Red Tail

Two

The first statement thrown at Storm occurred the moment she swung through the doors of the Operations Center. It was one fifteen in the afternoon and time for the next duty section to take the next twenty-four-hour alert. Lieutenant Kyle Armstrong was at the forty-cup coffeepot when she walked in. The other eight pilots raised their heads in greeting.

“Hey, Stormie, the Old Man’s secretary called over here. He wants to see you right away.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward as she joined Kyle, and reached for a heavy glass mug with her name on it. “You really know how to make a woman’s day.”

“Sorry,” he demurred. “Hey, we saw your boy earlier,” Armstrong mentioned, a grin lapping at the corners of his mouth.

Storm gave him a dirty look, throwing an extra spoonful of sugar into the coffee as a fortifying measure. “My ‘boy’?”

“Yeah. The ex-fighter jock. What’s his name? Gallagher?”

“Quit grinning like a damn coon hound hunting fox,” she growled, lifting the scalding coffee to her lips. Wrinkling her nose, she took a small sip. Couldn’t the day wait even long enough for her to get her customary coffee into her veins and wake up her brain? She had slept poorly throughout the night, finally sleeping soundly at eight A.M. The alarm pulled her out of sleep at noon, and she had rushed through a shower to make it to the station on time.

Kyle, who was twenty-nine and the father of two kids, laughed. The other pilots who were lounging around waiting for the orders of the day to be handed out joined his laughter. “Just a little inside info, Storm,” he said. “Gallagher was over here at 1100 nosing around and asking about you.”

“Yeah,” Jesse Mason chortled. “He wanted to know all about you.”

Her gray eyes narrowed as she turned around, observing her cohorts. She had been flying with all these men for a long time, and they were like brothers to her. “What’d you tell him, Jess?”

Mason, who was part of the duty section to be relieved, grinned. “Not a damn thing. Told him if he wanted to know anything about you, he should go and ask you. I told him how Coasties stuck together.”

It was her turn to smile. “I’ll bet he just loved that answer.”

“Not exactly,” Kyle chuckled.

“Hey,” Jesse called as she turned to leave. “We don’t want him! If the Old Man decides to transfer him to another section, Stormie, we don’t want the bastard. He’s too sure of himself. A guy like that can get you killed. I don’t care if he was top stick in his class—his attitude sucks.”

Chuckling to herself, Storm waved good-bye to them, stepping out into the stifling grip of the hot, humid afternoon. Climbing back into her sports car, she balanced between shifting gears and drinking most of her coffee before she arrived at the Administration building. Now primed with coffee, Storm felt like she could withstand the coming showdown. Taking a deep breath, she entered the air-conditioned building and walked toward the commanding officer’s quarters of Captain Jim Greer.

* * *

“Lieutenant Travis, come on in,” the captain called as he saw her step into the outer office.

Storm entered the large well-appointed office, coming to attention. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Bram Gallagher. He looked breathtakingly handsome in his flight suit. And he wasn’t looking happy.

“At ease, Storm,” Captain Greer ordered, looking up from his cluttered desk. “I want you to meet your copilot replacement, Lieutenant Bram Gallagher.”

Storm turned, offering her hand. Gallagher’s grip was strong and firm but controlled. His eyes were cobalt with veiled anger as he met her mischief-laden gaze.

“A pleasure, Lieutenant Travis,” he told her silkily.

Liar, Storm said to herself. Her fingers tingled from his touch as she resumed her at-ease position, hands behind her back. Greer smiled up at her.

“It’s all mine, believe me,” she murmured, barely able to keep from smiling.

“Lieutenant Gallagher has never worked with women pilots before, Storm. I’ve informed him that in the Coast Guard we’re the least likely of all the services to be, shall we say, chauvinistic.” He transferred his attention to the other pilot. “Storm will be responsible for teaching you all the finer points of CG helo operations, Lieutenant Gallagher. It will be up to her and the Operations officer to determine how much you fly or don’t fly. She’ll help set up a training schedule for you, which will be approved by Commander Harrison, and you’ll answer to her if there are any problems.”

