The Unquiet Heart

by Juliet McCarthy

  The Unquiet Heart

  Juliet McCarthy

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Juliet M. McCarthy

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5592-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5592-3

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5593-1

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5593-0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com

  To my “technical advisor” Geoff McCarthy,

  as well as all the courageous women who have proved they

  have the right stuff to fly fighters

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  More From This Author

  Also Available

  Acknowledgments

  My heartfelt thanks to all the friends and family who have lent their time, encouragement and expertise to this novel, in particular Kevin McCarthy, an accomplished author of historical crime fiction; Gina McCarthy for her tireless research on Japanese poetry; my granddaughter Aine McCarthy for her computer savvy. I must also thank my husband, Colonel Geoffrey McCarthy, Air Force (ret.), for sharing his knowledge of all things to do with combat flying and squadron life. The Unquiet Heart could not have been written without him. My special thanks to Masahiro and Hideko Takeguchi for making our three years in Japan such a warm and inspiring experience.

  Chapter One

  The TDA Airbus made a leisurely descent through 10,000 feet of gray murk toward the airfield at Misawa, Japan. It made a wide arc out over the ocean for the final approach to the runway. Captain Libby Comerford inclined her body discreetly across the two gentlemen in the adjoining seats trying to get a glimpse out of the window as the plane emerged from the cloud cover. She caught sight of a narrow beach, clusters of small buildings situated among verdant rice fields and, in the distance, the peak of Mt. Hakkoda.

  “First time visit Japan?” One of the men, having worked up the courage to address the American woman, asked in halting English.

  Libby nodded enthusiastically. The airplane shuddered as the landing gear locked into place. It was almost on the ground, descending smoothly over the treetops to the runway. And then touchdown. Heart racing, she craned her neck to get a better look at the F-16 fighters aligned in a row on the far side of the airfield, as stirred at the sight of those sleek jets as a woman about to be reunited with her lover. She smiled involuntarily at the two men.

  They eyed her suspiciously as she stood up to retrieve her belongings out of the overhead compartment. They were accustomed to seeing American military personnel and their families. There had been a United States Air Force Base at Misawa for over fifty years. However, a female pilot was a novelty to the Japanese businessmen, especially one as stunning as the statuesque captain. But there was no mistaking the silver aviator’s wings on the uniform jacket.

  “Miss, Miss, please … ” The man next to the window pointed to the insignia displayed over her left breast. “You are American pilot?”

  “Yes, I am,” Libby answered.

  “And what, ah, what aircraft do you fly?” He asked, curiosity getting the better of his diffidence.

  “The F-16,” she said proudly.

  “Ah, so.” The man’s gaze traveled from the tall blonde making her way down the crowded aisle to a pair of F-16 fighters taxiing onto the runway. “Ah, so.”

  Libby fidgeted impatiently in line, barely able to conceal her excitement. After being grounded in Tokyo for two days because of bad weather, she had finally arrived at her new assignment.

  Misawa Air Base, situated on the outskirts of the small farming community in Aomori Prefecture, was home to two squadrons of F-16s, a squadron of U.S. Navy anti-submarine patrol airplanes, and two Japanese Air Self-Defense squadrons — the Panthers and the Samurai. It was a coveted posting, and Libby was thrilled to be a part of the mission and to have the opportunity to live in Japan. But despite her elation, a new assignment was always fraught with apprehension, especially for a female officer who had to prove she had ‘the right stuff’ to pilot a high performance airplane in what had been, until recently, an exclusive fraternity of macho men with super-sized egos.

  Libby didn’t anticipate any problems. She was confident flying the airplane and had a quiet, easy-going disposition. She wasn’t out to prove anything, either political or personal. She just wanted to be accepted as an equal in the squadron and to fly.

  There was only one potential complication: Charlie McKay was waiting in the terminal to meet her.

  “Hey, Libby!” He shouted, as he swept her up in a warm embrace. “You finally made it!”

  “I was beginning to think I’d never get out of Tokyo,” Libby laughed, her pleasure at seeing Charlie enhanced by the excitement of her arrival. “Is the weather up here always so unpredictable?”

  “This time of year.” He gestured toward the window. “Fog.”

  “How’s the flying?” She asked as Charlie took her arm and steered her through the crowd toward the baggage area.

  “Fantastic.”

  The two officers, friends since their days at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, stood arm in arm in front of the luggage carousel. They were a striking couple, both tall and fair, and their appearance was causing quite a stir among the passengers who stared with unabashed interest at the handsome gaijin — at the woman in particular, with the smooth cap of silky blonde hair. Libby smiled self-consciously at an old man who was pointing her out to his grandson.

  “Charlie, why are they staring at us? I feel like a freak.”

