True Valor

by Dee Henderson

  “Gracie, you’re dripping on me.”

  “You need to wake up.”

  Bruce cracked open one eye. In silhouette, the bright sun behind her, Gracie was all tan, curves, and— He closed his eyes again, content with the impression. She was beautiful. And he was going to marry her.

  “I’m resting.” He was wise enough to know she didn’t want to be asked just yet. She needed to know that what they had built during the last few months was going to stay strong through a deployment. He was about to get a chance to prove it. She was leaving for another six-month deployment in three days. He was already depressed.

  If his assumptions were entirely wrong about how they could make it work out, he had a fallback plan in mind. If he had to quit his job and trail her around from base to base he could adjust. He’d had his career. The guys were beginning to call him Old Lucky. He wasn’t going to push the odds. He could get a good civilian job as a paramedic when he eventually left the military.

  Grace nudged him with her toe. She was going to stand there until he agreed to wake up. They had had these silent standoffs before. They amused him, and she started them because he figured they also amused her.

  He had more patience than she did. “Sit down while you wait,” he suggested with a comfortable sigh. The sun was warm, the beach all theirs, and unless his sense of time was off, they had over an hour before they were due to meet Jill and Wolf for dinner.

  She sank down on the sand beside him. “It’s not like you to be so tired. What’s wrong?”

  She was leaving in three days—that’s what was wrong. And he hadn’t slept well last night as he pondered that reality. He reached over and intertwined his hands with hers and squeezed. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll miss you too.”

  He opened his eyes and squinted against the sun’s glare to see her face. “That had real emotion in it.” He sat up, brushing sand off. “I promise I won’t find another favorite lady while you’re gone.”

  She shoved his arm. It got the smile he had hoped for but it faded quickly. He rested his hands on her shoulders and waited until she met his gaze. “I love you, Grace. This deployment is not a threat to that.” His thumb gently rubbed her shoulders. “What do you need to hear so that sticks?”

  She held his gaze, offered a soft smile. “That’s what I needed to hear.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want more words?” He was going to miss that smile. He leaned down and kissed her, storing up another memory for when she would be gone. “We’ll make this work, honey. However it is necessary.”

  “Are you forward deploying?”

  “I haven’t heard anything yet. We might be. The Balkan flights are growing and they could use another team of PJs on the ground; the upcoming NATO exercises will need coverage.”

  “It would help if you were able to do TDYs while I was gone so you’d be home when I get back.”

  She was already thinking like they were a permanent couple. There was comfort in that. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She got quiet again. Bruce wrapped his arms more firmly around her. He wished he could reassure her better on how it was going to work out. They would make it up as they went along.

  “In the future there will be more days like this one,” Bruce said. “I promise you that.”

  “I know.”

  He rubbed her arm. “Come on, let’s go back up to the house. I’ll change and we’ll head over to the hotel.” There was no use getting sad about what they couldn’t change. They still had a couple days before she deployed.

  She pushed to her feet.

  Bruce took her hand as they walked back.

  The phone was ringing as they entered the house. Bruce picked it up in the kitchen. “Where, Rich?” He caught Grace’s attention. “CNN.”

  He joined her in the living room. A major earthquake had just hit Turkey. Bruce watched the reports: a magnitude 7.4 and an epicenter in the southern region. “One hour. I’ll be there.” He hung up the phone. “Get your things; let’s get you back to the hotel to pack. I’ll find you a flight back to Norfolk, ASAP.”

  Grace simply nodded. Bruce knew the GW deployment would be moved up. The last earthquake in the southern region had caused over a hundred million dollars of damage at Incirlik Air Base. The Air Force had patched together the runways and turned the base into the hub of relief flights for the country. Operation Northern Watch would be moved entirely to carrier operations. And there wasn’t a carrier available . . . but there was one that could be sent with dispatch.

  Twenty-Seven

  * * *

  MARCH 22

  USS GEORGE WASHINGTON (CVN 73)

  ATLANTIC OCEAN

  The carrier was preparing itself for going into harm’s way. An expedited transit across the Atlantic, rough seas, the weather uniformly choppy—it was pressuring the flight deck crews, the pilots, and the sailors alike. Safety drills for fire and water, incoming missile drills, battle group drills—they were ringing out glitches in every procedure in preparation of the task ahead.

  Grace was too busy to miss Bruce for eighteen-some hours a day. The other moments when she shut her eyes to sleep, he was at the front of her thoughts and he stayed there.

  The earthquake had destroyed three of twenty-one dams on the Euphrates, not disrupting the huge gravel dams themselves, but damaging the sluice gates that allowed water to flow and power to be generated. The Euphrates’ water level was dropping daily, Syria was accusing Turkey of not dedicating resources to the critical problem of the dams, and there were now daily satellite shots showing Syria moving troops north. On top of the twenty-three thousand reported dead within Turkey, the two countries wanted to go to war. It was senseless, but the match had been tossed. Somehow NATO and the United Nations would have to figure out a way to put the lid back on.

