Again the Buff encountered a few rough up-and-down drafts, and Erin gripped the ladder and braced herself against the bolted chair by the radar. “How on earth does the Buff take this kind of beating?” she asked.
Guns was the first to answer. “Look at it this way, Erin. We take them up and do our best to tear them apart. Then we give them back to the Operational Maintenance Squadron, or OMS, to repair.”
“Yeah,” the EWO added. “The real force behind us is the ground crews. They can repair ninety percent of the problems on a Buff right at Sawyer, which is really something. We’ve got eleven hundred people working on the ground to keep us in the air.”
“And we’ve got the best OMS around,” Ty added. “I once saw a hole the size of a gallon milk jug torn in a Buff’s main wing spar. Maintenance cut out the section and riveted another piece of metal in its place. They’re something else.”
“Hey, Erin,” the co spoke up, “do you know that engine number eight was replaced a few hours before we took off?”
Her heart gave a thump of surprise and sudden anxiety. “They replaced an engine?” she asked meekly.
Ty laughed. “Don’t be frightened. It’s done all the time. Part of OMS’s job is to take oil samples from each of the eight engines after every mission. They run the oil through a spectrum analyzer to test for metals or other foreign substances. In the case of engine eight, a large accumulation of titanium registered, which meant a bearing was going. So they took out the engine and put in a replacement.”
“That’s impressive,” Erin murmured. She was beginning to understand the tremendous effort it took to keep the SAC bombers in the air.
“The colonel we have at Maintenance is the best in SAC,” Ty said. “His people love him, and they usually end up working six days a week. They work five days for the air force and the sixth for him. He inspires that kind of loyalty.”
“We try our damnedest to wreck ’em and he fixes ’em,” Guns added. “What can we say, Erin? We’ve got the best for the best!”
She gave Guns a perplexed look. “I don’t see you trying to tear them up.”
“As I’ve said, the Buffs are fifty-three years old,” Ty told her. “These missions put a lot of strain on them. They’re such old planes that often something does break or go wrong.”
She looked at him quizzically. “But that’s dangerous.”
“Exactly. We all try our best to keep the Buff safe to fly, but we need the B-1 bomber as a replacement, if for nothing else at least so that it won’t fall apart in the air.”
Erin considered his comments. No other bomber in history had served so long in the front lines of defense for the U.S. The Buff was an old plane in many ways, and she could understand the crew’s concern about its airworthiness.
The chatter diminished as Ty brought the heavy bomber to a higher altitude after the last low-level run. Erin climbed back up to the main cabin and strapped into the IP seat.
She heard another radio transmission and she pressed the headset against her ears, trying to pick up the nearly unintelligible jargon. Not succeeding, she watched the pilots. The co’s face immediately showed disappointment. Ty twisted around. “You hear that?”
She shook her head. “No. What’s wrong?”
“That was Sawyer. There’s a blizzard in full swing back at the base. With three-quarters-of-a-mile visibility, a three-hundred-foot ceiling and winds of forty-to-fifty knots.” He grimaced. “We aren’t going home. They’re ordering us to divert to a southern base. Keep your ears open. You might pick up some interesting talk.” He turned and asked the co to pull out maps showing various air bases in the South.
There was a lot of grumbling among the crew. After a long flight, they wanted to go home to their families. The co looked the most disappointed. Guns chortled over the intercom. “Hey, let’s make Barksdale. Man, I love that Louisiana area. Hey, Erin! I know more people down there. We could party all night!”
She turned and grinned. “The way I’m feeling right now, all I want is a hot bath and bed.” Guns shook his head. “Aw, you’re just like the rest of these turkeys—homebodies and party poopers.”
Erin listened intently. The pilots discussed the amount of fuel they had left and just how far they could fly without the situation becoming critical. Ty finally decided to land at Blytheville Air Force Base in Arkansas, which brought a groan of protest from Guns.
“Man, that’s out in the sticks! Know what we call it, Erin? Hooterville! Oh, well.” He sighed. “I know a great little place off base where we can get the best barbecued pork sandwiches in the world.”
