Touch The Heavens

Chris stifled her anxiety as she climbed the last few steps to the cream-colored building. Whether she wanted to or not, she had thought about Dan McCord off and on throughout the past two days. The image he projected as a playboy pilot out to have a good time was simply a sham, she decided. McCord was made of much more reliable material than the ego-ridden jet jockeys she had worked with throughout her career. Dan possessed a thread of gentleness coupled with incredible sensitivity that threw her completely off guard. Chris had no defense against kindness. Taking a deep, uneven breath, she opened the door, uttering, “Welcome to the real world, Captain Mallory.” Chris knew there would be men in her class who would hate her presence. And there would be other pilots who would applaud her efforts based on her flying skills and ignore the fact that she was a woman. Inwardly she drew a small breath. At least one instructor, Dan McCord, was on her side and that made her feel a twinge of relief on an otherwise stressful occasion.

Adrenaline made Chris’s heart pound faster as she walked down the highly polished hall to the first classroom. A small knot of pilots stood off to one side, giving Chris a challenging stare. Her mouth went dry, but she didn’t let her gaze waver. She was damned if she was going to feel belittled by a bunch of jet jockeys. Their gazes raked over her as she passed. Chris’s keen hearing picked up a few stage whispers and then a collective laugh from the group. It wasn’t going to be easy to integrate.

From 0800 through noon they heard from many of the instructors explaining curriculum, flight schedules and the school’s aims and goals. Chris was attentive throughout the presentations, but never as much so as when Dan McCord stepped to the front of the room. He looked relaxed, breathtakingly handsome in his flight suit and keenly alert. She smiled to herself. Wasn’t that something they all shared in common: that “look of the eagles?” She hadn’t seen a man here today who didn’t possess that characteristic.

“I’m Major McCord, and I’ll be your instructor for the first thirteen weeks of flight aerodynamics,” he announced. He scanned the room, found Chris and saw her color fiercely. “The curriculum is drawn up to teach you how to work in a team-oriented environment. In each team there will be a test pilot, a navigator and an engineer. You’ll work on gathering data, planning and carrying out what you’ve discovered and then evaluating it on actual test flights. After that, a written report on your assigned research projects will be handed in.” McCord stopped his slow pacing from one side of the room to the other, his eyes narrowing. “I can’t stress the importance of teamwork here, ladies and gentlemen. Part of being a test pilot is understanding that you don’t work alone.” His gaze settled briefly on Chris. “The pilot is only a part of the team. It’s true, you will be flying the aircraft. But at times you’ll need a navigator in that back seat—more importantly, a test engineer. Without him or her, your job wouldn’t exist. This isn’t an area where egos can get in the way,” he warned. “You set aside your prejudices and your opinions, and stick with the facts and only the facts,” he concluded, his voice growing harder.

McCord had already picked out which pilots would be a problem to Chris. Earlier, Captain Richard Brodie had swaggered up to Chris while she was talking with two other pilots. Dan had just walked into the lounge area when he saw Brodie make a pass at Chris. He had to curb a smile as Chris easily evaded him. Brodie had not expected her to turn him down and departed fuming, his ego decidedly wounded.

Brodie, as he liked to be called, was the typical macho fighter jock who lived, drank and partied hard. He flew like few other pilots dared. If Brodie didn’t square off with Chris within the first month, Dan would be surprised. And if Brodie did, it was up to the instructor to put a quick stop to it.

He paused, glancing at his watch. He had ten minutes before lunch. “One more thing before we break for chow,” he continued. “Just remember this—you are the best. You’ve got the confidence, competitiveness and intelligence that can’t be matched anywhere else in the world. You are it! And you’re at the toughest school in the world. What we wring out of you in the next forty-six weeks will be unbelievable. But you were chosen because of your tenacity. You all have what it takes or you wouldn’t be here. Okay, let’s break,” he ordered. “Those of you who don’t want to hit the NASA cafeteria up on the road can hang around for the sandwich truck. It’s a blue-and-white affair that’s got a variety of junk food on board.” He allowed a momentary smile. “It’s affectionately known as the Roach Coach.”

The students laughed with him and they rose, dispersing quickly. He caught up with Chris. “I’d like to see you in private for a few moments,” he said.

