Ride the Thunder

Her gaze snapped from the doors to him.

Wearing his beaten up, old leather bombardier jacket, a white scarf around his neck to prevent chafing from his dark green, one-piece fight uniform, Nolan stood with his hands relaxed on his hips. He gave her a slight smile.

She had gray eyes. Soft, warm, rabbit-fur gray. Yet there was something of the eagle in the way she looked up at him. Her eyes thawed and widened slightly as his own gaze took in her dusty jeans, which showed her long, slender legs. She was also wearing leather hiking boots, and a dark blue knapsack on her back.

“Why…yes, I’m looking for the Logistics building.” She gestured toward the building behind him and tried to catch her breath. “I know this is Ops. I was hoping—”

“Over there,” Nolan said brusquely, lifting his hand and pointing. “That three-story, dark green building up on the hill. That’s Logistics.”

She was breathing hard, as if she’d been running. From the knees down, her jeans were very dusty, and as he looked more closely, Nolan saw beads of perspiration on her furrowed brow. Several tendrils of that thick, bluish-black hair stuck to her temples. Where had she come from? Why had she been running like that? And why was she so dusty? Nolan had plenty of questions about this compelling stranger.

He watched as she twisted to look where he was pointing. Her hair once again swung gently, like a black cap, about her shoulders. She was attractive and arresting; not a raving beauty, but that didn’t matter. Nolan liked her face, especially her alert, large gray eyes.

“Phew. Great. Thanks…” And she turned on her heel and began to trot back toward the hill.

“Hi, my name is…and what’s yours?” Nolan murmured wryly to himself, unsure whether to be upset with her rude departure or not. Scratching his head, he grinned slightly. “I guess she’s in a helluva hurry, Nolan. Come on, son, you have other fish to fry…like rustlin’ up a new copilot….” And he headed up the concrete steps of Ops to do battle with the OOD. If only the officer could find him a copilot!

Still, as he reached the top, the chill of the early-evening air making him shiver slightly, Nolan smiled to himself. Who the hell was that woman? Not that he should be interested. Still, he liked her high cheekbones and those soft gray eyes of hers. He wondered what her name was, then decided that his musing had no place on his roster for the day. He was a pilot in search of a partner. Nothing else could matter at the moment.

January 7: 1615

“You need me!”

Morgan Trayhern halted instantly as the woman’s strident cry rang throughout the passageway where he’d been walking. Scowling, he turned around, a sheaf of papers in his hand. At the other end of the hall, where two marine guards were posted, a tall, slim woman stood. Her hair, an ebony color with blue highlights, hung around her proud shoulders. Everything about her shouted patrician, from her oval face to her fine, thin Roman nose, high cheekbones and narrowed gray eyes. The look on her face was one of pure frustration as she stood, her hands set defiantly on her hips, confronting the tense sentries. The OOD, Lieutenant Ted Monroe, stood behind the two sentries. He was a shavetail lieutenant, having just recently joined the corps. His square face was as purple as a plum and his large hands were set arrogantly on his own hips. The two guards had their rifles up across their chests, as if warning the woman not to come a step closer, Morgan noted.

The air seemed to snap and shiver with tension. The whole base was immersed in the earthquake disaster planning, in the wake of the 8.9 quake that had hit the Los Angeles basin area a week ago. Everyone was in a state of high stress, including, obviously, the three marines.

Frowning, Morgan looked closely at the woman, and decided she looked familiar. Turning, he headed back to where the confrontation was taking place. As he neared the standoff, his lips tugged into a grin.

“Rhona McGregor!” he thundered, his face breaking into an effusive smile. Morgan stopped beside the flustered young OOD officer. “Ted, this is an old friend of mine. Relax. Let her pass. She’s one of us, okay?”

Immediately contrite, the officer blinked and then barked at his two tense sentries, “At ease!”

