Wild Fire

by M. L. Buchman

  “Hey, Rip,” Weasel greeted her with a sassy grin as she climbed down among the green-vested maintenance personnel who were swarming her machine. In moments they were working with Janet to remove the main rotor blades.

  “Hey, Weasel,” she stepped up to him and let him know exactly what she thought of him. It was extremely satisfying.

  The next Petty Officer, who replaced Weasel while he went to tend with his bloody and hopefully broken nose, was much more respectful.

  A glance up at Pri-Fly revealed the Mini Boss in his bright green t-shirt, leaning on the outer rail and looking down. The Air Boss was there in his commanding yellow as well—immaculately clean compared to the deck hands bearing random stains of grease and soot from hot jet exhaust on their gear. She shot him a sharp salute and he sent a lazy one back. Five stories up she couldn’t tell whether or not he was smiling. She hoped so—because she’d just spilled blood on his nice clean deck and didn’t regret it for a second.

  The man standing next to him, Rear Admiral James Parker, who was partly responsible for her being in this mess, she was less sure of. She wondered if she’d have a chance to meet with him during however long they were aboard. Don’t punch him in the nose, she told herself. A good reminder.

  The other helicopters all landed much more cleanly than she had, despite their lack of familiarity with carrier landings. Punching Weasel was not even close to sufficient retribution.

  The task of removing the six ten-meter-long rotor blades that had taken Janet and Denise an hour last week was accomplished in minutes by the deck crew, even though they were unfamiliar with her aircraft. They had the blades dismounted and in a cart. She had to grab her duffel bag quickly before they towed her bird away to the elevator that lowered it into the hangar bay. Not used to aircraft carrier operations, Janet was on the verge of a meltdown with it happening so fast.

  Ripley hooked an arm through Brad’s and Janet’s to keep them in place until a handler came to escort them safely across the deck. Her crew were each wearing heavy earmuffs issued by the deck crew as they climbed down. The handlers escorted one helicopter crew after another, all toting brand new duffels or knapsacks. Soon there was a fair collection of them who’d been led across the deck, through the sound-deadening double doors, and were now waiting in the pilot’s ready room.

  Most moved to windows overlooking the rest of the carrier strike group. A trio of Arleigh Burke destroyers, a Ticonderoga-class cruiser, and a half dozen other ships made quite a display. No one would notice the two Los Angeles-class fast attack submarines that were circling somewhere below the ocean’s surface fore and aft of the surface ships. They were in friendly waters, so there was only a thin cloud of jets and helos in the air.

  A couple of people hit the soda machine. After a two-hour flight without time for breakfast, the sugar and caffeine were going to make for some interesting group dynamics.

  Ripley stood by the window to the flight deck and watched the King Air come down. Its descent was slow and clean. Full flaps, just above stall speed, it looked to be standing still. Because the carrier was also steaming ahead at—she checked the waves below—about twenty-five knots, the King Air was gaining ground at barely eighty kilometers an hour. It touched down neatly and picked up the Three Wire as its engines burst to life. If it had missed all four of the pickup wires, it would need the speed to not fall into the ocean at the other end of the ship’s short runway. Because they caught the wire, they were jerked to a halt, then Mark eased the engines down immediately.

  Ripley glanced astern as the LSO held up five fingers. It pissed her off that Henderson rated a five and she’d earned a lousy three because of Weasel. After she busted his nose, she should have kicked his ass over the side and let him swim to Australia.

  She could feel herself radiating sick fury. As intense as the moment she’d caught him humping their wedding caterer. She was the one who had lost so much. Wedding, self-respect, career. Why was he the one still in the Navy? She didn’t miss the bureaucracy or the crazy pressure, but she missed the flying.

  Flying to fire was good. Except for the occasional drone disaster, it was a safe enough job. Yes, she’d take flying to fire any day…as long as she had the chance to string Petty Officer First Class Weasel Williams up by his balls until he—

  “Who pissed you off?” Gordon startled her.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Gordon lifted her hand and inspected her bloody knuckles.

