No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (12 page)

"From the sounds of it, Turcotte's got a lot of anger and grief bottled up inside him. It looks like he's taking it out on you."

Opening her eyes, Dana stared over at her friend. Miraculously, all her anger toward Griff dissolved. In its place was a heart-rending pain for the loads he carried. "I'm glad you told me this, Molly."

"I don't know if it will help," she said doubtfully, digging into her chef's salad.

"Oh, it will," Dana replied softly. Grief and pain were things she understood well. She'd seen her mother carry awful loads alone. And Dana had struggled with her own load because of her father. "Men don't handle crying or letting loose of feelings very well."

"So he's aiming it at you."

"Yes."

With a grimace, Molly stopped eating, the fork poised midway to her mouth. "What are you going to do?"

With a sigh, Dana shrugged. "I just threw his ex-wife's name at him this morning."

"Ouch."

"God, why didn't I figure it out sooner?"

"Give me a break, Dana. No one in their right mind could have guessed all that had happened to Turcotte. For all we knew, he was born that way."

Dana shook her head sadly. "No, I should have taken my cue about him at the airport. He was so kind and—gentle."

"Men can be, occasionally," Molly teased.

"My experience differs from yours, remember?"

"Roger that. Still, I think Turcotte's trying to be fair with you under the circumstances."

Dana gave her a flat look. "Oh?"

"He gave you an incomplete today. If he was really riding roughshod, he'd have Boarded you. And what about Wednesday? He gave you a second chance on landings."

"Only because I fought back, Molly. The man thrives on waging war. You shouldn't have to scream and yell at someone to get through to them."

"Maybe that's the only thing he respects right now—your ability to match him, blow for blow."

Dana sat grimly, her appetite gone. What a lousy situation to be caught in. She was struggling with her own body so that she could get a decent shot at her wings. On top of that, Griff had been wounded in action twice. Mortally, from the looks of it. And like most men, he'd bottled up his emotions and wasn't dealing well with the rest of the world as a result. Except, she was his world and the focus of his anger. There was no easy answer. All she could do was persevere, try to keep her temper and not screw up at the controls. She couldn't give Griff reasons to lash out at her. Dr. Collins had said more flying would help. What was Griff going to do when she handed him the sick chit ordering him to fly with her daily?

Chapter Six

Dana resolved not to allow her own defensiveness and anger to surface around Griff. God knew, the man would test and push her beyond her known limits of patience and endurance. He already had. Taking the sick chit to his office, Dana inhaled deeply before knocking and entering.

Griff was at his desk, as usual, piles of paperwork neatly stacked at both elbows. Dana supposed one was the In file, the other the Out. When he looked up, his face darkened. She came to attention.

"Ensign Coulter reporting as ordered," she said. She put the chit down in front of him, then came to parade rest in front of his desk. Griff's expression changed considerably when he read Collins's medical report.

"You're to fly every day?" he muttered incredulously. Normally, an instructor had three students, each flying three days a week. That left the IPs time on the other two days to corral and process the mountains of paperwork demanded of them. Not only that, but Griff had classes to prepare for and teach, and tests to grade. The two students he'd washed out had already been replaced with two new candidates. What was Collins doing?

"Yes, sir. The doctor felt my airsickness is a passing thing, and that the more flying time I get in now, the sooner I'll get over it." Dana hoped he couldn't hear her heart pounding in her chest. She watched his brows knit with obvious dissatisfaction. A large part of her felt sorry for him.

"This can't be right!" Griff threw a glance up at her. "Wait outside, Coulter."

"Yes, sir." Dana turned and left, guessing that he'd call Collins.

Griff waited impatiently for the doctor to come to the sick-bay phone.

"Collins speaking."

"Doctor, this is Lieutenant Griff Turcotte."

"Ah, yes. You're calling about Ensign Coulter, no doubt."

"I am. Since when have you ordered an airsick student to fly every day? You've never done that before." Collins had questioned Griff earlier about his feelings about Toby's death, and Griff had avoided the topic. Could Collins be concerned that Griff wasn't treating Dana fairly?

"Yes, that's right, Griff."

"Why?"

