No Quarter Given. Lindsay McKenna
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if she was flying adequately, Dana would be in trouble. And it would be so easy for him to do—his word against hers. He was an 03, a first lieutenant, while she was an 01, an ensign, the bottom rung on the officers’ ladder. No one would take her word for anything. And if she cried prejudice or sexual discrimination, they’d laugh her out of school.
Grimly Dana swung into the bookstore and pulled a list from the thigh pocket of her flight suit. Griff seemed very sure she wouldn’t make the grade. Well, she would do everything in her power to fly—and fly well. Still, Dana couldn’t erase the memory of Griff’s soft gray eyes filled with concern. If she could forget that episode, she could easily bring up her defenses and weather his hatred of her. Maybe Molly or Maggie would have some sage advice; both of them seemed to have more understanding of men than Dana did. After all, her one relationship had been built on lies and was a proven disaster.
* * *
“So,” Dana ended tiredly, “that’s the whole story on Turcotte.”
Maggie leaned back in the cushioned, bamboo chair, putting her feet up on the small stool. “You can tell you don’t have any Irish blood in you to give you some luck.”
“Worse, she saw his good side,” added Molly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Maggie’s chair.
Dana studied Molly. Her blond hair was shoulder length, the ends softly curling around her oval features. Molly had always worn her heart on her sleeve and was tremendously sensitive to others. Dana held her understanding gaze. “That’s the worst part of this. If I hadn’t seen Griff in action at the airport, I could handle how he sees me now.”
“Jekyll and Hyde,” Maggie muttered defiantly, brushing some auburn strands off her brow. “He obviously hates women.”
“I don’t think so,” Molly objected. “He didn’t treat Dana like that at the airport.”
“No, he was solicitous and—” Dana chewed on her lower lip for a moment, almost unable to say the word.
“What?” Molly prodded.
“Gentle.”
Maggie smiled. “There are a few men who have that quality, Dana. I know you don’t believe it, but there are.”
“That’s why I need your advice. You’ve both had positive relationships with men.” Maggie’s father adored her and his three other daughters. He was a warm, caring man, as Dana had discovered firsthand on a trip home with Maggie one time. Molly’s father was cooler and more aloof, favoring Scott, his son, over her. Nevertheless, Molly’s father was a vast improvement over Frank Coulter, as far as Dana was concerned.
Dressed in comfortable jeans and a lavender tank top, Maggie balanced a book on aeronautics on her lap, and held a glass of lemonade in one hand. It was six in the evening—their second evening together at the new apartment. “They aren’t all ogres,” Maggie said. “If the Turk was nice at the airport and a bastard at base, something isn’t jibing.”
“I think he hates all women,” Dana muttered.
“No,” Molly protested. “Maybe just women in the military. You know: the same old male prejudice about us bringing down their last bastion or some such crock.”
“That’s another thing,” Maggie added. “Why didn’t he send you to sick bay to get a chit until your eye heals properly?”
“Because he wants me to wash out fast.” Dana touched her eye gingerly. Molly had made up a new batch of her granny’s recipe and it still coated the injury, somewhat reducing the swelling.
“After all,” Molly said thoughtfully, “the guy didn’t have to get involved with that thief….”
Dana gave Molly a sour look. ”You be his student, then.”
Grinning, Molly stood and leaned over Dana, putting her arm around her. “Maybe, with time, Turcotte will soften up about you. We know you have what it takes to get your wings. Look at your academy record!”
“You’re such an idealist,” Maggie drawled. “My mother would swear you were bucking for sainthood.”
With a laugh, Molly hugged and released Dana. “I know, but you gals tolerate me anyway.”
“Well,” Dana said glumly, giving her best friends a warm look, “at least you two have decent instructors.”
Maggie nodded. “Let’s take this one day at a time with Turcotte. I think the first thing you ought to do is get over to the doctor and have him evaluate whether you’re up to a first flight or not with that eye.”
It was sound advice. Dana knew she’d need every advantage, and her eyesight was precious. “I’ll do it tomorrow morning before I report to the ready room. I’m not going to let Griff sandbag me.”
“Good girl!” Maggie crowed. “Fight back! It’s the only thing Turcotte understands or respects.“
Chapter Three
Griff was in his office the next morning at 0600. His conscience had kept him awake most of the night. Yeoman Johnson had wisely made coffee early when he saw Griff stalk into the building, and had it on Griff’s desk ten minutes later. After taking a gulp of the scalding hot brew, Griff ordered Johnson to call sick bay.
“You want to talk to Dr. Collins?”
Griff refused to look up from his paperwork. Collins was the flight surgeon. “Yes.”
“To look at Ensign Coulter’s eye?”
Frowning, Griff nodded. It was amazing how Johnson seemed able to read his mind. “When Coulter arrives at the station, have her report to Dr. Collins. Tell him I want to know whether she can be put on flight status.”
“Yes, sir.”
Griff looked up at the smile he could swear he heard in Johnson’s voice. The yeoman had already turned and was heading out the door. At least his conscience had stopped needling him, Griff thought. Collins would probably put Dana on flight waivers for at least three or four days. Her black eye was serious, and he knew it would interfere with her flying.
Angry at himself, he slammed the pen down on the papers and glared around his small office. Dana. Why couldn’t he think of her as Coulter? Last names were generic, less intimate. She was a woman. And women meant nothing but trouble in his book. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to wind up like Toby—dying in the rear seat of a cockpit because a woman screwed up on a flight. No way.
* * *
Dana couldn’t contain her surprise when the corps Wave at the dispensary picked up an order with her name already on it.
“Lieutenant Turcotte has ordered you to see Dr. Collins, the flight surgeon. He has concern that your left eye will interfere with your ability to fly, ma’am.”
Nodding, Dana took a seat in the crowded dispensary, waiting her turn. So Griff had ordered her to see Collins. As she sat, hands clasped in her lap, she wrestled with her feelings. Why hadn’t he sent her over here yesterday? With a sigh, Dana realized that even if Griff had an impersonal hatred of her because she was a woman, he had a streak of decency, too. Another part of her worried that being put on flight waivers upon her arrival at Whiting might look bad on her record.
Looking around, she studied the other waiting student pilots. They all looked frightened. Some moved around nervously, crossing and uncrossing their legs. Others wiped sweat from their faces. Others sat stoically, their eyes dark with fear. Fear, Dana wondered, of what? Flying? Possibly failing? Maggie had told her last night that the big illness going around Whiting Field was gastroenteritis— a stomachache. She’d heard from a tenth-week student that the dispensary was always filled to capacity early in the morning with students who were afraid to face their instructors or a grueling flight test.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen to her, Dana decided.