Her eyes widened, and he chastised himself for sounding so damned official. “Don’t worry, it’s good news,” he added with a persuasive smile.

“Okay.”

Chris’s heart beat furiously. What was happening to her? Dan always seemed to make her feel shaky and breathless. He took her elbow, guiding her out of the room and down the hall. She put her flight cap on as they swung out the back door to the parking lot. “Where are we going?” she wanted to know.

“O’Club for lunch,” he answered casually, escorting her to his Corvette.

Chris slowed, a smile barely touching her mouth. “Is this official business, Major?”

He laughed pleasantly, opening the door for her. He leaned closer, his azure eyes disturbingly intense. “Absolutely. After watching you shoot down Captain Brodie, I decided to use a different approach.”

Chris climbed in without a retort. She enjoyed Dan’s company and looked forward to the lunch. Giving him a wry look she said, “The Captain Brodies of the world will never match your approach, Major.”

A twinkle came to Dan’s eyes. “I’ve known Brodie off and on throughout my career. He has the tactics of a bull in a china shop, thinking every woman will swoon over him because he’s a fighter pilot.”

“Well,” Chris said, laughing good-naturedly, “I thought he was going to faint from shock when I turned down his invitation for lunch today.”

“Wise choice. Besides, you’re going out with a better man anyway.”

They both laughed in unison. “The only reason I went with you is because you made it sound like an order,” she teased.

He pursed his lips. “It was.”

Chris knew differently, but she remained silent. McCord would no more use his rank and authority for personal gain than she would. But she let him think that she believed him.

The car was warm, taking the edge off the cold, blustery day. It wasn’t unusual for snow to fall in the high desert near Edwards, located one hundred miles northeast of Los Angeles. The Telupachi and San Gabriel mountains that surrounded Antelope Valley were already cloaked in their white raiments of snow for the winter season. She glanced over at Dan as he got in. The Corvette purred to life and he shifted the gears. He probably flew a jet just as smoothly, she thought.

“So far, so good?” he asked her conversationally.

She nodded and smiled. “I’m thrilled, if you want the truth. And by the way, you’re a very effective teacher. You had all of us sitting on the edge of our seats.”

Dan gave her a sidelong glance. “Coming from you, that’s a high compliment. Thanks.”

“It’s well earned, I must say.”

“Who knows, maybe one of these days you’ll be teaching there, too.”

Chris gave an explosive laugh. “Oh, sure! Let’s take one step at a time, shall we? First, I have to learn how to fly combat planes. Next, I have to graduate.”

His azure eyes grew warm with admiration. “There wasn’t a prettier person in that room this morning than you.”

Her heart gave a leap and she pursed her lips. “There you go again.” She colored prettily beneath his look. “Am I going to have to put up with this for forty-six weeks?”

Dan’s smile was devastating. “Roger that, my raven-haired beauty. You’re just going to have to learn to take compliments with grace and say thank you.”

“Then, thank you,” she murmured, her voice growing husky. She thrilled to the words, raven haired beauty.

“That’s better. Hungry?”

“Starved!”

“Good, we need to get some more meat on your bones. You’re too damn skinny for your height.”

Chris ordered a steak sandwich, French fries and a garden salad. Over lunch, she relaxed in Dan’s soothing presence. The dining room was filled to capacity with Air Force officers and civilians alike. Dan pointed out Chuck Yeager, one of the most famous of all test pilots. Yeager had brought the U.S. into the jet age by riding the Bell

X-1 through the sound barrier. Chris stared at the short, wiry man with respect. She looked back over at Dan.

“I’d give my right arm to do something similar to what he’s done,” she whispered.

“We’re all ‘golden arms,’ so don’t be giving your right arm away for anything,” he teased. It was the pilot’s skill at getting the plane into the air and landing safely that counted. The myth that it took a “golden arm” or the “right stuff” to do it was synonymous with test piloting. “And don’t worry, you’re going to go on to create a special Chapter in the history books for all women who go into testing,” Dan said, meaning it.

“I still can’t figure out why you have so much confidence in me when I’m behind the eight ball to begin with.”

