by Janet Dailey
Marty let out a hoot of laughter. “Don’t you know what that is? It’s a pressure release valve all right. It’s a urinal tube for men.”
“No wonder that poor mechanic was so embarrassed when I asked him about it.” Eden remembered his expression and broke into laughter.
An Army nurse stuck her head into the room. “Hey, is there a pilot here named Rachel Goldman?”
From her listening post on the edge of the jagged circle, Rachel lifted a hand. “What is it?” She sat on the floor, her long legs folded in a half-lotus position.
“A soldier waylaid me outside and asked me to give you a message,” the nurse said, and Rachel came to her feet in a gracefully fluid motion, ignoring the interested looks the announcement attracted.
The soldier had to be Zach. She had been half hoping he’d attempt to contact her. She thought it would prove he had some feelings for her and it hadn’t all been a ruse to get her in bed. At the same time, she was still hurt and angry, unwilling to forgive him for his trickery. The last thing she wanted was to have any of her peers learn the way she’d been taken in by this Jewish Romeo, especially her former baymates at Sweet-water. So she had no intention of allowing Zach’s message to be relayed in their presence.
In the relative privacy of the outer hall, Rachel confronted the young nurse. “What did he want?”
“He’s waiting outside to talk to you.” The nurse eyed her with a mildly disapproving look. “Both of you could get into a lot of trouble if an officer catches you together. You’re not supposed to fraternize with enlisted personnel.”
“I’m still a civilian,” Rachel asserted, although she knew it was a moot point.
The nurse shrugged, “It’s nothing to me if you want to meet this guy, but there’s others who won’t see it that way. I’m just giving you a friendly bit of advice—don’t get caught.” With the officers’ privileges the WASPs had acquired, there also came restrictions.
“Thanks.”
Blackout curtains darkened the barracks windows. Nowhere on the coastal base were lights allowed to be seen. Rachel stepped out into the August night, its warm humidity tempered by a sea breeze. She scanned the black shadows beyond the walkway. The swamps, the tall sea pines and moss-draped cypress, came right up to the edge of the field, filling the air with the songs of their night creatures. A dark shape loomed in front of her, and Rachel was barely able to conceal her start of surprise.
“Rachel.” His voice reached out to her in pleasure, and she had to remember to harden herself against him. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d come.”
“Weren’t you?” she countered; she’d caught the satisfaction and confidence that had entered his tone.
“I decided there were three possibilities—you wouldn’t come, you’d have me arrested for making improper advances to an officer, or … you’d meet me.” Zach moved to take her into his arms, but Rachel turned out of them, his arrogance riling her.
“You didn’t know where they’d be sending your outfit,” she mocked him bitterly. “But you were almost sure it would be Sicily. It’s funny, but this doesn’t look like Sicily.”
“I never said I was going overseas right away,” Zach reminded her with unabashed ease.
“Not in so many words, maybe,” Rachel conceded angrily. “But you implied it. You were going off to war, and we might never see each other again.”
“I promised you I’d survive,” he reminded in an almost teasing fashion, amused instead of chastened by her icy temper.
“But you knew that’s the way I would think,” she accused.
“I hoped you would,” Zach admitted. “I wanted you, Rachel. I still do.”
“I’m sure you’d like to pick up where we left off.” She wouldn’t look at him, too aware of how persuasive his charm could be. “What kind of fool do you think I am?”
“I stretched the truth a little bit, but as soon as we finish our gunnery training here, we will be shipping out.”
“Zach, I’m not going to fall for that line a second time,” Rachel warned him.
“I was going to write and tell you I’d been sent here for more training,” he insisted.
“I’ll just bet you were.” Her doubt was impregnable.
“How can I convince you it’s true?” A beguiling smile played with the corners of his mouth as Zach urged her to believe him. The night’s shadows brought out the strong planes of his handsome features.
From her left came the low murmur of voices, men’s voices, and the sound of footsteps. When Rachel turned, she could barely make out the dark shapes of two figures. As they came closer, the silhouette of their caps warned they were officers.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered and pushed Zach toward the deep shadows off the walkway, following on his heels.
The large trunk of a tree offered them some concealment, but its narrowness forced them closer together, shoulder against shoulder. As she strained to catch the sound of the officers passing, all her senses were heightened. She was conscious of the muscled feel of his body and the spicy scent of some shaving cream lingering on his skin. His handsome face, his dark brows and jet black hair, were very near. What was more, Zach was leaning into her, pressing the advantage of this forced closeness.
“You aren’t as mad at me as you pretend,” he murmured into her ear.
“Shh, they’ll hear you,” Rachel whispered.
His arms circled her body while Rachel tried to stand rigid within them, but Zach wasn’t deterred. His hand wandered over her arm and shoulder, traveling up to her neck and tracing the line of her throat. She had no doubt that he was enjoying the situation.
The minute the officers were out of hearing, Rachel demanded, “Will you let me go?” She refused to struggle with Zach and give him an excuse to be more aggressive.
“You really do care about me, don’t you?” he said.
“I’m sure you’re conceited enough to believe that,” Rachel retorted.
