Wingman Warriors - Grayson's Surrender Part 18

Chapter 12.

Gray gripped the stick and flew. Beach music pulsed trough the interphone. No one argued or grumbled. This was his flight.

But he wasn't singing. The shock on Lori's face when he'd told her about his move kept blindsiding him.

d.a.m.n it, he needed to fly the plane.

Air-to-air refueling demanded concentration. Twenty-five thousand feet in the air, he eased up behind the tanker that would off-load the gas they needed to complete the mission.

Routine grounded him as he maneuvered the stick and mumbled through steps he'd completed hundreds of times before. "Visual references ... lined up. b.u.mp the throttles- Oops, too much. Pull it back. Wings level. Got good closure. Back ... off ... it and ... level it right there." Gray called to the copilot. "Refueling checklist complete?"

Bronco slapped his checklist closed. "Roger. Checklist complete. Two green lights. Tanker ready to pa.s.s some gas."

"Uh-huh." Not in the mood for crew dog exchanges, Gray had let Bronco's lame jokes slide all day.

The tanker's long metal boom, an enclosed gas hose, dropped, connected, and the two aircraft flew in tandem twenty-two feet apart. Gray settled in for the forty-five-minute refueling with none of his expected excitement.

Refueling offered the greatest challenge in Air Force flying, short of combat, and he couldn't even find a song he wanted to sing.

d.a.m.n.

Gray adjusted his air speed.

Bronco stretched in the confined s.p.a.ce. "Done any house hunting up in Washington yet?"

"Nope."

"But you've got a couple weeks permissive leave to look, right?"

"Uh-huh."

Bronco shifted in his seat, drummed his fingers on the panel. Shifted again. "Sure hope those firemen down there got the right hoses hooked up for you. Remember when they sprayed Sasquach with the yellow foam? Guy looked jaundiced for a week."

"Yeah." On a normal day Bronco was talkative, but the guy was downright chatty today with no signs of letting up.

"You're gonna pull some awesome Pacific trips with this new a.s.signment. Temporary duty to Hawaii. Guam. Philippines. j.a.pan. Great shopping."

Shopping. Thoughts of Barbie houses and Capri pants made Gray flinch.

"Hey, Cutter?"

"What?"

"You'd better talk to me, man, or I'm going to yank these throttles, knock you off the boom and then tell everyone you screwed up refueling on your finit flight."

Gray shot a quick glance at Bronco before returning his concentration to the plane flying in front of him. "Sorry. Were you talking to me?"

"Funny."

"Hey, Lance," Gray shot over his shoulder to the senior pilot in the instructor seat. "You actually let your copilot talk?"

"Sorry. He snuck that in while my mouth was full. Really great cookies today. Want one?" The bag rattled behind Gray's shoulder.

"No, thanks."

Silence settled over them, broken only by sporadic calls through the headset. Not at all like times he usually flew with these guys.

Tag was best of the best, one of the old guard. Lancelot had a great set of flying hands, a solid pilot, even if Gray didn't hang with him much outside the airplane. Rumor had it Lance's party habits, combined with job stress, had put his marriage on the line more than once. But he had an air sense Gray trusted.

And Bronco. d.a.m.n, he would miss the big, chatty guy.

Of course these guys would be his choice for his finit flight.

His finit flight, a tradition chock-full of celebration and other rituals central to the "fight hard, play hard" so he could "fight harder the next day" mentality of all soldiers. And he wasn't enjoying himself in the least because he kept thinking of Lori.

Would she be on the ground waiting for him?

She'd said she would, for Magda to say goodbye. For good.

They hadn't spoken all week, but she hadn't called to cancel, either. The flight had taken off before his parents would have even left to pick her up, so he wouldn't know if she'd come until he taxied down the runway.

There wasn't a thing he could do about it now. Might as well plaster on the smile and put on a good front. "Hey, Lancelot, did you hear what they said about Bronco at the last training meeting?"

Lance chuckled, picking up the teasing thread as any decent crew dog would. "Refresh my memory, Cutter."

"Something about copilot upgrades to aircraft commander. And how he'll never get one ... because he talks too much!"

Lance coughed into the headset. "Almost made me choke on a cookie with that, Cutter. Good one, huh, Bronco? Or should we change your call sign to 'Motor Mouth'?"

