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Gabe flew bestwhen he didn’t think about it too much. Mom had been a ballet dancer turned teacher and Dad had been a wide receiver for the Houston Oilers for eight years back in the day before coaching college ball. Gabe had grown up in Mom’s studio, and playing endless practice games with Dad’s Houston Cougars. He and Mom had season tickets to the Houston Ballet, he and Dad to the Houston Texans.
As a wide receiver for the Air Force Falcons, Gabe had been light enough afoot to play in two Bowl games himself, plus an All-Star Bowl. The NFL had scouted him but he’d always dreamt of flying. And the Lightning II was like the best dance across the sky there ever was.
Instead of focusing too hard, he trusted his honed instincts of the natural flow of the flight. And he thought of Falisha as he let his deeply instilled flight skills stay locked into the guides of the ball lights,and focused on that third wire on the shifting deck of theBig Stick.
Departing the playing field of women wasn’t something he’d ever expected to do. Not this side of retiring anyway.
But LC Falisha Johnson was the third wire of women—the perfect landing. Cute as hell, sure. He’d always enjoyed a bountiful supply of those. Tall too, only two inches under his six-foot height. They fit together so perfectly.
However, the best thing about Falisha was her crazy level of competence.
He’d heard the bosses talking when she wasn’t around. Falisha was a shoo-in for the next time an Air Boss slot opened up on one of the nation’s eleven carriers. That was sexy as it ever got,beforeshe’d get started on how she loved to watch him fly. If ever there was a person in a position to judge the quality of that, it was an Air Boss. Knowing how she saw him made him an even better pilot than he’d ever dreamed was possible.
Did he make her a better Air Boss? He sure as hell hoped so because Mom and Dad had proved that’s how it was supposed to work. Mom said she’d always danced for Dad even when he couldn’t be there. And Dad’s stats had exploded up out of average from the day they’d started dating.
Sure, Gabe had seen the train wrecks of other fliers’ families. Long deployments didn’t bode well for family stability—even worse than pro-ball players.
Dad hadn’t been perfect by any stretch, but his lessons had reached far beyond the ball field.You donotever barely miss the big catch. You damn well find a way to reach those extra inches to make it. No such thing as missed it by an inch. Look at your mama. That woman is way outta this boy’s league. But I went for her with everything I had and I won the big game.
For a woman like Falisha Johnson, Gabe was damn well going to make that catch no matter how far he had to stretch.
Gabe made a last check that his aircraft was properly trimmed for landing. Normally he’d have the other three planes of his flight fully on the deck before descending to land himself.
Not this time.
Hand on the throttle, he nursed the last of the remaining fuel. He was going to catch hell for that when Captain Levi saw his refueling load sheet. He’d fallen out of Low State One and was definitelyBingo Fuelnow. If he had to do a go-round, he’d be deep enough intoEmergency Fuelthat he’d probably have to swim back to the ship. The Navy would not be amused if he dropped a hundred-and-twenty-million-dollar plane into the drink.
Frankly, this time he’d be lucky if they didn’t hammer him with a disciplinary action. What’s more, Falisha would be royally pissed at the unnecessary risk, and that wouldn’t be good at all. Arguing that the Chinese J-20 Mighty Dragon that foolishly tried to intimidate them away had needed a lesson wouldn’t buy ground with either the Captain or Falisha.
He should have called up the damned tanker.
Next time.
Yeah, how many times had he said that before. But it was different now. If Falisha saidYes, the future would be completely different and it was time to start living up to that new standard.
The landing lights of the Ball were still all centered. The electronic systems agreed. Zero drift. Not a word from Paddles.
Deck threshold in six, five…
There was a flash of heat in the cockpit.
Four…
Searingheat! No fire alarms but something was burning. His helmet and his suit would protect him long enough to land.
Three…
Raise the tailhook? If there was a fire, the safest action for the carrier would be to let the jet bolt off the deck. He could eject before it smacked water.
Two—
It was cooking him alive.
Still no alarms.
He blinked hard, but his vision was tunneling to black. No atypical g-forces to explain that. He could still breathe—barely. It hurt.
He couldn’t see anything but black with massive red spots as his vision tunneled to the Ball of the landing lights and finally zeroed out.
One!
Gabe slammed his left hand forward, driving the sidestick past full throttle and straight into afterburners for maximum thrust. He’d burn off his remaining fuel in under a minute at this rate but it was the only logical action.
He continued reaching forward to flip the switch high on the top left corner of the console to raise the arrestor tailhook. With his thousands of hours of training and flights, he didn’t need to see it—which was good as his world had gone completely black.
With his right hand he hauled on the sidestick to tip the nose up in hopes that he could fly clear rather than shooting off the deck and into the sea.
It was the last mistake he ever made.