“And if there are, sir?”

“Then you talk to the Operations officer, Commander Harrison.” Greer folded his hands, giving the pilot an icy smile laced with warning. “But I’m confident that if there are any problems, you two can work them out amicably between yourselves.”

“We will, sir,” Storm assured the captain heartily, flipping Gallagher a venom-laden look.

“Yes, sir,” Gallagher mimicked, giving her an equally viperous glance in return.

* * *

Once outside the building, Gallagher reached out, pulling her to a halt. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, lieutenant.”

“Am I?” she asked coolly. Storm forced herself not to react to his firm, arousing touch.

“Yes, and if I didn’t know better, so are your shipmates.”

“You brought it on yourself, Gallagher.”

His features darkened as he regarded her. “I’ve never seen men so protective of a woman in their ranks before. What’d you do, bed down with each one of them?”

Her response was instantaneous and totally instinctive. Storm’s palm caught his cheek in a glancing blow, the slap sounding sharply. Startled, Storm took a step away from him, her face flushed scarlet. She stood there, hands clenched into fists at her side, breathing hard. Gallagher ruefully rubbed his reddening cheek. My God, she had never struck anyone in her life! She began to tremble from the surge of adrenaline flowing through her body.

“How dare you,” she quavered.

A slight grin pulled at his mouth and he gave her a sheepish look. “Guess I had that coming, didn’t I?” And then his blue eyes darkened. “Storm’s a good name for you,” he said in a husky voice.

The suggestive tone was overpowering to her shattered senses. Storm was angry at herself for reacting like a woman instead of an officer who was supposed to be in charge. What the hell was the matter with her? Shape up, Travis, she berated herself. Her gray eyes narrowed.

“It’s obvious you don’t care for me as your superior, Lieutenant Gallagher,” she told him through clenched teeth, “but that’s something you and I are just going to have to suffer through. I don’t like this any more than you do. And what’s more, you had damn well better pay attention to my orders when I give them while we’re in the air. The first time you even think of disobeying me could cause us to be killed. I won’t stand for that. You can hate me on the ground but up in the air, mister, I’m the AC and what I say goes. Do we understand each other?”

Bram stared down at her. He lost his smile, aware of the steel backbone she possessed. The problem was that he liked her as a woman; already she had intrigued him. He had barely slept all last night thinking about her. A new glint of respect shone in his eyes. “Okay, I can buy that, lieutenant. In the air, you’re the queen. I won’t ever disobey an order you give me—that’s a promise.”

She eased upright, realizing she had hunched over into an almost attacklike position. She stabbed a finger toward him. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Gallagher. You jet jocks in the Air Force are used to one-man shows. Here in the Coast Guard, we work as a close-knit team. In the air, I’m not the queen. I’m just part of the coordinated flesh and blood team that’s flying that helicopter toward a rescue. And one more thing. All I want from you is your respect. Hate my guts, but respect the knowledge I’ve accrued.” She marched toward her blue sports car, then spun on her booted heel, glaring at him. “I’ll see you over at the Ops center. We’re due for our 1330 briefing by the Section Duty officer.”

What the hell had she done? Storm groaned, forcing herself to slow down on the way over to the hangar area. Her face was hot with mortification. I’ll bet Gallagher thinks I go around slapping men all the time. Why should she care what he thinks? And that look Captain Greer had given her…he knew the fur was going to fly. She ran her fingers haphazardly through her ginger hair in an aggravated motion.

* * *

The ten Coast Guard pilots sat with their cups of coffee in hand as the SDO, LCDR Mike Duncan passed out the assignments. Storm sat rigidly next to Gallagher. She had endured his stare when he was the last to enter the Operations area. Storm had noticed that all the normal congenial noise died down to silence when he entered. A part of her felt compassion for him. He was new, and an outsider, not only because he was a green helicopter pilot, but because he was from another branch of the service. Grimacing, Storm glanced over at him. His probing blue eyes met hers. She quickly refocused her attention upon Duncan.

“Storm, you get to take those five loads of pallets from supply and drop them over at the staging area.” Duncan, a man of forty with prematurely graying hair, gave her a slight smile. “Maybe you can show Lieutenant Gallagher the finer points of sling ops.”