Erin shook her head, smiling indulgently at his enthusiasm.
“Maybe after we finish mission planning tomorrow, we’ll commandeer a truck and drive over there for lunch. How about it, Ty?”
“We’ll see,” he said, busy up in the cockpit.
The sudden need to divert threw the navigator and pilots into a flurry of intense activity. Getting new headings and weather briefings, and alerting the new air base that they were literally dropping in on them, created heavy radio traffic for the next fifteen minutes. Finally, the cabin quieted down.
“Ty, where will we stay?” Erin asked.
“Probably the bachelor officers’ quarters, unless it’s filled up. If it is, we’ll get a motel off base.”
“And we’ll fly back tomorrow morning?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll have to call Sawyer after we land to find out what’s up.” He gave her a worried look. “Knowing SAC, I bet they’ll put us on a night mission on the way back to Sawyer tomorrow.”
She gasped. “But you just flew today! Don’t you get a rest?”
“SAC doesn’t believe in letting us fly a straight line back to our base, even if we get diverted because of weather. They’ll give us the night to rest up and we’ll start planning for a night flight tomorrow morning. On our way home we’ll probably take in a six-or eight-hour mission.”
Her frustration and disbelief must have shown in her eyes because Ty gave her an understanding smile. “I told you we worked hard. Now you’re going to get a taste of the real thing.”
In contrast to K. I. Sawyer where a blizzard raged, Blytheville was a quiet air base near the Tennessee border.
The crew disembarked without incident. All the equipment that had been stowed aboard had to be removed, as well. Erin pitched in and helped ferry it to the waiting bus. It was dark, but the temperature was in the low sixties, and she found her flight suit bulky and uncomfortable in the warm weather.
She followed the crew to the debriefing room in another building and received stares from several men as she sat down next to Ty. The debriefing was mercifully quick. Then they ambled over to the BOQ, only to find that it was filled to capacity. Thanks to Guns’s resourcefulness, they were able to commandeer a van. Soon they were heading for a motel five miles away.
After checking in, they met in the adjoining restaurant where they drew stares from civilians, since they had brought no clothes and were forced to wear their green flight suits. Ty pulled out a chair and motioned for Erin to sit down next to him. He traded brief smiles with her as he pulled the flight cap off and stuffed it into a zippered pocket.
Erin realized she was famished, and everyone else’s order reflected the same degree of hunger.
Afterward, over coffee and dessert, the talk centered on her. The co leaned over, his elbows on the table. “Erin, did Ty ever tell you about the B-52 statistics?”
She gave him a wary look, detecting a hint of laughter in his voice. “No. Is this some kind of joke?”
The crew laughed. Nav blushed furiously. “Nah. Not a joke. Go ahead, Co, tell her.”
Erin glanced at Ty, who maintained a poker face. She knew she was being set up now. “Okay,” she said bravely, “tell me.”
Co grinned broadly, his blue eyes dancing with humor. “There are three facts and a conclusion, Erin. First, the Buff has enough aluminum and steel in it to make twenty thousand garbage cans.”
He held up his hand. “Second, the Buff contains so much wire and cable that if you laid it end to end, it would stretch a hundred thousand miles.”
“That’s incredible!”
Co nodded sagely. “Third, with eight engines, the Buff has the power of twelve thousand locomotives.” He paused dramatically. “So, we can say the following about the Buff—it flies like twelve thousand locomotives pulling twenty thousand garbage cans on the end of a hundred thousand miles of wire!”
Everyone at the table rocked with laughter. Imagining the ludicrous picture, Erin joined in. “You’re the last person in this crew I’d expect to pull a joke like that!” she finally told Co.
Guns hooted. “Don’t trust any of us, Erin. We’re all crazier than hell!”
Just then Ty excused himself, returning a moment later with an amused expression and a walnut plaque in his hands. Erin gave him a confused look.