  She yanked her hand away and tried not to hiss at the sudden pain. “His face was harder than I thought it was.”

  “Who? I’ll take him down for you.”

  “Have you ever hit a man?”

  “Can’t think of one.” Then that smile of his that she had so little defense against. “Might have punched Mickey in the arm a time or two.”

  Overhearing the last, Mickey stepped up beside Gordon and slugged him hard enough on the arm to knock him into her. She pushed him back hard enough to send the two of them stumbling together.

  “Just paying you back, Tweety Bird,” Mickey was all smiles.

  Gordon gave him the finger, but between them, they’d broken her dark mood and she appreciated that.

  “Vaughan,” a voice snapped from close beside her.

  Mini Boss Jim Harding stepped up beside her.

  “Sir!” Old habits died hard and she was most of the way to a salute before she noticed, but finished it anyway.

  Gordon watched the spectacle of Ripley saluting. A change ran through her. Her amazing posture was suddenly incredible.

  “You were in the Navy?” She hadn’t given even a hint.

  She ignored him and paid attention to the ticked-off officer standing in front of her. He was wearing a bright green t-shirt with the words “Mini Boss” across it in six-inch-high letters. Despite his t-shirt’s message, he was a big guy and Gordon hoped this wasn’t the guy he’d just offered to take down.

  “I want an incident report on my desk by end of day today, Vaughan.”

  “Not in the service anymore, sir.” Despite her claim, she dropped into something that Gordon guessed was parade rest with her hands folded neatly at the small of her back and her feet planted wide. It looked awfully good on her.

  “I have two safety violation reports on my desk and a Petty Officer Williams with a broken nose confined to quarters pending investigation. You will give me a report.”

  “You punched an officer?” Gordon hadn’t even known she was in the military just a moment ago. Was she still? “Isn’t that bad? Can you get in trouble for that?”

  “Asshole deserved it, sir. A petty officer isn’t an officer, Gordon. And yes, I punched him.”

  “Hey, Cuz,” Mark Henderson slapped a hand down on the Mini Boss’ shoulder.

  “Hey, Mark,” the greeting was suddenly cheery. The two of them were clearly friends in addition to being related. The Mini Boss nodded toward Ripley. “She one of yours?”

  Which Gordon figured was pretty damned obvious. He assumed that they were the only group of civilians landing on a US aircraft carrier in the middle of the Coral Sea today.

  “Might be. What did she do?”

  Gordon stepped in. “Damn straight she is. So is she in trouble or not?”

  The Mini Boss looked at him for a long moment, then busted out laughing.

  Gordon suddenly understood Ripley’s urge to land a punch.

  “The day Ripley Vaughan does something without just cause will be the day I quit this Navy. Seriously, Rip. Report. Written. My desk.”

  “What went down?” Mark wasn’t looking so jovial any more.

  “An LSE,” Ripley explained between clenched teeth. “That’s a Landing Signals Enlisted Personnel, decided to see if he could damage my Aircrane by mis-signaling a landing.”

  “Why the hell would he do that?”

  “He was my ex.”

  “You have an ex? You were married?” Gordon couldn’t make sense of it. Twenty minutes ago he’d been talki
ng to Mark about whether Ripley was the “right one,” whatever in the world that was. And now he was facing a woman who saluted and had a past he knew nothing about. Funny parents and firefighting. That was all he knew of her past…until now.

  “I was not married,” her voice had gone dark and nasty.

  This was beyond temper; she sounded mean.

  “Caught him screwing the caterer two days before the wedding,” she bit it off. Looked pissed that he’d dragged the words out of her.

  “He’s why you resigned?” The Mini Boss pointed toward the depths of the ship. “To marry that piece of shit?”

  Ripley’s nod was sharp and hurt.

  Gordon wanted to move in and console her. Offer a supporting arm…but he didn’t even know this furious woman standing in such a stiff military posture.

