Touch the Heavens

by Lindsay McKenna

  Dan wanted to reach out and comfort her to neutralize the hurt that still lingered in her voice. “That’s why you enjoy being alone?”

  Chris raised her chin, her violet eyes resting on his concerned face. “I don’t like it, but I’ve learned to cope successfully with it.”

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “Okay, the hard part’s over. Now tell me why you feel you’re behind everyone else here at TPS.”

  She shrugged, insecurity evident in her voice. “Not having any fighter experience is going to be my toughest transition. If that isn’t catch-up, nothing is. Otherwise, I feel confident in my other abilities.”

  McCord wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but he couldn’t. Not here and not now. “You’re a bright, articulate woman with an awesome intelligence, or you wouldn’t have been chosen from all the military pilots in the services combined.”

  “You can’t understand the feeling unless you’ve been there, Dan.”

  He pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing intently upon her. Right now, at that instant, she was vulnerable and trusting him. “Hasn’t the fact that you’ve accrued impressive career credentials impacted on you? Hasn’t it made up for your sense of being something less than what you think you are?”

  She shrugged. “Most of the time, yes. But there are those moments when I feel like a seventh-grader again, struggling to understand chemistry, or a ninth-grader, pounding physics into my head.” Her eyes grew worried. “And I feel that way about learning how to fly the combat jets now, Dan. I feel so...” She groped to convey her sense of frustration and anxiety. “So helpless!”

  Dan cocked his head, listening to her voice. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? That sense of helplessness?”

  She gave him a feeble smile. “Wouldn’t it anyone?”

  “As long as you can make decisions, you aren’t helpless.”

  Her nostrils flared with pent-up frustration. “I was a puppet for the first eighteen years of my life, Dan. I was subject to someone else’s ideas of what I should or should not be. And I feel like I’m back in that role by being here at TPS without proper fighter experience.”

  Dan studied her in the tense silence, assimilating the depth of her worry. His own childhood flashed to the front of his memory. Unwanted by his young, immature mother who preferred globe-trotting with his millionaire father, he had been foisted upon his aunt and uncle at the tender age of seven. From then on, Howard and Melvina McCord had been more like his mother and father than his real parents, Preston and Vanessa McCord. He could identify with Chris up to a point. He had come out of a sterile household, cared for by a nanny. It was a godsend when he was given to Howard and Melvina. At least he received love and attention, filling that aching gap in his youthful heart.

  He studied Chris. Although she had never known the security of love while growing up, it hadn’t stopped her from achieving a brilliant career. She had been denied emotional sustenance, but she had respected herself as a unique individual. And in order to protect that core, Chris had learned to put up defensive walls to ensure her survival as the individual she knew she was—despite the years in the orphanage.

  “Yes,” he answered gently, his voice holding a caressing quality to it, “I think I am beginning to understand.” He shook his head. “And lady, you are special,” he whispered. “Very special.”

  She blushed deeply, unable to meet his eyes. Her heart suffused with an incredible warmth. The awkward silence lengthened, and Chris nervously cleared her throat. “I think it’s time to get back.”

  Dan stood, picking up the bill. “If I had my way, we’d take the rest of the day off and just talk,” he murmured. Then, flashing her a reassuring smile, he asked, “How about this evening at 1800? How would you like to climb into Double Ugly and take me for a flight?”

  Chris gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

  He placed his hand beneath her elbow, guiding her out of the dining room. “Is it a date? Meet me on the ramp with your flight gear, and we’ll take you up in an F-4.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You are serious.”

  “Have I ever lied to you?” he asked, opening the front door.

  “One of your faultless attributes, Major McCord, is your honesty,” she murmured drily. He walked beside her, his body inches from her own, and Chris gloried in his closeness. He was incredibly masculine. She gazed up at his mouth, tantalized by its shape and sensuality. She nearly lost her scattered thoughts.

  “Not to mention being single, handsome, well-off and —”

  “Here we go again,” Chris griped, tossing him a broad smile.

