Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  I promised Amy I’d take care of the cat until they discharged her, and the look of gratitude on her face made me glad I’d done so. But when I went back, I couldn’t find him anywhere in the apartment. He was just gone.

  The box of word chits, though, was on the floor where I’d left it, along with a parting note:

  TOSS MY STUFF I’M DONE HERE

  Mr. Buttons, a.k.a. “Traveler Amidst Shadows of Possible Destinies” had moved on.

  I still didn’t want to believe in a cat that could order me around with word chits, but that ship had long since sailed. So I gathered up his food dish, litter box, toys, and any other evidence that a cat had been in the apartment. As I carried everything down to the dumpster, I tried to make sense of it all. Why had Mr. Buttons told me Amy was in danger, instead of just telling her himself days earlier? Hadn’t that put her in more danger? I still couldn’t understand it.

  When she came home a few days later, Amy didn’t say a word about the cat foretelling the future. She didn’t remember ever having a cat, and when I asked her, she laughingly told me to stop teasing, because she’d always wanted one but her apartment building didn’t allow pets.

  I attributed it to the memory loss and dropped it. I couldn’t explain what had happened, or how, but it didn’t matter. Amy still had that glow about her, and I was still smitten. We kept dating, and my feelings for her only grew deeper.

  It took a couple months before I finally realized the obvious truth. Mr. Buttons hadn’t come into Amy’s life to save her from pharmaceutical incompetence; he’d come to bring us together. I still didn’t have an explanation, still didn’t understand how it had happened, but when I looked at Amy I could see my future. And I no longer needed a cat to spell it out for me.

  Lawrence M. Schoen is an American author, publisher, psychologist, hypnotist, and expert in the Klingon language.

  Find out more at lawrencemschoen.com.

  Hellcat One-One

  by Arleigh Jacobs

  Hiding at an airshow is hard to do when you're the only who can fly the Hellcat.

  Lt. Talia “Colt” Levin tightened her grip around the control stick of the F-14 Tomcat, checking the instrument panel again. Colt steadied her breathing and shifted her gaze to the scene beyond the nose of the massive fighter.

  Aerial war machines surrounded her, spaced out across the apron. Directly in front was an F/A 18-F Super Hornet, similar to the one Colt flew on a daily basis. People crowded against the velvet ropes keeping the general public back. A pair of aviators in flight suits and obligatory sunglasses answered their questions. A C-130 Hercules dominated the area to her left, a line of people entering its cavernous belly through the tail ramp and exiting via the staircase at its side door. More planes sat along the tarmac, the crowds of people ebbing and flowing around them. Bunting hung from every possible pole, and the speakers blasted “Mighty Wings” for the third time in the past hour.

  A flutter of purple drew Colt’s attention to a spot to her right.

  A tiny girl in a princess costume held out her arms for her father to pick her up. When he obliged, the little royal kicked her feet, her arms still out. “I’m going to fly like Daddy!”

  Colt smirked. Baxter was never going to live this down. He had the reputation of being the toughest guy in her squadron, and at least half the guys were at the airshow today. He went from macho untouchable to royal servant as he doted on the tiny princess unabashedly. Colt enjoyed the contrast and felt certain she wasn't the only one.

  “Man, this cockpit is cramped,” complained a voice behind her, pulling her back to her surroundings.

  “It wasn’t built for giants like you,” she retorted.

  “I’m starting to get that impression. Let’s go before I need to be pried out of this seat.”

  Colt climbed down the ladder, followed by the giant. Typically, Justin “Hawk” Halversen was her weapons systems officer in the Super Hornet, which had more room for his massive frame. Today they were taking part in the spirit of the airshow and checking out the other aircraft on display. The Tomcat was the only one he’d been able to convince her to climb aboard, as she harbored a not-so-secret wish to fly one someday. Unfortunately, the airshow admission did not include joyriding display aircraft. They joined the line of people funneling into the stands, discussing the merits of the Tomcat versus the Super Hornet.

