The Gauntlet

by Lindsay McKenna

  Never again had Cam reached out to hold her or kiss her, but Molly couldn’t forget that tender kiss the night her world had shattered. And the longing she saw in Cam’s eyes wasn’t her imagination. She felt it, absorbed it and hungered for more. Much more. But always, the harsh demands of school and her drive to succeed on her own, took precedence. They had to, for her own sense of well-being.

  The van drew to a halt and everyone climbed out. The sunlight was bright, and Molly put on her aviator’s sunglasses. She hauled her helmet bag to the second ladder hooked to the side of the sleek F-14 fuselage. The urge to turn and say goodbye to Cam was there, but she fought it. No one knew of their relationship, and it had to stay that way.

  Molly climbed into the radar information officer’s cockpit seat, directly behind the pilot’s, and the crew chief helped her strap in. A firewall separated the two cockpits. Molly removed the firing pins from the ejection seat she sat on and stowed them. Fitting the helmet on her head, she gave a thumbs-up and thanked the young crewman. He saluted her and removed the ladder.

  If she weren’t flying with Martin, now ranked fifth in the standings, Molly would have enjoyed the outing. She loved to fly. Making sure her knee board was secured around her left thigh and all the plastic-coated pages were in proper order for the test sequence, she glanced over at the Tomcat containing Vic and Cam.

  Her heart nearly burst with fierce pride for Cam. It was a privilege to see him working in the cockpit, his profile clean and his mouth set with the responsibilities of his job. Her feelings toward him grew daily. Whatever had occurred between them that fateful night when he’d held her and kissed her, had unlocked hidden doors in her heart.

  “Ready?” Martin demanded.

  “Yes,” Molly said, positioning the oxygen mask against her face and strapping it closed on the side of her helmet. The huge canopy slowly descended and locked into place. Setting aside her feelings for Cam, Molly got to work. After takeoff, they would meet the chase plane at thirty thousand feet above the Chesapeake Bay in the restricted airspace where tests took place. Cam would fly his plane approximately half a mile from theirs as Martin put the F-14 through a series of spins. They would fall from thirty thousand and, at Cam’s order, come out of the spin at eighteen thousand feet.

  Molly automatically tightened the array of harnesses that kept her against her ejection seat as the F-14 trundled toward the end of the runway, its twin engines whining around them. Sunlight glared through the canopy, heating the inside of the cockpit. Molly adjusted the air-conditioning to make it more comfortable.

  The two fighters took off together, a few yards separating their wings. Molly allowed herself to enjoy the powerful thrust that pushed her deep into the seat, thrilling to the incredible surge of power that made the F-14 one of the premier fighters in the world. Martin set the nose of the aircraft straight up, afterburners on. The fighter growled like a hurtling beast lunging toward the edge of the azure sky, thousands of feet unwinding in seconds.

  The G-forces were terrific, and Molly concentrated on breathing properly during the swift acceleration of the agile fighter. The sky turned cobalt in color as they neared the thirty-thousand-foot level. The Chesapeake looked small below them, the land on either side of it a mass of orange, yellow and red fall colors.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Martin growled.

  Molly knew his snappish order would come, and was prepared for him. “Roger, Lieutenant. Our first test is a spin from thirty thousand to eighteen thousand feet.” From prior training, Molly knew that if Martin wasn’t able to get the jet out of the spin at the correct altitude, he had three thousand feet to spare to get the plane under control. It was Cam’s responsibility to order them to bail out if they slipped below the fifteen-thousand-foot mark.

  Spins were the most dangerous and most intricate of all the flying demands on plane and pilot—a deadly dance in the sky. Molly had flown a series of spins with Dalton last month. She knew what to expect and made sure there was nothing in her cockpit that could fly around and injure her when the spin started. As an aeronautical engineer, Molly knew that if the F-14—or indeed, any type of plane—went from a spiral spin into a flat spin, it could be dangerous. Pilots were usually unable to bring a plane out of a flat spin, forcing them to bail out.

  “I’ll need four complete revolutions of the plane before you straighten it out at eighteen thousand,” Molly reminded Martin. Four wasn’t a lot. Her other two tests were designed for tighter, harder spins, consisting of five and six revolutions within the same altitude requirement.

