“But they’re willing to trust Señor Gonzalez to dole out what we bring in to the barrio? Without a fight?”
“Yes, so far…” Nolan saw a small knot of people standing near the four long rows of wooden bleachers that were scattered due to the quake, waiting patiently for the chopper.
“Why do you say so far?” Rhona demanded. She looked around. There was a group of about ten men standing at the edge of the ball field, watching them. Nolan brought the Huey to a hover and then began to descend for the landing. As the bird came down, the dust from the playing field began to rise around it, until thick yellow clouds rose skyward. There was a gentle jolt and they were on the ground. Nolan cut the power.
“Don’t you want to keep the engine on idle?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s a way of conserving fuel. Orders from Ops. This is our new SOP—standard operating procedure.” Nolan unplugged the jack from his helmet and then took the helmet off. He jabbed a finger at her.
“You stay here.”
Nodding, Rhona said nothing. She watched as Nolan set down his helmet and then squeezed between the seats. He opened the rear door, sliding it wide and locking it so it couldn’t shut accidentally. The blades were slowing down and the dust was settling. She saw a white-haired man, probably Señor Gonzalez, coming forward with a decided limp. He leaned heavily on a carved wooden cane. The men with him, all young and in their twenties, followed him respectfully. They didn’t surge ahead. They didn’t charge at the helicopter.
Rhona twisted around in her seat and watched as Nolan quickly unhooked the nylon webbing around the boxes and threw it off to one side. As the blades slowed to a halt, the group approached the helicopter. Nolan grinned at them, a smile that lit up his entire face. He reached out of the helicopter, his hand extended to the white-haired gentleman. Rhona saw genuine delight and care in Nolan’s face as he gently gripped the Mexican leader’s old, arthritic hand. The smile on Manuel Gonzalez’s face was just as heartfelt.
Quickly, the group of young men started taking the cardboard boxes filled with bottled water out of the rear of the Huey. Looking at the stacked boxes, Rhona realized with a sinking feeling that there wasn’t nearly enough water to supply so many people for half a day. What were they finding to drink? There were no wells around here. The earthquake had destroyed the pipes that carried the city’s water. Her heart bled as she watched Nolan ease out of the chopper and stand beside Manuel. The young men backed up an old flatbed truck, placing each box upon it for later distribution.
Nolan patted the old man’s shoulder and then, giving him a salute, turned and climbed back into the helicopter. He slid the door shut and moved forward into the cockpit.
“Want me to take the flight back?” Rhona asked him once he’d plugged in the phone jack and resettled his helmet on his head.
“No. I’ll fly.” His tone was dark. He didn’t want her doing anything. She could damn well sit there and watch. His hand flew knowingly across the instrument panel, and he saw her nod. Her face relayed no displeasure, but her eyes—those soft, velvety eyes of hers—narrowed slightly. Then she pulled out the preflight card on her thigh board. Good, she was going to be a copilot and do what was necessary, on time.
Within ten minutes, they had lifted off and were heading back toward Camp Reed. Rhona looked around the barrio as they gained altitude above it. She saw a few people moving about, though it was still early morning. In the distance, about a mile from the baseball field, she noted a thick, black column of smoke.
“What’s that? A house fire?”
Nolan glanced where she was pointing. “Yeah. When fires start now, there’s no way to put them out. No water.” He turned and looked at her. She had her face shield up, so he could see her expression. Again he was struck by her possible Indian heritage.
“What a shame,” she murmured. “I’m just beginning to realize the full extent of this emergency.” Shaking her head, she said, “When I walked from Bonsall to Camp Reed, I was heading out of the suburbs, so I didn’t see all of this….” She opened her hand and gestured gracefully. “All this destruction…”
“I know what you mean.” He brought the Huey back up to three thousand feet and aimed its nose toward Camp Reed. Again the familiar shaking and shuddering was soothing to Nolan. His gaze flicked rapidly and continually across the instrument panel. A part of him liked conversing with Rhona. She was obviously deeply touched by the plight of the people. He’d seen it written all over her face when he’d come back into the cockpit. There’d been tears in her eyes. Or maybe his imagination was playing tricks on him. But when he looked up at her again, her mouth was pursed with pain. From what little he knew about her, Nolan figured it was her emotional reaction to the plight of the people they were trying to help.
