Читать книгу Call Sign Karma - Jamie Rae - Страница 13

I wouldn’t be borrowing a cup of sugar anytime soon.

The only thing worse than my new neighbor was the gauntlet of work the training squadron forced on us. At least it kept my mind off Locke. There was no room in my head for him. My brain overflowed with so many systems, instruments and advanced handling characteristics that it would malfunction if I tried to add any personal drama into it.

I shoved my air-to-air binder into my backpack and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I twisted open the cap and chugged it. This course was more intense than I ever imagined. Several guys had already washed out of the program, setting all of us on edge. But I held my own. I wouldn’t accept failure.

I tightened my bootstraps and grabbed a banana from the counter before jogging down the front stairs to my jeep. I was tired from the hours training in the simulators, exams, and being drilled by our instructor pilots.

There was one more simulator ride before it was go-time. No more practice; it would be the real deal.

Just thinking about it freaked me out. It was easier to face your demons in a simulator than in the actual jet. In the simulator your heart flies into your throat and you drip in sweat, but it wasn’t giving me the answers that I needed. Neither were the endless hours of studying. I needed to climb into the cockpit to discover the truth about Colin’s accident.

I pulled out my tablet and tapped the videos. I wondered how many times I could watch this footage before it or I self-destructed. I scribbled down more notes about the times, sounds, even movements of objects in the distance.

Everything was normal about the flight. The sound of his voice created tightening in my stomach. Air-to-air fighting. He was engaged—winning. I stared at the screen and watched him break free from the other jets and listened to the sound of his breathing.

Soft, shallow breaths. Then the airwaves were filled with the warning system. I could mouth the words along at the same time.

“Altitude! Altitude!”

“Pull up! Pull up!”

“Pull up! Pull up!”

“Altitude! Altitude!”

“Pull up! Pull up!”

“Pull up! Pull up!”

Giant green arrow. Full explosion, then darkness.

I pushed out a long breath. Don’t doubt the jet. It wasn’t just on the syllabus; it was practically tattooed onto your skin. But the jets were dangerous. The JSF’s malfunction killed my brother. The thought of climbing into its cockpit made me ill.

* * * *

Cold, sterile, and impersonal. The simulator’s building matched my mood. The large concrete building smelled of electrical wiring and was shockingly chilly, a stark contrast to the muggy dampness that persisted this time of year. The machine itself was tucked away in a secluded room. Not that it mattered. The simulator did a damn good job at making you feel alone. Just you, the machine…and Mr. Gumpbert, the retired F-16 instructor pilot who ran the program.

“So it’s just you and me today,” he said in his thick southern drawl. He was so lanky that he reminded me of a daddy longlegs when he moved.

His call sign was Forrest, for obvious reasons. He patted me on the back, then pulled out a comb and smoothed what was left of his thinning gray hair. He was a good ol’ boy and loved hanging out with the squadron, reliving his glory days in the cockpit.

“I think there’s more coming. Our first flight is Monday,” I said as I twisted my ponytail into a bun.

“Nope, just you. Hop on in that saddle, young lady. Put that on.” He flipped a few switches then pointed at something before he sat in the old worn out chair in the control box.

My helmet. What the hell? Where did that come from? Usually we wore a pair of headsets for the SIM. I picked it up and did as he asked without argument. The mocked up cockpit stared back at me with its myriad of blinking lights and screens. I strapped on my helmet and performed the required checks.

My hands shook, but he didn’t seem to notice. What the hell was bothering me? I had done this a hundred times over the last few weeks. Sure it sucked, but when the guys were around I just did what I had to do. I didn’t know why this was any different, but I felt like a cow being led into a slaughterhouse.

I took a deep breath and gave the thumbs-up. The simulator closed, surrounding me in darkness. The walls came to life, lighting up to display the Florida greenery to the north and the blue open water of the gulf to the south.

“All right, you’ve finished the ground emergency procedures so you’re going to start off right away in the air. Ready?” Forrest spoke as if his mouth were full of rocks.

“Affirm,” I stared ahead and bit my bottom lip.

“I have you set up at twenty-four thousand feet, straight and level. You’re cruising at 450 knots. You have the jet.”

The earth dropped away and my view from the cockpit skyrocketed into the air. In the matter of a second, I sat four miles above the earth’s surface motionless.

“I have the jet.” My voice held steady.

The jet suddenly sprung to life in my hands. The smallest input to the control stick began to roll and sway the aircraft. It rocked with the turbulence and the wind’s rush and static crackled in my headset from radio calls in the background. The systems chirped and buzzed with alerts and messages. The room around me transformed from cold and sterile to a flurry of movements and inputs.