  “Roger,” Martin responded.

  Molly was glad they were separated. Martin’s voice was always antagonistic, but this time, it sounded as if he wanted to rip her head off. “Anytime you’re ready, Mr. Martin.”

  Molly had no more than gotten the words out of her mouth when he slammed the F-14 into the series of spins. The G-forces built suddenly, pressing like powerful, unrelenting hands against her chest. She gripped the arms of her seat with her gloved hands and tried to keep her head from slamming back and forth as the fighter fell and tumbled, seemingly out of control.

  “Twenty-five thousand,” came Cam’s calm voice over her headphones.

  Molly knew he’d read off the altitude for Martin. Right now, Martin had his hands full just keeping the jet under his command. Blue sky and brown earth rapidly changed positions in front of her eyes. The fall was breathtaking, her body pounded by the brutal G-forces.

  “Twenty-two thousand. Start pulling her out, Martin.”

  “Twenty thousand.”

  “Nineteen thousand.”

  Molly gasped as the F-14 suddenly straightened out from the spin. Martin had cranked the aircraft into level flight right on the money at eighteen thousand feet. She saw Cam come along side and Norton began to check the undercarriage of their fighter for any hydraulic leaks. After the inspection was completed and they were pronounced “clean and dry,” she heard Cam give Martin the order to climb to thirty thousand again.

  In the second spin test, Molly counted four-and-a-half revolutions, not five. As they were being checked for leaks, she brought it to Martin’s attention.

  “That wasn’t five spins, Mr. Martin.”

  “Like hell it wasn’t!”

  Molly’s mouth flexed. “It was four and a half.”

  “You can’t even count. Captain Sinclair, didn’t you count five?”

  Molly was barely hanging on to her building anger. Martin wasn’t supposed to ask Cam anything. Her assessment was all that was needed.

  “You completed four-and-a-half spins, Mr. Martin. Next time, I suggest you listen to Ms. Rutledge. She’s your flight engineer on this test. Out.”

  Cursing on the cockpit intercom, Martin snarled, “Now you’ve got him twisted around your little finger, Rutledge.”

  Molly wondered if Martin had turned off outside communications. He must have, to be saying things so brazenly.

  “You’re upset because you didn’t make the mandatory five spins, Mr. Martin.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Rutledge—I’m not going to allow you to drag my grades down again. Last time I flew with you, Sinclair flunked me. Never again.”

  She heard the shaking hatred in his voice. “You failed yourself, Martin. I had nothing to do with it. Now let’s get to thirty thousand and complete the last test. I want six spins.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get them,” he grated.

  Cam frowned. He could see Martin talking and gesturing in the cockpit. What was being said? The pilot had switched to IC, intercabin communications, and Cam had no way of knowing what went on. When Martin switched back, he sounded furious.

  “I’m ready, Captain Sinclair. Let’s get this final test out of the way.”

  “You’re clean and dry. Let’s go to thirty thousand,” Cam ordered.

  “Martin sounds upset,” Vic said on IC.

  “Yeah, I don’t like it.”

  “He’s a hothead when he doesn’t get h
is way.”

  Cam nodded, easing his fighter upward, the nose pointed toward the cobalt sky above them. Worry ate at him. “Martin was sloppy on that last spin series.”

  “Roger that.”

  If Martin couldn’t make five spins, what made him so sure he’d complete six? A good pilot could, and Cam knew it. Martin had his weaknesses, just as any pilot did. When Cam had taken him up for spins before Martin was accepted as a student at TPS, he’d done average on that maneuver, but they weren’t his forte.

  As the fighters flew together in a rectangular flight pattern within the restricted airspace, Cam took a look at Molly. With her helmet on and the dark visor and oxygen mask across her face, he couldn’t tell if she was a man or woman. Still, something nagged him. He didn’t like the edge in Martin’s voice. Pressing the intercom button on the stick, he made contact with Martin.

  “Are you all right, Martin?”

  “Sure, I am.”

  “Are you ready for this last test?”

  “Of course.”

  Cam knew that Martin would have to play the F-14 at the very edge of its envelope to make those six spins in regulation altitude requirements. Part of Cam wanted to stop the test; part of him didn’t.

