LITMIR.BIZ

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forward, watching the RPM gauges jump higher. The harnessed power throbbed throughout the aircraft. The day was dying with the inky stains of night tainting the dusk. The F-4, its array of red and white blinking lights situated on tail and wing tips, bellowed furiously on the cold desert, demanding to be released. Smiling to himself, Dan could almost feel Chris’s excitement in the rear cockpit. She hadn’t said much, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

      “I’m going to request afterburners upon takeoff,” he informed her. Might as well let her experience the raw, awesome power of the F-4, he thought. He called the tower and received permission. “Let’s tempt the gods,” he said. “There’s an old Air Force myth about flying so high that we’ll anger the mythical gods of the sky. Are you game?” he challenged.

      She grinned, thumbing the intercom button. “Listen, I tempt fate regularly. The sky gods and goddesses are on good terms with me. Let’s go for it.”

      Chris felt him release the brakes. Instantly she was pushed back in the seat, her breath momentarily torn from her by the impact of the aircraft’s power. The F-4 thundered down the runway like a growling cat running full tilt after its quarry. Suddenly the afterburners were engaged by shoving the throttles all the way forward. She could do nothing but sit, crushed against the seat. The landscape was a blur, the F-4 shivering with unleashed might as it hurled itself down the longest runway in the world. Suddenly Dan pulled back on the stick and the fighter left the earth in a single bound like an unchained eagle being released to the freedom of its true domain: the sky.

      The Phantom’s flaps came up on the wings, landing gear tucking neatly beneath its belly, gaining speed, hitting Mach .9 in only a few seconds. The angle of climb was breathtaking. The F-4 quickly hit six hundred knots, and Chris watched the altimeter unwinding like a broken spring as they streaked to five, ten, fifteen, twenty and twenty-five thousand feet. Exhilaration surged through her as she became a part of this magnificent fighter that raced along the very edge of the stratosphere.

      Dan began to bring the nose back down at thirty-five thousand. At forty thousand the Phantom had struck Mach 2. He could feel the aircraft sloughing off the sticky drag of the low subsonic region. The higher they climbed, the less air there was to slow them down. At forty-five thousand, he leveled out the F-4. “Well?” he asked, grinning, “what do you think?”

      Chris gave a shaky laugh. “Things happened so fast that my thinking was way behind the plane! It’s wonderful! What a thrill!”

      Dan’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. Her voice mirrored her happiness. She loved flying as much as he did. That mass of metal, wire and circuitry was a living extension of himself, docile beneath his hand, ready to obey his every command. “Take the stick,” he ordered.

      Chris slid her gloved fingers around the column. She felt Dan release the stick and rudders to her command and now, she was flying the incredible F-4 Phantom.

      For two hours they flew in a restricted flight area over the Mojave. Chris’s initial excitement settled down as Dan began to teach her how to handle the Phantom. She was pleased with Dan’s technique as an instructor. His explanations and orders were easy to follow, and it made the flight that much more thrilling.

      “Just remember,” Dan was saying as she reluctantly made the final banking turn that would take them back to Edwards. “Never allow the Phantom to fly at too high an angle of attack.”

      “What happens if she goes out of her controlled flight envelope?” Chris wanted to know, restlessly scanning the gauges as she flew the fighter.

      “First the nose will abruptly yaw from side to side. And almost simultaneously, it will start to pitch up and down and will depart from controlled flight. And if you don’t catch it right then, it will go into spin. From there, if you’re anywhere around ten thousand feet or less, you eject.”

      Chris compressed her dry lips. Her mouth always felt cottony after being on one-hundred-percent oxygen for over an hour. She reached up, adjusting the soft rubber mask against her face. Her skin always itched beneath it! And if she had worn make up, it would have broken the airtight seal of the mask against her skin. If that occurred, she might die of hypoxia, or lack of oxygen. “Is it mandatory if the F-4 is in a spin at ten thousand you automatically bail out?”

      She heard Dan’s grim chuckle. “You try and pull this ugly bird out of a dive at less than ten thousand, and it’ll be a mad race between you and the dirt as to whether or not you can pull it out in time, Raven. Don’t chance it. Punch out and live to tell about it.”

      The past two hours spent with Dan hadn’t seemed like an instructor-student relationship. Instead, it had been a wonderful time spent between two adults who both became childlike when they flew in the arms of the sky. Dan’s voice was always warm, coaxing and praising her performance. The few times he had had to correct her were done without rebuke and only in a matter-of-fact tone. She never had to be told more than once, either. “But has anyone tried to kick this bird out of a dive below ten and live to tell about it without punching out?” she wanted to know.

      “Not many,” he returned grimly.

      She nodded. “Not very forgiving, is she?”

      “No. She can damn well be your coffin if you start messing around with her in flight. This isn’t a fighter to play with.”

      Back on the ground, Chris felt like a shackled eagle once again. Instead of taking the ramp vehicle back to the school, Dan talked her into walking the quarter mile. It was cold and the wind was cutting. Chris zipped up her green flight jacket. She was glad for Dan’s closeness beside her as the darkness engulfed them. Her black hair, once in a chignon and plastered down over her skull from wearing the helmet, blew in silky abandon, barely brushing her shoulders. She reached up, pulling several strands from her eyes. Her heart swelled with happiness and her step was buoyant.

      Dan glanced over at her, aware of the light and dark shadows playing across her face. How had Chris grown more beautiful? Those violet eyes were wide and lustrous. Her lips were curved softly upward at the corners, as if she was smiling about some happy secret known only to herself. Most of all, he liked her proud, easy carriage. She was all woman—a very confident, competent woman. “You know, Bill Craig was right,” he said, catching her gaze.

      “Major Craig? The officer who gave me my flight tests to enter TPS?”

      “Yes.”

      A mischievous glint came to her eyes. “And what did he have to say?”

      “That you had the best pair of hands he’d ever seen. I agree with him. You’re smooth. You fly by the seat of your pants.”

      Chris blushed fiercely, avoiding his admiring glance. “I’ll bet you say that to all your women pilots,” she teased, trying to make light of his compliment.

      Dan reached over, pulling her to a halt. “No, you don’t.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “I’m not letting you get away with that.”

      Chris looked up into his handsome features, her lips parted in response to Dan’s unexpected action. A pulse leaped crazily at the base of her slender throat as she felt his gaze linger upon each delicate feature of her face. She swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

      A wry smile curved his sensual mouth. “My Raven doesn’t know how to take a genuine compliment gracefully and say thank you.” He drank deeply of her widened violet eyes. “I meant what I said. I wasn’t idly throwing you a compliment.”

      He was so close...so dizzyingly masculine. Chris shut her eyes momentarily, trying to hang on to her sense of reality...of logic. This shouldn’t be happening, her mind screamed. It was only ten months ago! Ten months! I hurt too much... I can’t go through this again! But her heart spoke another, more pounding message throughout her tense body. “Please...” she begged, trying to pull out of his grip. Another part of her, the woman drawn to him, wanted his touch, his closeness.

      “Don’t fight me,” Dan whispered gently. He placed his hand beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’ve got a special touch with an

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