“Oh? Why?”
“Goes back to my days in Nam.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
Dan hesitated. He had rarely spoken about his two tours over the skies of Nam and Hanoi. It brought up too many painful memories. “Brodie was assigned to my squadron during my second tour. We flew the F-4s. I had a bit of a reputation among the marines up in the demilitarized-zone for hedgehopping. Brodie became my wingman.”
“Did he like you going down that low?”
Dan shook his head. “No.”
“Why did you?”
His eyes grew dark as more of those days in his life were dredged to the surface. “I guess I’ll always hear the radio crackling with the voices of pinned down marines on the ground screaming for help again. Chris,
I—” He hesitated, giving an embarrassed shrug. “This is going to sound silly.”
She leaned forward, her face calm, eyes penetrating. “No, it won’t. At least not to me,” she coaxed. “You risked plenty by going down on the deck, Dan. Why?” What made him run, Chris wondered. Dan always appeared buoyant and devil-may-care. But anyone who would take the cantankerous Phantom down to the treetop level where it could be hit by ground fire and missiles was either very foolish or very confident of his skills. And she didn’t see Dan as being a fool about anything.
Dan stood up, and walked to the end of the room, his features composed and thoughtful. “I guess I’m like you, Chris. I don’t like seeing the underdog get beaten down. If I can do something about it, I will.” He shrugged. “It got so that certain marine companies would call in air support and ask for me by name. They knew if they went into a tight spot, I’d be there to help them.”
A memory stirred in the back of Chris’s mind. What had Jim said one time? Her fiancé had spent two tours in Vietnam with F-4s. She gave Dan a keen look. “What was your name?”
“Cowboy. The marines dubbed me with it because I’d ride the F-4 down during any kind of situation or weather condition. Brodie hated going low level.”
Chris’s mouth went dry and her heart pounded at the base of her throat. Cowboy...Cowboy...Jim had known an F-4 pilot by that name! Her eyes widened. Was the world that small? Had Dan known Jim? The next thought paralyzed her: What if Dan knew about the crash? She swallowed hard, unable to think coherently for a moment. Jim had talked fondly of a pilot by the name of Cowboy, having nothing but admiration and praise for his flying ability. She looked guardedly up at Dan. She couldn’t forget the conversations she and Jim had shared. How many times had he laughingly told her about Cowboy? Her world felt as if it were collapsing around her. Above everything, no one must know of the crash! Not her colleagues at TPS. And especially not Dan.
If word got around about the crash claiming Jim’s life, her reputation at TPS would be destroyed. Chris frowned, getting to her feet. And what would Dan think? How close had Jim been to Dan before he had died? Had Jim ever told him of his engagement to her? A voice told her it was unlikely. Still, the way Jim had talked of Cowboy, Chris felt it was almost a brotherly relationship that had existed between the two pilots.
“The guys on the ground were worth that risk, though,” Chris murmured.
Dan pursed his lips. “I thought so. Brodie didn’t, but that was inconsequential to me.” Reluctantly Dan glanced down at his watch. “As much as I’ve enjoyed coming over and talking with you, I’d better get going.”
Where had the time gone? Chris looked at her watch to confirm it. A sense of disappointment washed over her. Their personal time together was rare, and she hungrily looked forward to those small, placid moments when they could meet on equal ground and discover new facets about each other.
“Tomorrow is going to be a tough day,” he reminded her.
“Test day,” Chris agreed, walking to the door and opening it. Tomorrow she would be given the final flight test in the F-4 that would qualify her to take up another student engineer, navigator or fellow pilot. But the test held less fear for her than the fact that Dan might have known Jim. If Jim had told him—Chris stopped thinking as Dan drew close. Regardless of her spinning, tumultuous thoughts, she responded to his lean maleness. Raising her chin, Chris met his warm blue gaze, and felt his tender caress as he smoothed a stray tendril from her cheek.
“You know,” he murmured, his voice becoming husky, “it’s too bad you can’t wear your hair down all the time. You look pretty this way.”