  Dan opened the Corvette’s door for her. He loved to see her eyes sparkle with life. And he promised himself he would give her a measure of happiness that was long overdue.

  “Then we have a date?” he pressed, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  “I suppose....”

  He feigned wounding by her hesitation. “I ought to get a purple heart for being around you,” he taunted.

  Chris momentarily placed her hand on his forearm. She felt the steel-corded strength of his muscles beneath her fingertips. “Listen, if you can stand being around me, you deserve more than a purple heart.”

  Dan pulled out of the driveway. “Raven, you’re easy to be around. Believe me.” His blue eyes took on a look of merriment. “Besides, I’ve managed to dodge all the slings and arrows you’ve thrown at me so far and I’m not wounded in action. We’ve got nowhere to go but up from here.”

  Chris gloried in the caressing tone of the nickname he had given her. She leaned back, laughing fully. “You are impossible, Major McCord! I could never have dreamed you up if I tried.”

  “Just dream about me in your sleep,” he said, his voice a roughened whisper.

  Dan’s reply sent a shiver through Chris, and she had no returning quip. All she could do was stare at him.

  3

  CHRIS COULD BARELY contain the pulse-pounding excitement threading its way through her. But her anxiety was well hidden as she walked toward the light gray Phantom with its long, bulbous black nose. Dan McCord was already there waiting for her, talking amiably with the crew chief who serviced the plane. McCord flashed her a smile of welcome as she approached.

  “Well, ready to become a Phantom Phlyer?” he teased, motioning for her to climb the ladder hooked on the left side of the fuselage. Chris returned the smile, hoisting herself up the steps into the rear seat.

  Dan watched her progress as she slipped into the cockpit. She placed her helmet on the console in front of her.

  “I thought you called it Double Ugly?”

  “We call it that when it’s going outside its performance envelope,” he said in way of explanation climbing aboard. “We also called it DRUT.”

  She saw mirth lurking in his eyes when he said it. “Okay, I’ll bite. What does DRUT stand for?”

  An irrepressible grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Turn the word around and you’ll see,” was all he said. Dan situated himself in the pilot’s seat, and the crew chief came up the ladder to help both of them strap into their unwieldy harness system. Straps went over both shoulders and then buckled into a seat belt that went across their laps.

  Chris chuckled to herself, noticing the crew chief stealing glances at her. She had grown used to the crews staring. She was an oddity—a woman out of place. She gave the chief a smile as he handed her the green-and-brown camouflaged helmet with Mallory printed on the front of it. Thanking him, Chris settled it on her head. God, it felt good to be back in a cockpit again! In less than fifteen minutes she would be airborne, and all the trials and tribulations of her life would slip effortlessly off her shoulders as she rode the jet up into the dark blue skies.

  The flight suit she wore was specially constructed to take the gravity forces created by the combat jet’s massive engine power. When going at high speed turns or angles it was easy to black out from high G-forces. The G-suit prevented it from happening. It would automatically
push the flow of blood out of her legs and back into her head and upper body.

  Plugging in her headphone set she monitored all conversations with Dan, the control tower and other necessary communications. Dan raised his hand, thumb up, giving the signal for the ground crew to step away.

  Her heart pounded as Dan inched the throttles forward to start the two huge turbojet engines. Then, the Phantom roared to life. Each engine was mounted halfway down the fuselage directly beside her seat, the semicircular scoop intakes sucking in huge amounts of air. Anticipation mixed with joy. She was sitting in one of the most feared combat fighters in the world.

  “You about ready to go?” Dan asked.

  Chris snapped the oxygen mask to her face. “Ready, ready now!” she returned, choosing the old B-52 axiom that the Strategic Air Command crews used.

  Dan laughed. “Raven, you’re a girl after my own heart. I want you to sit back and relax. I’ll take Double Ugly up and give you an idea of its capabilities as well as its drawbacks.”

  “You mean I get the full treatment?”

  “Better believe it. Once airborne, I’ll turn the stick over to you, and you’ll get the feel of this ugly bird. Canopies down,” he ordered.