  He looked around the circle of people. Heard Janet’s laughter from the crowd over by the window. She had friends. Good ones. Was an exceptional pilot, based on what he’d seen but based on the Mini Boss’ anger as well.

  No! He did know Ripley. Whatever else he didn’t know about her, he did know…her. He didn’t have a better word for it, but he knew her.

  Gordon could feel her anger become his own. Felt what it would take to make him want to hurt another. Not a flash of confused anger at Mark’s teasing, but rather a heat moving to his face. It wasn’t a blush of embarrassment, he knew that feeling well enough. No, it was a cold flush of blood that cleared away all other thoughts.

  Ripley had watched Gordon’s expression change as her past was revealed.

  Bewildered.

  Confused.

  Hurt.

  That was the worst. She didn’t want to remember that past. Had blocked it out of her life. Even her parents didn’t know the final ugly truth and how confused it had made her, losing everything she’d thought she was. And having to start over.

  But that she could hurt Gordon through that omission was something she’d never considered.

  In that instant, Ripley began to understand quite how much she stood to lose. Not merely a magnificent lover, but the best man she’d ever been with. Perhaps the best she’d ever known.

  She began to reach for him. To prepare herself to lay her pain out on the deck for all to see. There had to be some way to make him listen to her long enough for her to explain why she’d—

  However, the man standing beside her was no longer the easy-going Gordon Finchley. He changed. Changed in a way she’d never fully seen.

  Her alpha lover was one thing.

  The man beside her radiated anger like a physical force. It pushed her partially extended hand back. It made her want to cower and hide.

  It was all over. The truth landed far harder than the blow she’d planted in “Weasel’s” face. Once again he’d found a way to take and destroy another piece of her.

  No one as angry as Gordon could every forgive her. Somehow, once again, she’d lost everything.

  But he turned from looking at Ripley and faced Jim Harding, the Mini Boss.

  “Introduce me to this bastard,” his voice was dark and dangerous. “So that I can pound his goddamn face in.”

  Somehow Gordon had swallowed her lies—well, her evasions—and decided that he was her champion defender. He was up on his toes, his big hands balled into massive fists.

  “Remember,” Mickey spoke up, “the part where you’ve never hit anyone?”

  “I’ll learn!” Gordon’s snarl had even the affable Mickey stepping back, finally realizing just how close he’d come to tangling with a primal force.

  “Ripley,” Mark said in a calm voice. “Why don’t you take Gordon for a walk? Somewhere quiet.”

  “Try 03-75-4-L,” the Mini Boss told her. Deck-frame-compartment-L for Living quarters. “We’ve got a little space in officer country at the moment due to a medical emergency. You’re only aboard for four days, so we’ll give it to you. You know the way.”

  Ripley nodded. She remembered. Her own quarters hadn’t been far away.

  “Meanwhile,” Jim Harding slapped Mark on the back almost as hard as she’d punched Weasel in the face. Mark barely wavered. “I’m gonna bunk my cousin-in-law in a special spot as a thanks for introducing me to his screamingly cute cousin and making my days eternally happy. You,” another friendly blow, “are headed for deck 4 frame 25.”

  Ripley managed to suppress a laugh. Picturing Night Stalker Mark Henderson in with the ordinary seamen and engine swabbies bunking sixty to a room was almost worth waiting around to see.

  But then she glanced at Gordon. His expression was still dark and dangerous. He jolted only slightly when she slipped an arm through his, but he followed her docilely enough.

  As soon as they were down the first ladderway and away from the rest of MHA, she stopped. There was never peace and quiet on an aircraft carrier nor any place that was truly out of the way. Especially during active flight operations…which typically lasted only twenty-four hours a day. But there was a small space to the side of a firefighting station where the ship’s architects had somehow not managed to cram yet one more piece of gear. It was out of the way and only visible on a direct inspection, as it was half under the stairs.

  Gordon was still in near automaton mode and Ripley could feel the fear bubbling back into her.