  The stands were packed, and the pair angled to a spot near the fence, away from the crowds. Colt slid earplugs in to protect her hearing from the jet engines. They did little to block out the argument beside her.

  “How did you let this happen?” The man's civilian clothes didn't mask his rank. With his posture and demanding tone, Colt pegged him as a chief petty officer, with twenty-five years of experience wrangling junior officers.

  The other man was clearly a civilian. “I’m not the one who said we didn’t need a third pilot.” He clutched a clipboard and pen as if they could magically solve whatever the issue was.

  Hawk ambled over, his stance wide but his calm “let’s be best friends” smile on his face. “What’s the problem?”

  Colt smiled as she shook her head. If you needed a situation resolved peacefully, Hawk was the man to do it. His size either intimidated or offered protection. More than that, people just liked him. Everyone felt they had an ally in him and instinctively trusted him. She did, and she still couldn’t say why, two years after first meeting him.

  “This doesn’t concern you,” the chief said. Colt snorted. That was not going to get rid of Hawk. Quite the opposite.

  The civilian turned to Hawk like a drowning kitten. “We’re going to have to cancel the second segment of the World War II demonstration. Which is a real shame, as this was to be one of the first with the newly restored Hellcat.”

  Hawk whistled. “Not many of those left around.”

  “Nope, and even fewer people who can fly them.” The man continued to babble.

  “Which is why I told you to bring extra pilots,” interjected the chief.

  “Captain Johnson had a family emergency, and Captain Fanello is too sick to fly!”

  Colt shook her head again, this time without the smile. “You’re telling me there’s no one else here who can fly a Hellcat? It’s not too much different from the Wildcat. Surely someone’s rated on that.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we have people rated on the Wildcat,” the chief told her through gritted teeth. “But not on the Hellcat. They’re two different planes, different ratings.”

  “And no one, out of all the pilots here, can fly the Hellcat?” She pulled the earplugs out in case she wasn’t hearing right.

  “And I suppose you can?”

  “Yes.” She blinked at the sudden silence. “What? It’s not that hard.”

  Colt crossed her arms and glared at Hawk. They’d relocated to a mobile office to continue the discussion away from the roar of the jets and the crowd. The chief and the clipboard guy huddled at the other end of the narrow structure, pretending not to listen.

  “I told you my grandmother taught me to fly when I was in high school. Well, one of the planes available was a Hellcat. It’s no big deal.”

  “And you’re actually rated on it?”

  “As much as anyone can be. I’ve got over fifty hours in it.”

  “So you can fly it?” He sounded far too hopeful.

  She tried not to roll her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” Hawk turned to the two men waiting impatiently at the other end of the mobile office where they had retreated to continue the conversation. “She’ll do it.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Hawk turned back to her, eyes wide. “But you just said… ”

  “I said I can fly it. I didn’t say I would.”

  Now Hawk was the one looking like a lost kitten. “Come on, Colt. You’re the only one here who can fly the Hellcat. They need you. You’ve got to do this.”

  She locked her jaw, her chest tightening. She didn’t have to do anythi
ng. And why was Hawk pushing this so much? Flying in an airshow was a spotlight she had no desire to gain. And certainly, not in a plane no one else seemed capable of handling. She was one of the best in her squadron, competing for the honor among others who were equally good at flying the Super Hornet. The competition pushed each of them to be better. This was different.

  She swallowed hard, shifting her gaze away. “I don’t think the guys would appreciate knowing I can fly something they can’t.”

  Colt walked a circle around the Grumman F6F Hellcat for the third time. She knew she was stalling. The fighter had been checked by the maintenance crew, and she’d already completed her pre-flight checklist. Hawk kept pace beside her.

  A young maintenance crewman hurried over, oxygen mask and helmet in hand. “Hope this is big enough for you. We don’t have any spares today.”

  Colt reached for the equipment, but before she could take it, he shoved the gear at Hawk. Hawk gave the mechanic a puzzled look as he took it.