Dan toyed with his fork, a smile lingering on his mouth. He enjoyed being close to her, and was secretly amazed at how much Chris had relaxed around him. She had lost much of her previous defensiveness. Perhaps it was the adjustment of settling in at a new base. “Why do you always see yourself playing catch-up?” he posed softly, meeting and holding her violet gaze.

Chris squirmed, compressing her lips. “I’ve always felt like that.”

“Could it have to do with your past?” Dan watched her stiffen, her eyes growing hooded, more distant. He reached out, gripping her hand for just a moment and then releasing it. “You’re talking to me, Chris. I’m a friend. Don’t retreat from me.”

“I don’t want to discuss it.”

“I do.”

“My personal life is my own.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed speculatively on her. “Correction. When I feel it interferes with your attitude, it becomes my business. I’m in the habit of extracting the very best of each student’s potential. Your attitude of playing catch-up could prevent you from making a quantum leap forward by learning to fly combat jets in a very short period of time.” His voice was velvet lined with steel, and it netted the desired result.

Chris had been trained in the military, and responded to his tone. She watched him with new respect. She placed both elbows on the table, staring at him. “I don’t happen to agree with your assessment of me, Major. But if you think it’s going to interfere with my flying, then I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” he encouraged, his voice becoming gentler, less authoritative. “Maybe it will be more painless if I ask you a few key questions.” He looked up at Chris and his chest constricted with guilt as he saw hints of pain in her mobile features. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Go ahead.”

“Were you always an orphan?”

Chris swallowed. “My mother gave me up when I was born.”

“So you were placed in an orphanage. For how long?”

“Not long initially. I went through a series of foster homes like everyone else until I was about eight, and then was sent back to the orphanage.”

Dan grimaced, resting his chin on his folded hands. “That must have been hard on you emotionally.”

“I don’t need your pity!”

“You have my understanding, not my pity,” he countered coolly, watching her face lose its lines of tension. “So how did you fare in grade school?”

Chris took a sip of her coffee. “If you want the truth, it was a salvation. I could spend hours hidden away in books of all kinds ranging from math to English.” She made a wry face. “Going back to the orphanage every afternoon was always a downer.”

Dan wanted to reach out and comfort her to neutralize the hurt that still lingered in her voice. “That’s why you enjoy being alone?”

Chris raised her chin, her violet eyes resting on his concerned face. “I don’t like it, but I’ve learned to cope successfully with it.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Okay, the hard part’s over. Now tell me why you feel you’re behind everyone else here at TPS.”

She shrugged, insecurity evident in her voice. “Not having any fighter experience is going to be my toughest transition. If that isn’t catch-up, nothing is. Otherwise, I feel confident in my other abilities.”

McCord wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but he couldn’t. Not here and not now. “You’re a bright, articulate woman with an awesome intelligence, or you wouldn’t have been chosen from all the military pilots in the services combined.”

“You can’t understand the feeling unless you’ve been there, Dan.”

He pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing intently upon her. Right now, at that instant, she was vulnerable and trusting him. “Hasn’t the fact that you’ve accrued impressive career credentials impacted on you? Hasn’t it made up for your sense of being something less than what you think you are?”

She shrugged. “Most of the time, yes. But there are those moments when I feel like a seventh-grader again, struggling to understand chemistry, or a ninth-grader, pounding physics into my head.” Her eyes grew worried. “And I feel that way about learning how to fly the combat jets now, Dan. I feel so...” She groped to convey her sense of frustration and anxiety. “So helpless!”

Dan cocked his head, listening to her voice. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? That sense of helplessness?”

She gave him a feeble smile. “Wouldn’t it anyone?”

“As long as you can make decisions, you aren’t helpless.”

Her nostrils flared with pent-up frustration. “I was a puppet for the first eighteen years of my life, Dan. I was subject to someone else’s ideas of what I should or should not be. And I feel like I’m back in that role by being here at TPS without proper fighter experience.”

Dan studied her in the tense silence, assimilating the depth of her worry. His own childhood flashed to the front of his memory. Unwanted by his young, immature mother who preferred globe-trotting with his millionaire father, he had been foisted upon his aunt and uncle at the tender age of seven. From then on, Howard and Melvina McCord had been more like his mother and father than his real parents, Preston and Vanessa McCord. He could identify with Chris up to a point. He had come out of a sterile household, cared for by a nanny. It was a godsend when he was given to Howard and Melvina. At least he received love and attention, filling that aching gap in his youthful heart.