  In the midst of training nuggets, getting her own flight hours in to requalify for carrier landings, and assuming the new mission planning load that came with this deployment, Grace was struggling to keep ahead of the demands.

  They were tasking with orders to assume Operation Northern Watch flights over Iraq. On the surface the orders were similar to what they had done on the last deployment. They were enforcing a no-fly zone, providing reconnaissance, watching borders. But the situation on the ground was very different.

  They would be flying over a Turkey now in the midst of a national crisis. They would be flying within miles of a growing Syrian military presence. And Iraq was taking advantage of the chaos to move troops.

  Peace was far away.

  Bruce ~

  How are you doing on the ground? Do they have the refinery fire under control? How are the rolling blackouts? News comes in, but anything over an hour old is pretty dated. I heard about the terrorist bombing at the café. Rescue workers getting hurt—senseless violence, and so sad.

  I’m glad you are currently based in the relatively safe haven at Incirlik. Did I really need to know they had just put in Mylar sheeting on the base housing windows in order to handle a bomb blast? I’m glad it had the corollary effect of helping to minimize damage during the earthquake, but I wish the terrorist threat level wasn’t so high it was needed.

  We will be in range to begin flights for Operation Northern Watch in four days. You can feel the tension around the squadron. My biggest headache in the planning is the lack of emergency divert fields. So many airports are either still repairing damage or are heavily involved in relief flights. Since this earthquake, Iraq has twice flown MiGs into the no-fly zone. Peter’s assessment to the squadron is not if there will eventually be a confrontation, but when. I’m worried about nuggets. Nothing new there.

  Life has changed. The responsibility is heavier. The needs more pressing. The awareness of the risks higher. Without being morbid about it—Bruce, there is a letter for you left with Jill. I wanted to say a few things, just in case. I want a hug next time I see you. A long one. A tight one. And I may let you fix me a pilot’s spec
ial.

  I pray this finds you well.

  Grace

  Grace ~

  I have confidence you’ll watch the details and have safe flights. We need you overhead. Your job right now is as vital as any on the ground. If there weren’t overflights right now, I have no doubt there would be war.

  It’s tense here, for the base is home to thousands of Turkish military as well as numerous civilian contractors, and all of them have stories filled with grief. The concrete apartment buildings that pancaked— The destruction is so incredibly complete. The major way of getting supplies and people around are helicopter flights. The PJs have unfortunately been busy. We’ve had two helicopters go down in the last day due to being overloaded.

  I take this day by day. We will be moving forward soon. Communication is going to get very hard after that, for not much is moving that is not emergency related. Know you are in my thoughts and prayers.

  Catch the third wire.

  All my love, Bruce

  Twenty-Eight

  * * *

  MARCH 28

  USS GEORGE WASHINGTON (CVN 73)

  MEDITERRANEAN SEA OFF THE COAST OF TURKEY

  There was not much time to relax around the VFA-83 squadron ready room—for flight operations were going on twenty hours a day and one briefing cycle was backing up against another. Grace called the mission briefing to order precisely at 0800. There were six pilots taking notes, including Peter, her new CO.

  “From 1000 to 1530 our mission on this flight is to control Iraqi airspace east of the Tigris down to the thirty-sixth parallel. Our secondary objective is to take reconnaissance photos to evaluate present water levels in the Tigris River,” Grace opened, setting the stage for the information to come. Flights didn’t happen; they were scripted.

  There was nothing in the briefing—its order or content—that she had not thought through in detail. She brought down the whiteboard listing mission assignments. “I will be leading the four-plane Panthers flight; Peter will be leading the four-man Torry flight providing aircap.”

  She talked through the mission flight. Rendezvous points, the altitudes and formations they would fly, speed, navigation markers, routes of ingress and egress.

  She turned to safety. She reminded pilots of the facts they had to live by—bingo fuel levels, minimum distances between planes, the code words for task saturation and vertigo. Both conditions could threaten the safety of a formation flight, and by using the code words it was possible to alert other pilots to what was going on even though it meant acute embarrassment to admit you were flying below par. The best pilots were honest early; the nuggets sometimes got in real trouble before they spoke up.

  She went into detail on the emergency divert fields, search-and-rescue codes, emergency procedures over water and land, and location of tankers and order of refueling. She discussed geography and weather, clicking on a tape to show the latest weather radar clips for the flight area.

  “No shooting at friendlies.” She tugged down a poster of a MiG. “This one is not friendly.”

  Peter smiled. She’d borrowed it from Intel to make her point. There were enemies close by during this flight, and if flying at Mach 1 directly toward them, twenty miles of distance could blink by in a minute.

  Satisfied her point had been made, she nevertheless spent two minutes on the flight characteristics of the MiG—how fast it could fly, turn, climb, the type of weapons it could be configured to carry. She went on to talk about known SAM batteries and AAA sites in the areas of the flight profile.