She nodded. “Okay.” Great, they got the trash run today. Did she have a black cloud hanging over her head or something?

After being dismissed, Bram followed her to the line shack that sat near the Ops building. Bram came abreast of her and slowed his pace. Automatically Storm allowed the rest of the pilots to amble on by them. She glanced up at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier outside Admin to you,” he murmured. “It was a cheap shot.”

She bit back “You’re damn right it was.” Instead she shrugged. “Apology accepted, Gallagher.”

An elfin grin pulled at his mouth. “You have one hell of a right cross, lady.”

It was her turn to smile as they walked down the sidewalk toward the line shack. “I’ve never slapped a man in my life. You were the first. And you’ll be the last,” she promised throatily.

Bram pulled the glass door open. The surprised look she gave him told Bram she wasn’t used to that kind of help from a man. Too bad, he thought. I’m going to treat you like a lady whether anyone likes it or not.

All the duty section pilots milled around the cramped confines of the line shack. It sat next to the ramp area where serviced and repaired aircraft were parked.

Storm pulled over the maintenance book on CG 1378 and opened it up. Bram moved beside her, squeezing into the small counter space between the other pilots. She was vividly aware of his male strength, his body hard from being physically fit. Collecting her scattered thoughts, Storm pointed down at the log.

“We always check this to mark any discrepancies or problems with the helo, Bram. It’s up to us to record them and then sign for the helo we’ll be using that day.”

The press of bodies, the good-natured gibing and jokes, filled the line shack. After signing out CG 1378, Storm shut the log, handing it back to the warrant officer behind the desk.

“Let’s go,” she said, giving him a slight smile.

Bram returned it, remaining at her side, and then pushed open the door. The muggy afternoon air hit them as they walked around the corner of the building and onto the concrete ramp.

Storm began to relax. This was her home, the one place where she felt comfortable since the loss of her husband and Dave Walker. Merlin was waiting for them, over by CG 1378, throwing them the customary salute.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant Travis, Lieutenant Gallagher,” he said gruffly.

“Afternoon, Merlin.” Storm smiled, taking the mandatory baseball cap of dark blue off her head. Unzipping a large pocket on her left thigh, she stuffed it in there. The breeze was light, coming in from the Atlantic Ocean, and she inhaled deeply of the salt-laden air. She made formal introductions between Merlin and Bram Gallagher. Storm smiled to herself as both men eyed each other warily. She stood with one hand resting against the white surface of the helicopter.

“We want to welcome you officially to the Red Tail Taxi Service, Gallagher,” she said.

Bram cocked his head. “What?”

Storm gestured to the international orange stripe that adorned the tail of their helicopter. “We’re unofficially known as Red Tails.”

“The taxi-service part is because you’ll be doing anything from hauling groceries to rescuing snowbound families up in Alaska, depending on where you’re stationed. Here in the Florida area we don’t have to deal with snowstorms, but we fight the hurricanes every year.” Her grin widened. “So if somebody calls you Red Tail, you’ll know what they’re referring to.”

He scratched his head. “Relegated to a taxi service, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Merlin cackled. “Oh, one thing we forgot to tell him, Lieutenant Travis.”

She gave Merlin a surprised look. “What?”

“Tell him that we’re part of the Department of Transportation and not the Defense Department.”

“Translated, what does that mean?” Bram asked dryly.

Storm pursed her lips. “It means if you get shot at by a druggie, Gallagher, it’s not considered combat or even war. Since the CG is with the Transportation Department, we’re an anomaly of sorts.”

“A Red Tail and noncombat, eh?”

“You got it right, sir,” Merlin responded. “An elite taxi-service with fringe extras like getting shot at.” He winked. “When we stalk the druggies, we’re in combat.”

“Well,” Bram said good-naturedly, “I was tired of flying a jet around all day. Looks like the CG is infinitely more interesting in many ways.”