He studied Chris. Although she had never known the security of love while growing up, it hadn’t stopped her from achieving a brilliant career. She had been denied emotional sustenance, but she had respected herself as a unique individual. And in order to protect that core, Chris had learned to put up defensive walls to ensure her survival as the individual she knew she was—despite the years in the orphanage.

“Yes,” he answered gently, his voice holding a caressing quality to it, “I think I am beginning to understand.” He shook his head. “And lady, you are special,” he whispered. “Very special.”

She blushed deeply, unable to meet his eyes. Her heart suffused with an incredible warmth. The awkward silence lengthened, and Chris nervously cleared her throat. “I think it’s time to get back.”

Dan stood, picking up the bill. “If I had my way, we’d take the rest of the day off and just talk,” he murmured. Then, flashing her a reassuring smile, he asked, “How about this evening at 1800? How would you like to climb into Double Ugly and take me for a flight?”

Chris gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

He placed his hand beneath her elbow, guiding her out of the dining room. “Is it a date? Meet me on the ramp with your flight gear, and we’ll take you up in an F-4.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You are serious.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked, opening the front door.

“One of your faultless attributes, Major McCord, is your honesty,” she murmured drily. He walked beside her, his body inches from her own, and Chris gloried in his closeness. He was incredibly masculine. She gazed up at his mouth, tantalized by its shape and sensuality. She nearly lost her scattered thoughts.

“Not to mention being single, handsome, well-off and —”

“Here we go again,” Chris griped, tossing him a broad smile.

Dan opened the Corvette’s door for her. He loved to see her eyes sparkle with life. And he promised himself he would give her a measure of happiness that was long overdue.

“Then we have a date?” he pressed, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“I suppose....”

He feigned wounding by her hesitation. “I ought to get a purple heart for being around you,” he taunted.

Chris momentarily placed her hand on his forearm. She felt the steel-corded strength of his muscles beneath her fingertips. “Listen, if you can stand being around me, you deserve more than a purple heart.”

Dan pulled out of the driveway. “Raven, you’re easy to be around. Believe me.” His blue eyes took on a look of merriment. “Besides, I’ve managed to dodge all the slings and arrows you’ve thrown at me so far and I’m not wounded in action. We’ve got nowhere to go but up from here.”

Chris gloried in the caressing tone of the nickname he had given her. She leaned back, laughing fully. “You are impossible, Major McCord! I could never have dreamed you up if I tried.”

“Just dream about me in your sleep,” he said, his voice a roughened whisper.

Dan’s reply sent a shiver through Chris, and she had no returning quip. All she could do was stare at him.

3

CHRIS COULD BARELY contain the pulse-pounding excitement threading its way through her. But her anxiety was well hidden as she walked toward the light gray Phantom with its long, bulbous black nose. Dan McCord was already there waiting for her, talking amiably with the crew chief who serviced the plane. McCord flashed her a smile of welcome as she approached.

“Well, ready to become a Phantom Phlyer?” he teased, motioning for her to climb the ladder hooked on the left side of the fuselage. Chris returned the smile, hoisting herself up the steps into the rear seat.

Dan watched her progress as she slipped into the cockpit. She placed her helmet on the console in front of her.

“I thought you called it Double Ugly?”

“We call it that when it’s going outside its performance envelope,” he said in way of explanation climbing aboard. “We also called it DRUT.”

She saw mirth lurking in his eyes when he said it. “Okay, I’ll bite. What does DRUT stand for?”

An irrepressible grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Turn the word around and you’ll see,” was all he said. Dan situated himself in the pilot’s seat, and the crew chief came up the ladder to help both of them strap into their unwieldy harness system. Straps went over both shoulders and then buckled into a seat belt that went across their laps.