Chris momentarily closed her eyes, her heart racing. She could still see his strong, chiseled mouth in her mind’s eye. Memory of the branding kiss he had placed on her lips sent an ache of need throughout her. “Thank you,” Chris whispered, meaning it. His eyes had darkened to a thundercloud intensity, sending a warming shiver down her spine. All he had to do was reach out, and... Her breath caught when she read the intent in his eyes.
One part of her cried out for Dan’s touch once again. Another shrank in fear from him. She had just lost someone she had loved. It can’t happen again, a voice screamed. She never again wanted to feel the kind of pain that still persisted over the loss of Jim. “I think we should say good-night, Dan,” she said firmly, her voice more businesslike than she intended.
If he was disappointed, he did not show it. Offering her a smile, Dan nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning, Raven. Good night.”
5
IT WAS 0600 when Chris arrived in her flight gear at TPS. She saw Dan’s Corvette parked in the rear lot. The sky was still dark with stars although a gray hint of dawn nudged the silhouetted mountains in the background. Her fingers tightened in the pockets of her flight jacket as she quickly took the steps two at a time up to the door. Dan was busy with paperwork when Chris stepped into his cramped office. He looked up, giving her a slight smile.
“Grab a cup of coffee and then go check the weather. I’m going to be tied up with this stuff for another half hour.”
“Sounds good,” she murmured, meaning it. The coffee was like a shot of adrenaline to her exhausted mind. Sleep had been impossible, and Chris wanted to be perfect on the test flight today. Dan was a fair, but tough instructor. She called up operations and got in touch with the meteorologist, jotting down the wind direction, knots, the temperature and dew point. All these factors would have a great deal to do with the rotation or takeoff point of the jet that she would pilot this morning. Gathering up the flight plan information, Chris met Dan as he was coming out of his office. He glanced up at her.
“All set?”
“Ready, ready now,” she replied, dropping into B-52-bomber slang. It brought the expected smile to Dan’s face.
“Okay, let’s get Double Ugly checked out and then you can take me for a ride.”
A new feeling penetrated her exhaustion. She recognized it as a shot of badly needed adrenaline. Today was the day! Resolution coupled with desire to do her very best on the test catapulted through her. Not only did Chris want to make the highest scores possible, but equally important, she wanted to make Dan proud of her. He was giving up a great deal for her sake. More than once she had heard some of the other instructors teasing Dan about the flight overtime he was logging for her benefit. Chris felt her heart expand in silent gratitude for his sacrifice. Dan personified the image of the ideal officer and gentleman.
She picked up her flight bag at the locker and doggedly walked out to the flight line where Dan was waiting. Hopping into the waiting van, they were driven out to the ramp in the grayness of the burgeoning dawn that outlined the black shapes of the awesome F-4 Phantoms.
As always, it was business only in the cockpit. Conversations were kept to a minimum, covering only the technical exchanges that were needed to complete the preflight list. Suddenly her fatigue vanished, and Chris placed all her concentration on the present. The shiver of the throbbing twin engines of the jet filled her with confidence. Working the rudders, she gave the crew chief a thumbs-up and inched the throttles forward, pointing the black nosed fighter toward the taxiway. In an hour and a half she would know w
hether or not she had the right stuff to continue flying the fighters.
It was almost 0900 when Chris landed the Phantom. After she completed the final landing, Dan ordered her to bring the bird in from the grueling hour-and-a-half test. Chris pushed up the dark visor that covered the upper half of her face. When she unsnapped one side of her oxygen mask, it brushed the left side of her cheek. She grimaced, feeling the familiar trickle of sweat from between her breasts and from beneath her armpits. It had been one hell of a test.
“Switch to private,” Dan ordered, breaking into her thought.
Chris reached down and switched the dial to PVT. “Go ahead,” she said, holding the mask that held the communications device up to her mouth.
“You looked pretty tired when you came in this morning.”
She managed a low laugh. “Is that a statement or question?”
Dan’s laughter floated back into her ears. She relaxed, loving the huskiness of his voice. “A statement. What did you do? Stay up all night studying the F-4 manual?”
“Couldn’t sleep so I decided to read through it one last time,” she admitted cautiously.
“It showed. I’m giving you a ninety-four percent on your overall grade. Congratulations.”