Maybe it’s going to be all right after all, Storm thought. She went through the rest of preflight inspection with Gallagher, who became an attentive shadow at her left arm as they walked around the helo. He asked intelligent questions, and she was pleased. There was a new eagerness blossoming within her. Suddenly she was seeing Bram in a new light—as a professional pilot. When it came down to work, he was all business. The wisecracking guy with the arrogant chip on his shoulder had disappeared. Breathing a sigh of relief, Storm climbed into the right-hand seat, the AC’s seat.

“Okay,” Storm called, her voice echoing hollowly within the confines of the helicopter, “so much for social amenities. Let’s get this show on the road.”

A new palpable tension thrummed through the aircraft. Merlin busied himself in the back as they slipped into their confining shoulder harness and seat belt system after donning helmets.

Bram watched Storm out of the corner of his eye. Her movements were economical and spoke of someone who was confident with a job. He gave a small shake of his head. He was certainly going to have to change his perspective on how he viewed women. Because of the peacetime missions of the Coast Guard, there were women flying jets and helicopters and serving aboard the cutters at sea. A slight smile edged his mouth as he threw her a thumb’s up, indicating he was finished with his personal preflight checklist. They began the next phase of checks for the starting of the engine and rotor engagement. Given Storm Travis’s fascinating job as his aircraft commander, Bram decided to try and enjoy the time spent with her instead of creating a chauvinistic rift, which would only intensify the friction between them.

Storm adjusted the slender mike close to her lips, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Merlin was secure in his small chair, which was bolted near the entrance door. He was strapped in.

“If you’ll call Tower, I’ll lift off,” she told Gallagher. “We’ve got five sling loads. I’ll do the first couple of loads and you watch. Then we’ll let you try your hand at it.”

Bram nodded. “Fine with me, lieutenant.” A glint of laughter came to his blue eyes as he studied her serious features. “Sure you trust an ex-Air Force fighter jock?”

She grinned back. “As long as you don’t think this helo has afterburners, Merlin and I will survive.”

Their laughter was drowned out when she flipped the starter button on the cyclic stick, which sat in position near her gloved right hand. The shrill sound rang through the hollow interior of the H-52 Sea Guard Sikorski helicopter. The trembling began and subsided as soon as the engine turbine came up to speed. When ready, she released the rotor brake, and the rotor slowly started moving around and around above their heads. Very soon, the steady noisy beat of the rotor smoothed out, and the 52 sat shuddering and trembling around them, ready beneath her capable hands. After receiving clearance from the tower, Storm placed her right hand on the cyclic stick that sat between her legs, wrapped the fingers of her left hand around the collective and placed her booted feet against the rudder pedals. Pulling gently up on the collective, the rotors punctured the air as pitch was increased and the ship smoothly slipped its hold from the earth.

Bram’s respect for her increased as they worked throughout the afternoon carrying the pallets. The 52 could lift a maximum of eight-thousand-three-hundred pounds, including its own weight, so the pallet loads weren’t large. He found Storm to be a natural instructor pilot. After watching her lift several loads with impressive ease, he tried his hand at it. The wind was picking up out of the northwest, and the pallets suspended beneath the 52 had a tendency to sway drunkenly from side to side. The helo’s movement had to be choreographed with the temperamental load by constant manipulation of the controls. He grew to appreciate Storm’s quietly-spoken suggestions with an air of relief. Although he had been at the top of his flight class, six weeks to learn how to fly helicopters did not compensate for the on-the-job experience that all new graduates had to accrue out in the field.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re an IP by nature?” he asked, glancing over at her.

Storm gave a distant smile. As always, her feet and hands were near her own set of controls. If Gallagher got into trouble, her lightning reflexes would have to save them. On any mission, the other pilot always maintained that position of readiness. “You mean I’m not yelling and cursing at you like the IP back in flight school did?”

Bram liked her husky voice. Her eyes spoke volumes. Her voice reminded him of a roughened cat’s tongue stroking his flesh. It increased the air of mystery surrounding her. He knew nothing of her, and he wanted to know everything—especially now that he had had a chance to see her in action at the controls of a 52. She had what was known in their business as “hands.” Another term used was “top stick.” Even the IP in flight school didn’t have Storm’s silken touch with the helicopter, and it made him feel slightly in awe of her. She was a woman doing what he normally assumed to be a man’s job better than any man he had seen thus far. He nodded, answering her easy question. “Lady, if you had been my IP back in flight school, chances are I’d have flunked out on purpose, just to get another six weeks with you.”