“Ordinarily, anyone who flies in a Buff gets a paper certificate to acknowledge the achievement,” he told her. He glanced at his men. “We didn’t want you to forget us so easily. You’ve been special to the flight and we’ve all enjoyed having you.” He pointed to the date. “Guess you’ll have to somehow scratch in another date, since this is turning into a two-day flight.”
Erin was deeply moved as she took the plaque. She glanced at the men, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks,” she whispered. “It’s been special for me, too.”
“Read it,” Co urged.
The blue metal had been engraved with silver to depict a B-52 flying between clouds. Beneath it was her name and the following: “You’ve gotta be tough to fly the heavies!” It marked the date of the flight, the designation of the mission, and the names of all the crew members. She felt close to tears. “It’s beautiful,” she managed, looking at all of them. “Believe me, I’ll never forget this flight, or any of you.”
“Or the burned chocolate chip cookies,” Guns added.
The EWO gave Guns a friendly jab in the ribs. “Yeah, you really singed your tail feathers on that one, turkey.”
Later the group broke up to go to their motel rooms. Ty walked Erin down the hall. She held the plaque against her breast as she slowly drew to a halt in front of her door. Ty looked so handsome, despite the dark shadows under his eyes. “You’re really tired,” she noted with concern.
He leaned against the wall and gave her a lazy smile, folding his arms across his chest. “Comes with the territory, darlin’. I just want you to know that everyone thinks you’ve been a real trouper on this flight. Some of the crew were taking bets that you’d end up like a lot of other passengers.”
She tilted her head, enjoying his closeness, the feeling of intimacy created whenever they were together. “And what happened to them?”
He grinned. “They ended up sleeping a lot. Most of them couldn’t take the hundred-percent oxygen and the fact that the cabin is pressurized for only eight thousand to ten thousand feet. Above that, your blood gets only eighty percent of the oxygen it needs, and you become tired quickly.” He reached out, capturing a lock of hair and placing it behind her ear. His light touch sent a small shiver of pleasure through her. “You must have a good blood count,” he surmised.
“No.” She laughed softly. “It’s that stubborn Irish stock we both come from.”
“Probably.” Ty turned serious. “You know, you almost had to take a commercial flight home tonight.”
“Why?” She was stunned. The thought of leaving Ty and the crew upset her.
“Talk on the subject went up to Eighth Air Force and back down again.”
“What are you saying?”
He roused himself, standing up straight. “Civilians are never allowed on night missions, which is what we’re flying tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, confused.
“They’re dangerous, darlin’. We’re flying at three hundred knots, five hundred feet above rough terrain. We file our flight plan with the FAA, as does a lot of other air traffic. The problem comes from private aircraft, which don’t have to file a flight plan with the FAA. We come roaring in low level over sparsely populated areas, mostly the desert or mountain regions, hoping we don’t run into one of those private planes. Someone at Eighth Air Force okayed your going along. You do have the luck of the Irish.”
Erin stared up at him in shock. “My God! You mean those civilian pilots won’t know we’re there?”
He smiled wryly. “We don’t know they’re there, either, darlin’.” He caressed her cheek, a wistful look in his eyes. “You’re going to be working tomorrow,” he promised. “Whoever sits in the IP scans left to right for planes. It’s all visual. The co and I are going to be damned busy, and we can use your help. If you spot a dark shape, don’t waste time getting on the intercom and telling me to climb. If you happen to spot flashing lights, just tell me where you see them and keep a check on them.”
Erin exhaled a shaky breath. He was serious. “These training missions…you fly them all the time? It’s so dangerous.”
Ty laughed softly. “It’s tiring, fatiguing and sometimes dangerous. We’ve had a few near-misses with civilian aircraft, but don’t worry about it. You’d be surprised what can be done with a Buff if there’s a potential for collision.”
“I’ll make very sure I’m strapped in tomorrow,” Erin promised gravely.