“When me and my co started this flight route to area six, we didn’t have a clue as to what it all meant.” Grimly, Nolan glanced over at her. “I do now. We’re eight days into this crisis. FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, is working out of Camp Reed, and telling us to expect it to get a lot worse. When we get that squad of marines into the barrio today, we’ll start getting numbers on the people there, and that will help Logistics know how many choppers to send in and with what kind of food, medicine and water supplies they need long-term. The squad will act as census takers of a sort, relaying the info to Logistics, so they can plan for the future.”
Shaking her head, Rhona whispered, “Nolan, it won’t be enough. Camp Reed’s airport is small. It’s overwhelmed with air traffic now. And we don’t have near the number of helicopters we need to service these areas.”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbled unhappily. Though he was trying desperately not to let the fact that she’d called him by his first name affect him, his skin prickled pleasantly. He focused on his flying. Above all else, he couldn’t let Rhona get to him. He had to keep her at arm’s length.
As Rhona sat there, the enormity of the disaster sank in. “My God, that means…” She turned to him, her eyes huge. “That means that no matter how many people are in that barrio, or any other area, we’re not going to be able to supply enough food or water for them to survive this. Are we?”
The tremble in her voice caught him off guard. But the tears welling up in her gray eyes were his undoing. “Don’t go soft on me, McGregor, dammit.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t need a crybaby in the cockpit with me. So buck up. We’ll save who we can. We’ll do the best we can. And no, we aren’t gonna be able to save the world, so get used to it.”
His voice was rough and his words were harsh. Jerking his gaze from her softening face, Nolan forced himself to pay attention to his job. He saw that the undulating golden hills peppered with cactus and sage-brush were already racing by beneath them.
Sitting there, the shock rolling through her, Rhona could say little. Taking a deep breath, she curled her hands into fists. She didn’t want to believe Nolan, but she knew in her heart that he was right. One helicopter could carry only so much cargo on each trip.
Swallowing hard, she rasped, “How many trips do you make a day?”
Nolan laughed. The sound was hoarse, hopeless. “Not enough, that’s for damned sure.”
“How many?”
He heard the steely note in her voice.
“Ten on a good day.”
“And that’s with you flying all the time?”
“Yes.”
“And then you stop?”
“Yes.”
“Nolan, it can’t escape you that if you’d let your copilot take over, we could fly more trips. FAA regs allow a pilot to fly only so many flight hours in a twenty-four-hour period. We could double it if you’d let me fly.”
Glancing at her, he heard the hope, the desperation, in her voice. “We have to sleep, too, you know. I’ve been at this eight days now, and we’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Between me and my copilot, we were flying twelve hours nonstop. But that’s flight time, not ground time, or loading or unloading
or fueling time, McGregor. Put it all together, and we were in this cockpit for eighteen hours a day. You can do that for only so long and then you get tired. Bone tired. And you gotta take a rest whether you want to or not. That’s how it is.”
Rattled emotionally by the people’s plight, Rhona saw his rationale. “So what are we doing today?” She purposely used the word we. She also noted that Nolan’s voice had been tinged with longing when he spoke of his previous partner. She knew she couldn’t replace the other co, but she could fly.
As he saw her pick up the mike to call the control tower for permission to land at the upcoming airport, Nolan grimaced. After she received permission and hung up the mike on the console, he felt her eyes on him. His conscience burning him, he sensed what she was about to ask.
“Are you going to let me fly today?”
“I’m not sure….”
“Why not?” Anger stirred in Rhona. She saw him begin to drop altitude as they made the dogleg turn into the landing pattern. From the air, too, Camp Reed looked like a virtual beehive of activity.
“Just because!” Nolan snarled. He didn’t want this conversation. He knew he was being stubborn when he shouldn’t be, but dammit, he couldn’t help himself.
