True Valor

  Grace smiled at her CO and wiggled the bunny feet. “A gift from Jill. They released you to wander the hall.”

  “About time. The doctors are driving me crazy.” She could agree with him there. Peter looked better than the last time she had briefly seen him—the bruises fading, the cast on his arm beginning to lose its bright wet whiteness. Peter had had an interesting thirty minutes on the ground in Iraq. She would rather have her landing than his. He pulled over a chair.

  “The penguin jokes are for real.” She tugged out a cartoon from her scrapbook; it had arrived this morning from the guys in the squadron. “I think this one is my favorite.” A big line of penguins had strapped on the obligatory pilot scarf and goggles and were getting ready to launch from the top of a cliff.

  “They sent me a shovel and pail for a sandbox.”

  She laughed at the image. “You have to give the guys credit; they believe in squadron unity.” She’d heard that penguin patches with bandaged wings were beginning to appear on flight jackets.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “The right to stay here another two months? I’m going to be disappointed when they kick me out of the hospital to get back their room. The service is first rate.” Her shoulder ached, but the sharp pain had disappeared after the second surgery. “The physical therapist is by three times a day, and I got lobster for dinner last night.”

  He smiled but it faded. “Grace—”

  “I know what they’re saying, Peter. I don’t believe them.” She’d never taken a no that she couldn’t fly as final before, and she wasn’t about to accept one offered by a doctor who could in reality only give her averages and percentages of those able to come back after an injury like hers. “How’s your arm?” It was strange to realize broken bones were easier for a pilot to come back from than soft tissue injuries.

  He rapped the hard cast. “Desk bound for a while.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to prevent it.”

  “I’ve watched the tapes. Our tactics were good. Two against four and restrictions on who could fire first was a tragedy like this waiting to happen.”

  She’d been replaying it in her mind numerous times, but it was reassuring to hear him say it.

  Grace pointed to the papers. “I’ve been reading about what is going on, watching CNN. We’re missing out on the action.” The U.S. had launched a massive raid into Iraq in retaliation, pounding the military airports and radar network, making last year’s strike look small.

  “I know what you mean about being on the sidelines. But at least one good benefit came out of our skirmish. It reminded everyone there really was a big kid on the block it would be best not to provoke. Syria has started pulling back military units, if not back to prior positions, at least back from the border with Turkey.”

  “Is it true the GW deployment is being extended?”

  “Another two months.”

  The physical therapist knocked on the door. “Ready, Lieutenant?”

  Grace glanced at her boss as she struggled to her feet. “If they ever try to get you on the pulley machine, shoot the thing and put yourself out of misery before you begin.”

  Peter handed her a water bottle. “I’ve heard you are killing the stationary bike.”

  She grinned. “Practice. I plan to be able to beat Striker at a bike race some day.”

  Bruce ~

  Four miles on the bike, pulse 72 resting, bp 115 / 70, temp 98.4. I squeezed the tennis ball 602 times today. I would have reached the goal of four digits but my doctor interrupted, spoiling my count. It will be another few days before they let me start working on mobility in my shoulder. Right now the arm is strapped against my chest to prevent any movement.

  I’m pecking this note out one letter at a time on a borrowed laptop. Do you have any idea how hard it is to use a mouse left-handed? This letter will probably disappear somewhere unrecoverable before it can get printed.

  I can’t believe the first plane I crashed came with a multimillion-dollar price tag. A good thing they don’t threaten to take it out of my paycheck—I’d be in debt for the rest of my life. I miss my plane: every bell, switch, and button of it. It was a good lady that didn’t deserve that kind of ending. At least my one horrible landing in life has now happened.

  I am convinced your note on Ephesians 1:17 and your prayer for me were God’s preparations for what was coming. That single prayer, that I may know God better, has transformed how I am able to handle this. That first night stateside, when the painkillers weren’t taking effect, I flipped through pages in my Bible. I found again the verse written by Paul: “He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

  I’m getting a good chance to live it. The moments of being overwhelmed come often, and I’m finding the verse something to cling to. God is sufficient for even this.

  If it sounds like I am together about this tragedy . . . the reality is I’m too scared to even think about it not working out. So I am refusing to let doubt have even a glimmer of my thoughts. I don’t know what awaits me when the therapist says I’ve made all the progress she thinks I can make. I desperately want to fly again.

  I am working hard to get that recovery off to a good start. No one says the weakness in my shoulder will be permanent or that the mobility won’t come back. They just give odds against it happening. Needless to say, it’s not what I want to hear.

  I’m so disappointed I was out of it during your last call. I admit I cried a bit when the meds finally wore off enough for me to realize what had happened. Jill was able to tell me what you said. Bruce, next time you are able to call, I promise I’ll be talking at least coherently.

  I know it’s not a good thing to suggest you are replacing Ben in my life, but there is one way I want to say a special note of thanks. The one thing Ben always had was a long horizon perspective. In your notes, I hear that same sense of calm about life and events and the passage of time. I appreciate it. When the days seem incredibly long, your letters are a great comfort. I’ve reread them many times.

