On Wings of Passion (11 page)

“The problem with this little oven,” he complained, “is that it only has one temperature, so you have to watch ’em real close.”

“Or they burn,” Nav teased. Where are my Fritos?”

“You mushrooms are really noisy today,” Guns observed. “Of course, it isn’t every day we get a good-lookin’ lady aboard, either.”

Erin felt a blush staining her cheeks. All too soon the banter ended. The Buff quickly covered the north-to-south expanse of the United States. Ty ordered her to strap in with full gear because they would soon be going low level to act as decoys out in the Gulf. Out the cockpit window she could see the blue ocean coming into view. She strapped into the IP seat and tensed as the intercom talk picked up between Nav, Radar and the pilots.

The Buff had been flying at high altitude, but it descended quickly under Ty’s guidance. By the time they hit the marshlands ten miles inland from the Gulf, they were skimming along at fifteen hundred feet. Radiant heat from the sun poured into the cabin, making everyone uncomfortably warm. The Buff jounced and trembled as it encountered air pockets. Sweat began to trickle down Erin’s body. She dropped the dark green visor over her eyes to keep out the blinding sunlight and watched in silent fascination as the video screens in front of them showed not only the elevation of the land they were skimming over, but also a clear picture of the terrain ahead.

Suddenly, Erin felt transported into another realm, another dimension. She felt as if they were in a genuine combat situation. The men spoke in clipped voices, and the Buff bucked as it left the coast of Florida, heading over the sea leg of the journey. Ty took the bomber down to one thousand feet and flew a large triangular pattern. Suddenly Guns shouted, “I see him! Five miles out off our tail.”

Ty wrenched the yoke to the left, and the Buff sluggishly heeded his order. They banked, the ocean coming closer. He brought the Buff back on an even keel for only a moment before banking again, this time to starboard board. The co held the air map in his lap, calling off coordinates. The intercom became jammed with calls, orders and commands. Ty nosed the Buff down as they roared over the sandy coast, aiming for the marshes. They were now skimming along at five hundred feet. Erin could see every shanty, every wire on the electrical transmission towers, and every bird that was startled out of its nest as they roared overhead. The heat in the cabin rose even higher, and she felt as if she were on the verge of suffocating.

“They got us,” Co said.

“No!” Guns returned sharply. “No way! I had that bogey four miles out.”

“They’re saying they nailed us,” Co repeated.

“Those turkeys have been known to lie, too,” he shot back, irritated.

“Don’t worry, Guns,” Ty soothed, his voice grim. “Next time we’ll know what to expect and give them a run for their money. Everybody hang on to their stations.”

Erin’s heart beat in unison with the throbbing jet engines as Ty brought the Buff around in a wide circle, heading back toward the Gulf. There was a heightened tension palpable in the Buff, a current that lived and breathed through each crewman. The pilots talked in terse tones, their voices filled with new determination.

The second time Ty tested the limits of what he could do with the B-52 to avoid being hit. The fighters lay about five miles off the coast, trying to electronically score missile hits. This time the Buff flew away without a single hit being scored against it.

“I think we just thumbed our nose at them,” Radar drawled.

Erin laughed as the entire crew broke into a cheer. The co gave Ty a thumbs-up signal, as if to say, “Well done.”

“So much for the fighter jocks thinking we’re easy targets,” Co chortled.

“We did well,” Ty commended everyone. “Let’s get back to work. We’ve got more low-level flying to do.”

Erin raised her brows. “More?” she asked, surprised.

“We don’t just hang around in the sky for ten hours wasting gas,” Ty told her. “We’ll be doing several more bombing runs, both high and low, before we return to Sawyer. Sit back and relax, darlin’.”

From the Gulf they headed northeast across Georgia. At a prearranged coordinate, Ty banked the Buff to the left toward Tennessee. When they had obtained high altitude once again, the entire crew seemed to give a collective sigh of relief. Guns busily heated coffee, which he had carried aboard in a five-gallon dispenser. Erin unstrapped herself and distributed the coffee to the pilots, then to the men on the lower deck.