Ty moved closer, his hand cupping her chin. “Even in a flight suit you look beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against her face. “I’ve had a hell of a time keeping my hands off you today.” His mouth descended, pressing, parting her lips. His fingers tightened against the nape of her neck, pulling her into his arms. Erin trembled, desiring his strong mouth, his firm, knowing touch. The contact with his body was pleasant and heady as she rested against him. He kissed her hungrily and she returned his ardor. Reluctantly, he drew away, his eyes dark with barely checked passion. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he murmured huskily. “And stop looking at me like that or I won’t be held accountable,” he growled, a wry smile quirking one corner of his mouth.
It was almost eleven-thirty the next night when they landed back at K. I. Sawyer. Signs of the recent blizzard were everywhere, but the runway was clear of snow and ice. Erin rode on the ramp bus back to the squadron with the crew.
The night mission had been grueling. They had dropped down into the narrow valleys of the Smoky Mountains, making low-level-penetration bomb runs, which were scored electronically by a station below. The flight had started at three in the afternoon and, as dusk arrived, they had dropped from high altitude to five hundred feet, roaring over the heavily wooded terrain. Erin had grown accustomed to the intercom chatter and was able to sort most of it out. Strapped into the IP seat, she had begun to watch for dark shapes in the clouds. Afterward, Ty touched her knee with his gloved hand. “You did a good job,” he assured her.
She forced a tired smile. “Let’s see—I spotted two stars and one plane. Not bad for an amateur.”
“Not bad at all,” he said sincerely. “We always like someone in that IP seat, if we have an extra body aboard. Everyone is grateful you had the mettle to do the job and do it right.”
She had been exhausted by the tension and concentration required. But her job had been easy compared to what the crew had to do. Scanning their faces, she detected signs of their fatigue. Yet there was that familiar togetherness, that teasing humor that bonded them, even now.
Ty sat next to her in the bus, his hand draped casually over the seat near her shoulder. He offered her a small smile, which she returned. All too soon he would be gone. The thought sent her high spirits plunging.
After debriefing, Ty drove her back over to the distinguished visitors’ quarters. The stormy weather had passed, leaving the base cold and the wind cutting. Erin was glad to enter the warm quarters and take off her oversized boots. Ty lingered in the living room, watching her in comfortable sil
ence.
Dark shadows bruised his eyes and his face looked somewhat gaunt, perhaps because he hadn’t shaved in over twelve hours. She put the boots aside and gazed over at him from her seat on the couch. He looked dizzyingly handsome in his flight suit with the rainbow-colored scarf at his throat, the flight cap dangling from his fingers. His dark hair was still damp with sweat. He pushed away from the door and walked slowly over to her.
“You all right?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Looking up at him, she felt her heart wrench with pain as she realized just how much she would miss him when he left on alert. “I’m fine,” she said softly.
He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her thighs. “I’m proud of you. You took the mission like a real pro. We’ve flown reporters before, but none of them have done as well as you did.” His eyes held a glimmer of admiration in their depths. “But then,” he whispered, “you’re made out of the right stuff.”
Wearily, Erin rested her head against his broad shoulder. Did he ever get tired? Good Lord, she felt as if she were made of jelly. He slid his hand over her back, and she warmed to his touch. They held each other for several minutes before Erin pulled away.
“I don’t know if I’m made out of the right stuff or not,” Erin admitted. “Going back to New York and trying to work a compromise with Bruce on this article is going to be the biggest battle of my entire career.” Ty caressed her cheek. “If I could, I’d be there,” he said, his eyes darkening with unspoken affection. “But if I try to get leave now, they’ll have to put my whole crew on leave.”
She shook her head. “The crew does everything as a unit, doesn’t it?”
“Most things. Do this much, Erin. Call me. Keep me informed.” He cupped her face, imprisoning it, his eyes intent. “I’m going to see you again, and sooner than you think. We deserve the time to get to know each other better. You’re a special, lady. So damn special.” He pulled her gently to her feet, his arms capturing her body against his long length. “Any objections?” he asked, nuzzling his cheek against her hair.
On Wings of Passion Page 13