  The mechanic looked up at him and whistled. “What are you, six foot four?”

  “Six-five but what does that matter?”

  “The Hellcat wasn’t built for anyone over six foot two. Are you sure you want to squish yourself in like that?”

  Hawk’s expression would have been hilarious if the situation weren’t so awkward. Colt rolled her eyes. “He’s not the one flying. I am.”

  Colt had never seen someone blush so hard. “I…I’m sorry. I just…never heard of a woman flying a World War II plane before.”

  “Really? Because we flew them in the 1940s, too.” She glared at him. If this kid who didn’t even know her thought she shouldn’t be flying, then what would her squadron mates say?

  Hawk held up the helmet and mask. “Thank you for bringing these.”

  The kid seized the opportunity to escape and ran.

  “Ready?” Hawk asked, turning to her.

  She nodded and approached the trailing edge of the port wing.

  “Wait!” The young mechanic was back. He shoved her aside, and vaulted onto the wing, diving into the cockpit.

  Colt leaned out of his way, cocking an eyebrow at Hawk who looked as bewildered as she did. If this guy wanted to take on the job of flying in the demonstration, she would gladly give up her seat. However, the way he was dangling half-in the cockpit made her wonder if he knew which end of the plane went first. He made muffled grunting sounds, followed by kissing noises.

  “…should we help him?” Hawk asked.

  “I wouldn’t. What if he’s contagious?”

  There was a shout of triumph, and they backed away as the rest of the crewman re-emerged from the plane. He slid down the wing to the ground, clutching something to his chest. He crooned at the thing, before moving his hand to show them.

  A tiny tabby kitten, barely eight inches long, burrowed against his coveralls. It let out a mew, showing off its sharp fangs.

  “I’m sorry,” he said scratching the kitten behind the ears. “I forgot to check when I was up there, and he likes hiding in the planes.”

  Colt shook her head, this time in disbelief, as the man scampered off, cat in hand. Reaching for the handle on the side of the plane, she glanced around to make sure no one else was on their way to stop her. She climbed into the cockpit and settled into the seat. Hawk followed to help her with the manual seat adjustments. He held out the helmet and oxygen mask. She took them with a nod. Thankfully, the Hellcat had been retrofitted with a modern rebreather system, so she wouldn’t be dealing with the clunky mask from 1944.

  She didn’t have her g-suit to stop her from passing out from gravitational pull, but Colt was confident she wouldn’t need it. They had spent an hour going over the choreographed routine with the other pilots, and none of the planned maneuvers would be likely to cause any problems in that regard. Whispering the names of the various instruments, she worked her way around the cockpit clockwise, touching each dial or button. Her grandmother's voice echoed in her ears, naming them in a soft Russian accent and explaining what they were for.

  “You good?” Hawk asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He helped lower the canopy, then disappeared out of her view. She started the single 2,200 horsepower engine, checking the instruments again as it warmed up. Beside her, the two Mitsubishi Zeros roared to life. The long-range fighter plane had been Japan’s mainstay of the skies during the Second World War. Colt looked up to see the lead pilot giving her a thumbs up and returned the gesture.

  “Zero One-One to Hellcat One-One. Comms check.”

  “Hellcat One-One to Zero One-One. Lima Charlie.” Loud and clear.

  Colt flexed her hand on the control stick. Any minute now, the lead Zero would head for the top of the runway, and she’d be in line behind him. She swallowed, trying to settle her stomach. Once aloft, the announcer would tell the crowds the types of airplanes and the names of the pilots. There was no way she could hide the fact she was the one up there from her squadron mates. She hoped the announcer wouldn’t get the updated list in time, but Clipboard Guy had been far too excited about it for that to be a valid wish.

  She released the brake, rumbling over the tarmac after the first Zero, the second behind her. While waiting for clearance to take off, she clicked her comms to internal to talk to Hawk. It took the lack of response to remind her he was still on the ground. Her stomach clenched. It had been too long since she last flew alone.