Ray gave her a broad grin and a thumbs-up when she arrived at the lower deck. He and John were wearing their helmets. Erin pressed the intercom button. “Is this why both you guys have thinning hair?”

John grinned. “Because we wear these helmets all the time?”

She nodded. “Don’t they get awfully heavy?”

“Nah,” came the EWO’s voice over the intercom. “It keeps their swelled heads in line.”

The entire crew broke into snickers over the intercom and Ray turned red. Erin couldn’t help laughing, too. She noticed that it was quite a bit rougher down on this deck. “Don’t you get sick down here? It’s so dark and cramped. How do you take it?”

“Easy,” Guns replied merrily on the intercom. “Mushrooms love it!”

“Stuff it, Guns,” Nav returned.

“Watch it. I got another batch of chocolate chip cookies comin’ up. Hey, I even got a frozen macaroni-and-cheese dinner. Anyone want to trade their box lunch for it?”

The intercom was silent. Erin glanced at Ray. “Where did he get a frozen macaroni dinner?”

“From home. Often when we’re flying long missions we bring TV dinners aboard and cook them in the convection oven.”

“With my help as chef,” Guns reminded them tartly.

Ray hit the intercom. “Yeah. Your dainty, little fingers just burned the hell out of the cookies. Need we say more about why there aren’t going to be any takers on that macaroni dinner?”

“Stuff it, Nav,” Guns retorted crisply.

Again the Buff encountered a few rough up-and-down drafts, and Erin gripped the ladder and braced herself against the bolted chair by the radar. “How on earth does the Buff take this kind of beating?” she asked.

Guns was the first to answer. “Look at it this way, Erin. We take them up and do our best to tear them apart. Then we give them back to the Operational Maintenance Squadron, or OMS, to repair.”

“Yeah,” the EWO added. “The real force behind us is the ground crews. They can repair ninety percent of the problems on a Buff right at Sawyer, which is really something. We’ve got eleven hundred people working on the ground to keep us in the air.”

“And we’ve got the best OMS around,” Ty added. “I once saw a hole the size of a gallon milk jug torn in a Buff’s main wing spar. Maintenance cut out the section and riveted another piece of metal in its place. They’re something else.”

“Hey, Erin,” the co spoke up, “do you know that engine number eight was replaced a few hours before we took off?”

Her heart gave a thump of surprise and sudden anxiety. “They replaced an
engine?
” she asked meekly.

Ty laughed. “Don’t be frightened. It’s done all the time. Part of OMS’s job is to take oil samples from each of the eight engines after every mission. They run the oil through a spectrum analyzer to test for metals or other foreign substances. In the case of engine eight, a large accumulation of titanium registered, which meant a bearing was going. So they took out the engine and put in a replacement.”

“That’s impressive,” Erin murmured. She was beginning to understand the tremendous effort it took to keep the SAC bombers in the air.

“The colonel we have at Maintenance is the best in SAC,” Ty said. “His people love him, and they usually end up working six days a week. They work five days for the air force and the sixth for him. He inspires that kind of loyalty.”

“We try our damnedest to wreck ’em and he fixes ’em,” Guns added. “What can we say, Erin? We’ve got the best for the best!”

She gave Guns a perplexed look. “I don’t see you trying to tear them up.”

“As I’ve said, the Buffs are fifty-three years old,” Ty told her. “These missions put a lot of strain on them. They’re such old planes that often something does break or go wrong.”

She looked at him quizzically. “But that’s dangerous.”

“Exactly. We all try our best to keep the Buff safe to fly, but we need the B-1 bomber as a replacement, if for nothing else at least so that it won’t fall apart in the air.”

Erin considered his comments. No other bomber in history had served so long in the front lines of defense for the U.S. The Buff was an old plane in many ways, and she could understand the crew’s concern about its airworthiness.

The chatter diminished as Ty brought the heavy bomber to a higher altitude after the last low-level run. Erin climbed back up to the main cabin and strapped into the IP seat.

She heard another radio transmission and she pressed the headset against her ears, trying to pick up the nearly unintelligible jargon. Not succeeding, she watched the pilots. The co’s face immediately showed disappointment. Ty twisted around. “You hear that?”

