No Quarter Given

Chapter Three

Griff was in his office the next morning at 0600. His conscience had kept him awake most of the night. Yeoman Johnson had wisely made coffee early when he saw Griff stalk into the building, and had it on Griff’s desk ten minutes later. After taking a gulp of the scalding hot brew, Griff ordered Johnson to call sick bay.

“You want to talk to Dr. Collins?”

Griff refused to look up from his paperwork. Collins was the flight surgeon. “Yes.”

“To look at Ensign Coulter’s eye?”

Frowning, Griff nodded. It was amazing how Johnson seemed able to read his mind. “When Coulter arrives at the station, have her report to Dr. Collins. Tell him I want to know whether she can be put on flight status.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griff looked up at the smile he could swear he heard in Johnson’s voice. The yeoman had already turned and was heading out the door. At least his conscience had stopped needling him, Griff thought. Collins would probably put Dana on flight waivers for at least three or four days. Her black eye was serious, and he knew it would interfere with her flying.

Angry at himself, he slammed the pen down on the papers and glared around his small office. Dana. Why couldn’t he think of her as Coulter? Last names were generic, less intimate. She was a woman. And women meant nothing but trouble in his book. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to wind up like Toby—dying in the rear seat of a cockpit because a woman screwed up on a flight. No way.

* * *

Dana couldn’t contain her surprise when the corps Wave at the dispensary picked up an order with her name already on it.

“Lieutenant Turcotte has ordered you to see Dr. Collins, the flight surgeon. He has concern that your left eye will interfere with your ability to fly, ma’am.”

Nodding, Dana took a seat in the crowded dispensary, waiting her turn. So Griff had ordered her to see Collins. As she sat, hands clasped in her lap, she wrestled with her feelings. Why hadn’t he sent her over here yesterday? With a sigh, Dana realized that even if Griff had an impersonal hatred of her because she was a woman, he had a streak of decency, too. Another part of her worried that being put on flight waivers upon her arrival at Whiting might look bad on her record.

Looking around, she studied the other waiting student pilots. They all looked frightened. Some moved around nervously, crossing and uncrossing their legs. Others wiped sweat from their faces. Others sat stoically, their eyes dark with fear. Fear, Dana wondered, of what? Flying? Possibly failing? Maggie had told her last night that the big illness going around Whiting Field was gastroenteritis— a stomachache. She’d heard from a tenth-week student that the dispensary was always filled to capacity early in the morning with students who were afraid to face their instructors or a grueling flight test.

Well, it wasn’t going to happen to her, Dana decided. As soon as she saw Dr. Collins, she’d be sitting on the Turk’s doorstep, letting him know she wasn’t afraid of him, of that trainer or of flying with him. This was only the first skirmish in a long six-week war, as far as Dana was concerned. And she wasn’t going to let him win round one.

* * *

Griff heard a firm knock at his office door. He’d just gotten off the phone with Dr. Collins, who had put Dana on flight waivers for an entire week. Part of him was relieved. He had to admit that another part of him wanted to see her; but that was a stupid and immature reaction.

“Enter,” he growled. His next student, Ted Dunlop, wasn’t scheduled until 1030. He had the whole morning to catch up on the unending paper chase that crossed his desk daily.

Dana stepped into Griff’s office and came to attention in front of his desk. She didn’t dare look at him. “Ensign Coulter reporting for duty, sir.”

Griff sat back, stunned. This morning her flight uniform fit her a little better. It was obvious she’d trimmed the sleeves and pant legs and done quite a bit of sewing last night, but she still looked small and vulnerable in the olive-green uniform. He shoved back his response.

“What the hell are you doing here? Dr. Collins put you on flight waivers, Coulter.”

“I may be on flight waivers, sir, but that doesn’t stop me from learning what I can on the ground. I don’t like missing a week of flying.”

“This just goes to prove my previous point. Women can’t take it. You’re weak, Coulter, and that’s why you were placed on waivers.”

Dana glared down at him. Ordinarily, Griff should have told her to move to parade rest, but he hadn’t. Standing at attention for a long time was tiring, but she wasn’t going to say anything. “Women aren’t weak, sir.”

Griff reared back in his chair and held her blazing blue gaze. “The hell they aren’t.”

“The injury to my eye prevents me from flying only,” Dana hurled back at him.

“I wonder what it will be next, Coulter?”

“There won’t be anything else.”

Griff managed a twisted smile. “Bet me.”

“Any amount you want, sir.”

He measured her for a long moment, the silence growing brittle. “Women, by nature are weak, Ensign.”