"I think it's a healthy prescription for both of you."

His hand tightened around the phone. "Look, Doc, I'm fine."

"Pilots are an interesting breed, Griff. When a trauma hits them, they swallow it, pretending it's not there. As a flight surgeon, I'm concerned about the psychological effects that Toby's death has had on you."

"I'm over it," Griff protested.

"It's only been three weeks since he died. No human gets over something like that so quickly."

Rubbing his brow, Griff looked up toward his office door, knowing Dana stood on the other side. "Look, Doc, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not going to work. Coulter is... well—" He hesitated, trying to find the right words to walk around his sharpened feelings about women since the divorce. He didn't want Collins putting
him
on flight waivers for some harebrained reason like grief or anger at his ex-wife. It wouldn't look good in his service jacket, and he badly wanted another carrier assignment when he'd finished as an IP at Whiting a year from now. "I just don't feel she can handle the airsickness."

"My professional opinion is that she's the right person to work through some of these problems you're holding on to, Griff."

Needled, Griff controlled his frustration. "Coulter's only pulling 2.0s. I seriously doubt she'll last another week."

"I think that young lady has what it takes to be a fine officer and pilot. She's got grit, and I know that's something you respect."

Saying nothing but "Goodbye," Griff hung up the receiver. He stared at the opposite wall where his certificates and diplomas hung. Not knowing who to bite first, and feeling a deluge of incredible pressure building in his chest, he shoved his chair back and stood.

Dana jumped to her feet when the door was jerked open. Griff was angry—as usual. But she saw something else in his eyes that made her simply want to take him into her arms and hold him—a highly unusual desire on her part. Pain was reflected in his gray eyes, she realized. Raw pain. She stood uncertainly, flexing her fingers into her palms, trying to hide her nervousness.

"Come in here."

She came and shut the door quietly behind her, watching Griff closely. Ordinarily, Griff's shoulders were thrown back with pride, but now they looked slumped, almost broken. The silence built.

"Dr. Collins thinks flying every day will help you."

"Yes, sir."

Griff had spoken hoarsely, his back to her. Now he turned around. There was such compassion in Dana's blue eyes that it nearly broke him. His withheld emotions were so close to the surface, that he could feel tears pricking the backs of his eyes. "You approve?"

"Well... does it matter what I think?"

"Yes."

He was struggling to be fair. Dana could see it in every line of his face. That terrible pain and grief he carried inside him was eating him alive. Softly, she answered, "I know I can fly, Lieutenant. I never expected my body to rebel on me. Airsickness didn't exist in my vocabulary." She opened her hands toward him. "I feel Dr. Collins is right: Let me fly often. I'm
sure
I'll adjust."

Griff stood tensely, Dana's husky voice washing over him like warm waves of water after a freezing night. There was such a powerful, invisible attraction between them. For a split second, he almost asked her personal questions. Where did she come from? What kind of life experiences had molded her into the person who stood before him? Griff found himself hungry to explore Dana on a private level. She fed him something he desperately needed: a feeling of peace and serenity. When her lips parted, he drew in a ragged breath and turned away. He walked to his desk and sat down. "This is going to put me on the line, Coulter. I've got my hands full with two new students, plus you. I'll have to squeeze in those extra flights on a catch-as-catch-can basis."

"You tell me when you want to fly, and I'll be there."

"It won't be the same time every day."

"That's all right."

He saw the resolve in Dana's eyes and in the set of that full, ripe mouth—a mouth he wanted to explore intimately; to kiss, to feel the texture of. Jangled at his inability to keep Dana at arm's length as he did every other student passing through his life, he growled, "Be at the ready room at 0700 tomorrow morning."

Her smile conveyed her hope and thanks. "Yes, sir."

***

Dana was given orders to leave her aeronautics class fifteen minutes early in order to catch another flight with Griff. It was Friday afternoon, and she eagerly left to reach the lockers in the ready room. The last two days had been a miracle of sorts. On Wednesday she'd pulled a 2.0 and was airsick only twice. Yesterday Griff had awarded her a 2.1, and she'd been ill only once. Everything was improving.

