No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (6 page)

"Yes, sir." Dana made an about-face and marched to the door. She opened it and stepped out into the passageway. After shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it momentarily. Fortunately no one was around to see her lapse of military protocol. Straightening, she absently touched her throbbing cheek, then placed the garrison cap on her head. Next stop was the bookstore where she'd pick up an armload of texts. When she wasn't flying during the next fourteen weeks, she would be taking part in grueling academic sessions, learning about aerodynamics and meteorology.

As she left the administration building and walked the palm-tree-lined route to the bookstore, Dana couldn't ignore her emotions. Somehow, she had to get Griff out of her mind and heart! The man at the airport had been a sham. The Turk was the real man—the bastard out to make her fail at any cost. He hated women encroaching on his male-dominated world. Fine. She'd withstood the men at the academy who'd wanted her to fail. But there was a difference here: her flight grades for the next six weeks rested entirely in Griff's hands. She knew if she dropped below a 2.0 grade, a Board of Inquiry would be called. Rumor had it that any student with two "Boards" was washed out automatically—whatever the reasons.

Dana ignored the other students hurrying to the bookstore or to flight interviews with their new instructors. If Griff chose to wield his prejudice against her even if she was flying adequately, Dana would be in trouble. And it would be so easy for him to do—his word against hers. He was an 03, a first lieutenant, while she was an 01, an ensign, the bottom rung on the officers' ladder. No one would take her word for anything. And if she cried prejudice or sexual discrimination, they'd laugh her out of school.

Grimly Dana swung into the bookstore and pulled a list from the thigh pocket of her flight suit. Griff seemed very sure she wouldn't make the grade. Well, she would do everything in her power to fly—and fly well. Still, Dana couldn't erase the memory of Griff's soft gray eyes filled with concern. If she could forget that episode, she could easily bring up her defenses and weather his hatred of her. Maybe Molly or Maggie would have some sage advice; both of them seemed to have more understanding of men than Dana did. After all, her one relationship had been built on lies and was a proven disaster.

***

"So," Dana ended tiredly, "that's the whole story on Turcotte."

Maggie leaned back in the cushioned, bamboo chair, putting her feet up on the small stool. "You can tell you don't have any Irish blood in you to give you some luck."

"Worse, she saw his good side," added Molly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Maggie's chair.

Dana studied Molly. Her blond hair was shoulder length, the ends softly curling around her oval features. Molly had always worn her heart on her sleeve and was tremendously sensitive to others. Dana held her understanding gaze. "That's the worst part of this. If I hadn't seen Griff in action at the airport, I could handle how he sees me now."

"Jekyll and Hyde," Maggie muttered defiantly, brushing some auburn strands off her brow. "He obviously hates women."

"I don't think so," Molly objected. "He didn't treat Dana like that at the airport."

"No, he was solicitous and—" Dana chewed on her lower lip for a moment, almost unable to say the word.

"What?" Molly prodded.

"Gentle."

Maggie smiled. "There
are
a few men who have that quality, Dana. I know you don't believe it, but there are."

"That's why I need your advice. You've both had positive relationships with men." Maggie's father adored her and his three other daughters. He was a warm, caring man, as Dana had discovered firsthand on a trip home with Maggie one time. Molly's father was cooler and more aloof, favoring Scott, his son, over her. Nevertheless, Molly's father was a vast improvement over Frank Coulter, as far as Dana was concerned.

Dressed in comfortable jeans and a lavender tank top, Maggie balanced a book on aeronautics on her lap, and held a glass of lemonade in one hand. It was six in the evening— their second evening together at the new apartment. "They aren't all ogres," Maggie said. "If the Turk was nice at the airport and a bastard at base, something isn't jibing."

"I think he hates all women," Dana muttered.

"No," Molly protested. "Maybe just women in the military. You know: the same old male prejudice about us bringing down their last bastion or some such crock."

"That's another thing," Maggie added. "Why didn't he send you to sick bay to get a chit until your eye heals properly?"

"Because he wants me to wash out fast." Dana touched her eye gingerly. Molly had made up a new batch of her granny's recipe and it still coated the injury, somewhat reducing the swelling.

