Fatal Flight Read online

  “They book me to fly the bi-plane, because it’s popular, and there aren’t a lot of them left on the circuit. Like Max, most of the owners are retired. There’s a sense of nostalgia, around the plane. People remember the dog fights and romanticize the pilots who sacrificed their lives. Though why people attach romance to a war, where planes fell out of the sky faster than leaves from a tree, I can’t figure.” Having stated her opinion, she turned the conversation back on him.

  “So, why are you in Reno?” Sky stopped in front of a mid-size, mid-price trailer. Two trailers back, Max sat amongst a group of friends, binoculars slung around his neck, as they watched a stunt pilot take his modern plane through a routine similar to Sky’s.

  Adam noted this pilot had all the newest technology and design but flew just short of the regulations, pulling out or up sooner. His rolls weren’t as crisp, his snap was missing. Sky would take him in a competition.

  He stood watching for a few seconds before answering her question. She’d left his side and ducked into the trailer. She returned with two long neck beers in her hands. Condensation beaded the bottles, and hop vapors still leaked from the opening.

  “I heard the bird watching was good,” he teased her, enjoying her blush. “Wasn’t that what you were doing?”

  “I was scoping the field for obstructions, as you very well know. And I found one,” she muttered under her breath. “So why did you come?” She pressed him.

  A roar came from the crowds and was echoed by the six Fighting Falcons, as they arced across the sky in perfect formation. The members of the team must have finished their choreographic drill and the F-16Cs had taken to the air. “Testing myself, I guess,” he mused, before he could call back the words. “I did a two-year tour with the Thunderbirds and flew for a lot of these air shows.”

  “One of the solo acts, no doubt,” she jibed.

  He shrugged.

  “We piloted planes at the same airshows, and yet, we never met,” Sky pointed out, looking for more ammo against him. “And you say you’re not elitist.”

  “The Thunderbirds always flew in and out of the nearest military base. We didn’t get to mix with the other pilots.” He gave her a hard look, before returning his scrutiny to the close formation of six jets above.

  She colored up but didn’t apologize. Bothered by her hostility, he focused on the routine, noting the changes and similarities from when he’d flown with them.

  A soloist broke out, and his eyes slanted in Sky’s direction.

  She gave him a long study. “You’re worried you won’t get back up again.” She nodded. “I felt like that after one of my accidents.”

  The idea of Sky in an accident, caught in the wreckage of a downed plane, tightened Adam’s throat. “How many have you had, for God’s sake?”

  “A few.” She sat down in a lawn chair positioned in the shade from the trailer awning. He settled into the second one and exhaled when she didn’t object.

  “When I was eighteen, I hit a powerline and flipped. Landed on my nose in a field, broke my clavicle. When I was twenty-two, my engine flamed out. I crashed onto the landing strip, went out of control, and hit a shed. The plane went up, but they got me out with broken ribs and a broken leg. There have been a few others but taking out the shed was the worst. First, I worried I wouldn’t get to fly again, lose my medical. Then I wondered if I’d have the courage to fly, if I got it back.”

  “What happened?” Adam sat forward, his elbows on his knees, dangling the bottle between them, as he gave her every iota of his attention. She’d just described how he felt.

  “Max put me in the back of his friend’s tandem and flew me up into the clouds. The minute I felt the air rushing by, the lightness and speed, my heart grasped hold of it again. Fear didn’t have a chance against the love I felt. It happens every time I go up.”

  He sat back nursing his bottle, processing what she said. “Wonder if that would work for me?” He wasn’t certain he’d said it aloud. He hoped he hadn’t sounded like he wanted sympathy. She’d made it clear she didn’t like him, had given him only polite indifference since she’d been stuck with his sponsorship.

  “Why don’t we find out? Just happens one of the guys Pops is chatting with is the friend who lent him his Pitts. He flies out of this airport. I’m sure he’ll let me use the Pitts, no question. I’ll take you up, tandem,” she offered without hesitation.