Sweat began to trickle down my neck as my eyes automatically transitioned to quick and rapid scans around the instrument panel.

Attitude, altitude, airspeed. Fuel is good. Engine in the green. Systems are in the green. I repeated the mantra to myself as my crosscheck quickened.

“All right go ahead and set yourself up for an advanced handling profile. Take it through the normal progression, High-G turn, Loop, Split-S, Immelmann, Max-sustained turn, and so on. Make sure you have the right parameters before you start and be disciplined executing the maneuvers.” Forrest ordered. “You fly the jet. Don’t let it fly you.”

“Roger that.” I swiped my hands on my legs and gripped the stick, ready to show him what I could do.

The jet accelerated to five hundred and fifty knots in mere seconds. The airframe buffeted as the airspeed climbed.

“Five hundred and fifty knots, twenty-four thousand feet. Starting the High-G turn,” Forrest instructed.

I dropped the nose five degrees below the horizon, quickly snapped the wings ninety degrees to the skyline, and pulled the stick back with a smooth and steady pull. The horizon spun by in a blur.

I completed a full circle in the sky. The cockpit screens erupted in a flurry of blinking red and yellow lights. I scanned the displays to determine the problem.

“I have a fire light with fluctuating engine indications,” I reported and craned to look back over my shoulder to see thick black smoke trailing from the aircraft. “I have both visual and engine indications for a fire. Executing the engine fire-failure bold face.”

I sprung to action pushing buttons and flipping switches around the cockpit, all the necessary steps to shut down the engine and put out the fire. The SIM stilled, the horizon froze, and the instruments stopped moving and flashing. My face scrunched with frustration.

“Not a bad job hitting the boldface, but look at your aircraft attitude,” he warned.

I darted a look toward the Attitude Direction Indicator. I fell into a lazy thirty degree nose low dive. Not screaming at the ground, but not getting away from it either.

“Remember, maintain aircraft control, then analyze the situation and take the appropriate action. You shouldn’t be in a slow descent—you’re going to need that altitude when you look for a suitable airfield to land with just your auxiliary systems.”

Damn it. I had to be better than this.

“But like I said, not a bad job getting the boldface done. Let’s keep going. New jet. New day. You’re back at twenty-four thousand feet, straight and level, four hundred and fifty knots. You have the jet.”

In a blink, the cautions and warnings disappeared and I was flying a good aircraft again as if nothing had happened. For the next hour, I ran through the emergency procedure wringer. One emergency after another; one on takeoff, one on landing, one over the water, small indications to major problems. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I had to be near finished.

“All right, go ahead and execute one more High-G turn for me.”

I dropped the nose five degrees, pushed up the throttle, and snapped the wings to ninety degrees.

“Smooth on the pull, here come the G’s. Here’s a three-sixty.”

The screens showing the outside world went gray and the panels in the cockpit went black. The aircraft shook and the wind rushed. Disorientation consumed me.

“I don’t understand this one. I can’t see anything,” I said as my breathing shifted into shallow gasps. Sweat poured down my back.

“Fly the jet,” Gump ordered.

“Altitude! Altitude!”

The familiar voice—her words made by blood run cold.

The jet was in a dive, but I didn’t have any references. I slammed the throttle back to idle and pulled back on the stick to what I thought would be the horizon. It exacerbated the situation. The aircraft rocked and the wind rush rang in my ears.

“Altitude! Altitude! Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!”

I gripped the stick tighter as fear spread through me. Oh my God. I had watched this video a thousand times and now it was happening to me. My eyes burned as I stared at the screen without blinking.

The horizon and my instruments flashed on. I pointed at the ground. My eyes darted to the altimeter. Two thousand feet in a flash. My breaths quickened. We were going to die. My hands shook and I squeezed the stick tighter.

“Pull up! Pull up!”

I couldn’t. I froze, just as I had that day in the tower, watching the earth blossom up to meet me. The screens went red as the simulator jerked to a stop.

Soaked in sweat and ready to vomit, I pressed my hands to my lap, regaining my composure. Crushing anxiety pinned me to my seat. If I could eject right now, I would. I would launch myself far away from this demon that was screwing with my mind.

“All right Lieutenant. You passed the operational test. How’s the head?”

For the first time since the simulation began, I looked over at the control box. Several familiar and unfamiliar faces stared back at me. I stared into each of their eyes. Pride, arrogance, satisfaction, doubt, then his...the one that I wanted to avoid most. I forced myself to face him. The electric blue shade burned into my soul and tortured me. Pity? Regret? Sorrow?