  “Permission to start the spin, Captain Sinclair?” Martin demanded. “There’s turbulence at twenty thousand, and I want to get this done before it gets any worse. That’s what caused me to abort that fifth spin.”

  Cam had felt no turbulence at twenty thousand, but he was flying a half-mile circle around the spin aircraft. It was possible Martin had hit a nasty air pocket and had to abort the fifth spin. He’d have to check with Molly. Both would have felt it. “Permission granted. Ms. Rutledge, start your countdown,” Cam ordered.

  Molly called off the numbers. When she called out “Ten,” Martin kicked hard left rudder and sent the F-14 into a tight, spiraling turn. Slammed against the seat, she mentally began to count the spins. One…two…three…four…

  “Twenty-two thousand.”

  She forced herself to breathe in. Martin was too low to make the six spins!

  “Twenty-one thousand. Begin to pull out,” Cam ordered.

  Five spins! Molly felt the G-forces building, causing pain in every part of her body. She grunted, forcing the air into her lungs.

  “Nineteen thousand. Martin!” Cam snapped. “Pull it out! Pull it out!”

  A gasp tore from Molly. Suddenly, the F-14 lurched violently, slamming her head against the cockpit canopy.

  “Flat…spin!” Martin croaked.

  “Eighteen thousand!”

  Molly’s eyes bulged. Brown earth and blue sky and green water all started blurring together before her. Out of control! her mind screamed. The plane’s out of control! The G’s made it feel as if invisible hands were forcing her eyes out of her head.

  “Seventeen thousand!” Cam yelled tautly. “Get that bird out of the flat spin, Martin! Now!”

  Oh, God! Molly thought, her fingers clenching the arms of her ejection seat. If Martin doesn’t get the bird under control at fifteen thousand, we’ll have to bail out! Something had gone wrong. The fifth spin had turned into a flat spin. The F-14 tumbled wildly out of the sky, the G’s brutally crushing at her body.

  “Sixteen thousand! Martin!” Cam screamed. “Recover! Recover!”

  “Bail out!” Martin cried. “Now, Rutledge! Now!”

  “Fifteen thousand!” Cam cried. “Bail out!”

  Panic struck Molly. From hours and months of training, she managed to hit the button. The canopy blew off, the wind slugging into her like pulverizing fists. Wind tore at her as she fumbled to find the levers beneath each arm of her seat. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Eyes shut tightly, she heard Cam’s and Martin’s voices screaming in her ears. Locking the back of her arms against the seat, shoving her helmeted head tightly against it, she jerked the levers upward.

  Seconds shattered into a nightmare sequence. The rockets fired, lifting her seat out of the fighter. Pain and pressure exploded along Molly’s spine as the ejection seat cleared the twin tail of the careening fighter. Everything became slow motion in front of her opened, widening eyes. The earth and sky blurred together, black dots dancing in front of her. Just like the fighter somewhere below her, she was tumbling end over end.

  Suddenly, the chair separated, and at ten thousand feet in the icy air, her parachute pack opened. The nylon sang out, snaking above her. Molly tried to prepare for the jolt, but couldn’t really. The straps bit deeply into her thighs and shoulders as the chute billowed and opened fully above her. Gasping in shock, she tried to clear her head. To her right, she saw Martin’s F-14 suddenly come out of the flat spin.

  To her left, she saw Cam’s aircraft slowly circling around her. Below her was Chesapeake Bay. It was going to be a water landing! Breathing hard, Molly held on to the chute lines, dangling in the silence of the sky. Her mind raced with what had to be done to make a safe water landing. Oh, God, it was going to be dangerous! Molly drifted closer and closer to the choppy water. The bay was a turgid green, white caps grasping upward like greedy fingers. As she floated closer, the wind became erratic, a real danger to her landing.

  Jerking her head up, Molly looked above her at Cam’s aircraft. A cry broke from her.

  Cam cursed softly, quickly switching his radio to the Coast Guard Search and Rescue channel. Vic was working the other radio in his cockpit, notifying the station of what had happened. He saw Molly drifting closer and closer to the water. The winds were erratic at five thousand feet, the F-14 bucking beneath his hands. If Molly landed downwind into the water, the chute strings could fall across her and tangle in her equipment and helmet, possibly dragging her down and drowning her.

