by Janet Dailey
Cappy briefly explained her situation, then belatedly introduced Eden and Hamilton. Mitch acknowledged them and attempted to stifle some of his impatience.
“I’ve been on an inspection tour these last two weeks,” he began. His glance strayed beyond Cappy as he paused, coming to military attention, and threw a salute at a set of general’s stars on an Army brown uniform. Then he relaxed. “I’ve been trying to reach you ever since I got back.”
“I didn’t know,” she said a shade defensively.
“Is this your luggage?” He indicated the set stacked next to Eden, and began grabbing it up when Cappy nodded in the affirmative. “I’ve got a jeep out front,” Mitch said, tucking a hand under her arm and excusing them from Eden and Hamilton’s company. As he guided her toward the door, another officer, this time a colonel, passed him, requiring another salute from Mitch. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered near her ear. “I’ve never seen so many caps with scrambled eggs on them in one place before.”
Outside, Mitch helped her into the open jeep and stowed her luggage in the rear. “I haven’t had time to make a reservation at another hotel,” Cappy warned him.
“Never mind. I know where you can stay.” He vaulted into the jeep and slipped behind the wheel, his hat pulled low on his forehead.
The heavy traffic on the capital’s streets demanded Mitch’s undivided attention. Cappy didn’t distract him with questions about their destination as he drove through the snarled jams of cars and assorted motor vehicles. With the Lincoln and Washington Memorials behind them, they crossed the Potomac and approached the National Cemetery at Arlington.
Nodding his head, Mitch directed her attention to it. Burial services were being held on a hill slope, a dark rectangle of exposed earth cut into the summer-yellow grass.
“There will be more of those before it’s over,” he said flatly. Cappy knew it was true, but the remark didn’t warrant a comment. Shortly, they passed the huge Pentagon building, and Mitch turned the jeep off the main road onto a residential side street. When he stopped they were parked in front of an apartment building.
“Who lives here?” Cappy asked, studying the well-built complex as she climbed out the jeep.
“I do.” Hefting her luggage under his arm, Mitch started for the entrance.
“I’m not staying here.” She followed him to the apartment door, stunned and not altogether sure of his intentions.
“It beats a high-priced hotel room,” he said and unlocked the door, knocking it open with her suitcase.
“Where are you staying?” Cappy demanded as she entered the compact two-room apartment. It was hot and stuffy from being shut up all day, but the accommodations did appear to be very comfortable, especially the big sofa with its thick seat cushions.
Having deposited her luggage on the floor, Mitch began unbuttoning the dark brown military jacket and shrugging out of it. “Why don’t you open those windows so we can get some circulation going through here?” He was already heading for another set, stretching his neck to unfasten the shirt button at the throat and strip off his tie.
Within minutes, a fan was blowing, Cappy had a cold beer in her hand and Mitch was lighting her cigarette. As she breathed out the smoke, he settled back against the sofa cushions and propped his feet onto the long, low table in front of it. In all the times she’d seen him, he’d never been out of uniform. Her glance strayed to the tanned hollow at the base of his throat, and those springy chest hairs poking out from the edges of his white undershirt. She found such details vaguely unsettling.
“Are you still angry with me over that mixup in Sweet-water?” Mitch wanted to know, quiet and intense in the way he studied her.
“No.” She stared into the amber liquid in her perspiring glass.
“Have I gone about this all wrong, Cap?” Mitch mused, continuing to regard her from his lounging position. “Have I courted you when I should have been making passes?”
His questions were too close to her own thinking. She straightened from the couch and wandered over to a screened window. “What’s this transport assignment I’ve been given going to entail, do you know?”
Behind her, Cappy could hear him set his feet on the floor, then he was rising and walking over to where she was standing. Her fingers tightened their grip on the slippery sides of the beer glass.
“You’ll be flying generals, colonels … and some majors …” His hands settled onto her shoulders and absently rubbed them. “… to various bases in the area. It’ll be real rough duty—staying in the best hotels, eating at the Officers’ Club.”
“Was my father responsible for getting me this assignment?”
“What makes you think that?” Mitch bent his head and began nuzzling at the lobe of her ear.
Her breath seemed to get caught in her throat, and Cappy jerked away from the stimulating nibble of his teeth to face him. “Did he?” She kept to the subject, trying to ignore the suddenly erratic beat of her pulse. All his attention seemed to focus on her lips. She quickly lowered her chin and turned back to the window to take a puff on her cigarette.
“I think I would have heard if he had,” Mitch said. “Only the best pilots draw this kind of duty, Cap, and you rated the highest among all the graduates at Avenger Field.”
“How do you know that?” She was conscious of his breath stirring the ends of her hair.
“I made it my business to know.” A long sigh came from him. “Cappy, what’s it going to take for you to look at me? I was ready to tear this town upside down to find you. I ended up dragging Annie out of a meeting and I had to throw some Army-weight around to do that.”
Upset, Cappy swung around to face him. “Mitch, stop it.”
“No.” He wouldn’t hear any more of her denials. He covered her lips with his mouth, rocking over them with hungry force.