“You don’t want me to fly because I’m a woman, and you prefer a man sitting here,” she said in a low, quavering tone. Glaring at him, she saw his mouth set, as if he wanted to refute her words. The Huey banked as he brought it in for a landing, the ground blurring beneath them. “And you’re willing to sacrifice people’s lives because you’re so damned shortsighted and prejudiced. If you would let me fly my six hours, we could double the amount of supplies we take to area six. But you aren’t going to do that, are you, Lieutenant? Why? Because you’re pigheaded, that’s why. Oh, I have this little game of yours figured out. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let you get away with it. Your priorities are all screwed up. Well, mine aren’t.” She jabbed her finger downward. “The minute we land, I’m going to Ops and I’m talking to the major. You’re going to let me fly or else. I care too much for the people we’re trying to help to let your prejudice stop me from flying this bird.”
Four
January 8: 0700
Rhona was breathing hard, and she tried to control her spiraling anger as they disembarked from the Huey. Immediately, a truck crew hurried forward to begin putting box after box of bottled water into the cargo hold of the bird. Simultaneously, a fueling crew brought the huge green tanker over, and a woman pulled the nozzle toward their chopper to fill it up for another flight.
Rhona walked determinedly at Galway’s shoulder. His face was dark, his eyes flashing with anger, his mouth thin and set. Since they both had enough sense to talk out of earshot of enlisted people, Nolan led her off to one side of the black asphalt apron, then rounded on her.
Instantly, Rhona put her hands belligerently on her hips. Nostrils flaring, her eyes slitted, she waited for the expected hailstorm of venom to spew from him. In her heart, she didn’t want this confrontation. She liked Nolan, despite his obvious prejudice toward her. He had his own heart in the right place; she’d seen the genuine concern in his eyes and voice as he’d talked to Señor Gonzalez.
“Look,” Nolan snarled, “I don’t like this one bit.”
“What? Me being a woman pilot?”
Glaring, he held her steadily in his narrowed green gaze. There was nothing weak or passive about Rhona. She was a warrior through and through, and he recognized that. But damn, why did she have to be so alluring to him? What was it about her exotic face? Those soft lips, now pursed? And those heartbreaking gray eyes, which could go rabbit soft with compassion and touch him so effortlessly and deeply?
Nolan stood there, tense and stiff. He leaned forward, deliberately trying to intimidate her, for he was three inches taller than she was. “I prefer a man in the cockpit with me.”
“Tough, Lieutenant. You don’t get everything you want in the military. We both know that.” Rhona’s voice quavered. “You’re going to stand here and tell me that, as pilot in command, you’re going to limit us to six hours of flight time because I’m in the cockpit with you? When we could double that time and get that many more supplies to all the starving, thirsty people? I can’t believe your conscience, the humanity I saw in you back there, would allow you to make that decision.” She flung the last words back at him like a gauntlet. Rhona knew how to face off with Neanderthals. She saw the surprise in his eyes, the flare of realization as her fiery words hit their mark and exposed the truth of the situation. Mentally, she was urging him to make the right decision. Her intuition told her that as much of a caveman as Galway was, he wouldn’t forsake people in need just because of his own prejudice. At least she hoped he wouldn’t.
Coming out of his confrontational posture, Nolan took a step back. Angrily he shoved his fingers through his dark hair, which was plastered down with sweat from wearing the helmet earlier.
“You don’t make things easy, McGregor,” he rasped.
“I didn’t create this situation, Lieutenant. I came here and volunteered my services. I didn’t have to do that. I don’t have to stand here and take this kind of crap from you, either. Now, you either back down, accept me as your copilot and let me fly my six hours in the Huey, or I’m going through the chain of command to get your butt put in a sling so high you’ll never see the ground again.” Her jaw set. “Am I coming through loud and clear to you, Galway?” She purposely used his last name without the respect of his rank to show him she meant business. And she saw her words landing like rockets being fired. His face went pale. And then a red flush scoured his cheeks.
