“If the storm stays this intense, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m going back to the office to wait it out there. No use sitting at home and trying to drive later into the brunt of the frontline winds. The worst is still to come ashore.”
“Is Wolf still there?”
“The storm delayed their flight out; he’s still at the base housing.” Grace heard thunder behind him. “Shh, it’s okay, girl. Emily is afraid of the thunder.”
“Poor girl.”
“She’s quivering under the table at the moment, not wanting to leave the room I’m in even as she tries to hide. I haven’t left yet, just because of how she’s acting.”
“What about taking her downstairs to the basement workroom, turning on that old stereo, and giving her a bone and a small place where she’s comfortable?”
“I’ll try it. I need to figure out something.”
“Would you call me occasionally if you get a chance?”
“I will,” Bruce promised. “Hang tough, Grace. I’ll be careful.”
She appreciated the reassurance he offered without her asking. She knew he meant it. But weather could be vicious, and it was easier to confront a man than it was to confront nature’s fury.
Grace hung up the phone and rested her head against the kitchen wall. There was always a surprise waiting around the corner. Bruce had been planning to be here this weekend; instead he was standing watch for trouble, ready to go out if called upon.
Ready to go out and possibly not come back.
I should have sent Bruce the card. I’m a coward at times, Lord. It’s a perfect card that comes close to finding words for what I feel. Remind me of tonight next time I have a chance to do something nice and wimp out at the last moment. It was an opportunity lost.
Grace returned to her studies brought home from work, using the technical reading to force her focus. Bruce would get that call; there were too many people likely to ignore the danger in this weather. And Wolf, bored, would probably volunteer to help out if he could. She kept the weather channel on, watching the radar tracks, paying special attention to the winds and the height of the storm clouds. She didn’t know how they could fly helicopters in this. She always wanted to be above storms, not below them flying low to try to see the ground or the water.
She gave up on the studies and picked up the top newspaper in the stack of overseas papers she routinely read. Turkey was getting tense; there had been another SCUD test fired within Syria, and in retaliation Turkey had moved troops down to the border. They bickered over border raids, over water levels, over diplomatic visits and who would visit whom. It was posturing but being done with an intent to rile.
Lord, they need rain. It wasn’t the first time she had prayed it, but it was becoming more urgent every day.
A growing problem across the ocean—it was probably going to be her problem again soon. She was now reasonably certain that their deployment to the Gulf would in fact become another deployment focused on Turkey.
The phone rang at 8 p.m.
“Grace, it’s Jill. Is your power still on?”
“Yes.”
“Mine went out about ten minutes ago; it looks like the neighborhood is out.”
“Grab your stuff and come over.” She’d love the company.
“Actually, I was wondering if you would like to come this way. I was just finishing up making cookies and I’ve still got the stove since it’s gas.”
“Sure. Expect me in twenty minutes.”
Grace dressed for the weather, pulled on her flight boots with her jeans, and retrieved the plastic poncho that was a practical part of her Navy life. Knowing how power outages could linger longer than expected, she took Jill extra candles and a torch style light.
When she stepped outside and tried to tug the door closed, the rain lashed her full in the face and blew back her hood. She raced through the standing water to her car. To think Bruce trained to work in conditions like this. Lord, have mercy on brave men.
She started her car, relieved when it turned over immediately. Even inside the car the sound was deafening.
Jill’s neighborhood was indeed dark. Grace had to slow to five miles an hour to find the right driveway. She had her key out to Jill’s front door and used it even as she rang the doorbell.
“You’re wet.”
She smiled as she stripped off the poncho. “I’m Navy. We’re supposed to like being wet. But it’s down my collar and it’s annoying.” She used the towels Jill brought her. “What have you been baking? It smells wonderful.”
“A cherry pie came out just before the power died.”
Grace took the flashlight Jill handed her and trailed her friend into the kitchen.
“I was planning on a welcome home dinner for Wolf. If you’re hungry, there are great options already fixed.”
“Maybe later.” Grace settled down at the kitchen table. “Did you two figure out a wedding date?”
Jill beamed. “Next fall. September would be nice. Wolf will have his reenlistment paperwork through by then, and we’ll have an idea of where he’s going to be stationed. He’s trying for another rotation here.”
“Have you told Bruce yet?”
“Next time he can get here.”
Grace nodded, understanding the desire to talk in person. “He’ll be pleased.”
“I think so. He and Wolf have become good friends. It helps.”
“Ecuador, Turkey—they have had some interesting days together. Have you thought about what you’d like for a wedding present? Bruce is sounding me out on ideas.”
“Is he?” Jill smiled at that idea. “I’ll think about it. Something for the house would be nice.” She gestured to the weather. “Bruce will be fine tonight.”
“I know.” It did no good to assume otherwise.
The power flickered back on. Lights came on, appliances began to hum, a radio and the TV came back on. Grace waved Jill to the cookies. “I’ll get them.” Grace followed sounds, resetting clocks that were chirping, turning off and back on the TV, which had come back on to fuzz.