“Where I come from, they’re strong and capable, sir. I guess you just haven’t run into any of my kind.”

With a snort, Griff got to his feet. How he wanted to throw down the red flag of war and surrender to those defiant blue eyes. Dana’s mouth… Sweet heaven, Griff thought. What would it be like to mold those lips to his and taste her fiery response? And then he remembered Carol, who had appeared so capable and independent, too—at first.

“Ensign, you’ve got nothing to do but get well. Now get out of here.”

Dana stubbornly remained. “It’s 0800, Lieutenant. Can’t you at least walk me around and introduce me to the trainer? I can read up on the manuals while I’m recuperating. I’m not an invalid, you know.”

Pleased with her response, Griff shrugged. “A walk-around? You’re picking up the lingo fast, Coulter.”

Moving into a parade-rest position, hands behind her back, Dana continued to meet his stormy gray gaze. “Give me half a chance to prove myself, Mr. Turcotte, and I’ll earn my wings.”

For a moment Griff almost believed her. “Come with me, Dana—er, Coulter. If you want to play at learning how to fly, I’ll go along with your game.”

Throttling her anger, Dana followed him out of the office. As they left admin, she noticed the pink dawn on the horizon for the first time. Whiting Field was small, she had heard, in comparison to the Pensacola air station where most of the student flying was conducted. Both sat on the Gulf of Mexico, in Florida’s panhandle. Still, the airport had six runways, a large, glass-enclosed control tower and a number of barracks that housed students and personnel alike. She was glad that she and Maggie and Molly had an apartment off station.

“Why do you use the word play, Lieutenant?” Dana lengthened her short stride to keep up with Griff. He towered over her, his shoulders thrown back with pride. Despite his arrogance, she would never forget his actions at the airport.

“Women play at everything. Life’s a game with them, Coulter. I’m sure you know that.”

“No, sir, I don’t know that. I take my commitment to the Navy seriously.”

“Yeah, a six-year commitment. You’ll probably snag a higher-grade officer, get married and end up with a brood of kids and quit.”

“Barefoot and pregnant?”

Griff heard the steel in her lowered tone. “Isn’t that the goal of every woman, Coulter? A husband with a big fat paycheck? Security?” That had been Carol’s aim, she had confided timidly the day she’d asked for a divorce.

“I wouldn’t be here if that were my goal, Lieutenant.”

With a harsh laugh, Griff headed onto the tarmac after flashing his security badge at the gate guard. In front of them were five neat lines of parked aircraft, six to each row. The trainers had been serviced and checked the night before by teams of hardworking enlisted mechanics, and now were ready for their demanding flight schedule for the coming day.

Griff looked for tail number 13115, his trainer. It sat at the end of row three. Glancing down, he noticed Dana’s alertness. Her eyes roved restlessly, and she didn’t seem to miss much. It was one thing he looked for in a prospective student. Alertness could save a student’s life—and his, too.

Halting, Griff stood in front of the trainer. “This is 13115, Coulter. My plane. A walk-around consists of checking out the external surfaces of the aircraft. You’re to look for possible hydraulic leaks under the wings, check the ailerons, rudders and elevators to make sure they work properly.” Griff moved in a counterclockwise circle around the trainer, pointing here and there. “The student is responsible for the walk-around. The crew chief on this plane is AVM Parker, and he’ll present you with the discrepancy book on it. You’re to look at it, see if everything’s been repaired and sign it off after the visual inspection.” Griff pinned her with a dark look. “Failure to do so leads to an automatic Board.”

“You don’t have to look so happy about it, Mr. Turcotte. I’m not going to fail to sign off the discrepancy log.”

With a grimace, he muttered, “I’ll believe that when I see it. But then, you won’t be making it past six weeks with me, anyway. I’ll bet you fall apart on me within the first week, Coulter.”

Dana held his glare. “You really believe that, don’t you?” What made Griff feel so strongly about women? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she decided not to—at least, not right now. Some of Griff’s surliness had disappeared as he’d gotten out on the flight line. Even now, a new eagerness and excitement in his eyes had replaced the brooding glare he normally had around her.

“In my experience, Coulter, women pretend they’re strong until the chips are down. Then they fall apart, expecting a man to pick up the pieces.” He halted at the tail of the plane, placing his hands on his hips. “Well, I’m going to let you prove it to me all over again.”

It hurt to grin, but Dana did anyway. “Obviously your experience is limited, Lieutenant. I’ll show you differently.”

“No way.”

