Night Flight (30 page)

Melody hesitated. “Uh, he’s still at school. Remember? There was a slide show on the San Diego Zoo, and then the children were going to have dinner at the cafeteria.” She glanced at her watch. “He’ll be home in an hour.”

Some of Jack’s control disintegrated, and he closed his eyes. A scream tried to lurch out of his constricted throat. Mired in grief, he heard Melody’s stabilizing voice.

“Jack, what is it? My God, you look terrible. The promotion?”

Anguish soared through him as he opened his eyes and looked down at her lovely face. “I—” And he choked. With a helpless shrug, he forced the words out. “The promotion list came out today. I wasn’t on it….”

Melody’s hands flew to her lips, but the cry got past her. She took a step back, her eyes flooding with tears. “Oh, no! Oh, Jack…”

Breathing hard, letting the words, the feelings, tumble out of him, he rasped, “It was those two bitches, Roberts and Porter. They did me in. I just know it! Christ, if they were men, I’d beat the hell out of them! Roberts zeroed in on our son, making a big deal out of nothing. Porter’s had it in for me ever since I was assigned to this project.” His vision blurred, and he spun around. Tears! Of all the damned things!

With a muffled cry, Melody threw her arms around Jack’s neck and held him tightly. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, honey,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “This has never happened before! You made early lieutenant and captain. There was no reason not to get early major!”

Clinging to her, Jack buried his face in her hair, a sob tearing from deep within him. He crushed Melody hard against him and fought the reaction. Test pilots didn’t cry. They didn’t show emotions. But Melody’s softened weeping only spurred the reaction in him. For the next five minutes, Jack surrendered to the need to cry out his frustration and anger.

Tearfully, Melody eased out of his arms and led him to the couch. She brought a box of tissues over, setting it between them. Blotting his cheeks with one, she whispered, “Tell me what happened. Who else made it?”

Miserably, Jack told her everything. Melody’s surprise over Holt making it confirmed his own suspicions. Angrily rubbing his face dry of the tears, he muttered, “Porter has always liked Holt! She’s always favored him. And the bastard crashed! He crashed! And he still got early promotion. Dammit, I’ve done everything right, and I get nothing!”

Gripping his hand, Melody sat there thinking. “Holt’s got one powerful sponsor, then,” she said quietly.

“Where the hell was mine when this all came down?” Jack groaned. “I know I’ve got one. Or did he desert me over this fiasco with Scotty?” Once a sponsor left, Jack knew he had no one to back his career. It was a dire sign; something he refused to acknowledge—yet.

“Get a copy of your fitness report, Jack. That’s the first thing to do. Let’s find out if Porter is playing favorites.”

“I know she is,” he growled, glaring out across the living room.

“See what she wrote on your report. If it’s vague, you can fight it!” Her voice rose a notch with hope. “Honey, we can fight it. Together.”

He held her tear-filled gaze. It hurt to disappoint Melody. “We’ve worked so hard for this. I feel like I’ve let you down.”

Caressing Jack’s cheek, Melody shook her head. “I don’t feel let down. I feel like we’ve been stabbed in the back.”

“By Porter.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “She halted testing on my engine redesign idea.”

“What?” Melody stood up, her eyes huge. “She what?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. I had a hell of a fight in a Design meeting with her about continued testing, but she said no.” Jack shook his head. “And then that bastard Holt came up with a stupid idea about using canards on the nose to give the bird more lift and keep it out of stall position longer.”

Rubbing her brow, Melody began to pace. “We’ve got to do something to stop it.”

He snorted, his eyes slits. “Don’t worry, I intend to do something about it, Melody. I’ve got a plan. I’m not letting that bitch stop me! I’m going to prove her and Holt wrong.”

Delighted, Melody sat back down, placing her arm around his shoulders. “A plan?” she said hopefully.

“Yes. First, I’ve got to do my homework. I’ll get a hold of Merrill on Sunday morning. Porter sandbagged him, too. I’m sure he’ll want to throw in with my plan.”

“Jack, give him time to talk to Becky. He’s got to be as upset as you are,” she counseled swiftly. “While I make us dinner, you fill me in on this plan. Right now, two heads are better than one.”

Leaning wearily against Melody’s shoulder, Jack closed his eyes, needing to be held for just a minute. Melody wrapped her arms around him and pressed a small kiss on his brow. “Okay,” he uttered tiredly, “I’ll wait. I’ll hit him with it Sunday morning.”