She found the weather station and watched the radar tracks that showed a swirling cloud wall stretched along the East Coast. The Florida panhandle was getting the back side of the massive storm, but it looked to have weakened in the last hour. She turned to CNN for the news.
“Jill, did I tell you I got a slot in the NATO headquarters next month? It’s only a six-week rotation but it’s a plum assignment. My first planning sessions with the British squadrons. It’s going to be great.”
CNN interrupted with “breaking news” tones. Grace turned in the doorway to look back. A reporter standing under bright lights with pounding rain behind him came on. There was a C-130 cargo plane down in the Atlantic. Behind him a Coast Guard helicopter was lifting off.
* * *
“I wish the phone would ring.”
Grace dealt out her seventy-third hand of solitaire, having picked up the habit from Rich. “It will,” she promised Jill. The question was whether it would be good news or bad. Worry couldn’t change anything and Grace had learned to refuse to let it enter in. God was keeping Bruce and Wolf safe. She was trusting that absolutely because there was nothing else that could be done.
The first reports had been wrong. It was almost always the case in a breaking story. A C-130 had picked up a distress call from a plane inbound for Savannah. Coast Guard and now PJ units had gone out, searching for a plane that was lost in the storm clouds, hoping to find it before it ran out of gas and slammed into the sea. Radar contacts were intermittent.
“Bruce hates water,” Jill commented.
“Why?”
“Something from when we were kids. He couldn’t float when he was learning to swim for the longest time.”
“Really? He hides it well. He outswam Wolf.”
Jill pulled out an old photo album. “It’s called want-to. Did you ever see the old family album?”
“No, but I’d love to.”
Jill slid it
over.
ATLANTIC OCEAN, OFF THE COAST OF GEORGIA
“The edge of the search box is coming up in twenty seconds. We’re turning back into the wind,” Dasher called over the internal comm circuit.
“Roger.” Bruce lowered his binoculars and rubbed his eyes.
“It would have run out of gas by now. It’s down in the sea,” Rich said quietly from the other side of the interior, darkened to make easier their ability to see into the night.
“Yes.” But they would keep looking. There were four teams searching the area of last contact and a faint radar blip captured by the USS Harry Truman keeping station a hundred miles east outside of the storm front. Bruce raised the binoculars again. “It was a woman’s voice.”
The intermittent radio contacts had been power boosted and relayed to the search aircraft to provide them with as much information as possible. A small private jet with smoke in the cockpit forced a descent in altitude below oxygen pressurization levels to prevent a flash fire. Navigation instrumentation was intermittent. The pilot had reported one soul on board, given fuel, and static had covered her next words. She’d been calm, flying as best she could to determine her original vector into Savannah, but she’d simply run out of time.
They had been too late. Bruce felt an incredible sense of failure over it.
“Another ten minutes and we’ll be called back for fuel.”
“Roger, Dasher.” Bruce wasn’t surprised that the controllers managing this search were going to send them back to shore rather than ask them to midair refuel in this weather. The plane was already in the sea. No one could change the reality of the limited fuel the jet had on board: the clock said she had run out of gas several minutes ago. A ditch at sea took calm waters to have a chance of success. In these seas, the impact would destroy the plane, and the pilot would not have a chance.
The odds were good the wreckage would never be found.
Tonight was a failure.
COAST GUARD STATION
ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Bruce drank more coffee and did his best to ignore his headache. “Just tired, Grace.”
“What happened?”
“We never got close to her.”
Silence met his words.
“Her. I’m sorry, Bruce.”
He took a deep breath and shook off the disquiet. “So am I. We’re going to be heading back to Pensacola; the Coast Guard now has this search. Our weekend plans are shot.”
“Call me after you get some sleep; we’ll sort it out.”
“Thanks, Grace.” He meant it more than he could put into words.
“Tell Emily hi.”
He gave his first glimmer of a smile since going out. “She’s probably chewed up my tools as a way to say she missed me. I’ll call in twelve hours, Grace.”
“I’ll be around,” she promised. “Here’s Jill.”
* * *
Grace ~
Have you ever seen the movie McLintock with John Wayne? Now there was a movie. I’m lying here unable to sleep, flipping channels, and I caught the end of it. Emily is on the bed, having no problem sleeping whatsoever. I swore I would never do it, let her on the bed, but she met me with the saddest eyes when I got home. I’m a goner for mush. Anyway, back to the movie. John Wayne has a line, “all show and no stay.”
It resonated. It meant a lot for me to be able to call you when I got to shore and could catch a moment. Knowing you were a phone call away made it easier tonight. It was the hardest kind of night—someone died and I wasn’t able to help. It’s part of this job, just like being a hero, but it’s the hardest part.
I don’t want an easy relationship, Grace. I want a deep one. I don’t need a marriage that shows well but doesn’t have the stay. So think about making this serious, and let’s talk about it.