“It’s true. If you really wanted to get rid of me, you’d have let those officers find us together. And maybe,” he challenged her lazily, “you’d like to explain why you hid with me?”
“I’m not going to let you use me again.” It was the only defense she had against him, but it was a weak one.
“You silly fool, Rachel.” Zach laughed softly at her and moved in closer until his dark features filled her vision. “Don’t you know I love you? My daughter of Deborah.”
His mouth sought the outline of her lips. The deep, thoroughly satisfying kiss assuaged her hurt pride. She felt all atingle inside, warm and glowing with life. There was no trickery involved in the love she felt for him. It was genuine and fierce.
Ensconced in the cockpit of the Dauntless, Eden made a last survey of the panel, conscious of a little flutter of nerves. She switched the radio to the intercom position and pressed her fingers to the throat mike.
“Are you strapped in back there? What’s your name? Frank?” Eden frowned with the effort to recall the name of the extremely apprehensive enlisted man who was acting as her tow-target operator.
“Yes, sir—ma’am.” He stammered out the correction.
Eden supposed the affirmative reply was to both her questions but she didn’t bother to obtain a clarification. The private was in the rear cockpit under obvious duress. She’d heard all about the mass demand for transfers by the cable operators the minute they learned they would be flying in planes piloted by females.
“We’ll be rolling in a minute, Frank,” she said and took her hand away from her throat.
After an all-clear check, Eden started the powerful Curtiss-Wright engine. A ground crewman removed the wheel chocks and scampered away from the plane. Eden applied the throttle to initiate the roll. The engine rumbled with deafening noise and vibrated roughly until the whole plane seemed to be shaking. Eden didn’t like the sound of it.
With the radio switch on intercom, she depressed her throat mike again. “Something’s wrong with this plane. I�
�m taking it back to the hangar, Frank.”
“Yes, ma’am!” The voice coming through her earphones was unmistakably relieved by the decision which seemed tantamount to granting him a stay of execution.
She taxied back to the flight line and ordered her tow-target operator to fetch a mechanic. She kept the engine running to see if it wouldn’t smooth out, but it continued its ominous rumble. Frank came back with a young gum-chewing mechanic, barely in his twenties.
“What’s the problem?” He sauntered up to the plane, and walked the wing to the front cockpit. Eden slid the canopy open and he leaned on the edge, giving her the eye.
“Listen to that engine.” It was vibrating the stationary plane so noticeably that she didn’t see how the mechanic could ask such a stupid question.
“It’s running a little rough,” he acknowledged with gum-cracking indifference. “They all do.”
As he turned away, Eden couldn’t believe he would summarily dismiss her complaint. “Aren’t you going to check it out?” she protested.
“Look, lady, I got better things to do with my time. If you’re too scared to fly it like that, mark the problem on the form and find yourself another plane.” He hopped to the ground.
Furious at his attitude and his insubordination, Eden shut the plane down with lightning precision and piled out of the cockpit before the propeller blade stopped turning. The mechanic had stopped to make some comment to her cable operator. When he saw Eden charging toward him, he looked more amused by her anger than anything else.
“Okay, lady—” he began.
“That is not the way you address an officer.” And she was entitled to that status of respect.
“Yes, sir … ma’am,” he snidely corrected himself.
“I want that engine checked, and I want it checked now.” She jabbed a stiff finger at the parked Dauntless, her feet planted apart in a challenging stance and her arms akimbo.
“And I told you there was nothing to worry about. The engine’s just running a little rough, that’s all. I know my job.”
“A little rough, huh? Would you stake your life on it? Why don’t you climb into that plane and fly with me a couple times around the field?” Eden challenged.
The invitation was plainly not to his liking, as he took a step backward, eyeing this red-haired female who was easily his height if not taller. “I can’t do that, ma’am,” he protested vigorously.
Their raised voices had attracted the attention of other members of the ground crew. Some ignored them after first locating the source, but most watched with ill-disguised amusement. One mechanic left a plane undergoing repairs in the hangar and came out to investigate the cause of the disagreement.
“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” That drawling, respectful voice had a familiar ring.
As Eden swung around, she recognized the strong, wide face, sobered now with a frown, but capable of a Texas-size smile. He was grease-smudged from his overalls to his face, even to the billed cap on his head, but he was unmistakably the mechanic who had helped her become familiar with the Dauntless dive-bomber.
“I want the engine of this plane checked. And this so-called mechanic won’t look at it. He claims there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“It’s just running rough—” the accused mechanic attempted to defend his position.
“Why don’t you finish puttin’ that plane back together in the hangar, Simpson, while I check out this lady’s engine?” It was less a suggestion than an order.
“Yes, sir.” Disgruntled by the outcome, the mechanic moved off in the direction of the hangar.
This time the Texas mechanic was smiling when Eden glanced at him. “I jest can’t get it through that boy’s head that the customer is always right.” The conciliatory remark brought a grudging smile to Eden’s mouth. “I’ll look at your plane.”