Rhona sighed and stared across the line of demarcation at Morgan. “I never expected to find you here, Morgan.” She thrust out her long, thin hand in his direction, then smiled kindly at the embarrassed officer and sentries, who stepped aside.

Gripping her hand, Morgan said, “How are you, Rhona? And what on earth are you doing here? Last time Laura and I saw you was at your cousin, Paige Black’s, wedding to Thane Hamilton in Arizona.”

The warmth and firm strength of Morgan’s hand made her travails of the last two days worth it. “Yes, that’s right.” She smiled briefly. “I was lucky to be able to wrangle some leave from the navy to be there for my cousin’s wedding. Speaking of family, how’s Laura?”

Grimacing, Morgan released Rhona’s hand. He looked down the passageway milling with people. “She’s here with me. Let’s take a minute and chat. My makeshift office is right over here.” He flashed Rhona a smile. “It’s mine temporarily—for the duration of this disaster relief phase we’re in.”

Following him into the small cubicle, Rhona sighed. She saw a pitcher of ice water and some glasses on a walnut sideboard. “Mind if I help myself? I’m a little footsore and thirsty.”

“No, go ahead,” Morgan murmured as he shut the door. Looking her up and down, he was struck by how long and lean she was. Though her mother was Navajo, Rhona looked decidedly more white than Native American, despite her dark hair and high cheekbones. Maybe she took after her dad, a doctor on the res in Arizona, Morgan mused. With a name like McGregor he must be of Scottish extraction. Thoughtfully, Morgan noted her dusty jeans, nicked and scarred hiking boots, and beat-up blue knapsack that had U.S. Navy written on the back in gold letters.

Once the cool water sated her thirst, Rhona set the glass down on the sideboard and turned back to the desk where Morgan was sitting. He was frowning at some reports in his hand. Taking a chair, she pulled it to the center of the room, in front of his desk.

“A lot has happened since I saw you and Laura last. For one thing, I resigned my navy commission six months ago.”

“What?” Morgan lifted his head and devoted all his attention to the young woman before him. He liked her solid confidence and steadiness. But then, she was a trained combat helicopter pilot and needed that kind of demeanor.

Shrugging, Rhona muttered, “I got tired of knocking elbows with the Neanderthal guys of my squadron, Morgan. It was pure sexual harassment, and I wasn’t into giving my power and time away to them or the navy anymore. The higher-ups in my squadron were still lookin’ the other way even after Tailhook. I tried to get a transfer to another helo squadron, where half the pilots are women and I’d have some camaraderie, but it was a no go.”

“I see,” he said sadly. “They’ve lost a helluva good pilot.”

“Thanks,” Rhona said. She brightened. “But life goes on, doesn’t it? You know, since I’m part Navajo, I have a strong environmental ethic in me. So I decided to start my own crop-dusting business here in Southern California. I got a loan to buy a helicopter, and the rest is history. The big difference is that I’m not using damaging pesticides.” She grinned. “I did some research and found out neem oil, from a tree in India, is a natural pesticide. So I spray crops with it.”

“Fascinating. Does it work as well as a commercial pesticide?”

“Yep. And it’s environmentally safe for all concerned. Keeps the pests off the plants, it’s biodegradable, plus safe for Mom Earth.” Rhona opened her hands. “I had the best of all worlds going for me until this earthquake hit.”

“Didn’t we all,” Morgan murmured. He frowned. “You look worn-out. What have you been doing? Walking? There’re no highways left to drive on.”

“No kidding. I live over in Bonsall, which is about twenty miles from Camp Reed. When the quake hit, there wasn’t much I could do where I was. I figured that, since I’m very recently out of the navy, and am still qualified to fly a military helicopter, you might need my services here at the base.” Leaning forward, her voice filled with excitement, she said, “Morgan, I’ve come to volunteer to help fly in supplies. I know that Camp Reed is probably the only base up and running in the Los Angeles basin right now.”