  He jolted from the surprise of her answer. He would never figure her out. “Why would you do that when you hate my guts?” He leaned back, lifted the bottle to his mouth, and pretended to her, as well as to himself, that her answer didn’t matter.

  She made a scoffing noise in her throat. “I don’t have the energy to hate anyone’s guts. I don’t like what you stand for—or who you stand for. If I was so important to this woman, why wouldn’t she come and find me herself? And I don’t like you manipulating me by talking Pops into taking you on as sponsor, just so you can continue to mount your attack. I guess that’s why you’re here, so you can have another go at me.”

  “No, I came because I had some news. And I am on holiday and wanted to test myself by attending the show.”

  “Fine. What’s the news?” She leaned back, stretched her slender legs straight, crossed her ankles, and rested her bottle on her flat stomach.

  Adam couldn’t remember the question, couldn’t think of anything but the perfection of her body and how her slightest movement turned him on. He hardened under his jeans and hunched forward, hoping the fall of his light jacket would hide his arousal from Sky. Her gaze sharpened, changing from disinterest to curiosity, while she waited for his answer. He had better distract her fast.

  “I checked in with the sheriff’s office. He said they’d caught Daniel with the same brand of bottle and same exact gasoline in his trunk. Daniel’s father is asking for leniency for a first-time offense. The kid was locked up yesterday and will spend the night in jail waiting to go before a judge, unless you don’t lay charges. His dad says if you will drop the charges, he’ll cover the cost of damage, enroll Daniel in a military academy in the East, and make sure he doesn’t act out again.”

  “Poor kid. All he wants is his parents’ attention, and their solution is sending him away. Some people shouldn’t have kids.”

  “As a slightly rebellious teen myself, I see some merit in the structure of the military. It did wonders for me. You form friendships and become part of a worldwide camaraderie you never lose. I have friends all over the world from my time in the military. Daniel might benefit, in the long run.”

  Sky flipped her phone out of the back pocket of her coverall, scrolled through for the number, and called the sheriff. “I’m willing to drop the charges on Daniel, if his dad keeps his end of the bargain. He pays my costs, and Daniel attends military school. All right, I’ll let you pass that on to the family. Tell Daniel from me, I wish him luck. If he buckles down and matures, he’ll be a good pilot in a few years. Tell his dad to keep paying for his flying lessons out East.” She listened a few more seconds. “Thanks, Sheriff. I agree with you, this is the best solution for the kid. Juvie time will just send him into a faster tail spin. Good bye.” She pocketed her phone and finished her beer, just as Max called over, having noticed them.

  “Six sharp tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you in front of the hangar. The Pitts is yellow with blue striping, call letters N12C.”

  Adam was still processing the fact he’d influenced her decision over Daniel. If asked, he would have said she’d go in the exact opposite direction, just to defy him.

  He stood as Max approached, shook the man’s hand, and watched Sky disappear into the trailer. The more he saw of her, the more confused he became. His emotions were as convoluted and mystical as the smoke rings Sky had painted in the heavens.

  ****

  When Adam’s phone rang late that night, he was just finishing his fifteen-mile stint on the treadmill he’d had moved into the spare room of the Airstream. He lurched sideways, half f
alling as he grabbed the phone off a nearby ledge, and didn’t check the panel for caller I.D.

  “Hamilton,” he snapped, wiping his sweating face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

  “Adam, sorry, did I wake you? I know it’s late.” Sky’s cool tone ramped up his body temperature.

  “No. Is there a problem?”

  “I just had a call from the sky boss. It seems a couple of big planes are coming in early for the show, and he’s closing the runway for them. That means I can’t take you up in the morning, sorry.”

  For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had changed her mind and was backing out.

  “I can take you up around nineteen hundred, though. All the traffic from the airshow will have cleared, and the airport will be back to normal. I can give you a spin right before I take off for Tahoe, if that works for you.”

  “Yes. I’m looking forward to it,” Adam lied, as he watched the fine tremor in the hand holding his phone.