The shock of his statement almost disrupted her concentration as she taxied the F-4 toward the ramp.
“What’s the matter?” Dan drawled. “Did I finally surprise you?”
She blinked and then choked on a laugh. “Sort of! A ninety-four?”
“You earned it,” he said. “And just to celebrate all the hard work you’ve been putting in, I’m taking you out for dinner tonight. No argument.”
Chris didn’t know what to do first: cry, laugh or yell with happiness. She had passed with flying colors! A new sense of pride overwhelmed her momentarily. It had been a long hard road back since that crash—she had fought her own fears every time she had sat in the cockpit of a jet. By passing the test for the F-4, she had reconfirmed so much about herself that Chris lapsed into silence, too emotional to trust her voice.
“Hey, when I said ‘no argument’ I didn’t mean for you to completely ignore my invitation.”
Chris willed back her tears and popped the canopy hatch, allowing fresh air into the cockpit. As she slowly brought the F-4 into parking position with the help of the ground crew, she said, “I’m in shock.”
“Over the test score or my invitation to dinner?”
Chris managed a smile, unbuckling the complicated harness and placing the safety pins back into the ejection seat. “Both, frankly. I’m going to unhook. See you down on the ramp.”
Several other students and instructors were on the ramp, preparing to fly. Among them was Brodie who was climbing into the F-4 next to them. Chris ignored the glare Brodie leveled in her direction. She pulled the camouflaged helmet off her head, carefully tucking it back into the flight bag and released her chignon. Her ebony hair swung across her shoulders, framing her face once again. Dan sauntered around the wing and joined her. An irrepressible grin lurked at the corners of his mouth. Without the helmet, his hair was mussed, giving him a boyish look. Chris couldn’t help but return his smile. Suddenly her exhaustion disappeared. All the nights of sporadic sleep coupled with the replay of the crash now seemed far away.
Dan shortened his stride in order to walk at Chris’s side. A glint of pride shone in his blue eyes as he looked down at her. “I’ll pick you up tonight at eight, Raven. Oh, and one more thing. Put your dancing shoes on. We’ve got some heavy celebrating to do.”
She grinned. “Roger, roger, read you loud and clear.”
It had been one long, exciting day. Written tests on calculus and aerodynamics were given that afternoon. They had to be graded, but Chris knew from long experience that her answers were correct. Begging off from joining Karen and Mark at the O’Club, Chris went directly to her room at the BOQ. She stripped off the flight suit, wrinkling her nose at the odor her nervousness had created during the demanding flight test. After taking a hot, invigorating shower, the tiredness that she had held at bay overwhelmed her. Slipping into her pale-pink robe, Chris lay down on the couch, intent upon a quick nap to refresh herself.
Her nightmare began insidiously, interwoven with the exhausted sleep she desperately needed. First, there was the
G-buildup as the T-38 jet aircraft suddenly nosed downward at a frightening angle, crushing her against the ejection seat. She felt as if a huge hand were pushing in on her chest. Chris moaned, calling to Jim.
Jim, what’s wrong?
I don’t know.
The pressure of the dive increased as the sleek, needlelike T-38 dived toward the earth thirty-nine thousand feet below them. The Gs were so awesome that Chris was smashed against the seat, barely able to move her hands from their position on her thighs. Her heart was racing. She heard Jim’s harsh breathing coming through the earphones.
“Damn—Chris, grab the stick and hit the left rudder hard. I can’t unlock the right rudder.”
Her heart pounded as the T-38 hurtled into the spin, its long nose pointed at the dry Texas desert, now thirty-thousand feet below them. Was it hydraulic failure? It took every vestige of strength to get her hand to the stick. Her fingers wrapped strongly about it. She shoved her booted left foot forward, putting all her weight on the rudder beneath it. Nothing moved! The scream of the jet continued. Her head was pressed against the seat, and she was unable to move it one inch either way. The altimeter showing their altitude was unwinding like a broken spring.
“We’ve got to punch out!” she cried. “It’s locked! It’s locked!”
“No!” Jim gasped. “It’s not hydraulic. Something’s jammed under the rudder. Damn! Pull harder!”