“Thanks.” Eden intended to be there when he did. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; she simply didn’t want someone going through the motions with the idea of pacifying her fears. Before she followed him to the plane, she instructed her cable man, “You might as well wait in the ready room and have some coffee. Let them know we have a mechanical delay.”
He showed his disappointment at the word “delay,” implying that he would have preferred an aborted mission. “Yes, ma’am.”
The experienced sergeant quickly located the problem, and drained more than a cup of water from the carburetor. “I figured that was the trouble,” he said. “Somebody on the ground crew might have forgotten to top the fuel tanks last night and the water vapor condensed. Or they might have filled it from an almost empty fuel drum that could have had some condensed water in it,” he suggested.
“That sounds awfully careless to me.” But she’d seen more than one example of that kind of indifference from the overworked ground crew. “None of these planes are safe to fly.” It was an angry protest at the appalling conditions of the aircraft they were expected to fly. “The instruments don’t work half the time, so you don’t dare rely on them. The seats are broken. The radios are usually so full of static you can’t hear most of the time.” The list was endless.
“I can’t argue with anything you say, ma’am,” the mechanic admitted. “Even if we could get all the spare parts we need, we don’t have the manpower to keep the planes in top shape. All we can do is keep the engines running so these tow-target missions can be flown. The base doesn’t even get enough fuel. Sometimes we have to put in a lower octane than the manufacturer requires for proper engine maintenance.”
Eden realized just how dangerous this assignment was. No wonder the men pilots balked at taking this kind of non-combat risk—towing targets for artillery practice in marginally safe airplanes.
“What’s your name?” she demanded suddenly.
He gave her a briefly startled glance. “Sergeant William Jackson, but my friends call me Bubba.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Bubba, I’m Eden van Valkenburg.” She shook hands with him, then scrubbed at the grease that came off on them, using an embroidered handkerchief from her pocket. “Before I climb into the cockpit of one of these planes, I want you to check it out, so at least I can know the kind of trouble to expect and make a judgment on whether I want to fly that particular plane or not.” When he showed signs of hesitating, Eden hastened to add, “I’ll make it worth your while, Bubba.”
“I’ll be happy to look ’em over for you, ma’am. And you don’t have to give me any money for doin’ it either. I don’t reckon your pay is much better than mine.”
“Believe me, I can afford it, Bubba.” She laughed at the suggestion that she had to watch her pennies. She had never worried about the price of anything in her life.
Her reply seemed to trouble him. “I don’t know as I’d feel right takin’ money from you, ma’am.”
“We’ll worry about that another time,” she said. “And the name is Eden.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled in his ever-respectful way.
It was an idyllic August morning with the sun glistening diamond-bright off the waters of the Atlantic and the surf rolling onto the beaches of the outer bank of islands on the Carolina coast. But the scene was marred by the presence of the antiaircraft batteries that occupied more than a mile-long stretch of sandy beach.
Still some distance from the artillery range, Rachel activated the throat mike with her fingers. “It’s just ahead of us,” she told her cable operator. “I’m going to see if they’re ready for us.”
“Okay,” came the nervous response.
With a grim smile, Rachel recalled the way the private had gawked at her six-foot-tall frame. No doubt he believed he had been assigned to fly with some Amazon. He had acted afraid of her, the plane, and probably his own shadow.
She turned the radio key and contacted the gunnery officer, reporting her position and eight-hundred-foot altitude. As they approached the artillery range, she could begin to see little clusters of men moving about the big guns. S
he wondered if Zach was down there. The officer responded to her call with an order to reel out the target and bring it on.
“Roger,” she replied and flipped the switch to intercom. “Did you monitor that?”
“Target going out,” her operator confirmed.
The target was a long muslin sleeve attached to a cable which the operator cranked out by means of a winch. As he let the target out, the A-24 began to slow. Rachel advanced the throttle to maintain her airspeed, conscious of the little frissons of tension she was feeling on her first mission.
Luckily, today the wind conditions were ideal. She would have to make few corrections for crosswind drift. She tried to shut out her thoughts and concentrate on the long line of antiaircraft guns on the beach. The big three-inch guns were first in line, followed by the .40- and .35-millimeter artillery, and lastly the small-arms range, which would require her to fly at a lower altitude for the rifle fire to hit her target.
The huge barrels of the heavy guns lacked maneuverability. The gunners were unable to track their target while the barrels swiveled clumsily in their casings, their snouts fifteen to twenty feet in the air. They were being taught how to lead their target and shoot at a spot ahead of it.
With the white target trailing behind her Dauntless, Rachel made her run down the beach. She watched the burps of white smoke from the guns and heard the thudding explosions. Her glance darted to the altimeter to make certain she was holding her pattern altitude. The prop of her plane sliced the air with a roar, and its powerful vibrations seemed to travel up the stick through her hand and into her body.
The plane began bumping through some turbulence. It seemed the noise of the guns was getting louder. Then Rachel noticed the black puffs of smoke punctuating the air in advance of her plane. That was flak! The realization hit her with sobering force. She felt that first shiver of alarm as she discovered what it was like to fly in combat. Along with the taste of fear came the rush of adrenaline and that crazy sense of excitement.