“We were flying together on a test mission. Something went wrong with the airplane and we had to eject. For some reason, I made it out but Dale didn’t.”
“Is that how you were cut?” she asked, gently touching his chin. “Are you all right now?”
Frank savored the contact. “Well, this is the best I’ve felt in awhile. I accompanied Rachel and the kids to the funeral this morning and then to her mother’s house, just down the beach.”
“And then you run into me.” Anna shook her head. “Strange how things happen.”
For a moment, they were silent. Frank had never put much stock in fate—he preferred to script his own life. But for some reason, their paths again had crossed on this lonely Carolina beach. Though not a part of his personally crafted plot, this scene tempted him to improvise.
“You want to walk a little?” Frank asked.
“Sure. I’ll give you a tour of my back yard. Of course, it doubles as my studio.”
For the first time, Frank saw her smile. In an instant, a decade of separation was forgotten. “So, you consider yourself a native now?” he asked, as they strolled across the sand.
“I’m not sure I want to. The local ‘Bankers’ have quite a colorful past. Back in the early 1700s, they used to tie lanterns around their horses’ heads and walk them on the beach at night. Unsuspecting merchant ships would see the lights and think they were from other ships closer to shore. They’d end up running aground, where the friendly Bankers would pillage their cargo. Thus you get the name of this scenic little beach town—Nags Head.”
“Hmm, land pirates. I hope their descendants are a little nicer to visitors,” Frank said with mock concern.
“As I recall, it was a certain air pirate that first abducted me and brought me to this town.”
“Oh, I remember it very well,” Frank said, thinking back to that special flight. “You were quite a precious treasure.”
It was the summer after graduation and Frank had just gotten his private pilot’s license. Anna had agreed to be his first passenger on a cross-country adventure. Those were glorious days of boundless optimism and youthful dreams. Soaring dreams inevitably pulled to earth by the weight of reality. He remembered returning solo from that trip. One month later, he was at pilot training. “I still can’t believe you trusted me,” he added.
“I guess I was just a young and foolish girl then.” Her thin brows arched, punctuating a wicked smile.
Frank wasn’t sure how to take that. “Well, you’re certainly not the same little girl I used to know.”
“Is that good or bad?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. She seemed to invite his attention. Impulsively, Frank ran his eyes over her tan body, settling on her left hand. He was relieved to see there was no ring.
“How do I answer that without getting into trouble?” He felt the old rush of schoolboy excitement. “You’re all grown up and the result is absolutely stunning.”
“Well,” she said, blushing. “Are you still the same ambitious Frank I used to know?”
“I don’t think so.” It was as much an admission to himself as to her.
“I guess we all change,” she said, giving him a curious look. “Or maybe we just begin to realize who we really are.”
“You seem to have found the life you always wanted.”
“I enjoy painting. I enjoy the freedom and the creative challenge. I also like having total control over the process. Each painting, good or bad, depends on me. I keep trying to get better, but…well, it’s hard to describe. But it is fulfilling.”
“It gives your life a purpose?”
“Yeah. I guess it has. You know the feeling?”
“I thought I did.” Frank wanted to tell her more, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. “Listen, I need to get back before they send out a search party. Do you think we could meet somewhere for dinner?”
She hesitated a moment and then gave a quick smile and nod. “I’d like that. I know the perfect place right on the beach where you can get a taste of the local flavor.”
“OK,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “As long as I don’t see any lighted ponies walking outside on the sand.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.” She turned to head back toward her house.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he called after her. He remained where he was for several moments, watching her. Then he turned and ran back down the beach.
Chapter 15
The setting sun cast a rosy haze upon the shoreline. Suspended above the inlet waters, the naked red ball had relinquished its fiery radiance. It quietly exited the day, the dying rays making a final struggle through the thick evening air. Frank watched the muted star drift beneath the glassy surface of Roanoke Sound.
“We get some beautiful sunsets in the desert, but nothing like that,” he said, as they drove along the twilight shore.