  As much to calm herself as him, she lay a hand upon his chest. It felt so good, so right, that she lay her head there as well.

  She listened to his heart a long time. It wasn’t racing. No. It was rock steady. She wanted to hide there and not face whatever came next. Not a fire, not Weasel Williams, not the old haunts that had been her home for so much of her four years in the service.

  Please, she prayed to no one in particular. Please don’t let me have screwed this up. Please. Please. Please.

  Like some benediction, Gordon finally moved to place his hands upon her waist.

  “I’m so sorry, Gordon. I should have told you.”

  He shrugged.

  “No, really. It’s just…” Ripley pulled back and looked up at his face, still harsh in the fluorescent lighting. And again the fear prickled through her that she’d screwed up something important. Really important. Perhaps—

  “Do. Not.” He managed his first deep breath since they’d left the group. “Do not let me near that fucker. Okay?” His voice was so harsh that she didn’t even recognize it.

  “Okay.”

  Gordon nodded once to himself, firmly.

  His eyes slowly cleared; somehow their bright blue had gone so dark as to be impenetrable, but the blue was slowly returning.

  Ripley tried to read his opinion of her that lay behind those eyes, but couldn’t read him when he was like this.

  Other members of MHA came thudding down the ladder. She could tell each one by their footsteps. The steady military strides of Vern and Mark with the slightly lighter ones by Robin. The rapid steps of Brenna, the slower ones of Denise, and Vanessa’s own light tread. The others continued by over their heads, along with their escorts to make sure they ended up in the right place.

  They were long gone before his eyes finally focused on her, for perhaps the first time since last night.

  “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  Ripley tried to think. Were there any other dark secrets she’d kept hidden? Maybe not only from Gordon, but from herself?

  He waited. The gentle man waited, though she could still feel the hard one beneath the palms of her hands.

  “I can only think of one thing.”

  He tipped his head.

  “It would be easier if you were really holding me.”

  “Tough requirement,” he slid his arms around her and held her close. So close she could barely breath. “Go ahead.”

  “Scary and hidden? Yeah, one more secret. It’ll be a surprise for both of us.”

  “Waiting.”

  Ripley closed her eyes to steel herself to say it, but Gordon flexed his arms in a nudge to make her open them again.

  �
�I’ll be right here when you’re done. Just say it, Ripley.” Well, that certainly did it.

  “I’m crazy about you, Gordon Finchley. I know it’s fast, stupid, awkward, and probably the last thing you wanted to hear right after learning about my past. But it’s—”

  “Something I spent most of last night thinking about too.”

  “Really?” It came out in some small, little-girl voice. A voice of hope.

  “Scared the shit out of me.”

  “Uh…is that why you were all packed before I woke up? Were you about to leave me?” She considered getting angry, but after the events of the last hour didn’t have it in her.

  “Thought about it some,” then he kissed her forehead. “Stopped before I did anything that stupid.”

  “Thank god!” She’d have melted to the deck plates if he hadn’t held her up.

  “You aren’t angry?” Gordon’s voice was a whisper against her ear.

  “I don’t seem to be,” Ripley checked in with herself. Nope! “I must admit that I thought about running a couple times myself, but figured that having signed a contract and all, that might be bad form. Still scares the shit out of me, though. I was afraid it was just me.”

  “Not a chance, Wonder Woman.” She could feel the chuckle deep in his chest. “You’re doing a fine job of freaking me out as well.”

  He squeezed her for a moment longer, then took in a deep breath.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “Aircraft carrier,” she’d noticed the instant she’d gotten aboard. “Sweat, dirt, hydraulic fluid, Jet-A fuel, unwashed bodies, maybe some mold because everything is always damp. You should smell it when the cooks really burn something, not like searing a steak but a real screw up-and-scorch. The carbon stink lasts for days. Smells like home to me. Jim said we’d be aboard for three or four days; you won’t notice it by then.”

  “Huh. Not what I was noticing, but it is kind of rank.”

  “What were you noticing?”