  “Oh, you’ll get used to it. The Japanese are fascinated by foreigners — especially blondes. Tall blondes. And the men can’t have failed to be impressed with your, er, figure.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she bristled, tugging on the hem of her jacket. “I’m an Air Force officer for heaven’s sake. I thought Japan was supposed to be a civilized country.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Not even that uniform can disguise your feminine charms,” he smiled. “And I can assure you that Japanese men will be as appreciative of … as appreciative as American men. As I am,” he added, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

  Libby ignored the implications of his remark. She didn’t want her first day in Misawa spoiled by Charlie’s allusions to the distant past.

  “Oh, Charlie, I’m so happy to be here. And it’s so wonderful to see you again.” She squeezed his arm. “It will be just like old times.”

  Exactly one week after arriving on base, Captain Comerford was taxiing the swept wing General Dynamics “Electric Jet” onto the runway for a check ride with Major Johansing. What should have been a routine flight had turned into a media event, much to Libby’s embarrassment and the major’s annoyance. The local newspaper wanted to do a feature on Libby and, never one to turn down positive p
ublicity for the Air Force, the Wing Commander had agreed. Libby reluctantly consented to an interview and being followed around by two awe-struck photographers while she briefed the mission and suited up in the life-support room for the flight in the sophisticated safety “Combat Edge” gear required to fly a supersonic airplane — the snug, corset-like G-suit which prevented hypoxia when pulling Gs, the PPV — positive pressure vest, a mesh survival vest, inflatable horse collar and parachute harness. They accompanied Libby and Major Johansing in the truck to the flight line and snapped dozens of pictures of her posed on the ladder, helmet tucked under her arm, until they were led reluctantly away so the flight could finally get underway.

  Libby hated every minute of the ordeal, every bit as much as she knew the other pilots resented the disruption to their routines and the notoriety she was receiving simply because of her gender. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. Libby’s goal was to be accepted into the squadron as a pilot — not as a woman pilot. But the publicity, no matter how well-intended, made it that much more difficult, especially when the reporters focused on such inanities as how she relieved herself in the cellophane-like “piddle pack” designed specifically for the male anatomy.

  Once she was in the air, Libby was too busy reacquainting herself with the cockpit of the F-16 to dwell on the incident. After a month’s leave visiting family and friends in Dayton, Ohio, she was elated to be back at the controls of the jet, soaring alone, above the earth at supersonic speed. When all was said and done, it was the visceral thrill of flying fighters that made the grueling and dangerous profession so worthwhile — and to civilians, so glamorous.

  Libby’s first flight in Japan took her up over the sprawling base and Lake Ogawara, along the axe-shaped Mutsu-Shimokita Peninsula, toward the island of Hokkaido. Sea fog obscured the sparsely populated coastline but to the west, the Hakkoda Mountains were clearly visible rising sublimely above the thin layer of clouds.

  After completing several instrument approaches at Chitose Airport on Hokkaido and doing a little sight-seeing along the spectacular coastline, dotted with a chain of active volcanoes, Libby returned to Misawa in an expansive mood, ready to assume her full responsibilities in the squadron.

  All that remained was the three-week Mission Qualification check-out.

  That night, Charlie McKay and Libby celebrated at a restaurant in downtown Misawa. They walked, arms linked, along the narrow sidewalk, past rows of shops barricaded for the night behind corrugated, metal shutters. Despite the large military presence, Misawa remained a small, unsophisticated farming community. During the day the streets were crowded with farmers in muddy, rubber boots and baggy trousers, students hauling heavy leather book bags, young mothers scurrying along with babies snuggled in slings on their backs, and the ubiquitous Americans shopping for souvenirs.

  At night the only establishments open for business were the garish Pachinko parlors with their flashing colored lights, restaurants, and the numerous bars, some not much bigger than closets, located on the maze of narrow side streets.

  Charlie, who did not have a very adventurous palate and rarely ventured off base, had chosen a Chinese restaurant for the occasion, in order to avoid having to sit on cushions on the floor. Chinese restaurants always had tables and chairs, which he considered more civilized, as well as more comfortable.

  “It kills me, the way the Japanese sit on the floor,” he said after they had been seated by the hostess.

  “Well, I suppose it’s difficult for someone so tall. Do you think I’ll be able to manage?” Libby laughed.

  “It won’t be easy. Women aren’t allowed to cross their legs. They have to kneel.”

  “It must be torture,” she agreed. “But of course, they’re used to it.”

  “And they have short legs,” he added.

  “Oh, Charlie, really.” Libby shook her head. “I have missed you.” From the pleased look on his face, she knew he had misinterpreted the casual remark and that she would probably regret it later. But why did she have to be so circumspect around Charlie, of all people. He was one of her dearest and most loyal friends and she had missed him.