Melody gently rocked him in her arms. “I’m sure Becky’s overjoyed Curt didn’t make major.”

Becky heard the front door open and close. She quickly put the lid back on the dumplings she was in the process of making and peeked out the kitchen. Curt looked tired and disappointed. He dropped his briefcase on the couch, along with his dark blue garrison cap.

“You look tired,” she greeted, walking over to him and giving him a hello kiss.

Curt barely returned the kiss and embraced Becky because he needed her strength. “I didn’t make it, Sparrow.”

“What?” Becky tilted her head upward. Curt looked as if he’d been kicked in the head, or worse. What had gone on today? “Oh…oh, dear, the promotion list!” Her hand tightened on the sleeve of his flight suit.

He couldn’t even be angry with her because she’d forgotten. Curt held her startled expression. “I didn’t get early promotion. Holt did, but Stang and I didn’t.”

Relief shattered through Becky, and she murmured, “Lordy.” She felt Curt’s arms tighten around her, and she embraced him long and hard, realizing how disappointed he was. Resting her head against his chest, she asked softly, “What does this mean?”

Running his hand up and down her small back, Curt sagged. “Bad news for me, Sparrow. When the Agile Eagle is completed, I’ll probably get orders to test pilot school to be an instructor or—” he swallowed hard “—get put back into a fighter squadron.”

Becky stood there, not believing the words she’d prayed to hear for so long. Curt would stop being a test pilot shortly. He’d stop risking his life on a daily basis. When he had flown the F-15 as a fighter pilot, she had been able to cope with that stress far better than this kind. She released the shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I truly am.” Becky hoped she didn’t sound insincere. She loved Curt too much to do that to him.

Holding her for a long moment, Curt absorbed her small feminine form. He needed her kind of strength right now, because he felt the world was crumbling around him. “I don’t want to go back to just flying. I like testing. I’m good at it. If only they’d give me another chance…if only…” And then, he asked in anguish, “What’s my father going to think? How am I going to face him? The family?”

Becky held her husband tightly, her knuckles white, fingers dug into her palms as she pressed him against herself. She prayed for the opposite: that they’d release him to active duty flying. She didn’t care where, just as long as it was away from Edwards, and the threat of him augering in at least once a week.

“If they truly love you, Curt, they’ll understand and support you—no matter what your assignment is.”

“My father’s going to hit the ceiling when I tell him.”

“Wait a few days,” Becky advised. “You’ll feel better and be able to handle his disappointment.” Eventually, Becky released him and led him into the kitchen. Curt sat down at the table and she poured him a cup of coffee. Only then did she return to making the dumplings.

Curt sat there, glumly staring off into space, not touching the fragrant coffee. Ordinarily, when he came home, always starved, he looked forward to the smells coming out of the kitchen. He had no appetite tonight.

“I imagine Sam was happy,” Becky pointed out, lifting out the dumplings one at a time from the huge pot of boiling water and into a nearby bowl.

“Yeah, he was.” Curt grimaced. “I wish there was some way to prove myself, to prove I can fly as good as he and Stang. I know I can. I’ve just had lousy luck, lousy weather conditions. Damn.”

“It’s bad luck,” she agreed softly. Compressing her lips, Becky smoothed out her blue-and-white checked cotton apron across her pink slacks. Today, she had worn a red blouse. Red, her mother had always told her, gave one strength. Funny, how she knew to wear it. Becky didn’t even want to think how she’d have felt if Curt had gotten his major’s leaves. That would’ve meant at least three more years at Edwards, testing.

Gripping the mug of coffee, Curt whispered, “I can’t go back to a squadron. God, I’ll die there, not after having it all. Not after testing. It’ll be boring.” He got up, wandering into the living room.

Becky craned her neck, unable to leave the dumplings that were at a critical stage of being cooked in the hot water. Worriedly, she prayed there was no way for Curt to stay at Edwards. It could be a matter of weeks, perhaps a month, before the Agile Eagle testing was completed. She could hold on for that long, she knew. Just a little while longer…

“Look, dammit,” Jack said to Curt, “my plan can work!” He glanced at his watch. “It’s five-thirty. Get into your flight suit, and we’ll drive down to Ops. Major Porter is out of town for the weekend, but she approved the test.”

Curt rubbed his face. He stood in the middle of the living room, still clad in his cotton pajamas. “Jack, you said you got clearance to take the Agile Eagle up?”