I know we can work around the separations. It is a strength to know I have you there behind me, and I want you to have the same assurance. Flying is a gift—do you have any idea how rare your temperament and skills are, how perfect they are for the job you have? I met another pilot tonight whom I admire having never met her. Whatever happened to cause the chain of events that eventually cost her everything, she was handling those moments professionally. And had it been anything other than the added hit of extreme weather, I’m confident she would have brought the plane in safely.
Tonight was as profound as Ecuador for me. It can cost us to wait until the ideal moment. There are no perfect moments in our lives, just opportunities to seize.
Good night, Grace. God bless.
Bruce ~
I made the same decision tonight, as I played game after game of solitaire. I want to be there for you, no matter what happens, and I don’t want to wait for ideal circumstances before we move forward. You’re right. There will be no ideal circumstances. There will be a right moment when God arranges the timing. A two military career couple—we’ll make it work. I commit that to you. Let’s sort out schedules for a weekend together either here or there so we can talk.
Grace
Twenty-Five
* * *
NOVEMBER 8
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA
“I don’t think this was what I had in mind when I said I wanted to be there for you.” Grace checked the parachute rigging Bruce wore, looking for problems. “Wolf, back me up over here.” The day was sunny, clear, and the guys wanted to go jumping.
“You’re doing fine, Grace. Check that none of the straps have turned,” Bruce instructed.
Wolf crossed over from his partner Cougar to join them. “You need to start jumping for fun, Grace.”
She finished checking the straps. “I fly the planes; I don’t jump out of them.”
Bruce reached over and adjusted the pilot scarf she wore above her jacket. “You look cute doing it too.”
She loved the scarf. It got cold at altitudes with the plane door open. She was taking up three PJs and two SEALs today, flying with the man who owned the plane and ran the parachute jumping school. He would act as her copilot and then as jumpmaster. She would fly straight and level and he’d clear the guys out of the plane. Simple, but hardly easy. Not with these backseat drivers.
Wolf took over the safety checks on Bruce’s gear and cleared him ready to jump. Bruce checked out Wolf’s gear.
“Ready to go?” Grace had already done her preflight of the plane.
“Let’s do it.”
The guys piled into the back of the plane and took their seats.
Grace ran the checklists and cleared with the controller the right to taxi. It was a small airport that had one runway, and the controller answered her by first name. She was the only plane preparing to fly. She used the full length of the runway to bring the small plane into the air. She was after smooth and pedestrian. She’d show off by doing her part of this jump flawlessly.
The PJs and SEALs were men who took jumping seriously, but on this Saturday afternoon they were jumping purely for the fun of it.
It wasn’t demanding flying. She climbed to altitude, reversed course, and returned on a vector over the jump school.
“Straight and level from here.”
She nodded to the copilot. He got up to become the jumpmaster.
The guys stepped out of the airplane one after the other.
She heard the call for last jumper. Waiting thirty seconds to make sure she was clear, Grace banked the plane and counted chutes. Five open colorful canopies. The guys had formed up in a straight line. They were trying to hit the huge X they had painted on the grass one right after the other. “I’ve got to think a bit about the company I’ve been keeping.”
Her copilot buckled himself back in and laughed. “Head on down; they’ll want to jump again.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
She saw the first man touch down with a flare right on the target and his chute begin collapsing around him.
* * *
“Admit it, you had fu
n.” Bruce reached around Grace to open the movie theater door.
She smiled at him. “You looked cute getting sat on by Wolf.”
“Buttering me up is not going to get me to see a mushy movie.” On the last jump of the day the landing had not gone as planned. He had become a pancake under his friend.
“So what are we seeing?”
Bruce read the marquee. He sighed. “A mushy movie.” He bought the tickets. They had been alternating weekends—Grace coming to Pensacola and him traveling to Norfolk. They had seen enough movies at this theater they had fallen into a pattern of where to sit. They were a few minutes late, and the opening credits were finishing as he held the theater door for her. She followed the small lights on the aisle.
“Grace?” Bruce leaned over to whisper to her as she settled in. “What did you tell Wolf before that last jump?”
“Did I mention Jill had her camera with her when she came out to meet Wolf?”
“I don’t believe you did.”
“She promised to make a copy for you.”
“It’s dangerous to let you two drive down here together.”
“You’re just now realizing that?”
He leaned over and kissed her for that giggle. She was fitting in with his friends and family just fine.
Twenty-Six
* * *
MARCH 10
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA
Somewhere out in the world on one of the blue oceans an aircraft carrier launched warplanes; in the deep cold waters a nuclear-powered submarine hunted. Civilians on the beach had no idea what the military was doing at this minute to defend their shores. It was just as well. They wouldn’t understand what the military knew. . . . There was no such thing as playing defense on the enormous oceans, just many shades of offense.
True Valor Page 18