  It was just that liking someone and missing him meant something different to Libby than it did to Charlie. He wanted to be more to her than a good friend. And she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do at this juncture in life besides fly fighters.

  She smiled across the table at him in an attempt to defuse the situation. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you think you mean, Libby,” Charlie said as he opened the menu and appeared to be scanning the long list of selections. But his mind was plainly not on whether to have Chicken Seizan or Mu Shu pork.

  “We’re not teenagers anymore. We’re both responsible adults, with needs and desires that can’t be ignored … .”

  “You sound so serious,” she chided. Libby liked Charlie better when he wasn’t so earnest. To someone who had focused the last five years exclusively on her career, discussing needs and desires was as unnerving as it was infuriating. The last thing she needed was Charlie lecturing her on her love life — or lack thereof.

  The withering glance she cast across the table did not deter Charlie in the slightest. “I am serious, Libby. Being a carefree bachelor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. As an officer, enlisted women are off-limits. There are two single American school teachers on base and three single nurses in the hospital under forty.” He smiled. “The local beauties don’t want to have anything to do with American men, if I were so inclined. I’m lonely, Libby, and horny as hell.”

  “Charlie … ”

  “You used to know how to have a good time,” he said, with a hint of peevishness.

  “I was young. I didn’t know any better.”

  “Rumor has it you lived like a nun in Iraq. No boyfriend, no booze.”

  “Iraq is not exactly the party capital of the world. I wouldn’t compromise my career for a drink of contraband booze. I was too busy flying to worry about not having a man in my life.”

  Charlie smiled. “All work and no play … How long have you been here, two weeks? The guys in the squadron are already referring to you as the Ice Maiden.”

  Libby would never have tolerated the conversation with anyone else. But she and Charlie went back a long way and, for a brief period in their lives, during their junior year at the academy, they had been — Libby could never think of a word that adequately described their short-lived relationship. Intimate sounded too clinical, lovers, too romantic a description for the clumsy encounters in the back seat of Charlie’s Chevy. They had always been absolutely honest and forthcoming with one another about everything.

  “Charlie, my career is very important to me. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I don’t want any emotional entanglements screwing things up. No pun intended.

  “You and I both know what can happen when a female officer steps out of line. The powers that be aren’t as sympathetic to women as they are to the men.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Libby glanced at the other tables in the small, crowded restaurant. The clientele was about equally divided between Americans and locals but there did not appear to be any social intercourse between the casually dressed gaijin and the quieter, more circumspect Japanese.

  “Do you have any Japanese friends?” Libby asked a baffled Charlie.

  “Japanese friends?” He looked like the novel idea had never occurred to him despite the fact he had spent the last year and a half in Misawa. “The bartender at the Stagger Inn,” he grinned. “He’s everyone’s friend.”

  Libby had intended to invite Charlie in for a nightcap when he brought her back to the “Q.” They were both billeted in the same Bachelor Officers’ Quarters and she had been looking forward to a long chat catching up on all the news about mutual friends from the academy. Charlie s
tayed in touch with everyone on Facebook and knew all the latest gossip. She changed her mind after she let him kiss her goodnight. A friendly embrace just seemed like a courtesy, a natural extension of their close friendship but Libby hadn’t anticipated her own reaction. Charlie’s was more predictable. She felt so warm and safe in his arms, and as for the kiss itself, it wasn’t quite the friendly buss on the lips she had expected. It left her surprised and flustered. When she pulled away, Charlie laughed.

  “The night is young, Captain Comerford,” he murmured seductively. He wasn’t easy to ignore but she did her best, fumbling around in her purse for the key to the door with trembling hands.

  Charles McKay was six feet four inches tall — the maximum height for an F-16 pilot — with the classic, muscular physique of a dedicated athlete, a square, freckled face and sandy blonde hair. He had always looked young for his age, despite his size. The freckles and infectious grin made him look like a perpetual adolescent. But his looks had matured, the contours of his face were leaner and more defined, making him much more attractive. Libby turned the key in the lock and opened the door.

  “It’s been a long day, Charlie.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he protested.

  “I have my Japanese lesson first thing in the morning.”

  “You’re mad, Libby; Japanese is impossible. It’s easy to get around without knowing any of the language. Most of the people speak a little English. They have to study it in school.”

  “Goodnight, Charlie. And thank you for a lovely evening.”

  “Goodnight, Libby-san, sweet dreams,” he said as he turned on his heel and sauntered down the hall.

  Libby did not go to bed immediately, despite her fatigue. She sat up thinking about Charlie, and their conversation in the restaurant about intimacy and love. Maybe he was right, as much as she hated admitting it. Perhaps she had gone overboard trying to protect her reputation. There was no use kidding herself. She had liked it when he kissed her. Her body felt depleted and empty when she pulled away.