No. He didn’t get to feel sorry for me.

The hair raised on the back of my neck as perspiration trickled down my spine. My legs shook as my bottom lip quivered in pure rage. I struggled to maintain my wall.

They were screwing with me. They took me to the brink of crashing, and forced me past my impending doom. The last simulation was an exact replica of my brother’s crash. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was a test. They made me relive Colin’s death so they could assess my reaction. They were trying to break me. I was their lab rat under dissection. Arrogant sons of bitches.

And he stood shoulder to shoulder with them.

I dug my fingers into my leg to keep from tearing off my helmet and hurling it at them. Every fiber of me wanted to launch it so that it would ricochet and take more than one of their smug asses out. Bowling for bastards. But I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. I had something more important to do.

I pushed up my sleeves, lifted my chin and jerked out my hand giving a thumbs-up. It was all I could manage without losing my freaking mind. I unhooked my helmet and harness, and climbed out of the simulator.

“Good job with the ‘standard’ emergency procedures, Lieutenant. Looks like you’re ready for Monday’s flight,” Shatter, my commander, said.

“Yes sir,” I replied and pulled off my helmet. I stood at attention with it under my arm. A million thoughts swirled in my head, but the loudest was the one shouting for me to get the hell out of there. I was careful not to look anyone directly in the eyes. I knew it would be my tipping point and it wasn’t going to happen, not today. I planted my heels firmly into the ground.

“Good. What do you think fellas, she good to go?” a major asked and my left eye began to twitch.

Oh hell. They were not going to do this in front of me. I shifted my weight and blurred the voices in the room. I stared at a smudge on the wall instead of at the lineup of asshats determining my fate. I counted back from one hundred.

“Pinkerton!”

“Yes, sir,” I answered and stopped counting, wondering if I was using my outside voice.

“You’re dismissed,” T-Rex barked.

I saluted, spun, and walked toward the door. Once outside, the muggy air flooded my lungs as if I were surfacing from underwater. I inhaled and rushed to the equipment room to drop my gear and get off this base as soon as possible.

* * * *

They tricked me into the jet with my brother. They tried to rattle me on purpose, to break me. But they didn’t know I had been in that cockpit with him before. I was there on that day in the tower and I was there every day since it had happened. I couldn’t count the number of times I watched that video, how many times I relived that explosion, or how many wishes I had made to change what had happened that day.

Colin was my big brother, my protector, my knight, my best friend, and my world. I lost my security when I lost him. I was so broken that it frightened me. I fought hard to hide the tears and bury the pain. It left me feeling like an empty shell in a life without emotion. It was the only way I knew how to move forward so that I could clear his name.

I pushed through my life for my brother because deep down I knew it was what he would want. Colin was proud that I was going to be a fighter pilot. He was my biggest supporter, my biggest fan, and, even though I felt so alone without him, I wasn’t going to let him down. Not again.

The drive home was a blur. I threw my bags on the floor, went to my room, and changed. I needed to run. Whose idea had it been to relive the scenario? My commander? T-Rex? Locke? Damn, maybe I really knew nothing about him after all. Shoes laced and about to burst, I jogged down my stairs off the back deck and toward the shoreline.

The salty air from the water stung as I breathed. The voice in the simulator, warning of impending doom, echoed in my mind. I pounded my feet harder against the ground trying to shake the panic, the fear, the feeling of coldness that lingered in my veins. Was that how Colin felt? Did he know he was about to die? Was he frightened? Did it hurt?

I fell to my knees at the water’s edge panting. I picked up a handful of sand and tossed it into the ocean. Flying was our dream—together. It would never happen now.

My throat burned.

“We said we’d do this together,” I shouted, choking back a sob. “We said we’d do it together.” I whispered, my bottom lip trembling.

Something moved in the water and startled me. I stood up to get a better look, brushing the sand from my hands. It was probably just a dolphin. My heart raced as the sea creature broke through the water. It was a shark. A shark with blond hair, iced-blue eyes, and six-pack abs. A shark named Locke.

The water sparkled across his tan chiseled abs and he dragged his hand threw his thick blond hair. A familiar storm of rage, desire, and disgust brewed inside. I bit my lip and turned back to the house.

“Tinklee!” he called out.

I picked up my pace, hurrying up the stairs and inside. Why did he have to make me feel like this? Like I wanted to kiss him then punch him. It pissed me off that this was the reality of my life. The truth was simple—reality sucked ass.