Dana didn’t respond, instead allowing Griff to teach her all he could from the ground. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he seemed perversely pleased by her incessant questions after the walk-around. She took notes, opened her walk-around manual, and asked more questions.

With a pang, Dana wished that she could climb into the cockpit, as other students and instructors were doing right now.

Griff saw the longing on Dana’s face. He wanted to tell her to sit in the cockpit and run through the start-up and shutdown routine, but he squelched the urge. He was damned if he would give her an edge. A smart student would make a cardboard mock-up of the cockpit at home and spend nights memorizing where the dials and gauges were located. But he wasn’t about to suggest that, either.

As they walked down the flight back toward Operations, or Ops, Dana risked everything: “Where do you come from, Lieutenant?”

Disgruntled, Griff gave her a sidelong look. “Jerome, Arizona.”

“Hot country?”

“Yeah, and if you’re stupid, it can kill you.”

Delighted that he was at least talking to her, Dana eagerly took the lead. Knowing something about Griff might help her anticipate what he would be like in the cockpit. She had no idea what a “screamer” was, but her survival reflex told her that any bit of information that might help turn a negative situation into a positive one was worth pursuing.

“Why is that?”

“Jerome sits on the side of Mingus Mountain. Below is a desert valley. I was taught from the time I was old enough to walk, always to carry a canteen of water and a hat with me.”

“So if the car broke down, you weren’t caught without water in the desert?” Dana saw his surprised look. For an instant, she thought she saw admiration in his gray eyes at her quick grasp of the situation. Just as quickly, his eyes became hooded again.

“Yeah.”

“So, how big is Jerome?”

“Small. Maybe a thousand people live up there.”

“You’re a country boy, then. And you like your privacy.”

Uncomfortable at Dana’s insight, he ignored her remark. “Jerome was a copper-mining town. My dad was a miner until the shafts closed down.”

“And your mother?” Dana hoped to find out more about Griff’s negative attitude toward women. She held her breath, hoping he’d respond.

“She was an invalid. While she was in labor having me, she suffered a stroke.”

A lump formed in Dana’s throat. She heard the regret—and maybe guilt?—in Griff’s icy tone. Softly, she offered, “I imagine it was hard on you growing up thinking you’d caused your mother’s illness.”

Griff slowed his walk, remembering the times he’d sat with his bedridden mother. Her entire right side had been paralyzed, making it tough for her to get anywhere without help. “I spent a lot of time with her when I was young. She taught me to read at an early age. I was reading Erle Stanley Gardner mysteries to her when I was twelve.”

A tremor passed through Dana—of understanding, of sympathy for Griff. “She must have loved your sensitivity and thoughtfulness.”

Catching himself, Griff gave her a strange look. Just what was Dana up to? He halted at the guard gate. “Ensign, I’ve got work to do. Dr. Collins has ordered you to report for flight training next Monday.” Abruptly, he swung away, heading back to his office. Dammit, how had he let Dana into his personal life? The soft blue of her eyes had touched him deeply, the compassion in them bringing up a wealth of wonderful old memories. His mother had died when he was fifteen. Until that time, he’d faithfully come in and read to her from her favorite authors every night. It had been his way of showing his love.

Griff mulled over Dana, Carol and his mother as he walked toward admin. Carol had never really asked him about his childhood. She’d been more interested in his career as a fighter pilot. He’d been the one to bring up his mother, and Carol had made the appropriate sympathetic sounds and comments. But Dana’s eyes mirrored the tragedy he’d felt as a child growing up. She understood. Shaken, Griff tried to ignore that discovery about Dana. How had he let himself fall under her spell?

* * *

When Maggie and Molly returned to the apartment that evening, Dana proudly showed them the cardboard cockpit she’d drawn and set up on a kitchen chair. Bringing up another chair, Dana sat down.

“We can all practice with this mock-up,” she told them excitedly. “I used the trainer manual and drew in all the dials and gauges.” With a grin, Dana looked up at her friends. “I figure if one of us calls off the preflight checklist and emergency maneuvers, the person sitting here can go through it.”

“Smart move,” Maggie congratulated enthusiastically, eyeing the mock-up.

“It’s perfect!” Molly said. “And you’ve done such a good job, Dana.”

“I had to do something,” she explained wryly. “Turcotte wasn’t about to let me sit in the cockpit. He knew I wanted to, but walked away from the opportunity to let me do it.”

“How about your eye?” Molly asked, setting her books down on the kitchen counter.

Dana told them the whole story. Maggie grinned devilishly.

“So, the Turk has some redeeming qualities, after all.”

“Maybe,” Dana hedged. And she told them about his family situation.

