He punched off the afterburners and arched the craft over in a loop, flying back over the field but at a thousand feet higher than before.
Charlie came over the intercom quietly. “What the hell was that, Assassin? You trying to kill us?”
Bruce banked the F-15 toward the rendezvous point. He could barely make out three people down below, shaking their fists at the fighter.
“Just seeing what this baby can do,” answered Bruce, trying to sound flippant. Inside he felt like crap.
And that was before the debrief, where, just like years ago at the Academy with Cadet First Class Ping, he knew he was going to eat shit.
Located on the north side of the base, the Officers’ Club sat between the senior and junior officers’ housing. Dyess Highway looped around the north side, past the Officers’ Club and down to the flight line. More than once, flight crews dining at the “O’Club” had to sprint up from their tables when an alert broke out.
Young and old alike used the club extensively. The younger, and mostly unmarried, pilots frequented the Rathskeller; the married officers tended to congregate in the formal bar and dining rooms.
The pool was a middle ground for both, and as such was a “demilitarized zone” between stuffy formality and wild parties.
Captain Charlie Fargassa relaxed in the sun. A thick book lay open on his chest. His eyes were closed, and the water from a plunge into the pool some minutes before had evaporated from his body. As he drifted in and out of sleep, for the first time since arriving in the P.I. he felt that he was in paradise.
The early afternoon sun purged this morning’s flight from his mind. He normally had the utmost confidence in Bruce’s flying ability. The guy was good; his problem was that he knew it.
Charlie dismissed the observation — there he was, letting his interest in psychology take over and analyze his friends for him. Bruce was good. It was just that sudden pull-up, and Charlie screaming about the stall, that had hit Charlie hard.
That moment he had realized that Bruce was human, not invincible, and prone to the same mistakes and errors that everyone made. But when Bruce made a mistake, it wasn’t just him that was affected — Charlie’s butt was on the line, too. Through the pleasant folds of heat and drowsiness, he heard a familiar voice.
“Fooogggggyyyy!”
Charlie barely lifted his head and opened his eyes. Bruce, Catman, and Robin stood just outside of the pool area at the opposite side of the complex. They raised their beer bottles in a toast to him. Still decked out in flight suits — the ubiquitous “green bags” that distinguished the rated, or flying officers, from the rest of the Air Force — the three seemed to be having trouble standing up.
Charlie threw them a halfhearted wave.
“Fooogggggyyyy!”
Bruce and Robin were holding Catman as they would a log. They pantomimed tossing him into the pool. Catman started squealing like a hog.
On the other side of the fenced-in pool area, not twenty feet from the three officers, two women, who certainly weighed six hundred pounds between them, bathed. The officer’s squeals were meant for the two overweight women. Some people turned to stare at the men. Uproarious laughing drifted across the pool area as they left, staggering back down the steps to the Rathskeller.
Charlie sighed. Oh well. He’d have to commandeer another taxi for them tonight.
A shadow passed over him, then went away; probably a cloud. It was time to jump back into the pool. Opening his eyes, he sat up.
A woman laid her towel on the chair right next to him. Charlie drew in a breath. She had an ageless look, impeccable; he couldn’t tell if she was eighteen or forty.
A slight tan accented a white two-piece swimsuit; long blond hair was set off by dark eyebrows. She was slender but not skinny.
He realized that he had been holding his breath when his chest started hurting.
She swung her hair around, glanced his way, and showed a quick flash of teeth. She settled into her chair, then rummaged through her purse before hauling out a book. A pair of sunglasses with white frames came on before she started to read.
Charlie blinked. It was if a goddess had descended from the heavens.
Flawless.
He had leaned on one elbow to watch her, when she turned to him. She wore a slight frown. “Excuse me. I’m sorry for not asking, but is this seat taken?”
He couldn’t see her eyes, but that made her more exotic. “Uh, no, it’s not.” He waved an arm. “Feel free to stay.” Oh, please God, stay! He started to settle back down into his chair. He pulled his book up to him.
She lifted her sunglasses and squinted across the pool. She motioned toward the Rathskeller with her eyes. “You’re sure your, ah, friends, weren’t planning on joining you?”
“Friends? Those guys? Are you kidding? They wouldn’t be caught dead in here — drinks aren’t served out by the pool. Besides, they’re having too much fun to come swimming.”
Dryly: “I noticed.” She swung her hair behind her head and put her feet up on the lounge chair.
Charlie watched her for a moment before settling back in his seat. He brought his book up and tried to read. His hands felt wet, and if he had to speak with her again he wasn’t quite sure he could be coherent. He felt ashamed at himself — he was acting like he’d never seen a beautiful girl before.
When he was in college, Auburn had had some of the best-looking girls around — absolute dynamite, and their good looks almost made up for the Southern Belle act and the sticky-sweet talk. And every location in which he had been stationed — Phoenix, Fort Walton Beach, Langley — had always had more than their share of head-turners. As a college professor’s son, Charlie had been around coeds all his life. For him it was easy to find a good-looking woman, but one with a head on her shoulders instead of air — that was another matter.
This woman carried herself with poise. Her tan meant she had free time during the day, and the bag she carried resembled those carried by flight crews.
She had to be a stewardess, then. They sometimes frequented the O’Club pool, but were usually driven away either by the families or the hordes of pilots. He stole a glance — no ring. He still couldn’t determine her age. She couldn’t be a high school student, she was much too mature; and he couldn’t believe that an unmarried teacher for the Department of Defense schools would have lasted this long, unless she was new.
Which led him back to his original conjecture of a stewardess.
He suddenly realized that he hadn’t read his book at all since picking it up. It was as if his eyes had been flash-burned by the sight of her.
He put down his book and headed for the pool. Not looking back, he dove in and stroked for the far side. He pushed off the side and glided the width of the pool underwater. The movement relaxed him, took away some of the tenseness that had been putting his muscles into rigor mortis.
After a few laps Charlie lifted out of the pool, water dripping, and headed back to his seat. He could just make out the title of her book.
Reaching for his towel, he tried to sound relaxed. “What’s an airline stewardess doing reading a book called Alive? Doesn’t that make your passengers uneasy?”
She looked up. “I’m not a flight attendant.”
Charlie’s mind yammered at him, but he was in too far to back out. “You’re not? I’m sorry — it was meant to be a compliment. But how do you like the book?”
She put down her book. “It’s all right. A little gory.”
“Cannibalism usually is. But at least those guys had a conscience about it.”