  With a double set of flight controls, Chris hit her canopy lever, watching the Plexiglas lids slowly close. There was a soft whoosh as it locked tightly on each separate compartment. Although pilots never flew without their oxygen masks clamped securely to their faces in case of a leak, the cabins were pressurized.

  Within minutes the F-4 was trundling heavily along the concrete taxiway. Chris helped Dan by switching radio frequencies and handling other little chores that would make his job less complicated. She watched the flaps lower, the whirring sound shivering through the Phantom. Now, with the flaps down, the lift-off capability of the fifteen-ton fighter was increased. Her pulse beat raced as she heard the engines shrieking as they readied for takeoff.

  Dan pushed down on the brakes and rudder system beneath his booted feet. With his left hand, he inched the two throttles forward, watching the RPM gauges jump higher. The harnessed power throbbed throughout the aircraft. The day was dying with the inky stains of night tainting the dusk. The F-4, its array of red and white blinking lights situated on tail and wing tips, bellowed furiously on the cold desert, demanding to be released. Smiling to himself, Dan could almost feel Chris’s excitement in the rear cockpit. She hadn’t said much, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

  “I’m going to request afterburners upon takeoff,” he informed her. Might as well let her experience the raw, awesome power of the F-4, he thought. He called the tower and received permission. “Let’s tempt the gods,” he said. “There’s an old Air Force myth about flying so high that we’ll anger the mythical gods of the sky. Are you game?” he challenged.

  She grinned, thumbing the intercom button. “Listen, I tempt fate regularly. The sky gods and goddesses are on good terms with me. Let’s go for it.”

  Chris felt him release the brakes. Instantly she was pushed back in the seat, her breath momentarily torn from her by the impact of the aircraft’s power. The F-4 thundered down the runway like a growling cat running full tilt after its quarry. Suddenly the afterburners were engaged by shoving the throttles all the way forward. She could do nothing but sit, crushed against the seat. The landscape was a blur, the F-4 shivering with unleashed might as it hurled itself down the longest runway in the world. Suddenly Dan pulled back on the stick and the fighter left the earth in a single bound like an unchained eagle being released to the freedom of its true domain: the sky.

  The Phantom’s flaps came up on the wings, landing gear tucking neatly beneath its belly, gaining speed, hitting Mach .9 in only a few seconds. The angle of climb was breathtaking. The F-4 quickly hit six hundred knots, and Chris watched the altimeter unwinding like a broken spring as they streaked to five, ten, fifteen, twenty and twenty-five thousand feet. Exhilaration surged through her as she became a part of this magnificent fighter that raced along the very edge of the stratosphere.

  Dan began to bring the nose back down at thirty-five thousand. At forty thousand the Phantom had struck Mach 2. He could feel the aircraft sloughing off the sticky drag of the low subsonic region. The higher they climbed, the less air there was to slow them down. At forty-five thousand, he leveled out the F-4. “Well?” he asked, grinning, “what do you think?”

  Chris gave a shaky laugh. “Things happened so fast that my thinking was way behind the plane! It’s wonderful! What a thrill!”

  Dan’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. Her voice mirrored her happiness. She loved flying as much as he did. That mass of metal, wire and circuitry was a living extension of himself, docile beneath his hand, ready to obey his every command. “Take the stick,” he ordered.

  Chris slid her gloved fingers around the column. She felt Dan release the stick and rudders to her command and now, she was flying the incredible F-4 Phantom.

  For two hours they flew in a restricted flight area over the Mojave. Chris’s initial excitement settled down as Dan began to teach her how to handle the Phantom. She was pleased with Dan’s technique as an instructor. His explanations and orders were easy to follow, and it made the flight that much more thrilling.

  “Just remember,” Dan was saying as she reluctantly made the final banking turn that would take them back to Edwards. “Never allow the Phantom to fly at too high an angle of attack.”

  “What happens if she goes out of her controlled flight envelope?” Chris wanted to know, restlessly scanning the gauges as she flew the fighter.