He took the cigarette and beer glass from her hands and shoved them somewhere so he could gather her into his arms. Cappy didn’t attempt to deny the pleasure she found in his driving kiss, but she didn’t want him taking control of her emotions. When he untangled his lips from hers and drew a mere inch away, she felt the hot, sweet rush of his breath on her face.
“Cappy, I want you.” His voice was husky and rough with need.
Wrapped in the hard, lean force of his body, she understood that and the hands that moved restlessly over her waist and hips, pressing and urging their message on her. She pulled away from him.
“I just remembered—” Cappy had her back to him, her head angled partly in his direction. An awareness licked through her nerves, creating a thready tension. “—you never did answer my question when I asked where you were staying.”
Mitch studied the tenseness, the wall of reserve she erected against the world. Behind it, she was fire and striking passion. He struggled with his heavy urges, bringing them into check.
“I’ll find a bed somewhere.”
“There’s no need. I can get a hotel room—” she began.
“No.” Mitch swung her around, but he was careful to keep the circle loose. The smile that pulled in the corners of his mouth had a trace of tautness about it, an ease that was forced. “Stay here. I want to know where you are.”
“All right.” She seemed to relent, but cautiously.
“Since your father’s booted you out of the nest, the least I can do is take you under my wing these last two days before you have to report for duty.” There was something jesting in his comment, an attempt to make light of the arrangement, and disguise the personal, selfish motives behind it.
The deep blueness of a glacier colored her look. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have my own set of wings.”
Again, there was that assertion of independence, that hinted denial of any need for another person.
“You’re doing it again.” He closely studied her expression. “You’re always flying away before I get too close. Why, Cap?”
“There’s no great mystery to it.” She attacked his question head-o
n. “I’m not interested in becoming romantically involved with you. There’s a war on, and we each have a job to do.” Her tone was very matter-of-fact.
“We also have off-duty hours,” Mitch reminded her. “What’s the harm in spending them together?”
“None, I suppose—as long as you realize I’m not one of those Washington typists caught up in the glamour of the uniform and the glory of the war, living for today and leaving the regrets for tomorrow.” She seemed all cold and angry with him.
“All of us are sorry about something in our lives. The saddest is not living it.” Mitch struck closer to the target than he knew. He moved away from her to light a cigarette and missed the flicker of longing that briefly broke through her closed expression.
“How about dinner? Where would you like to go?”
They dined at a quiet, out-of-the-way Italian restaurant, one of the few uncrowded places in the capital. Afterward, they strolled under the cherry trees and sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, talking and sharing a rare moment of peace. It was a companionable evening, without contact. Mitch doubted that he could maintain this platonic posture for long. And while Cappy enjoyed his undemanding company, she wondered how long she’d be content with it before she wanted more.
Part II
Oh, I’m a flying wreck, a-risking my neck,
and a helluva pilot too —
A helluva, helluva, helluva, helluva,
helluva pilot too.
Like all the jolly good pilots, the
gremlins treat me mean;
I’m a flying wreck, a-risking my neck,
for the good ole three-eighteen.
Chapter XIV
WHEN THEY ENTERED the new Pentagon, billed as the world’s largest office building, the two dozen graduates from Avenger Field still had no idea of the future roles they were to play for the war effort. The last two days had been spent sightseeing around Washington, except for the bus trip to Boiling Field in Virginia, where they were tested in a high-altitude chamber and certified to fly up to 38,000 feet.
Upon entering, they were given clearance badges to pin to their shirts, after which a guide led them into the corridor maze. The Pentagon was deserving of its reputation, since it held the population of a small city within its walls, thirty-five thousand workers. Carved into niches the length of the hallways were offices, creating a multitude of doors and openings.
“It’s worse than a rabbit warren,” Marty said in a husky undertone. She peered at a painting of a general who was completely unknown to her and mildly shook her head. Mary Lynn’s absent glance was the only response to her remark.
Their curiosity had escalated to almost uncontrollable excitement, and brought with it the certainty that all this was leading up to something important. Over the last two days, they had considered and discarded so many possibilities that no assignment seemed too far-fetched now.
There was a slowing toward the front, which indicated that either their guide was lost or they were nearing their destination, Eden decided wryly. A door opened just ahead of their group and an officer appeared. He waited, with a hint of impatience, for the young women to pass.
After coming this far through the military complex, Eden was just about convinced that all men in uniform looked alike. But there was something familiar about this tall, hatless Army officer with his dark, gleaming hair.
“Major Ryan. I didn’t expect to see you.” Eden paused to speak to him, her dark eyes alight with interest as she looked at him, all the while making sure the group didn’t get too far ahead of her.
The shutters were closed on his expression, his lean, square-jawed face revealing none of his feelings. “Miss van Valkenburg.” He inclined his head in greeting, polite but aloof.
“I never heard from Cappy. I was hoping she’d call so we could all get together for dinner. Did she find a room at another hotel?”
“She found suitable accommodations.” One side of his mouth twitched in a bland facsimile of a smile. “I believe your group is going into the conference room. Perhaps you should join them.”