Or was it? Dana slowed her walk as she entered the ready-room building. She had to hurry and change into her one-piece flight uniform, grab her helmet bag and hurry out to where Griff was waiting for her by his trainer. The past two days he'd been moody and snappish, giving her instructions only when necessary. Dana knew she was rapidly improving on her landings. Perhaps that was why he hadn't been "screaming" at her. Still, the pain lingered in his eyes.

On the tarmac, Griff nodded to her as she came up to him. "We're going to do touch and go's over at Pensacola," he told her abruptly.

Eager to prove she could handle the denser traffic situation at Pensacola, Dana nodded. "How long can we fly?"

"Two hours."

"Great!" She flashed him a smile and began the walk-around.

Moodily, Griff watched Dana. Everything about her was confident and sure. Going over to Pensacola wasn't "great" in his opinion. It scared him to death. But it was part of the curriculum to use Pensacola's busy flight pattern to get the Whiting students used to heavy air-traffic situations. Normally, Griff wasn't ever nervous, but today he was. He was hoping that since it was Friday afternoon, fewer students would be in the air, with the instructors taking off a few hours early for the forthcoming weekend.

Griff's plan backfired. As Dana flew the trainer to the Pensacola air station, the pattern was stacked with at least two hundred aircraft circling the huge airport facility. Groaning to himself, he felt sweat pop out on his upper lip. The urge to grab the controls from Dana was very real. Automatically, he began rubbernecking around, checking other aircraft flying in the vicinity. Over the past year, there had been three air collisions and innumerable close calls.

"Stay alert!" he snapped to Dana. "This airspace can kill you."

"Yes, sir."

Her voice was calm and steady—unlike his. Toby's crash kept blipping in front of him. Griff turned off the intercom momentarily, releasing a curse, and then switched it back on.

Tension thrummed through Dana as she entered the busy flight pattern. The headset crackled with constant communications between the airplanes and harried controllers in the tower below. Griff had told her earlier that Pensacola was one of the busiest airports in the U.S. Looking at the hundreds of planes spaced no more than a quarter or half a mile apart, she believed him. Turbulence was constant. Luckily her stomach was responding with only minimal queasiness. Dr. Collins had been right; with more flights, her body was adjusting to flying conditions.

"Lookout!"

Griff's cry ripped through her headset. Dana saw another plane loom in front of her cockpit windshield. Gasping, she wrenched the trainer to the left to avoid the collision. The controls were ripped from her gloved hands, and she felt the plane being banked in a tight right turn, out of the pattern. Griff was breathing raggedly. So was she.

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't see it," Dana whispered shakily.

"I've had it! This is the last time, Coulter! You damn well should have seen that aircraft! How in the hell could you miss it? It was coming right at you!"

Shamed, Dana knew he was right. "I—I'm sorry."

" 'Sorry' doesn't cut it, Coulter! I'm giving you a 1.9 for this flight. There was no excuse for your failure to see that plane!"

A 1.9. She'd be Boarded. Dana bit down hard on her lower lip to stop from protesting. Griff was still breathing raggedly, his normally unemotional voice lined with feeling. Abruptly, Dana remembered that his best friend had died in a similar accident in the flight pattern.

"Give me another chance, Lieutenant."

"No way! We're going back to Whiting."

"I can do it! You can't tell me you haven't made mistakes flying. This was my first time in a busy pattern. Let me go back and try it again. Please!"

Sweat stung his eyes. Griff blinked them a couple of times, his hand tight around the stick. He wasn't even going to allow her to fly the trainer back to Whiting. For the first time in his life, he'd been scared out of his wits. Although he was unafraid to land an F-14 Tomcat fighter on a heaving carrier deck in the worst kind of weather, this incident had struck real fear into him. He was coming apart at the seams; he could feel it. A terrible shaking, quivering feeling filled his gut. Nausea stalked him. Dana's pleading request only fueled his desperation and anxiety.

"I said no!"

"You think I'm weak, don't you?"

"All women are!" he roared back.

"I'm not! And there are a lot of other women who aren't, either!"

Desperate, unable to steady his breathing, Griff grabbed at straws. "I'll prove it to you, Coulter. Right here and now. Take the controls."