  “All right then. See you tomorrow.” She severed the call, leaving him with a shopping bag full of emotions. Attraction, gratitude, conflict, and fear all juggled together, his control over them as flimsy as a brown paper bag. With an impatient shrug, aimed at his fear, he collected his water bottle and headed for his room.

  Trepidation still dogged him in the morning, when he headed out of the Airstream to take in the show. With his reputation as a top-notch test pilot and a mover in Hamilton Aeronautics, Adam’s network was wide and willing. The airport manager, an acquaintance of his dad, was eager for a catch-up chat with Adam, so he signed a pass allowing Adam into the inner world of the air traffic controllers. He sat in the tower, talking with the controllers and waiting for Sky’s routine with avid interest.

  Sitting in a swivel chair, with a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view, he enjoyed the events lined up for thousands of airplane enthusiasts. Again, the Thunderbirds flew by; he could walk through the steps of the maneuvers as they performed them. Black dread hung like a mantle over his heart. Would he ever again feel the thrill of spinning toward the earth?

  When Bully Boy climbed skyward, Adam swung his feet to the ground and sat forward. The lightweight Tiger Moth moved in slow motion after the speed of the F18s. He remembered much of her routine and followed the maneuvers in his mind. As she climbed for her top altitude, Bully Boy shuddered. Inside the tower, he couldn’t hear the engine, but he imagined the sputter, choke, and catch. Suddenly, he was back in his F18 testing the new firing system that would allow them to lock onto an enemy plane with more speed and accuracy. The jet had shuddered. The engine hitching, coughing, before it flamed out. Seconds seemed like hours as he held the jet in the air, until he was over empty land, while trying to restart the engine. Finally, arid land stretched beneath him, but huge boulders and shrubs prevented a safe landing. Still fighting to save the multimillion dollar plane, and knowing he’d waited too long and crashing was inevitable, he let his survival instinct take over. He’d leveled out, aiming the plane at a set of low hills, and ejected at two hundred feet.

  Adam gasped and blinked the sweat out of his eyes. His shirt was soaked; his chilled body was saturated in sweat.

  “Something’s wrong.” One of the controllers stood and grabbed a pair of binoculars. “She’s not pulling out.”

  Adam moved a nose width from the glass. Sky had started her vertical spin, and Bully Boy was rotating counter-clockwise toward the earth nose first. By now, she should have stopped the spin and pulled out of her dive, instead she kept coming like a Kamikaze pilot intent on death. Adam’s heart slammed against his rib cage; his lungs seized. A feeling of dread froze him in place. Seconds from crashing, she stopped the spin by banking sharp to the right.

  “Not part of her routine,” said the air boss, who’d taken over the airspace while the show ran.

  “She’s in trouble,” a second controller said. He was talking fast on the mike, ordering the next performer who was holding short of the runway to clear it fast, and then calling for emergency equipment.

  Adam saw the wings of the Tiger Moth waver. Instead of pulling up and leveling off, she turned clockwise in a large circle, losing altitude as she approached the airfield. She landed smoothly, spinning into a ground loop which stopped the plane as it slid toward the paved strip separating the audience from the landing area.

  Sky killed the engine, another anomaly to her act, stood on her seat, and took her bow before walking off the field.

  As the controller instructed ground crew to move the disabled plane, Adam skidded down the steps of the tower.

  Max already had his arms around Sky when Adam limped up. “Lost her left rudder,” he said over Sky’s head.

  Adam couldn’t focus on the problem for a second, because he was dealing with another more shocking. He wished he’d reached Sky first and was the man holding her now.

  “It didn’t show up in her walk around?”

  “No. Everything was good.” Sky pulled back. “I couldn’t turn out of my spin like I should have when the pedal went soft.”

  “That was a great maneuver you came up with. Pulling out with a right rudder when you’re spinning left isn’t easy.”

  “But now I know I can do it, I can put it in my competition sequence and get some high points.”

  Adam shuddered. He’d expected to find her quivering, her nerves shot. Instead, he needed the reassurance of holding her, while Sky was already thinking of repeating the dangerous maneuver.