Anna shook her head. “The sunrises are even more spectacular. I’ve painted so many. Still, I’ve never quite matched the splendor of nature’s own canvas.”
“I’d like to see more of your work.”
“You’ll get a chance soon,” she said, pointing to a rambling wooden structure approaching on the left. “This is the place. Calamity ‘Cane’s.”
Frank pulled into the parking lot of sand and crushed shell. The restaurant sat at the water’s edge, and seemed at anchor upon it. Its walls of discarded boat timber were strewn with old rigging and heavy fishing nets. Giant mastheads thrust through the sagging roof, the spars entwined with ropes and a bosun’s chair, but no sails. Behind this maritime amalgamation were several old wooden docks, forming a small marina. Smoke poured from narrow pipes at the back of the building, and the occasional shout and hearty laugh could be heard over the raucous music.
Frank gave Anna a wry smile as they approached the entrance. “Is this your hangout?”
“I’ve become pretty good friends with the owner,” she said. “I’ve done some paintings for her and in return she’s helped publicize my work. She’s quite the local character. Her name is Morgana. She also serves the best fresh fish in the Outer Banks.”
They stepped inside the low cut door. The dim interior glowed with the light of lanterns and strings of tiny electric bulbs. Sturdy wooden tables and straight-backed chairs were scattered about the hard deck floor. Their occupants were mostly men; some dressed in coveralls, the younger ones mostly in jeans and t-shirts. Frank figured a few of them actually worked as fishermen. The rest were probably local boat owners who enjoyed feeling a part of the fraternity.
A lustrous mahogany bar stretched the length of the near wall. Above it were scattered paintings of famous shipwrecks and photos of the damage from past hurricanes. Old ship parts were fastened to the ceiling and hung from the paneled walls. Amidst the orphaned pieces were pictures of ancient mariners and their beloved vessels, captured when they were young and whole. The interior reminded Frank of a maritime Auger Inn. He immediately liked it.
“I thought you’d enjoy this place,” she said, sensing Frank’s fascination. “It’s full of beer, history, and high levels of testosterone.”
Frank nodded approvingly as he scanned the room. “No airplanes, but it does satisfy those key criteria.”
“Preston! Who’s this clean-shaven dandy you’ve brought into my fine establishment?” The boisterous question came from a fierce-looking woman who approached from out of the gloom. Frank guessed she was at least seventy. She came forward, gave Anna a strong hug, and then began to size up Frank.
The woman’s thick, salt-white hair was pulled straight back and knotted in a blue bandana. Her sharp nose and broad cheeks thrust forward like a galleon’s figurehead, strong and intimidating. But it was her pale blue eyes, sparkling with mischief, which quickly drew Frank’s attention.
“Morgana, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Frank Farago. Frank’s a test pilot in the Air Force.”
“A pilot?” The old woman seemed to spit the word. “Why I told Wil
bur and Orville their goddamn contraption was just a noisy nuisance! Still feel that way. Now a ship at sea, its sails bursting full like a fat-titted bitch—there’s a sight!”
“Until a storm gets a hold of them,” Frank said, glancing at a splintered hunk of keel that was suspended above his head.
Morgana’s eyes suddenly lost their luster. “A woman took my husband in 1960. Her name was Donna. They say she was a Cat four.” She paused and then the tiny blue lasers bored back into Frank. “A sailor ‘comes familiar with the need for prayer when facing nature’s wrath.”
Frank held her gaze and began a soft recital. “O Savior whose almighty word, the winds and waves submissive heard. Who walked upon the foaming deep, and calm amid the rage did sleep—”
Morgana gave Frank a knowing smile, and then helped him finish the old sailor’s hymn. “O hear us when we cry to Thee, for those in peril on the sea.”
“I’ve lost a few friends to foul weather,” Frank explained.
Morgana looked over at Anna and winked. “Well Preston, at least he’s not some sorry-ass ground pounder. Frank,” she said, shaking his hand. “Welcome to my bilge hold. You and the artist can take any table you like.”
