Red Tail

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier outside Admin to you,” he murmured. “It was a cheap shot.”

She bit back “You’re damn right it was.” Instead she shrugged. “Apology accepted, Gallagher.”

An elfin grin pulled at his mouth. “You have one hell of a right cross, lady.”

It was her turn to smile as they walked down the sidewalk toward the line shack. “I’ve never slapped a man in my life. You were the first. And you’ll be the last,” she promised throatily.

Bram pulled the glass door open. The surprised look she gave him told Bram she wasn’t used to that kind of help from a man. Too bad, he thought. I’m going to treat you like a lady whether anyone likes it or not.

All the duty section pilots milled around the cramped confines of the line shack. It sat next to the ramp area where serviced and repaired aircraft were parked.

Storm pulled over the maintenance book on CG 1378 and opened it up. Bram moved beside her, squeezing into the small counter space between the other pilots. She was vividly aware of his male strength, his body hard from being physically fit. Collecting her scattered thoughts, Storm pointed down at the log.

“We always check this to mark any discrepancies or problems with the helo, Bram. It’s up to us to record them and then sign for the helo we’ll be using that day.”

The press of bodies, the good-natured gibing and jokes, filled the line shack. After signing out CG 1378, Storm shut the log, handing it back to the warrant officer behind the desk.

“Let’s go,” she said, giving him a slight smile.

Bram returned it, remaining at her side, and then pushed open the door. The muggy afternoon air hit them as they walked around the corner of the building and onto the concrete ramp.

Storm began to relax. This was her home, the one place where she felt comfortable since the loss of her husband and Dave Walker. Merlin was waiting for them, over by CG 1378, throwing them the customary salute.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant Travis, Lieutenant Gallagher,” he said gruffly.

“Afternoon, Merlin.” Storm smiled, taking the mandatory baseball cap of dark blue off her head. Unzipping a large pocket on her left thigh, she stuffed it in there. The breeze was light, coming in from the Atlantic Ocean, and she inhaled deeply of the salt-laden air. She made formal introductions between Merlin and Bram Gallagher. Storm smiled to herself as both men eyed each other warily. She stood with one hand resting against the white surface of the helicopter.

“We want to welcome you officially to the Red Tail Taxi Service, Gallagher,” she said.

Bram cocked his head. “What?”

Storm gestured to the international orange stripe that adorned the tail of their helicopter. “We’re unofficially known as Red Tails.”

“The taxi-service part is because you’ll be doing anything from hauling groceries to rescuing snowbound families up in Alaska, depending on where you’re stationed. Here in the Florida area we don’t have to deal with snowstorms, but we fight the hurricanes every year.” Her grin widened. “So if somebody calls you Red Tail, you’ll know what they’re referring to.”

He scratched his head. “Relegated to a taxi service, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Merlin cackled. “Oh, one thing we forgot to tell him, Lieutenant Travis.”

She gave Merlin a surprised look. “What?”

“Tell him that we’re part of the Department of Transportation and not the Defense Department.”

“Translated, what does that mean?” Bram asked dryly.

Storm pursed her lips. “It means if you get shot at by a druggie, Gallagher, it’s not considered combat or even war. Since the CG is with the Transportation Department, we’re an anomaly of sorts.”

“A Red Tail and noncombat, eh?”

“You got it right, sir,” Merlin responded. “An elite taxi-service with fringe extras like getting shot at.” He winked. “When we stalk the druggies, we’re in combat.”

“Well,” Bram said good-naturedly, “I was tired of flying a jet around all day. Looks like the CG is infinitely more interesting in many ways.”

Maybe it’s going to be all right after all, Storm thought. She went through the rest of preflight inspection with Gallagher, who became an attentive shadow at her left arm as they walked around the helo. He asked intelligent questions, and she was pleased. There was a new eagerness blossoming within her. Suddenly she was seeing Bram in a new light—as a professional pilot. When it came down to work, he was all business. The wisecracking guy with the arrogant chip on his shoulder had disappeared. Breathing a sigh of relief, Storm climbed into the right-hand seat, the AC’s seat.

“Okay,” Storm called, her voice echoing hollowly within the confines of the helicopter, “so much for social amenities. Let’s get this show on the road.”

A new palpable tension thrummed through the aircraft. Merlin busied himself in the back as they slipped into their confining shoulder harness and seat belt system after donning helmets.

Bram watched Storm out of the corner of his eye. Her movements were economical and spoke of someone who was confident with a job. He gave a small shake of his head. He was certainly going to have to change his perspective on how he viewed women. Because of the peacetime missions of the Coast Guard, there were women flying jets and helicopters and serving aboard the cutters at sea. A slight smile edged his mouth as he threw her a thumb’s up, indicating he was finished with his personal preflight checklist. They began the next phase of checks for the starting of the engine and rotor engagement. Given Storm Travis’s fascinating job as his aircraft commander, Bram decided to try and enjoy the time spent with her instead of creating a chauvinistic rift, which would only intensify the friction between them.