“Yes!” Jack said impatiently. “I need a backseat. You can double as the flight engineer on this test.” He thrust a group of papers under Curt’s nose. “I worked fourteen hours Saturday devising a new and better test. All we’ve got to do is fly it! You call out the numbers, and I’ll put that baby on the fifteen-hundred-foot mark every time.” Jack gestured out the window. “Winds aren’t calm, either. They’re from the direction that gave us so much trouble before. Porter’s test demands were too strict. This time,” he said, tapping the papers Curt held, “we’ll make those test results stick.”

Warily, Curt looked over his shoulder. Becky had awakened when Jack had rung the doorbell earlier. The bedroom door was ajar. Had she gone back to sleep, or was she listening? “But will Major Porter accept your flight test even if the bird makes the marker?”

“Hell, yes!” Jack rasped violently. “We’ll have proof that the bird can do it! There’s no way she can dispute success. She’ll have to take our numbers. Then, we can wrap this project up.” Gripping Curt by the shoulder, Jack said, “You want your major’s leaves early, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Throwing his hands on his hips, Jack gave him a triumphant look. “When we come back after successfully flying this test I devised, believe me, we can challenge our fitness reports that Porter wrote up on us. We can challenge them and win! Think of it! You’ll be a major!”

Curt heard movement behind him. Becky was up. She’d heard. Gripping Jack’s shoulder, he motioned him toward the door. “My wife’s up. Since you’ve got authorization to fly, I’ll meet you outside in about ten minutes.”

Stang grinned. “You won’t regret it, Curt.” Excitement rose in his voice as he opened the door and stepped outside. “Hurry.”

“Yeah.” Curt shut the door and turned. Becky stood in the hall, dressed in her pale yellow chenille robe. Girding himself, he walked up to her. Her face was pale, eyes huge with terror.

“You heard?” he asked, keeping his voice down so his daughter wouldn’t awaken.

“Y-yes. Curt, it’s Sunday morning! You never fly on Sunday!” Becky’s voice was high, off-key.

Curt walked into the bedroom. He opened one drawer and drew out a fresh flight suit. “Jack’s got authorization, Sparrow.” Slipping out of his pajamas, he pulled on a pair of briefs, a T-shirt and then the flight suit, pressing the Velcro shut.

“Lordy, Curt,” she cried softly, coming around the bed, “you can’t fly! Not today!”

“Sparrow,” he whispered, cradling her shoulders, “it’s going to be fine, I promise you. Jack says this is a way to get our major’s leaves. He worked all day yesterday outlining a test for the Eagle that will place it at the fifteen-hundred-foot mark every time. If we can fly that now, it will get us noticed.”

“No!” Becky wailed, huge tears forming and streaking down her face. “No, Curt! Ya’ll can’t do this! I don’t feel good about it!” She placed her fist against her stomach.

Frantically, Curt looked toward the door. Time was getting away from him. “Hush, you’ll wake Patty!”

“I don’t care!” Becky sobbed, clutching the front of his flight suit. “Curt, this isn’t good! No one flies a test on a Sunday! I don’t believe Stang! I don’t think Major Porter knows about it!”

Leaning down, he kissed her wrinkled brow. Gently he disengaged. “Sparrow, you’re upset. Everything will be all right. Trust me. It’s only an hour-long flight. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“Curt…” she wailed plaintively as he walked toward the door.

Jerking to a halt, he faced her. “Dammit, Becky, it’s going to be okay! Go back to bed!”

Heart pounding so hard that she could barely breathe or speak, Becky fell to the bed. “Don’t go, don’t go…”

Torn, Curt stood poised at the door, Becky’s sobs tearing through him. Flexing his hands into fists, he turned and walked down the hall in long, quick strides. Becky’s cries filled his ears. He couldn’t stand to hear her cry. Opening the front door, he left.

Becky heard the door shut and reached for the phone. Her hand shook so badly that she had to dial Sam Holt’s home number twice before she connected.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Holt muttered, pulling his arm from beneath Megan’s head, and rolled over on his side. What the hell time was it? 5:45 a.m. Who was calling this early on a Sunday morning? Fumbling, Sam lifted the receiver.

“Hello…”

“Sam, oh, Sam! This is Becky. Somethin’ terrible’s about to happen!”