Chris chuckled to herself, noticing the crew chief stealing glances at her. She had grown used to the crews staring. She was an oddity—a woman out of place. She gave the chief a smile as he handed her the green-and-brown camouflaged helmet with Mallory printed on the front of it. Thanking him, Chris settled it on her head. God, it felt good to be back in a cockpit again! In less than fifteen minutes she would be airborne, and all the trials and tribulations of her life would slip effortlessly off her shoulders as she rode the jet up into the dark blue skies.

The flight suit she wore was specially constructed to take the gravity forces created by the combat jet’s massive engine power. When going at high speed turns or angles it was easy to black out from high G-forces. The G-suit prevented it from happening. It would automatically push the flow of blood out of her legs and back into her head and upper body.

Plugging in her headphone set she monitored all conversations with Dan, the control tower and other necessary communications. Dan raised his hand, thumb up, giving the signal for the ground crew to step away.

Her heart pounded as Dan inched the throttles forward to start the two huge turbojet engines. Then, the Phantom roared to life. Each engine was mounted halfway down the fuselage directly beside her seat, the semicircular scoop intakes sucking in huge amounts of air. Anticipation mixed with joy. She was sitting in one of the most feared combat fighters in the world.

“You about ready to go?” Dan asked.

Chris snapped the oxygen mask to her face. “Ready, ready now!” she returned, choosing the old B-52 axiom that the Strategic Air Command crews used.

Dan laughed. “Raven, you’re a girl after my own heart. I want you to sit back and relax. I’ll take Double Ugly up and give you an idea of its capabilities as well as its drawbacks.”

“You mean I get the full treatment?”

“Better believe it. Once airborne, I’ll turn the stick over to you, and you’ll get the feel of this ugly bird. Canopies down,” he ordered.

With a double set of flight controls, Chris hit her canopy lever, watching the Plexiglas lids slowly close. There was a soft whoosh as it locked tightly on each separate compartment. Although pilots never flew without their oxygen masks clamped securely to their faces in case of a leak, the cabins were pressurized.

Within minutes the F-4 was trundling heavily along the concrete taxiway. Chris helped Dan by switching radio frequencies and handling other little chores that would make his job less complicated. She watched the flaps lower, the whirring sound shivering through the Phantom. Now, with the flaps down, the lift-off capability of the fifteen-ton fighter was increased. Her pulse beat raced as she heard the engines shrieking as they readied for takeoff.

Dan pushed down on the brakes and rudder system beneath his booted feet. With his left hand, he inched the two throttles forward, watching the RPM gauges jump higher. The harnessed power throbbed throughout the aircraft. The day was dying with the inky stains of night tainting the dusk. The F-4, its array of red and white blinking lights situated on tail and wing tips, bellowed furiously on the cold desert, demanding to be released. Smiling to himself, Dan could almost feel Chris’s excitement in the rear cockpit. She hadn’t said much, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

“I’m going to request afterburners upon takeoff,” he informed her. Might as well let her experience the raw, awesome power of the F-4, he thought. He called the tower and received permission. “Let’s tempt the gods,” he said. “There’s an old Air Force myth about flying so high that we’ll anger the mythical gods of the sky. Are you game?” he challenged.

She grinned, thumbing the intercom button. “Listen, I tempt fate regularly. The sky gods and goddesses are on good terms with me. Let’s go for it.”

Chris felt him release the brakes. Instantly she was pushed back in the seat, her breath momentarily torn from her by the impact of the aircraft’s power. The F-4 thundered down the runway like a growling cat running full tilt after its quarry. Suddenly the afterburners were engaged by shoving the throttles all the way forward. She could do nothing but sit, crushed against the seat. The landscape was a blur, the F-4 shivering with unleashed might as it hurled itself down the longest runway in the world. Suddenly Dan pulled back on the stick and the fighter left the earth in a single bound like an unchained eagle being released to the freedom of its true domain: the sky.

The Phantom’s flaps came up on the wings, landing gear tucking neatly beneath its belly, gaining speed, hitting Mach .9 in only a few seconds. The angle of climb was breathtaking. The F-4 quickly hit six hundred knots, and Chris watched the altimeter unwinding like a broken spring as they streaked to five, ten, fifteen, twenty and twenty-five thousand feet. Exhilaration surged through her as she became a part of this magnificent fighter that raced along the very edge of the stratosphere.