Storm adjusted the slender mike close to her lips, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Merlin was secure in his small chair, which was bolted near the entrance door. He was strapped in.

“If you’ll call Tower, I’ll lift off,” she told Gallagher. “We’ve got five sling loads. I’ll do the first couple of loads and you watch. Then we’ll let you try your hand at it.”

Bram nodded. “Fine with me, lieutenant.” A glint of laughter came to his blue eyes as he studied her serious features. “Sure you trust an ex-Air Force fighter jock?”

She grinned back. “As long as you don’t think this helo has afterburners, Merlin and I will survive.”

Their laughter was drowned out when she flipped the starter button on the cyclic stick, which sat in position near her gloved right hand. The shrill sound rang through the hollow interior of the H-52 Sea Guard Sikorski helicopter. The trembling began and subsided as soon as the engine turbine came up to speed. When ready, she released the rotor brake, and the rotor slowly started moving around and around above their heads. Very soon, the steady noisy beat of the rotor smoothed out, and the 52 sat shuddering and trembling around them, ready beneath her capable hands. After receiving clearance from the tower, Storm placed her right hand on the cyclic stick that sat between her legs, wrapped the fingers of her left hand around the collective and placed her booted feet against the rudder pedals. Pulling gently up on the collective, the rotors punctured the air as pitch was increased and the ship smoothly slipped its hold from the earth.

Bram’s respect for her increased as they worked throughout the afternoon carrying the pallets. The 52 could lift a maximum of eight-thousand-three-hundred pounds, including its own weight, so the pallet loads weren’t large. He found Storm to be a natural instructor pilot. After watching her lift several loads with impressive ease, he tried his hand at it. The wind was picking up out of the northwest, and the pallets suspended beneath the 52 had a tendency to sway drunkenly from side to side. The helo’s movement had to be choreographed with the temperamental load by constant manipulation of the controls. He grew to appreciate Storm’s quietly-spoken suggestions with an air of relief. Although he had been at the top of his flight class, six weeks to learn how to fly helicopters did not compensate for the on-the-job experience that all new graduates had to accrue out in the field.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re an IP by nature?” he asked, glancing over at her.

Storm gave a distant smile. As always, her feet and hands were near her own set of controls. If Gallagher got into trouble, her lightning reflexes would have to save them. On any mission, the other pilot always maintained that position of readiness. “You mean I’m not yelling and cursing at you like the IP back in flight school did?”

Bram liked her husky voice. Her eyes spoke volumes. Her voice reminded him of a roughened cat’s tongue stroking his flesh. It increased the air of mystery surrounding her. He knew nothing of her, and he wanted to know everything—especially now that he had had a chance to see her in action at the controls of a 52. She had what was known in their business as “hands.” Another term used was “top stick.” Even the IP in flight school didn’t have Storm’s silken touch with the helicopter, and it made him feel slightly in awe of her. She was a woman doing what he normally assumed to be a man’s job better than any man he had seen thus far. He nodded, answering her easy question. “Lady, if you had been my IP back in flight school, chances are I’d have flunked out on purpose, just to get another six weeks with you.”

Storm avoided his openly admiring gaze, feeling heat sweeping up her neck and into her face. Oh, God, she was blushing! Compressing her lips, she looked away, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand. “You’re doing fine, Gallagher,” she managed. “Most copilots don’t understand cargo sling procedures, but you’re doing quite well.”

Bram’s grin widened. “Business all the way, eh?” he teased.

Storm refused to meet his eyes. He knew he had gotten to her! He had seen her face turn scarlet. “That’s right,” she informed him coolly, her heart beating traitorously in her breast.

His laughter was deep and exhilarating over the intercom system. “I’ll let you have your way for now. But we aren’t always going to be sitting in a 52, Lieutenant Travis,” he warned her silkily.

Storm absolutely refused to blush again. She willed her body not to respond. Damn his cavalier attitude! Bram Gallagher certainly knew how to get under her skin.

“Hey, lieutenant, I’m starved!” Merlin wailed.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost supper time. Where had time gone? “Okay. We’ll pick up this last load and then go eat!”

“Anything the lady wants,” Bram murmured innocently, but he looked meaningfully at her.

Storm ignored the implication. After the mission had been completed, they landed the 52 and shut it down, unstrapping themselves from their complicated harness system. Climbing out, Storm placed the dark blue baseball cap back on her head once again as did the others. Merlin and Gallagher joined her and they walked into the line shack. After completing his paperwork, Merlin went to the mess hall for some chow.