Blinking, Sam sat up in bed, the covers falling away, piling around his waist. The grayness of dawn filtered into the huge bedroom through the pale orchid curtains. Beside him, Megan stirred. “Becky, what’s wrong? You’re crying.” She spoke in short bursts, punctuated with sobs.

Megan forced her eyes open, hearing Sam’s lowered voice. As soon as she heard it was Becky, she sat up. Pushing her hair away from her face, Megan could hear Becky’s distraught voice coming over the phone.

“Wait,” Sam begged. “Let me get this straight—Stang says he’s got approval to fly that bird this morning? Lauren’s out of town. How could she have signed the flight orders?”

“Ohhh, Sam, I know it sounds fishy! Please, get down to Ops. Stop them! Stop Curt from flying! I feel awful about this!”

“Just a minute, Becky.” Sam slid a glance over at Megan. He put his hand across the phone. “Get me a flight suit out of the third drawer on the right?”

Nodding, Megan slipped out of bed, the pale pink silk gown falling around her ankles. Worried, she listened to the conversation, her heartbeat picking up. Something was wrong. Stang and Curt were involved. She laid the one-piece flight suit on the bed and then went to the bathroom.

“Yes, I’ll get down there as soon as I can, Becky, but it’s a good half-hour drive to Edwards. Why don’t you meet me down at Ops? Yes, take Patty over to a neighbor, and then meet me there. Wait at the front doors, and I can get you a visitor’s pass when I arrive. I’ll check with the flight scheduling office and see if Stang’s telling the truth. Now, calm down. Get ahold of yourself. You aren’t going to do anyone any good by staying hysterical.”

Megan emerged from the bathroom just as Sam hung up. “What’s going on?” she asked huskily, watching him strip out of the drawstring pajama bottoms and climb into his flight suit.

“I don’t know,” Sam answered grimly, filling her in on the details of the conversation while he dressed. Grabbing a pair of flight boots from the closet, he sat down on the bed. “If I know Stang, he’s lied about flight approval clearance. Curt’s swallowed it. If they take that bird up without Lauren’s okay, all hell’s going to break loose. They’ll both be in so much hot water, it’ll make their heads spin.”

Megan scowled. “And Becky’s going to meet you at Ops?”

“Yeah.” He quickly shoved on the black socks, and then put on the boots, lacing them up.

“Then I’m coming along.”

Sam raised his head, was going to say something, but thought better of it. “Look, I know Ops isn’t your favorite place, Red. You don’t have to go.”

She reached into another drawer, where she kept lingerie. “Becky’s going to need the support, Sam.”

“All right, hurry.”

Hands shaking, Megan quickly slipped into a pair of dark green slacks and a warm, ivory cowl-neck sweater. Running a brush through her thick hair, she slid her feet into a pair of low-heeled shoes. Sam stood at the door, waiting for her. “God, I’m scared, Sam.”

“I know, honey.” Holding out his hand, she gripped it. Her fingers were damp and cool. “Come on, we’ve got some driving to do.”

As they raced through the house toward the garage, Megan asked in a taut voice, “Do you think you can stop them, Sam?”

“I don’t know. They’ll be in the air by the time we get there. The test flight won’t last more than an hour. I’m going more for Becky’s sake, than to try and order them out of the air. This is Lauren’s territory to handle, not mine.”

Megan felt the reassuring strength of his hand around hers. His words didn’t remove the ugly feeling surrounding her. “Hurry,” she whispered, “hurry.”

Ops was deserted when Holt drove up to the long, yellow stucco building. Becky stood out front, her composure shredded. The dark blue wool coat made her look frail. Hearing the growl of the Eagle’s thundering engines, Holt looked up. He immediately recognized the test bird in the dogleg portion of the flight pattern.

“Oh, Sam!” Becky cried, running down the concrete steps toward his car.

Holt climbed out of the Corvette and embraced Becky momentarily. “It’s going to be okay,” he reassured her. Looking over, he guided her into Megan’s awaiting arms.

“Take it easy,” Megan begged her, gaze fixed on the fighter. The early Sunday morning air shook and vibrated with the sound of the thundering engines. Mouth dry, Megan felt her own fears vomit up through her. Becky trembled in her arms as she led her into Ops.

Holt opened the door for them, and Megan led her through the entrance. The tiled floors were highly polished, the visitors’ lounge filled with plastic chairs facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out across the tarmac and airstrip. Sam went directly to the flight counter, an airman immediately leaping to his feet from behind the desk. First, he’d get them visitor’s passes.