  And once in the air, she would be even more alone. The Zeros would be her enemy, and she didn’t have a wingman at her side.

  The three pilots spent the first few minutes airborne pushing their planes, testing the fighters. If an engine decided to stall during a loop-de-loop, better to do so when they weren’t directly above a crowd of 20,000 people.

  As she grew acquainted with the Hellcat, Colt felt the tension leave her shoulders. She remembered the first time she had flown a Hellcat. Her grandmother had been keeping her company in the sky in a Cessna 172. The World War II veteran was always more comfortable flying than in the traditional roles of a grandmother. Colt pushed aside worries about what people on the ground thought—they couldn’t do anything while she was aloft. If she wanted to survive the next hour, she needed to be focused on her flying. She talked to herself as she flew, muttering the things she would normally say to Hawk. If the guys could hear her now, they’d add crazy to the list of her odd traits.

  “Zero One-One to flight. Fly-by formation.”

  Colt nudged the stick and pulled the Hellcat in line behind the two Zeros as they lined up for the first flyby past the stands. They dropped to 1,000 feet and slowed to a hundred miles per hour to give the audience the best view possible.

  They made a slow turn at the end of the run and came back around for a second pass. This time, Colt pulled forward to lead the formation. She waggled her wings at the midpoint, following the instructions the choreographer had given her to coincide with the introduction from the announcer. As she left the airshow behind, she angled the plane to the left to make a long, wide turn, gaining altitude along the way. The Zeros were able to turn faster, and she ended up behind them again, but far above.

  Shortly after the Grumman F6F Hellcat was introduced in 1943, pilots were warned not to dogfight with the more agile Zeros. The Hellcat was faster, with a more powerful engine, and the pilots were told to use those to their advantage to get in, attack, and get out again.

  But an airshow without a bit of dogfighting wouldn’t be an airshow. As they approached the end of the runway again, Colt dove behind the two Zeros, pulling the trigger button on her control stick. Muffled pops sounded as puffs of white smoke filled the air. The rear Zero barrel-rolled to the left as though shot-down. Colt picked up speed and fired at the lead Zero. He rolled right, and she pulled back into a steep climb. Plumes of fake smoke streamed behind them, simulating that they’d been hit.

  Leveling out, she released her breath. That had been the easy one. The next two maneuvers would be more compli
cated. Unlike the Super Hornet, the Hellcat was not equipped with a radar to tell her the position of approaching aircraft, nor alarms to warn if she was in missile lock. She didn’t have a rearview mirror to see what was behind her like a car would. And she didn’t have Hawk keeping an eye out for incoming attacks.

  Following the signal from Zero One-One, she approached the airfield from the northwest. Zero One-Two fell in beside her, and she kept her eye on him while waiting for Zero One-One.

  “Zero One-One, Hellcat One-One. On your six in three…two…one—roll right!”

  She pulled the control stick to the right, diving into a high-speed turn to avoid the stream of blank bullets being fired at her. She braced herself for the high-g pull, expecting her g-suit to tighten around her legs to keep her from passing out.

  But there was no tightening, the cotton of her flight suit barely moving as she shifted, and the turn was as intense as an interstate off-ramp. The Hellcat was an incredibly stable aircraft, and it took a lot of convincing to make a tight turn radius.

  “Zero One-One, Hellcat One-One, get back here! You’re out of position!”

  Colt looked over her shoulder. She cringed. If she had hoped to avoid attention, that was not the way to do it. The larger circle she had taken meant the three planes weren’t lined up properly for the next part of the demonstration. The Zeros would need to make a second turn, putting them behind her, not in front as planned.

  They wouldn’t have time to juggle if they wanted to complete their portion of the show in time for the Blue Angels to begin as scheduled. And she knew most of the people on the ground were more interested in the headliners than the World War II demonstration. She had to act fast.

  “Hellcat One-One, flight. Repeat last maneuver, but Zero One-Two trailing Zero One-One.” She rattled off speed, distances, and altitudes for the three of them.