She shook her head. “No. What’s wrong?”

“That was Sawyer. There’s a blizzard in full swing back at the base. With three-quarters-of-a-mile visibility, a three-hundred-foot ceiling and winds of forty-to-fifty knots.” He grimaced. “We aren’t going home. They’re ordering us to divert to a southern base. Keep your ears open. You might pick up some interesting talk.” He turned and asked the co to pull out maps showing various air bases in the South.

There was a lot of grumbling among the crew. After a long flight, they wanted to go home to their families. The co looked the most disappointed. Guns chortled over the intercom. “Hey, let’s make Barksdale. Man, I love that Louisiana area. Hey, Erin! I know more people down there. We could party all night!”

She turned and grinned. “The way I’m feeling right now, all I want is a hot bath and bed.” Guns shook his head. “Aw, you’re just like the rest of these turkeys—homebodies and party poopers.”

Erin listened intently. The pilots discussed the amount of fuel they had left and just how far they could fly without the situation becoming critical. Ty finally decided to land at Blytheville Air Force Base in Arkansas, which brought a groan of protest from Guns.

“Man, that’s out in the sticks! Know what we call it, Erin? Hooterville! Oh, well.” He sighed. “I know a great little place off base where we can get the best barbecued pork sandwiches in the world.”

Erin shook her head, smiling indulgently at his enthusiasm.

“Maybe after we finish mission planning tomorrow, we’ll commandeer a truck and drive over there for lunch. How about it, Ty?”

“We’ll see,” he said, busy up in the cockpit.

The sudden need to divert threw the navigator and pilots into a flurry of intense activity. Getting new headings and weather briefings, and alerting the new air base that they were literally dropping in on them, created heavy radio traffic for the next fifteen minutes. Finally, the cabin quieted down.

“Ty, where will we stay?” Erin asked.

“Probably the bachelor officers’ quarters, unless it’s filled up. If it is, we’ll get a motel off base.”

“And we’ll fly back tomorrow morning?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll have to call Sawyer after we land to find out what’s up.” He gave her a worried look. “Knowing SAC, I bet they’ll put us on a night mission on the way back to Sawyer tomorrow.”

She gasped. “But you just flew today! Don’t you get a rest?”

“SAC doesn’t believe in letting us fly a straight line back to our base, even if we get diverted because of weather. They’ll give us the night to rest up and we’ll start planning for a night flight tomorrow morning. On our way home we’ll probably take in a six-or eight-hour mission.”

Her frustration and disbelief must have shown in her eyes because Ty gave her an understanding smile. “I told you we worked hard. Now you’re going to get a taste of the real thing.”

In contrast to K. I. Sawyer where a blizzard raged, Blytheville was a quiet air base near the Tennessee border.

The crew disembarked without incident. All the equipment that had been stowed aboard had to be removed, as well. Erin pitched in and helped ferry it to the waiting bus. It was dark, but the temperature was in the low sixties, and she found her flight suit bulky and uncomfortable in the warm weather.

She followed the crew to the debriefing room in another building and received stares from several men as she sat down next to Ty. The debriefing was mercifully quick. Then they ambled over to the BOQ, only to find that it was filled to capacity. Thanks to Guns’s resourcefulness, they were able to commandeer a van. Soon they were heading for a motel five miles away.

After checking in, they met in the adjoining restaurant where they drew stares from civilians, since they had brought no clothes and were forced to wear their green flight suits. Ty pulled out a chair and motioned for Erin to sit down next to him. He traded brief smiles with her as he pulled the flight cap off and stuffed it into a zippered pocket.

Erin realized she was famished, and everyone else’s order reflected the same degree of hunger.

Afterward, over coffee and dessert, the talk centered on her. The co leaned over, his elbows on the table. “Erin, did Ty ever tell you about the B-52 statistics?”

She gave him a wary look, detecting a hint of laughter in his voice. “No. Is this some kind of joke?”

The crew laughed. Nav blushed furiously. “Nah. Not a joke. Go ahead, Co, tell her.”

Erin glanced at Ty, who maintained a poker face. She knew she was being set up now. “Okay,” she said bravely, “tell me.”

