist of flying the maximum hours allowed by aviation rules, dropping into exhausted sleep in a tent somewhere, and eating on the run as they jogged toward their cockpit. And all of it would be done with her partner, Lieutenant Nolan Galway. They’d do just about everything together—almost like being married, in a sense, because of the stresses and demands upon them to work as a close-knit team from dawn to dusk.
What would be his reaction to her? Rhona wasn’t sure. In less than twelve hours, she’d find out.
Two
January 7: 1900
Of all things…! Nolan thought, turning and glaring at his Huey helicopter. It was dark and the garish lights from the flight line starkly illuminated ten Hueys, neatly parked nose to tail as they were loaded with another round of cargo destined for the L.A. basin.
Lieutenant Joyce Mason stood
there with a roster in her hands, frowning at Nolan.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but you can’t take this Huey up to area six without a copilot. Your last temp, Lieutenant Steve Anselmo, was reassigned to his own Huey. You’ve got to stand down for tonight. Go back to the tent area and get some sleep. You’ve been flying for twelve hours nonstop today. Your copilot request has been logged. The major is seeing what can be done.”
Harried, Nolan shoved his long fingers through his short, dark brown hair. He glared at the officer, and then at the men who were hurrying to load a cargo of bottled water into his chopper. “Look, gimme a break, will you, Joyce? You know there’re people in my area that are literally dying of thirst. Would you deprive them?” He was in her face, glowering down at her as she stood before him in her dark green wool Marine Corps uniform and jacket to guard against the evening chill. Her cropped blond hair was tucked beneath her dark green garrison cap. Her eyes narrowed as he towered over her, trying to intimidate her into releasing him for one last flight.
“This won’t work, Nolan. Stand down,” she said, gritting her teeth. A slight wind riffled through the area and the papers on her clipboard rustled.
“Dammit, Joyce, I’m not intimidating you for the hell of it,” he rasped, backing off. “Think about those people out there, will you?”
“I am,” she said in a steely tone. “I’m thinking that you’re sleep deprived, Nolan. You’ve had two temporary copilots, and you’ve used up both of their flying time allowance, while you’ve kept flying. Look at you!” She gestured toward his face. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. Your eyes are bloodshot. You’re a cranky old bear, you’re irritable and you’re getting just plain mean. Now, this is an order—get out of here. Go to the chow hall and eat. Then go to the makeshift tent area and sleep, will you?”
Nolan knew he was beat. Joyce was from the flight desk. She didn’t set the flight schedules, she only enforced them. Rubbing his jaw, which badly needed a shave, he looked around. The flight line reminded him of a harried hive of bees hyped up on an overdose of steroids. Ten huge tarpaulin-covered trucks had arrived, filled with medical, food and water supplies for the ten Hueys that were now on the flight line. Their blades were tied down, the pilots standing by or taking a quick break before they had to get to their assigned areas once again.
Ride the Thunder Page 2