  “I’d like a look at the control cable,” he said, following the progress of the plane as a tractor pulled it off the field toward a hangar.

  “Good idea. Let’s see what went wrong.” Max was already moving Sky in the direction of Bully Boy. “I can’t believe there was any technical failure on a plane I maintain.”

  Chapter Four

  Sky completed a second walk-around the Pitts special, once again ticking off everything on her check list. She didn’t want a mechanical hitch happening while Adam was up in the plane.

  They’d had a new control cable installed in Bully Boy. Pops had stood over the mechanic, hired for the show, during the entire process. Afterward, Pops had seized the cable, instead of letting the mechanic throw it on the scrap. An inspection of the many metal strands woven together indicated metal fatigue. It was an old plane, and though Pops kept it in top condition, things happened. Relieved it was an easy fix, Sky had accepted the verdict of the FAA inspector on site and planned to fly Bully Boy home.

  As she completed her walk-around on the Pitts tandem, a soft voice in the back of her mind whispered helping Adam had become a priority. She wanted to give him the same freeing experience she’d undergone. She hushed the annoying intruder.

  Helping a fellow pilot overcome his fears matters. I’d reach out to anyone in a spot I can relate to, even if I didn’t like the guy. Adam’s injuries had been much worse than hers. Hoping he was ready for this next step, she watched him cross the ground toward her. His limp was almost unnoticeable this late in the afternoon. She felt a frisson of relief when she concluded he wasn’t in pain, then cursed herself for caring. Stay focused. The guy is extra weight, and extra weight can be the difference between success and failure in an aerobatic maneuver.

  “We still on?” he asked, his gait becoming more ragged.

  Sky scanned the horizon and noted the limp windsock at the side of the strip. The spectators, pilots, planes, and volunteers had departed in a steady stream, leaving a minimum of staff going about their jobs. Pops had pulled out with the trailer an hour earlier, as soon as he’d passed inspection on the Tiger Moth, double checking it was safe for her to fly home.

  She figured they had almost perfect conditions for Adam’s test. She indicated the metal foothold on the starboard side of the plane. He stood with his hands on his narrow hips, searching the horizon. Then with a deep breath, he set his foot on the rung, stepped onto the wing, ducking his head to avoid the upper wing, stretched his leg back, and dropped into the rear seat. Sky followed him
up and took her position in the front seat.

  “Hat and goggles are in the side-pocket,” she said over her shoulder, even as she primed the engine. A member of the ground crew stepped forward. She gave him the thumbs-up sign. He rotated the propeller. The engine caught. She spoke into her mike, gained permission to taxi, and moved onto the ramp. Once on the end of the airstrip, she braked, turned halfway around, and gave her passenger a comprehensive once over. His features were grim beneath the goggles, his mouth a tight line.

  “You ready?”

  He gave her a weak smile and a thumbs-up.

  Sky released the brake and pushed the throttle forward, racing down the runway. She pulled back on the controls and lifted the Pitts into the air. She didn’t try anything fancy, just gained altitude and leveled out at two thousand feet. Holding the plane steady with one hand on the stick, she again turned and perused her passenger. Adam’s mouth had relaxed into a soft smile. The chiseled perfection of it tugged at something deep inside her. His eyes were brilliant, almost silver through the glass of his goggles. He gave her two thumbs-up and grinned like a fool.

  She turned back, her smile as wide as a kid with a lollipop. She’d given him that—replaced his fear with the joy of flying. She banked and flew them in a wide circle over the arid hills and desert scrub around Reno. Climbing to four thousand, she took her hands off the stick, held them in the air, and signaled he could take over. She felt his first hesitant touch on the rear controls. Resting her hand on her stick, she took her feet off the pedals and felt him take over.

  Within seconds, she knew he’d been born to the air. His touch was firm, but sensitive. He banked the aircraft like an eagle on the hunt. They soared over the land, commanding the sky. Confident he knew how to fly, and had already picked up on the Pitts’s eccentricities, Sky relaxed as the earth unrolled beneath them like a long piece of printed wallpaper.