Co grinned broadly, his blue eyes dancing with humor. “There are three facts and a conclusion, Erin. First, the Buff has enough aluminum and steel in it to make twenty thousand garbage cans.”

Her eyes widened. “Twenty-thousand!”

He held up his hand. “Second, the Buff contains so much wire and cable that if you laid it end to end, it would stretch a hundred thousand miles.”

“That’s incredible!”

Co nodded sagely. “Third, with eight engines, the Buff has the power of twelve thousand locomotives.” He paused dramatically. “So, we can say the following about the Buff—it flies like twelve thousand locomotives pulling twenty thousand garbage cans on the end of a hundred thousand miles of wire!”

Everyone at the table rocked with laughter. Imagining the ludicrous picture, Erin joined in. “You’re the last person in this crew I’d expect to pull a joke like that!” she finally told Co.

Guns hooted. “Don’t trust any of us, Erin. We’re all crazier than hell!”

Just then Ty excused himself, returning a moment later with an amused expression and a walnut plaque in his hands. Erin gave him a confused look.

“Ordinarily, anyone who flies in a Buff gets a paper certificate to acknowledge the achievement,” he told her. He glanced at his men. “We didn’t want you to forget us so easily. You’ve been special to the flight and we’ve all enjoyed having you.” He pointed to the date. “Guess you’ll have to somehow scratch in another date, since this is turning into a two-day flight.”

Erin was deeply moved as she took the plaque. She glanced at the men, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks,” she whispered. “It’s been special for me, too.”

“Read it,” Co urged.

The blue metal had been engraved with silver to depict a B-52 flying between clouds. Beneath it was her name and the following: “You’ve gotta be tough to fly the heavies!” It marked the date of the flight, the designation of the mission, and the names of all the crew members. She felt close to tears. “It’s beautiful,” she managed, looking at all of them. “Believe me, I’ll never forget this flight, or any of you.”

“Or the burned chocolate chip cookies,” Guns added.

The EWO gave Guns a friendly jab in the ribs. “Yeah, you really singed your tail feathers on that one, turkey.”

Later the group broke up to go to their motel rooms. Ty walked Erin down the hall. She held the plaque against her breast as she slowly drew to a halt in front of her door. Ty looked so handsome, despite the dark shadows under his eyes. “You’re really tired,” she noted with concern.

He leaned against the wall and gave her a lazy smile, folding his arms across his chest. “Comes with the territory, darlin’. I just want you to know that everyone thinks you’ve been a real trouper on this flight. Some of the crew were taking bets that you’d end up like a lot of other passengers.”

She tilted her head, enjoying his closeness, the feeling of intimacy created whenever they were together. “And what happened to them?”

He grinned. “They ended up sleeping a lot. Most of them couldn’t take the hundred-percent oxygen and the fact that the cabin is pressurized for only eight thousand to ten thousand feet. Above that, your blood gets only eighty percent of the oxygen it needs, and you become tired quickly.” He reached out, capturing a lock of hair and placing it behind her ear. His light touch sent a small shiver of pleasure through her. “You must have a good blood count,” he surmised.

“No.” She laughed softly. “It’s that stubborn Irish stock we both come from.”

“Probably.” Ty turned serious. “You know, you almost had to take a commercial flight home tonight.”

“Why?” She was stunned. The thought of leaving Ty and the crew upset her.

“Talk on the subject went up to Eighth Air Force and back down again.”

“What are you saying?”

He roused himself, standing up straight. “Civilians are never allowed on night missions, which is what we’re flying tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, confused.

“They’re dangerous, darlin’. We’re flying at three hundred knots, five hundred feet above rough terrain. We file our flight plan with the FAA, as does a lot of other air traffic. The problem comes from private aircraft, which don’t have to file a flight plan with the FAA. We come roaring in low level over sparsely populated areas, mostly the desert or mountain regions, hoping we don’t run into one of those private planes. Someone at Eighth Air Force okayed your going along. You do have the luck of the Irish.”

Erin stared up at him in shock. “My God! You mean those civilian pilots won’t know we’re there?”