“The Danger Zone”
Nathan
Well, shit. The thought behind this festive welcome from the Scorpions was certainly appreciated, but it felt every bit the meat market it was. I hadn’t been to a flight suit party since my UPT days, and my attendance then was probably under duress. The Stingers were kicking it old school with this party, I thought, glancing around the spacious bar and sipping a Sam Adams. If I had one guess, I’d say Bibi and her band of merry, matchmaking wives had dreamed this up to help hook up the new bachelor with some soft, amenable companionship. Did people find lifelong happiness at the O’Club? Actually, I knew for a fact that they did, as formulaic as it sounded. I had known many couples—happy ones—who’d met at the Club or some other pilot party. Didn’t matter, I reminded myself. That chance for domestic bliss was in my rearview mirror. It was much safer to focus on my responsibilities to the Scorpions and the Air Force. I knew my long suits and how to play to those strengths. I was pretty confident in my abilities to get this floundering group back on track, but it would take every ounce of focus I could muster.
Coach, Bibi, Deliverance, and Miles held down one end of the bar, so I approached and pulled up a barstool. “Happy.” Bibi stood and held out a fresh Sam Adams as I brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Welcome again.”
Deliverance relaxed his arms wide across the bar and smiled. “How did the move-in treat you, boss? I always hate moving day.”
I had to laugh a little. “Well, it had its unexpected aspects, but no grievous damage or priceless relics gone missing, if that’s what you mean. I did get the unanticipated pleasure of accompanying the Comm Squadron‘s commander’s kindergartener to the Emergency Department for stitches.”
Miles took a long drink of her beer and remarked, “Must be a story there.”
“Pretty straightforward, really,” I replied. “Rick had a quick TDY, and Michelle just had a baby. So when Adam bit it on his skateboard, I volunteered for transport duty. He did just fine and was back home—full of ice cream—before his dad even made it home for dinner. Precocious kid and very entertaining; I didn’t mind at all being the one to help out.”
Bibi leaned forward. “Did you guys end up at TMC?” I nodded affirmatively. “That’s where I work, the best hospital in the city.” She smiled, obviously proud. “I know they took good care of him there, and not only because it’s my home hospital.” She paused for a moment. “The Emergency Department crew there is top-notch. They also happen to be a bunch of USDA Prime hotties.”
Deliverance was in a full guffaw by the time Bibi finished, and everyone was smiling. “No, no, you guys.” Bibi threw her hands out, palms up, and defended herself. “It’s a very professional bunch working in a very busy emergency department.” I listened as she talked and could think about only one of the group she described, the beautiful and unassuming Camille. I tried to squelch the thought, but Camille’s silky hair and endlessly deep blue eyes invaded my consciousness, calling to me again and again. “Miles, have you met Bashful’s sister,? She works there.”
Miles nodded affirmatively. “I met her over the holidays at the children’s Christmas party. She’s a knockout, that one. Bashful taxied the plane and played Santa, so Vivvie wanted to join in the fun.”
The Christmas party was a favorite whether you had children or not. One of the bachelors, who wouldn’t have children to attend to and photograph, was drafted to dress as Santa and taxi an A-10 into a safe area near the squadron building. He would then open a luggage pod below, revealing presents for all the children. It was one of the moments every flying squadron, no matter what airplane they flew, looked forward to all year.
“Well…” Bibi narrowed her eyes and grinned. “I can neither confirm nor deny I overheard Bashful mention that Vivvie and the gang would be in evidence at the party tonight.” My heart pounded at the news, but I made an effort to school my reaction. “Their schedules don’t normally allow them to travel in a pack,” Bibi continued, “so this should be a gas. I love fun chicks.”
Coach pulled her to his side with an arm curled around her waist and settled an affectionate look on his wife. “Stop being such a matchmaking busybody, Bibi. You’re utterly transparent.”
“So what if I am?” Bibi ignored his mild reproof and signaled the bartender as she smoothly swiped her husband’s flight cap from his pocket and tossed it on the bar.
The bartender grinned and reached for the large brass bell that hung from the corner of every pilot bar the world over. He rang it once, crisp and loud, and bellowed, “Hat on the bar. That’s a round.” Coach groaned and grabbed Bibi, administering swift punishment in the form of a swat to her bottom. She howled and worked to extricate herself as most of the bar’s population put down pool cues and broke off conversations to meander toward us and collect their free drink. Hands were extended to shake Coach’s and thank him for his involuntary generosity. He reached for his wallet and passed his club card to the busy barkeep.
It was a good-natured group, relaxed and welcoming. It was hard to see a squadron of good people who had gotten so far off track and had to endure the harshest consequence. I hoped for all of our sakes that I was the right medicine for this group. I had no desire to let them—or myself—down.
The volume level of the conversation and music increased steadily. Seger serenaded loudly about the Hollywood nights, and the bar filled, a little at a time. A few ladies had begun to arrive, clad in flight suits, in pairs or small groups. They fiddled with their zippers and Velcro and accepted cold beverages from the smiling men who approached and pointed out matching name tags. Conversation hummed and all the familiar boy-meets-girl rituals played out around me. I turned to Miles. “So, what about you, Miles? Are there men planted in the group to vie for your affection? This whole thing is such a relic of yesteryear.”