"After all," Molly said thoughtfully, "the guy didn't have to get involved with that thief…"

Dana gave Molly a sour look. "
You
be his student, then."

Grinning, Molly stood and leaned over Dana, putting her arm around her. "Maybe, with time, Turcotte will soften up about you. We know you have what it takes to get your wings. Look at your academy record!"

"You're such an idealist," Maggie drawled. "My mother would swear you were bucking for sainthood."

With a laugh, Molly hugged and released Dana. "I know, but you gals tolerate me anyway."

"Well," Dana said glumly, giving her best friends a warm look, "at least you two have decent instructors."

Maggie nodded. "Let's take this one day at a time with Turcotte. I think the first thing you ought to do is get over to the doctor and have him evaluate whether you're up to a first flight or not with that eye."

It was sound advice. Dana knew she'd need every advantage, and her eyesight was precious. "I'll do it tomorrow morning before I report to the ready room. I'm not going to let Griff sandbag me."

"Good girl!" Maggie crowed. "Fight back! It's the only thing Turcotte understands or respects."

Chapter Three

Griff was in his office the next morning at 0600. His conscience had kept him awake most of the night. Yeoman Johnson had wisely made coffee early when he saw Griff stalk into the building, and had it on Griff's desk ten minutes later. After taking a gulp of the scalding hot brew, Griff ordered Johnson to call sick bay.

"You want to talk to Dr. Collins?"

Griff refused to look up from his paperwork. Collins was the flight surgeon. "Yes."

"To look at Ensign Coulter's eye?"

Frowning, Griff nodded. It was amazing how Johnson seemed able to read his mind. "When Coulter arrives at the station, have her report to Dr. Collins. Tell him I want to know whether she can be put on flight status."

"Yes, sir."

Griff looked up at the smile he could swear he heard in Johnson's voice. The yeoman had already turned and was heading out the door. At least his conscience had stopped needling him, Griff thought. Collins would probably put Dana on flight waivers for at least three or four days. Her black eye was serious, and he knew it would interfere with her flying.

Angry at himself, he slammed the pen down on the papers and glared around his small office.
Dana.
Why couldn't he think of her as Coulter? Last names were generic, less intimate. She was a woman. And women meant nothing but trouble in his book. And he sure as hell wasn't going to wind up like Toby—dying in the rear seat of a cockpit because a woman screwed up on a flight. No way.

***

Dana couldn't contain her surprise when the corps Wave at the dispensary picked up an order with her name already on it.

"Lieutenant Turcotte has ordered you to see Dr. Collins, the flight surgeon. He has concern that your left eye will interfere with your ability to fly, ma'am."

Nodding, Dana took a seat in the crowded dispensary, waiting her turn. So Griff had ordered her to see Collins. As she sat, hands clasped in her lap, she wrestled with her feelings. Why hadn't he sent her over here yesterday? With a sigh, Dana realized that even if Griff had an impersonal hatred of her because she was a woman, he had a streak of decency, too. Another part of her worried that being put on flight waivers upon her arrival at Whiting might look bad on her record.

Looking around, she studied the other waiting student pilots. They all looked frightened. Some moved around nervously, crossing and uncrossing their legs. Others wiped sweat from their faces. Others sat stoically, their eyes dark with fear. Fear, Dana wondered, of what? Flying? Possibiy failing? Maggie had told her last night that the big illness going around Whiting Field was gastroenteritis—a stomachache. She'd heard from a tenth-week student that the dispensary was always filled to capacity early in the morning with students who were afraid to face their instructors or a grueling flight test.

Well, it wasn't going to happen to her, Dana decided. As soon as she saw Dr. Collins, she'd be sitting on the Turk's doorstep, letting him know she wasn't afraid of him, of that trainer or of flying with him. This was only the first skirmish in a long six-week war, as far as Dana was concerned. And she wasn't going to let him win round one.

***

Griff heard a firm knock at his office door. He'd just gotten off the phone with Dr. Collins, who had put Dana on flight waivers for an entire week. Part of him was relieved. He had to admit that another part of him wanted to see her; but that was a stupid and immature reaction.

"Enter," he growled. His next student, Ted Dunlop, wasn't scheduled until 1030. He had the whole morning to catch up on the unending paper chase that crossed his desk daily.