She noticed Frank was staring at one of the paintings over the bar. “You’d better watch out, Preston,” Morgana said with a laugh. “Looks like your friend has discovered the ‘maiden.’”
Frank was looking at a painting of a beautiful young woman. Her wavy blond hair fell below her shoulders and her soft blue eyes seemed to illuminate her porcelain skin.
“That’s a teenage Morgana,” said Anna. “I painted it from an old photograph she had.”
“Young Anna Preston painted several of the pictures in here,” added Morgana. “But she’s gonna begin to wish she’d never done my portrait. I think Frank here might just prefer a woman with experience.”
“Morgana,” Frank said with a grin. “Only you could make an old pilot appreciate the pleasures of riding the ocean swells.” He gave her a wink. “Especially in such a beautiful vessel.”
“It’s been thirty years since a man made me blush,” Morgana said quietly. “And I’m still waiting! Take a seat flyboy! I’ll get you and the painter a couple of my homebrews.”
Anna pulled Frank to a table, shaking her head as Frank laughed out loud.
“I think she likes you,” Anna said, as they took their seats by a back window overlooking the waterway.
“You were right,” Frank said. “She’s quite a character. She reminds me of a maritime Pancho Barnes.”
“Who?”
“Pancho Barnes. She ran a place called the Happy Bottom Riding Club outside of Edwards Air Force Base back in the late forties and fifties. Test pilots like Chuck Yeager used to hang out there.”
“Yeager,” Anna said, looking skyward for a moment. “OK, I’ve heard of him. Remember Frank, the last time I talked flying was with you. You need to fill me in on what your life has been like all these years.” She leaned forward with interest. “Tell me what it’s like to be a test pilot in the High Desert.”
Frank couldn’t resist those lovely brown eyes. “Well, Edwards isn’t much different from this place. Lots of sand—just no ocean. Still, it’s heaven for a pilot. During the Test Pilot School, I flew over thirty different types of aircraft. Everything from Russian fighters to helicopters, and even a blimp. Since then, though, I’ve primarily been flying test missions in the B-2.”
“The stealth bomber, right?” she asked with only a little hesitation.
“Let me show you a picture.” Frank opened up his wallet and pulled out an in-flight photo of the B-2 with an F-16 chase. “This is a view from the side. It’s hard to tell it’s just a big flying wing.”
Anna examined the photo. “It really looks like a bird. I can see the tail feathers, the curved head and even a beak.” She paused and glanced up at him. “But you know, Frank. Most people carry pictures of their children or other family in their wallets.”
Frank stared vacantly at the photo for a moment. Against her words, it seemed a trivial symbol of his ambition. It occurred to him that he probably sounded the same to her as when they were dating. But he knew he wasn’t the same. He placed the photo face down on the table. “Flight test has been my life for the past three years,” he admitted. “Before that, I was training for, and flying in, combat. I haven’t had much time for anything else.”
Anna seemed surprised by his serious tone. She watched him intently—perhaps testing to see if this man from her past should simply remain in the past. “Frank,” she said. “I’m curious why you’ve devoted your life to flying and developing instruments of war.”
“I’ve never looked at it that way.” Even more so than Dale, Anna seemed to offer perspectives of his life that could surprise him. “I’m sure most pilots don’t get into flying because of any desire to blow things up or kill people. It starts as a simple curiosity and grows into a passion. As you become more proficient, you seek greater challenge. For me, the ultimate challenge came from military flying and particularly test flying. As a test pilot, I have to make detailed evaluations of how a new aircraft performs, even while I’m pushing it to its limits. It’s been fulfilling.”
“But I know you Frank,” Anna said, narrowing her eyes. “There will always be another challenge. As I recall, when we were dating you said you would become an astronaut.”
Frank lowered his head and smiled. “Well, I think my passion has gone in a new direction.”
“Honey, I told you he fancied my flotsam,” Morgana declared as she dropped two pints of beer on their table. “Shall I get you two the ‘Calamity Catch of the Day?’” Observing their quick nods and intense looks, Morgana decided to leave them alone.