  The pilots listened carefully and took notes. They were depending on her to give the details necessary to successfully accomplish the mission and to get home alive afterward. There was nothing casual about a mission briefing.

  “We trap back on the carrier beginning at 1650. Remember to watch the crosswinds, fly the meatball, and grab the third wire. I’m open to questions.” There were few. “We’re concluded.”

  “Good brief, Gracie.”

  “Thanks, Thunder.”

  In thirty-five minutes she would be on the flight deck settling into her Hornet, prepared to lead the mission she had just briefed. And tonight, ten minutes after the last plane landed back aboard the carrier, she would be leading the debrief of the mission. Every deviation from the mission briefing would be discussed in detail. Pilots learned early to check their ego and pride at the door. Debriefings were unanimously more difficult than briefings.

  Her objective was simple: survive today, and tomorrow she would get a chance to do it all again.

  TURKEY

  Grace ~

  Mail hasn’t arrived yet, so I’m sure I’m at least a few letters behind. Dasher set down the helicopter in a parking lot of what used to be a school. The roof collapsed, the walls— At least school was not in session at the time. It’s 1300 and it’s already been a very long day. Rebels planted land mines on one of the roads through the mountains. A UN vehicle ran over one. One dead, three injured. We handled the evacuation.

  We’re now sitting in the parking lot waiting for word that our assigned tanker is overhead. We’ve been midair refueling the chopper ever since we came in-country. It’s an interesting way to handle getting around. When gas will arrive is not always predictable; I’ve learned to seize these quiet moments.

  I’ve been watching the flights overhead. Honey, if those formations are your squadrons, you’ve been having long days too. Before we all go different directions for the day, we’ve been getting an 0500 gaggle briefing for the hundred of us based at Incirlik so that any one of us can respond should trouble be reported. It’s not a great solution to the lack of manpower, but so far it’s been workable. Yesterday we flew over the location where we were stationed last year. The plateau has a gash through it where the land tore open. Despite what I’ve seen around here, I was still surprised to see it.

  I miss you, Grace.

  “The tanker is inbound,” Rich called.

  Bruce folded the letter in progress and slid it into his flight suit pocket.

  OPERATION NORTHERN WATCH

  IRAQ/TURKEY BORDER

  The land below looked so quiet and peaceful. Grace checked the pilots in formation with her and then descended to twelve thousand feet. A smooth mission. The stress of the day had faded as she settled into the mental zone of peak performance. She had done a good job anticipating the details. She was ahead of the flight mentally, anticipating steps rather than having to fight a sensation of being rushed and having to keep up. She began taking pictures of the Tigris.

  Below her, dark red swirls of sand burst up in eddies. When the summer winds blew at their maximum and became sand-bearing winds, the sky would turn red under the onslaught. She’d be willing to land on the carrier at night in the rain if only it would break the drought. She saw her first Iraqi tank north of Dahuk.

  Bruce ~

  I wish I could talk to you on the phone, in person, if only for a moment. I saw the first sight of what I’m sure has caught everyone’s attention: Iraq moving forces north, just as Syria has done. We’re stacking coverage, EA-6B Prowler and Hornets in dual formations with F-14 Tomcats holding in race car patterns above us. Everyone goes out with a full weapons load.

  There is no sense of optimism aboard ship, only a growing reality that something is going to pull us into this growing conflict. I listen with intense interest for news of the world, but no one seems to have good answers about what is happening.

  We will soon start flying coverage of eastern Turkey and the mountain passes that have been rebel routes in the past. If something breaks, the skirmish line will be on the ground simultaneous with one in the air. We are ready. With God’s help, I pray being prepared to fight will be enough to continue to deter that fight.

  This note is to say I love you. The pressure of events has overtaken what I hoped to be able to write, to find words to capture the depth of that emotion. The change between the last deployment where I was one of the seasoned pilots to this deployment where I
am now one of the flight leads is major. It’s what I wanted, and now that I have it I find it incredibly intense. “God is my helper” has become very real to me. I’m leaning hard against Him. Overwhelmed, pressured, I am leaning hard against the verse in 2 Corinthians 12:9 that says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” It’s become my verse. God is bigger than this burden.

  I’m sleeping well. Flying better than I ever have in my career. I can feel my plane around me, if that makes sense. A year ago I had to think about flying as well as think about the mission. Now it’s only the mission. The flying has now become instinctive.

  I’ve circled around the same topic several times now and it’s obvious I’m tired. I’m calling it a night.

  I love you. Gracie

  Grace ~

  Three letters arrived today. A sweet, fragrant treasure. Please don’t worry about me or our relationship. I know you, your days, your life, and I love you too. Knowing you are busy and working hard just makes me more eager to give you that long hug when I see you next. You are my sweetheart forever.

  Bruce

  Ephesians 1:17, my new favorite verse for you.

  I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power in us who believe, according to the working of his great might which he accomplished in Christ when he raised him from the dead and made him sit at his right hand in the heavenly places. Ephesians 1:16–20