Storm avoided his openly admiring gaze, feeling heat sweeping up her neck and into her face. Oh, God, she was blushing! Compressing her lips, she looked away, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand. “You’re doing fine, Gallagher,” she managed. “Most copilots don’t understand cargo sling procedures, but you’re doing quite well.”

Bram’s grin widened. “Business all the way, eh?” he teased.

Storm refused to meet his eyes. He knew he had gotten to her! He had seen her face turn scarlet. “That’s right,” she informed him coolly, her heart beating traitorously in her breast.

His laughter was deep and exhilarating over the intercom system. “I’ll let you have your way for now. But we aren’t always going to be sitting in a 52, Lieutenant Travis,” he warned her silkily.

Storm absolutely refused to blush again. She willed her body not to respond. Damn his cavalier attitude! Bram Gallagher certainly knew how to get under her skin.

“Hey, lieutenant, I’m starved!” Merlin wailed.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost supper time. Where had time gone? “Okay. We’ll pick up this last load and then go eat!”

“Anything the lady wants,” Bram murmured innocently, but he looked meaningfully at her.

Storm ignored the implication. After the mission had been completed, they landed the 52 and shut it down, unstrapping themselves from their complicated harness system. Climbing out, Storm placed the dark blue baseball cap back on her head once again as did the others. Merlin and Gallagher joined her and they walked into the line shack. After completing his paperwork, Merlin went to the mess hall for some chow.

“Let’s go up to the officer’s mess,” Bram suggested.

She grimaced, giving him a sidelong glance. “We could grab something from the vending machine. It’s quicker.”

Again Bram gave her that infuriating smile that threatened to make her blush. “Because I want to sit back and relax a little, Lieutenant Travis. Or are you going to give me an argument on that too?”

Her gray eyes narrowed. “No argument, Lieutenant Gallagher,” she informed him lightly. Why did she have the feeling he was stalking her?

Stuffing her cap into one the pockets of her flight suit, she walked through the doors of the officer’s mess. They stood out in their olive-green flight suits among the other officers who were dressed in dark blue serge pants and light blue short-sleeve shirts. Storm bridled when she saw Kyle Armstrong and his copilot grinning up at her when they entered. She felt like she had to explain why they were over here and then decided to hell with it. Let them think what they wanted. They went through the cafeteria line, and Storm found a couple of chairs at an empty table to give them some privacy from prying eyes.

Bram sat opposite her, his tray filled. He gave a glance at hers.

“You’re not eating much,” he noted, pointing disapprovingly at the soup and salad.

Storm ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she had a brush right now. She knew her hair probably looked flattened against her skull after wearing the helmet. And then she laughed at herself—why, all of a sudden, did she worry about how her hair looked? She hadn’t before. She met Gallagher’s concerned gaze.

“I like staying at one hundred and thirty pounds, that’s why. Don’t start picking on my eating habits too,” she said gruffly, picking up her fork.

His smile was devastating as he paid attention to his plate heaped with slices of hot roast beef. “Am I picking on you?”

“You know you are.”

“My, my, aren’t we touchy. Are you like this every day?”

“For your benefit, yes.”

“My benefit?”

Storm glared up at him. She felt giddy and happy—but why? It was him. Damn! “Yes, yours. And don’t give me that innocent look, Gallagher. You know what I’m talking about. We’re not boy meets girl. We’re adults. And I can see you coming from ten miles away.”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully in the silence afterward, his blue eyes dancing with laughter. “Want to play twenty questions with me?”

Storm gave him a black look. “No.”

“What are you hiding from?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because, lieutenant, you seem to feel it’s your right to know me on a personal level.”

He gave her a guarded look, continuing to eat. “I think that’s fair. After all, we’re going to be working together for at least a year.”