Nolan stood there, clenching his teeth. She was right and he knew it. Anger and frustration warred in him as, hands propped defiantly on her hips, her chin jutting out, she confronted him, ready to fight him every step of the way, if necessary. No, he didn’t want his career going down the tubes over this. It wasn’t worth it. Rubbing his chin, he stood there studying Rhona. Damn, she was beautiful. Too bad she was an ex-military pilot. And his copilot. Otherwise he could think of more pleasurable ways of spending time with her.
“Okay,” he growled, “you win this round, McGregor. I’ll let you fly every other trip. We’ll put in our twelve hours.”
Relief washed though Rhona, though she saw he didn’t like his decision. Lifting her hands from her hips, she opened them in supplication. “Lieutenant, in my heart, I knew you’d choose the people’s needs over your own prejudice. For that, I thank you. You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to speak to me, other than for operational reasons in the cockpit. I can handle your hatred. I handled it for seven years in the navy, with pilots just like you who didn’t want me around.” Moving her shoulders to release the tension there, Rhona added, “It’s too bad you won’t judge me on my abilities, Lieutenant. If you did, you’d find I’m damn good at what I do.”
Nolan looked away, focusing on the Huey on the tarmac. He saw that the ground crew already had the bird gassed, loaded and ready to go. He tried to get hold of his escaping emotions because a part of him didn’t want to hurt Rhona, and he knew by the look in her eyes that he had. “Get your butt over to Supply,” he rasped. “You need to get a flak vest and a pistol. Our bird’s ready to go.” He pointed to a HumVee nearby. “Hop onboard and tell the driver where you need to go. He’ll get you over there and back. Hurry up. We’ve got people to help.”
January 8: 0730
It felt good to be flying again, Rhona admitted to herself as she coaxed the Huey to three thousand feet and leveled off. Having a dual set of controls, the Huey could be flown from either position, and Nolan sat on her right, his profile grim. Since she’d returned to the apron with her new flak vest, which chafed against her skin, and a pistol strapped to the left side of her chest, Nolan hadn’t said more than three words to her. Hurt, but trying not to take it personally, Rhona was grateful that his better side had won out. Still, the cockpit was filled with tension. She wished mightily to defuse
it, but saw no easy way to do that.
It was 0730, and the sky was lightening up, although the day was gray and the clouds in the west looked more threatening all the time. Still, the Huey felt good in her hands. Sensing Nolan’s tightly held emotions, none of which were particularly positive, she stuck to what she did best: flying.
Nolan grudgingly slanted a glance toward Rhona. Her face was soft now, her lips slightly parted as she flew his bird. He didn’t want to admit it, but she had a damn light touch with the Huey—a good one. She was smooth. Smooth as fine silk, and if he didn’t have so much thickheaded pride, he’d admit she was a better pilot than he was. The bird flew flawlessly in her long-fingered hands. Mouth moving downward, Nolan scowled and looked out the Plexiglas windshield. Their area was coming up shortly. To the right, he saw the black, thick column of smoke rising a good thousand feet into the sky.
“Looks like a whole city block is gonna be up in flames soon,” he said, pointing toward the malevolent-looking column.
Glancing to where he gestured, Rhona said, “No water, so the fire’s jumping from house to house?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.” Shrugging, he added, “Probably doesn’t matter. All the homes are destroyed, anyway. Most of them were flattened by that mother of a quake.”
“People still have their photos, the things that mean something to them, in that rubble, even if the homes themselves are destroyed.”
Hearing the pain in Rhona’s voice, he glanced over at her. She was looking toward the spreading fire, her eyes narrowed, her black brows drawn down in concern. Nolan’s heart expanded.
The feeling surprised him. Rubbing his chest unconsciously, he wondered what it was about her that was making him feel like that. And then, when she swung her gaze momentarily to his, he jerked his head away and looked in the other direction. She seemed to have the ability to peer into his soul, and he felt vulnerable around her. That scared him. A lot. No woman except one—his wife—had ever had that ability.
Ride the Thunder Page 5
