Chief Franklin slowly straightened up, and his face lost all expression.
“She’s preflighting, Lieutenant. Plane captains have their own routine for
certifying the aircraft safe for flight.”
“I know what a plane captain does, damn it! What’s she doing on my
aircraft?”
“Take it outside, gentlemen,” the handler said abruptly. “We’ve got work
to do in here.”
Bird Dog followed Chief Franklin out of the shack and around behind it.
The massive bulk of the island masked part of the screaming jet noise and made
conversation in normal tones of voice almost possible.
“I don’t want her on my Tomcat,” Bird Dog said. “And I’m surprised you’d
even consider it, Chief. What the hell were you thinking? Putting a plane
captain that I’m sending to captain’s mast on my aircraft?”
“What I’m thinking, Lieutenant, is that you are one arrogant, ignorant
son of a bitch,” the chief said. “Who the hell are you? You really think
that girl would do something to your aircraft just because you assigned her
some extra duty? If that’s the way you think of these plane captains, you
better find a new career. Because today, and every day that you fly, you’re
going to be depending on those people for your life.”
“You’ve got other plane captains!”
“And let me tell you something else. Yes, I do have other plane
captains. But Shaughnessy is the best damn one of the lot. You’re the most
inexperienced pilot in this squadron, sir. I don’t know whether you or the
plane captain missed that hydraulic leak a couple of days ago. What I do know
is that it killed a sailor. Given that, what makes sense to me is to put my
best sailor on the job to make sure you don’t fry your young ass or kill
someone else in the process. And if you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest
you take it up with the Maintenance Officer. Sir.” The chief turned abruptly
and stalked away.
Bird Dog stared after him for a moment, and then started after him. As
he reentered the Handler’s office, he saw Chief Franklin’s broad back
disappearing down the passageway. He started after him.
“Lieutenant!” the Handler said sharply. “You’ve got a mission to fly. I
suggest you get your ass out to that aircraft before your event gets canceled.
And get your head in the game. You got problems with your chief, you leave
them down in your Branch spaces. Don’t be airing your dirty laundry up here.”
Jesus, was everybody in the whole air wing out to ream him today? Bird
Dog stopped short of snapping out an angry response and nodded abruptly.
There was some truth to what the Handler said. Always, the mission came
first.
He turned and headed for the hatch again, ready to start his preflights.
He stopped abruptly as he caught sight of the slim figure framed by the
entrance.
Shaughnessy. How long had she been standing there? He glared at her.
Everything that had gone wrong so far had been her fault. If she’d just worn
her cranial on the flight deck like she was supposed to …
“Just coming in to sign your aircraft out as safe for flight, sir,” she
said. Her voice sounded tight. “Could I have the MAF, please?”
The Handler slid the multipart form across the desk to her. She ran her
eyes down it and then scrawled her signature across the bottom. “Your
aircraft, sir.” She started toward the hatch.
“Shaughnessy-” Bird Dog started.
“Sir. Excuse me, but I’ve got three other aircraft to preflight,” she
said, finally looking up at him. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her face
looked thinner than it had the last time he’d held quarters inspection.
“Could it wait?”
“Of course,” he said finally. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
She nodded abruptly and led the way out to the aircraft. As Gator and
Bird Dog performed their preflights, she followed them around the aircraft,
occasionally double-checking a panel fixture or wiping a smudge off the
fuselage.
Finally, Bird Dog clambered up into the cockpit, and Gator followed.
Once they were seated, Shaughnessy followed them up, stepping carefully on the
pull-out steps on the fuselage. She checked to see that the ejection seat