Fear twisted through her. Her eyeballs felt as if they were getting pushed through the back of her skull. The T-38 spun in an almost vertical dive toward the parched brown earth. Chris could feel the right rudder give slightly. But not enough. Not enough! “It’s stuck!” she gasped. “Punch out!” Sweat bathed her body, and a scream tore from her lips as the altimeter showed only fifteen thousand feet left between them and the ground. As always in the recurring nightmare, everything from this point on became a slow-motion blur. She was on the edge of blacking out, Jim’s frantic breathing rasped over the headphones. In wild desperation he tried to work the right rudder free.
Chris moaned, crying out. Suddenly she was thrown violently awake by the ejection sequence. Another man’s voice broke through the chaos of wind howling at her, pounding her body, tearing the visor off her helmet. Chris became aware of arms around her, holding her, rocking her. A sob tore loose from deep within her. The scent of Dan’s body, his warmth and lean strength sponged slowly through her fragmented, cartwheeling brain. Chris felt the texture of corduroy against her wet cheek, heard the steadying beat of his heart against the turmoil of hers. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, burying her head more deeply against his cradling shoulder. “Oh, God....”
Dan held her tightly, one hand against her blue black hair, the other around her trembling sweat-soaked body. “Ssh,” he soothed softly against her ear, “it’s all right. You’re here now and you’re safe, Raven.” His eyes mirrored the anguish he heard. Dan had arrived at exactly eight and knocked on the door. There had been no answer at first. And then he heard Chris cry out. He called her name. She had not answered. Grimly, he had put his hand around the doorknob, twisting it open. Luckily it was unlocked, and he stepped into her apartment. She was lying there on the couch, face contorted in sleep, sobbing.
Her words were almost unintelligible as he sat down on the couch, taking her into his arms. He was no stranger to nightmares himself and recognized that Chris was reliving some tragic flying sequence. Words such as “punch out” and “it’s locked” were torn from her lips as she wrestled to escape the clutches of the event clothed in the mantle of sleep.
Dan held her, stroking her ebony hair, whispering words of comfort. Her body was damp and trembling. He closed his eyes, pressi
ng his head against her fragrant hair. How many times had he awakened in a sweat after his days in Vietnam. Far too many. It was no different for Chris. What trauma from her past had caused this kind of reaction? His mind raced with questions as he rocked her gently, listening to the last vestiges of the horror fleeing from her. Had she been involved in a crash? If she had, there was no one at TPS who knew about it. And if she had, how long ago? He ran his fingers down her long curved back, delighting in the firmness of her muscles. Experience told him the crash couldn’t have been more than a year ago because of her violent reaction.
Slowly Chris’s breathing began to return to normal. He felt her breasts pressed against his chest, aware of the wild beat of her heart. Dan embraced her more tightly for a moment, dizzied by her ability to trust him. She was like a small child that had been frightened by a storm, clinging to him in muted silence. She stirred other awakening desires to life within him, but Dan made no move to capitalize upon the moment. She needed help and someone to hold her.
“It’s all right, Raven,” he told her in a hushed voice. “You’re here, in the present now. The nightmare’s over. You’re here, with me, in your room at the BOQ.” How many times had he wakened in his barracks room thinking he was still reliving the horror of SAM missiles streaking toward his F-4, intent on obliterating him from the skies? And how long had it taken him to talk himself out of that state even though he had been pulled awake by his own screams? His own sobs? He had wanted to roll over and bury himself in the arms of a woman and find solace against those stalking ghosts of the past. Grimly Dan blinked back tears as he gazed down at Chris.
No one had ever held him in the throes of those horrible nights. At least he could do that for Chris. Dan understood better than most what the warmth of a steadying body could do to bring someone back into the present. He gently brushed the wetness from her cheek, his face filled with concern. Chris was still trembling, her lips parted, contorted by powerful updrafts of emotions he could sense were violently alive within her. “It’s okay, honey,” he murmured, leaning down, placing a kiss on her temple. “Work through the fear. Don’t hang on to it. Just let it go....”
Touch the Heavens Page 6