“Come on,” she said to Becky gently, “let’s go sit down.”

“He’s gonna crash,” Becky moaned, burying her head against Megan’s chest, “I know he’s gonna crash. Oh, Lordy.”

Biting down on her lower lip, Megan got Becky to a chair before she collapsed. Deeply worried, Megan crouched down next to Becky’s bent form in the chair and tried to soothe the distraught woman. Glancing up, she saw Holt walking toward them, his face set and grim.

“What did you find out?” Megan asked. She took the two passes he handed to her.

Sam leaned down, placing a steadying hand on Becky’s shoulder. “The flight’s not authorized,” he said heavily. “I don’t know what possessed Stang to pull a stunt like this.”

“What can you do?” Becky asked.

“Nothing. Wait until they land, and then I’ll report the incident to Major Porter Monday morning.”

The brutal, pounding reverberation of the jet landing, and then taking off again, drowned out their conversation. Agitated, Holt got to his feet. “Stay with Becky,” he told Megan, “I’m going to go outside and try to figure out what they’re doing.”

“No!” Becky cried, struggling to stand, “I’m coming, too!”

Megan placed her arm around Becky.

“All right,” Holt said. He led them outside to watch the takeoffs and landings. The Eagle flashed by, gaining altitude, the air punctuated with her growl. Angry at Stang, disheartened by Curt’s willingness or stupidity in going along with him, Holt stood there helplessly, watching the bird rise into the morning air. Both pilots’ careers were in jeopardy because of what they’d done. He felt nothing but sadness.

“Next test,” Jack demanded tightly, a feeling of exhilaration flooding him. Thus far, the Agile Eagle had hit the fifteen-hundred-foot mark five out of five times. The bird felt solid under his hands and booted feet. He listened to Merrill’s instructions.

“Winds are getting erratic,” Curt cautioned, looking around. To his surprise, he saw Becky, Sam Holt and Megan Roberts standing out on the steps of Ops. A lump formed in his throat. Had Becky called Sam and Megan for support? He felt anger at first, and then, shame. What would it do to Becky to watch this test? Make her worse? Better? Curt wasn’t sure, a bad taste in his mouth.

“Coming around!” Jack whooped triumphantly. “Get ready to nail that fifteen-hundred mark!” He began to ease the bird from the mandatory twelve-hundred-foot level, coming in for a landing. The winds were tricky, sometimes strong, sometimes nonexistent. Setting flaps and slats at one hundred percent, Stang knew in order to make this set of tests, he had to pull the bird in nose-high, and just this side of stall position.

Merrill began reading out the altitude, feeling the jet quiver. Inwardly, he tensed as Stang pulled the nose extremely high. “Jack,” he warned, “you’re too high, you’re going to stall out—”

At that moment, an unexpected gust of wind struck the Eagle. The nose reared upward. The stall warning sounded harshly through the cabin. Merrill tensed. Stang cursed. Hands and feet moving in a blur of speed, Stang tried to stop the jet from falling out of the sky. They were eight hundred feet above the ground. Damn!

The Eagle became sluggish, even though the nose was pointed down once again. Stang couldn’t get control of the fighter. Merrill cried out, “Eject, eject, eject!” The fighter was now at four hundred feet, falling like a rock toward the earth.

The seconds before Merrill wrapped his gloved hands around the handles of his seat to trip off the ejection sequence, he thought of Becky, and his daughter, Patty. The canopy popped off the Eagle, tumbling end over end away from the jet. In the next second, he triggered the seat, and the rockets ignited. It jerked Merrill out of the cockpit. The world spun crazily around him, the powerful thrust of the rockets jamming him savagely down into the seat. Would he be far enough away from the crash site? Would fire envelop him? Burn him alive? Would his parachute open at all? Or would he tumble out of the sky, only to hit the ground and be killed?

Those thoughts ripped through him as the rockets carried him away from the falling jet. Becky! God, he loved her! And Patty! And then, Merrill’s entire life, from beginning to end, flashed across his tightly shut eyes.

Becky shrieked, her fists jammed against her mouth as the first seat ejected from the out-of-control aircraft.

Megan’s lips parted as she saw the jet flair and tip drunkenly in the air. She clutched Becky to her. Everything was in slow motion, or so it seemed. Holt had given a cry first, a cry of desperation. As the nose of the F-15 suddenly tipped upward they had all watched as the jet began falling belly first toward the runway.