Dana stepped into Griff's office and came to attention in front of his desk. She didn't dare look at him. "Ensign Coulter reporting for duty, sir."

Griff sat back, stunned. This morning her flight uniform fit her a little better. It was obvious she'd trimmed the sleeves and pant legs and done quite a bit of sewing last night, but she still looked small and vulnerable in the olive-green uniform. He shoved back his response.

"What the hell are you doing here? Dr. Collins put you on flight waivers, Coulter."

"I may be on flight waivers, sir, but that doesn't stop me from learning what I can on the ground. I don't like missing a week of flying."

"This just goes to prove my previous point. Women can't take it. You're weak, Coulter, and that's why you were placed on waivers."

Dana glared down at him. Ordinarily, Griff should have told her to move to parade rest, but he hadn't. Standing at attention for a long time was tiring, but she wasn't going to say anything. "Women
aren't
weak,
sir."

Griff reared back in his chair and held her blazing blue gaze. "The hell they aren't."

"The injury to my eye prevents me from flying only," Dana hurled back at him.

"I wonder what it will be next, Coulter?"

"There won't be anything else."

Griff managed a twisted smile. "Bet me."

"Any amount you want,
sir."

He measured her for a long moment, the silence growing brittle. "Women, by nature are weak, Ensign."

"Where I come from, they're strong and capable, sir. I guess you just haven't run into any of my kind."

With a snort, Griff got to his feet. How he wanted to throw down the red flag of war and surrender to those defiant blue eyes. Dana's mouth... Sweet heaven, Griff thought. What would it be like to mold those lips to his and taste her fiery response? And then he remembered Carol, who had appeared so capable and independent, too—at first.

"Ensign, you've got nothing to do but get well. Now get out of here."

Dana stubbornly remained. "It's 0800, Lieutenant. Can't you at least walk me around and introduce me to the trainer? I can read up on the manuals while I'm recuperating. I'm not an invalid, you know."

Pleased with her response, Griff shrugged. "A walk-around? You're picking up the lingo fast, Coulter."

Moving into a parade-rest position, hands behind her back, Dana continued to meet his stormy gray gaze. "Give me half a chance to prove myself, Mr. Turcotte, and I'll earn my wings."

For a moment Griff almost believed her. "Come with me, Dana—er, Coulter. If you want to play at learning how to fly, I'll go along with your game."

Throttling her anger, Dana followed him out of the office. As they left admin, she noticed the pink dawn on the horizon for the first time. Whiting Field was small, she had heard, in comparison to the Pensacola air station where most of the student flying was conducted. Both sat on the Gulf of Mexico, in Florida's panhandle. Still, the airport had six runways, a large, glass-enclosed control tower and a number of barracks that housed students and personnel alike. She was glad that she and Maggie and Molly had an apartment off station.

"Why do you use the word
play,
Lieutenant?" Dana lengthened her short stride to keep up with Griff. He towered over her, his shoulders thrown back with pride. Despite his arrogance, she would never forget his actions at the airport.

"Women play at everything. Life's a game with them, Coulter. I'm sure you know that."

"No, sir, I don't know that. I take my commitment to the Navy seriously."

"Yeah, a six-year commitment. You'll probably snag a higher-grade officer, get married and end up with a brood of kids and quit."

"Barefoot and pregnant?"

Griff heard the steel in her lowered tone. "Isn't that the goal of every woman, Coulter? A husband with a big fat paycheck? Security?" That had been Carol's aim, she had confided timidly the day she'd asked for a divorce.

"I wouldn't be here if that were my goal, Lieutenant."

With a harsh laugh, Griff headed onto the tarmac after flashing his security badge at the gate guard. In front of them were five neat lines of parked aircraft, six to each row. The trainers had been serviced and checked the night before by teams of hardworking enlisted mechanics, and now were ready for their demanding flight schedule for the coming day.

Griff looked for tail number 13115, his trainer. It sat at the end of row three. Glancing down, he noticed Dana's alertness. Her eyes roved restlessly, and she didn't seem to miss much. It was one thing he looked for in a prospective student. Alertness could save a student's life—and his, too.