"Upgrade me and it won't be a problem," Bronco growled, then fell silent. Before long, the big guy was squirming predictably in his seat. "Hey, you're making up that stuff about the meeting-right?"

"Whatever you want to tell yourself." Gray jumped into the familiar routine of crew camaraderie. Everything would be fine. He'd just experienced a ripple, a mental air pocket, before he leveled out. "Got any more cookies back there, Lancelot?"

Gray reached over his shoulder, downed the cookie, then decided he'd tortured Bronco long enough.

"Hey, Bronco." He winked. "I'm just yanking your chain. Get over yourself."

"I knew that." Bronco sniffed, then grinned.

Gray decided he should take the same advice for himself. He'd fallen into the trap of letting things get too complicated, and he knew better. The sky unfolded before him, cloud after cloud whipping past. Keep it simple. Just him and the sky- Wham.

The pop reverberated through the aircraft. It echoed, like a baseball bat to the side of the plane. Gray's hand convulsed around the stick.

Fog rolled into the c.o.c.kpit. An ominous white cloud churned, filling his rapidly fogging brain.

Rapid.

Rapid decompression.

His mind flashed with thoughts of Lori waiting on the ground. Lori, smiling because of a silly cracker.

No time to bite out a curse or waste on distractions. Training kicked in. He had less than twenty seconds of useful consciousness left.

Gray stared up at the refueling plane ahead of them and smashed the disconnect b.u.t.ton.

"Breakaway! Breakaway! Breakaway!" He whipped the quick-don oxygen mask over his face.

A deep inhale started to clear his brain. "Rapid dee," he barked over interphone. "Everybody on oxygen and report up."

"Copilot up on oxygen."

"Instructor pilot up on oxygen," Lance called.

"Loadmaster up."

"Bronco, tell center we're descending to ten thousand feet." Gray clipped orders over the headset. He rammed the stick forward. Nosedown the plane dived, faster, rattling, increasing vibration, gaining speed as they descended toward breathable air.

His mind clicked through causes, everything from a popped seal to an explosion. He couldn't evaluate until they reached ten thousand feet. If they got there.

Lori's face flashed in front of him again at absolutely the worst time. He did not need distractions. Not now. And Lori had always been the biggest distraction he'd ever known.

The plane rattled louder, noises picking up, whining. Clouds whipped past the windscreen.

Still Gray couldn't shake thoughts of Lori. He could almost smell peaches. Was this what guys like Lance and the squadron commander, all those married flyers went through every time they faced danger?

If so, he didn't want it. Thoughts of Lori's horrified face if he died tormented him with each plummeting mile. He'd wanted her to understand, but hadn't imagined he could throw her right into the sort of pain his father had given his mother.

d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n. His crewmates counted on him to do his job, to protect them, and all he could think about was Lori. And the ground closing in at three hundred and fifty knots.

*** Lori hitched Magda higher on her hip and tried to soothe her with a combination of bouncing and swaying. It wasn't working. They'd been out on the flight line too long and any child would be restless.

Magda had already climbed up and down the small set of bleachers by the line of parked planes at least fifty times. The allure of strolling around their corner of concrete had long ago palled for the four-year-old.

A summer breeze liked along the open airfield and through Lori's loose hair, offering relief from the stored heat drifting up from the cement. At first Lori had worried a return to the base might upset Magda. But Magda's wariness had faded each day as she bonded with Lori-with a speed Lori understood well since she felt the same. She knew there wasn't a chance she would be giving Magda up at the hearing in a few weeks.

Magda squirmed to get down, not in the least bothered by her surroundings. Too bad Lori couldn't find some of that rea.s.surance for herself. She still wasn't certain why she'd come. For Magda? To find out what made Gray shut himself off from any life other than flying and medicine?

To see him one last time before he left?

A tinkling sound broke through her thoughts. Angela Clark's bracelet sounded from Magda's fist.

Lori knew exactly why she'd come. Grayson's mother was just as persuasive as her son.

Magda jingled Angela's bracelet again, Gray's mother having pa.s.sed it over fifteen minutes earlier in hopes of calming the wiggling child. Lori had long ago exhausted her bribe supply of gummies and juice boxes.