“Weak mother,” Maggie murmured, opening the refrigerator and pouring them all some iced tea. She handed the glasses around and sat down at the Formica-topped table. “Maybe that’s why he thinks all women are weak.”

Dana squeezed fresh lemon into her tea and sat down with Maggie. Her friends were both still in flight suits. She was glad she’d changed into a pair of yellow shorts and a sleeveless white blouse earlier. “It’s a start.”

Molly was sitting at the mock-up. She looked toward them. “Is Turcotte married?”

Dana shrugged. “I don’t know….”

“Intriguing question,” Maggie said. “You know Manny’s a real gossip. I’ll ask him to do some snooping around for us.” She jabbed a finger at Dana. “I asked my IP today about Turcotte and he got real tight-lipped. All he’d say was that he was tough as hell. I think if we give you our experiences this week in the cockpit, we can help you prepare to start flying with Turcotte next week.”

“Not only that,” Molly added excitedly, “but you’re going to blow him away when you have cockpit start-up and shutdown procedure down pat. He won’t expect you to know that, Dana.”

“Probably thinks I’m out getting a tan, partying and playing around,” she agreed.

Maggie got up. “Well, it’s my turn to cook, ladies. How about Swanson Hungry Man frozen dinners?”

With a groan, Dana laughed. “At the academy, we had three squares a day over at the chow hall. Here, we’ve got to get into the routine of fixing our own meals. What a drag. Are we spoiled?”

The laughter lightened the kitchen, and Dana got up and out of Maggie’s way. They had set up a roster of duties. Each woman had her own particular chore to complete each day. The camaraderie was binding, just as it had been at Annapolis. They were a family, believing deeply in one another and relying on each other’s abilities.

Moving to her bedroom, Dana changed into her swimsuit, and pulled on jeans and a blouse over it.

“Going to swim in the gulf?” Molly asked, poking her head around the open door.

“Yes. It’s the only way to get rid of tension, as far as I’m concerned.”

Frowning, Molly leaned against the doorjamb, her arms crossed on her chest. “It’s really tough luck drawing the Turk. I’m sorry, Dana. Maggie and I have super instructors. Neither one is a screamer. Our first flights were nerve-racking but exciting. I got a 2.1 and Maggie got a 2.2.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it will be wonderful for me next Monday. Griff’s not interested in teaching me how to fly. He only wants to see me fail.” Grimly she pressed her lips together as she picked up her colorful towel. “I’m going down to the beach for at least an hour.”

“Okay. Be careful. I hear there are a lot of sharks and jellyfish in the water around here.”

With a laugh, Dana slipped past Molly. “I grew up on the Pacific Ocean, remember? I’ve had my brushes with sharks and been stung by enough jellyfish to become one. I’ll be okay. See you in an hour or so….”

* * *

Griff walked the lonely beach on Santa Rosa Island, hands deep in the pockets of his ragged cutoffs, his bare feet sinking deeply into the sand. The gulf was glassy smooth at this time of the evening, with the tide moving out. Hunter’s Point was his favorite getaway spot, a place where he could think without being distracted by a lot of tourists crowding the long sandbarlike island that stretched endlessly in a slight crescent, parallel to the Florida coast. The white sand met the blue-green water, the waves small and frothy. His shoulders fell and relaxed as he allowed the lap of the water and the cry of the sea gulls to take away his tension. It had been one hell of a day.

Scuffing his toes into the damp sand, Griff watched as the sun, low on the horizon, dipped behind towering cumulus clouds. His mother would have commented on what looked like the face of a dog in the clouds. Carol wouldn’t even have noticed it. What would Dana have said? Disgusted with his meandering train of thought, Griff spun around, allowing his chin to drop toward his chest, introspective.

Dana. What was he going to do about her? This morning, she’d displayed the kind of eagerness that he liked to see in a student, but didn’t often get. Her melting blue eyes haunted him. He knew she was in pain from the black eye. Having collected a few shiners in his seven-year naval career, Griff knew they ached like a son of a bitch for at least a week. It hurt to talk, to chew food and to smile. Dana wasn’t a complainer as Carol had been. If Carol cut her finger slicing a tomato, she acted as if he should take her to an emergency room.

Mulling over the comparison, Griff stopped and turned, facing the ocean. The horizon was turning a peach color, the sun behind the clouds lining it with blazing gold edges. He’d seen gold flecks in Dana’s eyes when he’d begun teaching her about the walk-around. Did gold mean she was happy? With a groan, Griff rubbed his face and tried to erase Dana from his mind and heart.