She smiled and leaned in a little closer. “I don’t have any desire to participate in the fracas, Happy. Everything is fine as is, and I certainly don’t need a man. Bibi knows how I feel, and she’s too fine a person to put anyone’s butt in a sling over something socially. I encouraged her to kick it old school tonight.”
Good to know. The evolution of women’s military roles had resulted in the addition of some of the finest pilots I’d ever had the pleasure to fly with. But the ground moving under us kept a person on their toes. It seemed so strange to think about a time past when…
Suddenly all the air was sucked from my lungs. The room went quiet, and I could hear only a loud buzz in my ears as a group of five laughing women moved through the door and toward the bar. One radiant face stood out; and they all teased her loudly, repeatedly adjusting the zipper that closed the front of her flight suit and exposing a bit more creamy flesh than she apparently wanted. Her eyes flashed at her friends, and she adjusted the zipper once more; then she turned abruptly and led the group toward the bar. They stopped nearby, and I tried not to look the part of the desperate eavesdropper I actually was.
“Dammit, Luckie, you diabolical tramp. Leave my zipper alone,” a smiling Camille admonished her gorgeous friend. “I have no desire to give every male here an eyeful of boob. It’s in doubtful taste, even under the circumstances. Let’s grab a beer and find a pool table.” They joked briefly with the bartender, placing their orders, and involved themselves in quiet conversation, interspersed with raucous laughter. I struggled, craning my neck to see the name tag on Camille’s flight suit, all while attempting to be completely invisible to her group. I’d probably have passed entirely on placing my other hastily laundered bag in the designated closet, but Coach notified me that Bibi insisted on wholehearted participation. She would be taking roll in the closet before the proceedings got kicked off, he advised. I certainly didn’t need to find myself in Bellamy Bennett’s ill graces.
Deliverance loped into my space. “Any developments in the mating game, Happy?” He signaled the bartender for another round as I shook my head and smiled. “I’ve heard about these parties, but they didn’t have any when I was in UPT. You need to be my wingman, boss. I don’t want to fall victim to some man-eater looking to devour an innocent Southern boy such as myself.” He added a generous helping of his native drawl for effect.
As he lifted the fresh beer to his lips, Camille’s beautiful friend turned suddenly and caught Deliverance’s eyes with her own. He paused, the bottle millimeters from his mouth, and his gaze dropped momentarily to her chest where he took in his name tag.
“Well, hello, Mr. Foster,” she intoned, moving closer to his face and slowly pushing away the bottle that still hovered there with her own. The air was heavy and silent as we all waited for her next move. This would be fun.
“Seems destiny has dictated this encounter, so you may have to actually meet the man-eater you fear so deeply.” She slowly blinked her surprising caramel eyes, leaned still closer until her whisper could be heard by only those nearby, and favored him with a small smile. “But it may not be as frightening as you’ve been led to believe.”
None of our small group moved or breathed. It took a moment, but D recovered, a dazzling smile slowly lighting his face and one eyebrow lifting as he took in the stunning woman wearing his flight suit. He took a long drink of his beer, throat working, and continued to study her. She was quite tall, probably five ten, and stunning with close-cropped dark hair and flawless, mahogany skin. With a gown rather than a khaki flight suit, she’d have been right at home on the red carpet.
“I feel like I must be dreaming; I’ve never seen such a breathtaking creature as you are. In fact, I’m certain I’ve been premature in expressing my need for a wingman, Happy.” He spoke to me, but his eyes never left hers. He extended his hand. “I’m Davis Foster, but my Southern birthright and the accompanying accent landed me a call sign of Deliverance. Of course”—he lightly brushed his lips across the hand she offered—”you may call me anything you like, lovely lady.”
She stepped toward him. “My pleasure, Captain Foster.” She obviously knew enough to interpret rank from the insignia sewn on the shoulder of his flight suit. “I’m Lucinda Page, but my friends call me Luckie. Perhaps this evening we’re both lucky.” She smiled briefly at him and sipped her drink.
His eyes never wavered, but he gestured toward me. “Allow me to introduce the newest Scorpion, Lieutenant Colonel Nathan ‘Happy’ Morgan.”
I extended my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Luckie. Please call me Nate.”
Introductions proceeded amicably, but my eyes were glued to only one person. Her head remained lowered until Luckie called her name. “And this is our fearless leader, at least at work,” she teased. “Camille Sullivan.” Those deep blue eyes lifted slowly and locked on mine. A smooth curtain of wavy blond hair tumbled over both shoulders, falling past the curve of her lush breasts. I tried to keep my breathing steady; I’d never seen anyone so exquisite.
I swallowed once again and extended my hand. “Camille and I have already met.” I spoke to the entire group, but my eyes never moved from her face. “Adam had the good fortune to draw Camille in the nurse lottery when he needed stitches yesterday. His luck is much better than his skateboarding skills.” She smiled shyly at me. “On the way home, he asked me if I thought she was pretty. I told him I thought she looked like an angel.”
Another pregnant pause settled on the group, and I realized I was still holding Camille’s hand in mine. I felt as if something tangible passed between us, though neither of us spoke. She blinked quickly and began to withdraw her hand. As I reluctantly let her go, my eyes dropped to the left breast pocket of the flight suit she wore and read the name tag—
MORGAN.