“So, flying is just a job for you now?” Anna sounded skeptical.
“No. I still thrive on the thrill of flying a high performance jet. That’s the selfish aspect of flying that every pilot seeks. I also enjoy serving my country. But even more than that, I enjoy serving with all the dedicated troops who get these airplanes in the air and make ‘em work the way they’re supposed to. It’s that team that makes things happen.”
Anna seemed to soften a little as he spoke. “A few years ago I saw an article about you in the paper. You had received a medal. I remember it said that you saved the life of another pilot. Can you tell me about that?”
Frank took a sip of beer and looked around the room. He was always reluctant to talk about the war. To him, nothing about it seemed as neat and glorious as what was reported in the media.
“It was the fifth night of the air war,” he began slowly. “We had just come off target when my flight lead reported he had an engine fire. I looked at the aft part of his jet and watched it become engulfed in flames. I told him to eject. After a few minutes, he came up on our discrete frequency and said he was on the ground but could see Iraqi forces heading his way. Fortunately, I was able to locate the approaching convoy and laid down a little deterrent to their advance. The rescue choppers then did a super job, picking him up within thirty minutes of his parachute landing. Unfortunately, by the time I was confident he was safe, I no longer had enough fuel to make it home. An air refueling tanker heard my call for gas as I came out of country. They diverted to meet me even though they were already heading home on minimum fuel. They put themselves at risk to help me. Those are the kind of people I work with every day. People performing true acts of heroism that no one ever hears about.”
Anna shook her head in disbelief. “It really sickens me to see all the false heroes in the world today who trumpet themselves as role models when someone like you is risking his life for a comrade or in the test of an untried aircraft. I never wanted to admit it, but I always knew you would be one to do great things. I often wondered what would become of you. I imagine testing such a high profile aircraft as the B-2 still presents a formidable challenge.”
Frank relaxed a little. Seeing he could open up to her and she understood was a new experience
for him. “I work hard testing the B-2, but I get the reward of flying it. And it truly is an amazing design. Unfortunately, the B-2 has been as much a political machine as a war machine. There’s a reason why its components are manufactured in the key congressional districts of almost every state. That sometimes is the frustrating part to deal with. Especially when I consider all the people who have devoted their lives, and given their lives, for that jet.”
Anna didn’t miss the reference to Dale Walker. Frank watched her hesitate a moment, debating if she should ask him about the accident. He realized he actually wanted her to ask.
“It’s OK,” he said. “I want you to know what has happened these past few days.” He proceeded to tell her about the test flight and the moments leading up to the ejection. He told her about the safety investigation and the questions that, thus far, remained unanswered. Finally, as the dinner plates were cleared away, he tried to describe his relationship with Dale.
“Dale was the one person who knew me. No matter how absorbed I became in my own affairs, he always found a way to keep me grounded. He was my best friend,” Frank said shaking his head. “But I know I wasn’t his.”
Anna leaned toward him. “You can’t feel guilty over what happened,” she said firmly.
“I feel more helpless than guilty. After my mother’s death, I always wondered if there was something I could have done to prevent it. I suppose that’s a natural thing for a child.” He recalled the sadness he felt as a young boy, watching his mother suffer, fighting the cancer that cruelly took her life long before the merciful freedom of death. “Now I feel the same way about Dale’s death. I wonder what I could have done to prevent it.”
“Maybe you couldn’t,” she said forcefully. “Frank, you can’t control everything in your life.”
“But I could have told them how important they were to me. I could have shown them something other than superficial affection. At the memorial ceremony, I kept wondering what others would say if it was me who had not survived. And it was painfully obvious—‘Yes, we lost a vital cog in the machine, but still, a part that can be replaced.’ My devotion has always been to the mission and my own lofty goals. I’ve never been truly devoted to another person. Dale had that devotion. He had a family and friends that loved him for who he was, not what he did.”
Spirit Flight Page 8