“Thanks.” She started to take a step to rejoin them, then paused. “Do you know what all this is about, Major?”
Behind those smooth looks and the cool Army discipline, she sensed a keen intelligence—and a power that operates behind the scenes. She had been around her father too much not to recognize that. Perhaps he worked at a war desk, but he did more than push papers. She was almost sorry he belonged to Cappy, but then the strictures of an Army life weren’t really for her anyway.
To her question, he merely replied, “You’ll be briefed.”
A typically military response. Hurrying, Eden caught up with the last of the group. They were ushered into a conference room, dominated by a large, long table around which they were seated by their director, Jacqueline Cochran. The padding of wine-red leather seemed a definite break with the usual Army drab of olives, khakis and browns.
The slightly awed silence was broken when the general arrived and chairs were pushed quickly back from the table while they automatically stood to attention. Tall with a rocklike solidness, General “Hap” Arnold had an infections smile that seemed to reach out from his strong face to all of them. His eyes had a glint to them, close to both humor and battle fire, and his hair was a distinguished white.
After greeting them, the general congratulated them. Only the top pilots in their graduating class had been selected to participate in this program, he informed them, without actually telling them what this special program was. Eden couldn’t help wondering why Cappy had been excluded from their number, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it as General Arnold introduced Jacqueline Cochran, who now held the title of Director of Women Pilots.
When she stood, she leaned her hands on the table as if to impress each and every one of them with the importance of this moment. Then she began talking, stressing first that this was a top-secret mission which would entail flying planes bigger and faster than women had ever piloted.
They would not be ferrying airplanes, which they had trained for the last six months to do. Their new duty was one of the most crucial assignments of home-based pilots in the Army Air Force. How well they performed would determine whether female pilots would be able to venture into other flying fields and free up more men for combat roles.
Mitch was in the outer chamber with a sheaf of new directives in his hand when the general returned to his office at the conclusion of the meeting. As he stopped at the desk to look them over, Mitch’s glance strayed to the open door and the young, attractive women filing past outside. General Arnold followed the direction of his look.
“You did tell me they could fly, Major,” the general remarked in a mocking vein, as if belatedly seeking confirmation of that fact.
“Yes, sir.” A faint smile edged his mouth, but Mitch remained vaguely distracted, his thoughts not fully focused on the moment.
“This isn’t going to be the most popular decision I’ve ever made,” the general sighed grimly. “Towing targets for green air gunners and ground artillery to practice on is not the safest flying job around, but it’s one of the most war-essential domestic duties we’ve got.” He released a short, harsh laugh. “These combat-hungry male pilots with their dreams of achieving ace status will resent the hell out of me even more when they learn I’ve demeaned their job by assigning women pilots to do it.”
“Yes, sir. It’s rough either way, sir,” Mitch agreed blandly.
“I need those pilots for combat missions. If this experiment works, I’ll have more men to fill the ranks.” He paused to eye his young staff officer. “You don’t have much faith in the program, do you, Major?”
“I think it’s a fine program, sir,” Mitch assured him after the smallest start of surprise.
“I noticed you pulled that Hayward woman from the group and had her orders changed. She was one of the top-rated pilots in that class. It’s obvious you didn’t want her up there while a bunch of raw recr
uits shot up the sky trying to hit the muslin target she would be towing.”
“Transport needed a well-qualified pilot. As you said, sir, WASP Hayward is one of the best in her class,” Mitch responded and steadily met his general’s probing glance.
“Of course,” the general remarked finally, a knowing light in his eyes as he gave the directive back to Mitch and turned his attention to more pressing matters.
The view of the sunset from the windows of the DC-3, the passenger version of the Army’s C-47 cargo transport, was spectacular, the green, rolling grasslands of Virginia’s Piedmont Range awash with the reds and golds of a dying sun. Rachel wondered about their destination as the plane flew south with its two dozen WASPs aboard, heading toward their new assignment as pilots of tow-target planes. All their faces showed the same hopeful enthusiasm for the challenge and adventure this new duty might afford.
Always the loner, Rachel sat aloof from the others, not drawn in by their speculating conversations. Out of the twenty-five WASPs who had been picked for this assignment, three were her former baymates—Marty Rogers, Eden van Valkenburg, and Mary Lynn Palmer. But they had never really become close friends, and Rachel was just as glad Eden hadn’t tried to follow up that chance encounter in New York.
During the long flight Rachel absently listened to the excited chatter around her and gazed out the window. As dusk spread, darkening the skies, she noticed the glistening waters of the Atlantic. Below were the barrier islands of North Carolina’s Outer Banks, treacherous shoals that had claimed hundreds of ships and lives over the centuries. The long stretch of beach along the coast was a pale finger against the gleaming black ocean. The watery graveyard of ships had taken more vessels to its bosom in recent months, as cargo ships were torpedoed by German U-boats and sunk within sight of the American coast. Rachel searched for the silhouette of a darkened ship following the route that hugged the eastern seaboard, but saw none.