“You’re right about that. We’re it. No land vehicles can get anywhere near the epicenter of the quake, which is located in south L.A. Right now, we’re limited to helicopters ferrying food, water and medicine, or transporting those who need surgery to this hospital. We’ve got C-141 Starlifters bringing everything we need in to this airport, and taking some of the injured out to a hospital in Seattle.”

“Yes, I saw a couple of Starlifters being unloaded on the apron,” Rhona murmured. “This airport is overwhelmed with traffic, both rotocraft and fixed wing.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I figured the pilots stationed here are about worn-out and you could use some fresh replacements. I’m volunteering to do that.” Rhona leaned forward, her voice low with concern. “I’m qualified to fly the UH-1N Huey, and the CH-46E Sea Knight, Morgan. I see they have both models down at the airport. Are you in a position here at the base to get me slotted as a relief pilot in either of them? I’ll go wherever you need me. I’d use my own chopper but it has been retrofitted for crop dusting. I left it tethered at my airport.” She smiled a little. “A pilot is a pilot, right?”

Morgan felt a wave of warmth move through him. How like Rhona to volunteer. She was a good, strong woman who had an enduring work ethic and sense of community. “I think your Navajo blood is showing,” he stated in a husky tone. “This community is reeling from this earthquake and you’re pitching in. You could have stayed in Bonsall and fought for your own survival.”

Shrugging, Rhona grinned. “Not me. I like being where the action is, Morgan. You know that. I might be a civilian now, but you can’t take the military out of my blood.” She saw Morgan’s blue eyes gleam approvingly. He picked up his pen and studied her thoughtfully.

“Sure you wouldn’t like to close up your crop-dusting business and come work for me? I can use someone with your patriotism and moxie.”

Laughing, Rhona shook her head. “Nah. Thanks, though, Morgan. I love to fly. I love Mom Earth. Being a crop duster and helping out with the food we put in our mouths makes me feel good. I guess I’m more Indian than I ever thought.”

“Just because you don’t live on the res doesn’t lessen your ties with your people,” he said.

“That’s true,” Rhona murmured. “My parents supported my decision to leave the navy. I had many talks with both of them. My mother, who is full blood, thought turning my energies and focus toward helping the earth was a far better use of my time.” Rhona grinned.

Rummaging through a pile of papers teetering on his crowded desk, Morgan said, “Your mother’s right. It’s the navy’s loss, though…. I’ve got the flight schedules here. Let me look through them.” He scowled and ran his index finger down the pilot roster. “Ah…here we go. Lieutenant Nolan Galway just lost his copilot to a bad case of food poisoning….” Morgan lifted his head. “With no electricity except here on base, we’re learning that the box lunches we’re making in the chow hall need better refrigeration. We had four pilots go down. Nolan’s copilot was just taken out by Starlifter to Seattle. He had a dangerous kind of food poisoning. If it’s not nailed with antibiotics, it could stop his kidneys from functioning.”

Shaking her head, Rhona murmured, “There’re all kinds of things out there that can bite us in the butt if we can’t keep foodstuffs properly refrigerated.” She patted her well-worn navy knapsack. “I walked twenty miles today and ate nothing but some granola bars. They’re a safe bet because they don’t need refrigeration.”

“Wise woman,” Morgan replied. “Yeah, we’re overwhelmed here. Our refrigeration units are crammed, and with more planes and pilots coming and going, and civilians pouring into the base for food, water and medicine, we’re running into food poisoning more and more.”

“So, you want me to partner up with Lieutenant Galway? Stand in as his copilot and work his flight schedule?”

“Yes, I do.” Morgan picked up the phone. “Let me contact Ops and get you officially on the roster.”

“I’ve got proof of my flight proficiency and training right here if you want to look at them.” She patted her knapsack, which rested on her lap.

Shaking his head, Morgan punched in the number for the flight desk officer at Ops. “Not necessary. I know you’re qualified, Rhona.”