"Lori?" Dave Clark extended callused hands. "Let me take her."

"Dave, she's not at her best." Lori hesitated, not wanting to impose.

The older man gripped the child's waist. "Grayson couldn't sit still to save his soul when he was a boy. I think I can handle this tiny sc.r.a.p."

"If you're sure you don't mind?" Lori handed her over with reluctant relief. The kid seemed to have doubled in weight since they'd arrived well over an hour ago.

Angela straightened Magda's hat and matching ladybug-patterned dress. "Of course he doesn't mind. Dave loves babies." A fond smile lit her face, a smile so like her son's. "He was always toting the boys around on his back when they were small." Her smile faded. "Of course he missed Mary Ann's baby years, but she was right about Magda's age when he came home."

All those lost years. An image of young Gray curled up with his stuffed Snoopy dog slipped right up and past Lori's defenses. "Thanks, Dave, my arms were ready to give out."

"No problem." He shifted Magda onto his shoulders so her feet dangled on his chest. Angela pointed to different sites on the runway-cars, trucks, flags-and chanted the words to Magda.

Lori glanced around the tarmac at the other fifty or so waiting people. Maybe one of them would have an answer for the delay. Most of them she recognized from a year ago. Tag's family waited to the side, his wife and two teenagers. Other servicemen milled around in flight suits.

Captain O'Connell, one of the other flight surgeons, stood with the squadron commander and ground crew. Of course, Kathleen O'Connell didn't look at all peaked from her stomach flu bout. If anything, she looked tanned and healthy in her flight suit.

A military doctor, she was just the sort of woman Gray should be seeing. They would have similar goals with a mutual understanding of the job and its demands.

Lori had no reason to suspect there was any relationship between the two of them. Still she couldn't stop the stab of jealousy at comparing herself to Kathleen and finding herself lacking.

Just when she decided she would have to swallow her pride and ask Kathleen for an update, Lori's gaze lit on a late arrival. Lance's wife, Julia, stepped from a military truck, clutching a champagne bottle.

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Julia called breathlessly. "Lance would have had a cow if I wasn't here. Not a pretty sight, let me tell you!"

In a flurry of short, blond curls and yards of whispery cotton, Julia Sinclair rushed across the flight line. Lori had thought they might develop a friendship a year ago, but there hadn't been enough time. Another disappointment. She could have used girl talk and someone to share her bowl of consolation cookie dough.

Lori tapped Angela's arm. "I'll be right back. I'm going to say h.e.l.lo to someone."

"Of course." Angela didn't even look away from Magda. "We'll be fine."

Lori looked up, but still no sign of an airplane. She pushed through the crowd and called out. "Julia. Over here."

The woman turned, frowned, then smiled, waving. "Lori, wow, you came! Lance said you might, but well, men can get things all messed up so I didn't know for sure. I put you on the party count, anyway."

"Thanks. I hope we haven't caused any extra trouble."

"Not at all. Everything's done and waiting." Julia fanned her face with her hand, shuffled, shifted her handbag over her shoulder. Nervous energy radiated from her in waves to rival the heat steaming from the runway. "I thought for sure I would be late. I had to transfer all those deli meats and cheeses to real platters, then stuff the plastic ones deep in the trash. Bury the evidence, you know? Can you believe Lance actually thinks I cut all that stuff up with my own little hands? Sheesh! But who am I to disillusion the guy?"

Lori laughed, looking up at the woman who topped her by at least three or four inches. Julia had a way of making her presence felt in a way that had nothing to do with her near-six-foot height. "I guess it's lucky for you they're running late."

Julia tugged her necklace up to read the watch face. "I guess they are, aren't they? That happens. It's probably nothing."

"Of course." Lori grasped for something to say, anything to keep the conversation alive so she didn't have to think about the delayed aircraft. "It's nice of you to put together the picnic for Gray."

"The local deli and I can throw one heck of a party. Your little one will have plenty of kids to play with. Most of the families are joining us back at the house. Gray has a lot of friends here. We're going to miss him."

"Hmmm." So would she. He'd left his mark on her life. She couldn't walk through her apartment without thinking of him. She'd fed a whole box of crackers to the birds so she wouldn't have to look at the packs and remember Gray.

"It's not often they get to fly with one of his kind."