  “She’s in trouble!” Vic cried. “That wind’s terrific. She’s got to turn around and face the wind!”

  Helplessly, Cam watched the unfolding scenario. Already, the Coast Guard Dolphin helicopter was on its way. It would be at least half an hour before they could effect Molly’s rescue. His hand tightened around the stick of his fighter.

  “Turn, Molly!” he whispered tensely. “God, turn into the wind!” Cam didn’t care if his voice went out to the whole world. Molly was his world. He flew three thousand feet above her, watching her battle a new foe, the air currents. His anger and concern congealed into terror as he realized Molly wasn’t going to be able to turn into the wind in time. Was she injured? A broken shoulder or arm? That would explain why she couldn’t use the shrouds to turn the chute around. His heart lunged into his throat as he saw her hit the bay with a terrific splash, the water spewing upward twenty feet into the air where she hit.

  “God, that’ll knock her out!” Vic rasped.

  Water funneled up into Molly’s nose and down the back of her throat. She coughed wildly, jerkily clawing to keep her head above water. Parachute lines crisscrossed her like webs woven by a spider that had captured her. The silk of the chute lay like a white snake in the water, quickly absorbing the liquid and starting to sink beneath the surface.

  The heavy flight boots, the G-suit and harness were rapidly taking on water. Molly yanked the helmet off her head, and it sank like a rock. Gasping, spitting up water, she tried to push off the strings that surrounded her and get to her Mae West vest. She only had a minute, perhaps less, before the chute would submerge and drag her into a watery grave, vest inflated or not.

  Molly didn’t want to drown! Clawing for her survival knife, her hand shook so badly that she couldn’t open the sheath. The lines began to tighten around her. She felt the first tug from the chute. With a cry, water washing across her face, Molly fumbled again for the knife. She had to cut the lines or she’d die!

  There! Her fingers closed around the butt. The Nomex gloves she wore were slippery on the handle. Grabbing the first bunch of lines across her face, Molly arced the knife upward, slicing through them! Frantically, she worked to capture the other lines that had balled like yarn around her body. Even a few lines could drag her unde
r and kill her. Sobbing for breath, kicking with her feet to tread water, she hunted for the last of the slippery lines.

  A few lines remained tangled around her lower left leg and flight boot. Molly felt the powerful pull of the chute as it sank beneath the water. Too tired to pull her leg upward to get at them, she couldn’t reach the lines. If she was going to survive, she would have to dive under the surface to locate them.

  Taking a gulp of air, Molly knew she had to find them on her first search or she was dead. Eyes open, she could see the lines as she dived. The weight of the equipment she wore was pulling her down. She was sinking quickly! Her fingers outstretched toward her left boot, Molly hauled her leg up. There! Yes! Wrapping the last of the chute strings around her hand, she sliced downward with the knife. Free! She was free! She released the knife.

  Twisting around and looking up, Molly realized she was at least twenty feet below the surface. She fumbled for and found the strings to inflate her vest. Yanking them simultaneously, she prayed they’d work. Instantly, her life vest inflated. Her lungs were on fire. She had to breathe! She was going to drown!

  Shutting her eyes, kicking violently toward the surface, Molly felt her strength evaporate. Oh, God, she was going to die! No, no, not now! Cam! Cam, I love you! As her lungs seemed to burst, Molly cried out silently, the last of the oxygen escaping her mouth in a sheet of bubbles. She’d never get to tell Cam she loved him. Never know the beauty of loving him, or of being loved by him in return. Her vision started to gray, and Molly felt her arms begin to free-float.

  Bursting to the surface, Molly gasped. Air! She floundered, throwing her head back, coughing. The inflated vest kept her head and shoulders out of the water even though the heavy flight suit and boots continually wanted to pull her under. Never had air felt so good. Molly vomited out the water she’d swallowed. Her hair was a wet mass about her face and shoulders. But she was alive! Alive!

  Cam circled dangerously close to the bay’s surface. An involuntary cry had torn from him when he’d seen Molly dragged under by the tangled chute strings. He thought he’d lost her when it was nearly three minutes before she surfaced again. But when he saw her weakly lift her arm, he knew she’d survived.