  “First the nose will abruptly yaw from side to side. And almost simultaneously, it will start to pitch up and down and will depart from controlled flight. And if you don’t catch it right then, it will go into spin. From there, if you’re anywhere around ten thousand feet or less, you eject.”

  Chris compressed her dry lips. Her mouth always felt cottony after being on one-hundred-percent oxygen for over an hour. She reached up, adjusting the soft rubber mask against her face. Her skin always itched beneath it! And if she had worn make up, it would have broken the airtight seal of the mask against her skin. If that occurred, she might die of hypoxia, or lack of oxygen. “Is it mandatory if the F-4 is in a spin at ten thousand you automatically bail out?”

  She heard Dan’s grim chuckle. “You try and pull this ugly bird out of a dive at less than ten thousand, and it’ll be a mad race between you and the dirt as to whether or not you can pull it out in time, Raven. Don’t chance it. Punch out and live to tell about it.”

  The past two hours spent with Dan hadn’t seemed like an instructor-student relationship. Instead, it had been a wonderful time spent between two adults who both became childlike when they flew in the arms of the sky. Dan’s voice was always warm, coaxing and praising her performance. The few times he had had to correct her were done without rebuke and only in a matter-of-fact tone. She never had to be told more than once, either. “But has anyone tried to kick this bird out of a dive below ten and live to tell about it without punching out?” she wanted to know.

  “Not many,” he returned grimly.

  She nodded. “Not very forgiving, is she?”

  “No. She can damn well be your coffin if you start messing around with her in flight. This isn’t a fighter to play with.”

  Back on the ground, Chris felt like a shackled eagle once again. Instead of taking the ramp vehicle back to the school, Dan talked her into walking the quarter mile. It was cold and the wind was cutting. Chris zipped up her green flight jacket. She was glad for Dan’s closeness beside her as the darkness engulfed them. Her black hair, once in a chignon and plastered down over her skull from wearing the helmet, blew in silky abandon, barely brushing her shoulders. She reached up, pulling several strands from her eyes. Her heart swelled with happiness and her step was buoyant.

  Dan glanced over at her, aware of the light and dark shadows playing across her face. How had Chris grown more beautiful? Those violet eyes w
ere wide and lustrous. Her lips were curved softly upward at the corners, as if she was smiling about some happy secret known only to herself. Most of all, he liked her proud, easy carriage. She was all woman—a very confident, competent woman. “You know, Bill Craig was right,” he said, catching her gaze.

  “Major Craig? The officer who gave me my flight tests to enter TPS?”

  “Yes.”

  A mischievous glint came to her eyes. “And what did he have to say?”

  “That you had the best pair of hands he’d ever seen. I agree with him. You’re smooth. You fly by the seat of your pants.”

  Chris blushed fiercely, avoiding his admiring glance. “I’ll bet you say that to all your women pilots,” she teased, trying to make light of his compliment.

  Dan reached over, pulling her to a halt. “No, you don’t.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “I’m not letting you get away with that.”

  Chris looked up into his handsome features, her lips parted in response to Dan’s unexpected action. A pulse leaped crazily at the base of her slender throat as she felt his gaze linger upon each delicate feature of her face. She swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

  A wry smile curved his sensual mouth. “My Raven doesn’t know how to take a genuine compliment gracefully and say thank you.” He drank deeply of her widened violet eyes. “I meant what I said. I wasn’t idly throwing you a compliment.”

  He was so close...so dizzyingly masculine. Chris shut her eyes momentarily, trying to hang on to her sense of reality...of logic. This shouldn’t be happening, her mind screamed. It was only ten months ago! Ten months! I hurt too much... I can’t go through this again! But her heart spoke another, more pounding message throughout her tense body. “Please...” she begged, trying to pull out of his grip. Another part of her, the woman drawn to him, wanted his touch, his closeness.

  “Don’t fight me,” Dan whispered gently. He placed his hand beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’ve got a special touch with an aircraft, Raven. You can be proud of your skills. Now,” he said, his voice becoming more authoritative, “will you believe me when I say you have good hands?”