  I am glad you are at the end of this letter. Please be careful and stay safe. I love you more and more with every passing day. Jill says I can borrow Emily when I get home and I’m looking forward to that. I never had a pet and she’s priceless.

  All my love, Grace

  Grace ~

  You are the best thing that ever came into my life. I’m dripping water on this pad of paper (don’t ask), and the mail guy is standing here waiting to take my reply. I know you’re hurting. It’s killing me that I’m not there to be with you and that a phone is so far away. Lean hard against God and trust Him. Don’t give the doctors too much grief. Spoil Emily for me.

  All my love, Bruce

  APRIL 18

  NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

  “How many miles are you planning to ride?”

  Grace wiped sweat off her face, feeling like it had already been a marathon distance. “How many have I done?”

  Jill leaned over to see the bike counter. “Four.”

  “Make it six.”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “Bored.” And growing more convinced each day it was going to take a miracle to get back in shape.

  “Do you want to see the latest clippings? You made a couple more newspapers and your second magazine.”

  “How much mail?”

  “You’re going to be answering get well cards for a year.”

  “I owe Bruce an apology. I laughed when he told me about his mail.”

  “Do you want me to bring any particular movie over tonight?”

  “Nothing even remotely like realism; find a cartoon.”

  “Bruce is converting you.”

  “Circumstances are,” Grace admitted. “Tell Emily hi for me.”

  “Will do.”

  The bike mileage finally passed six miles. Grace slowed her pace and began to
cool down.

  * * *

  There was a letter from Bruce on her bed when Grace got back to the room. She read it as she squeezed the tennis ball trying to build up the strength in her hand. The paper had curled in spots where water drops had dried. Curious, she smoothed it out. The letter smelled like rotten eggs. Bruce, what are you into now? He hadn’t been able to call and she knew him—if he was anywhere near where he could get an overseas line he would have.

  Jesus, please keep him safe. I worry about him, even more so because I know his thoughts are with me and not totally on the job at hand. Keep him safe and focused.

  She could not imagine going through this without him. The day they made this relationship permanent would be the best day of her life. The reality of his job—she’d encountered it firsthand and she was so proud of him. Please bring him home safe and sound.

  APRIL 24

  BIRECIK DAM, TURKEY

  Water was finally flowing. Bruce stood on the observation deck of the dam, watching the water flow through the sluice gates. He had stripped down to blue shorts and a cotton T-shirt, was on his fifth water bottle, and felt like he was still baking inside the rubber dry suit. He’d lost at least fifteen pounds during the last week of diving.

  The earth had hiccupped; there was no other way to describe what they found. The vent had created a layer of acidic water so toxic, it had spread like a blanket and turned the area around the vent into a white graveyard. It had hovered there like a bubble within the water.

  It was a good thing the dam’s power plant had not been able to come back online. It would have created a current and spread the destruction throughout the reservoir. Instead, the toxic bubble of death had stayed pretty well defined. They spent ten days creating a pipe network able to withstand the acid, working in wet suits to get the tubing down to the floor of the reservoir, vacuuming and sucking the pocket of acidic water out and into a hazardous chemical tanker.

  There was a lot more treatment of the water still to be done, and they had been forced to build a network of intake valves out a half mile farther into the reservoir, but water was finally flowing. Getting power generation online would take several more days.

  “Bruce.”

  He turned and found Wolf leaning against the stair railing one level down.

  “Bear has got a flight coming in to get us to Incirlik. Twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Wolf paused. “You okay?”

  It was too complex to try and answer that. He simply nodded. “Tired. Tell Bear thanks.” Grace was coping without his being there. He was spending his days without her. And there were days he didn’t want to live with that sacrifice any longer.

  Thirty-Six

  * * *

  MAY 4

  NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

  “Pull it,” the therapist encouraged.

  Grace strained against the pulley, using her injured arm to try to lift the weight behind her. She slowly straightened her right arm, fighting the quivering muscles to keep the pull steady and smooth.

  “Hold.”

  Grace clenched her teeth and held it.

  “Good. Lower it slowly.”

  Grace focused on a spot on the far wall and slowly let the weight down, lifting her arm the most painful of the movements in the exercise.

  “Relax.”

  Grace reached with her left hand for the water bottle. Twenty reps with a five-pound weight and her injured muscles felt like jelly. The hospital rehab room was becoming her second home. She had to give them credit: they knew how to work someone right to the edge of exhaustion and stop before injury would happen from the workout.

  “Muscle tone is coming back.”

  “Some,” Grace agreed. “Mobility isn’t.”

  “You’ll be lifting weights over your head in a month.”

  Since she could barely lift her right arm level with her shoulder at the moment, Grace had to take the therapist’s words on faith. “I hope so.”

  “I’ll see you again in three hours. You want to spend some time on the bike?”

  Grace got up from the bench and scooped up her towel. “It sure beats walking the halls.”

  Overall she was getting back in shape, but her shoulder was taking its own time to heal. She picked up the tennis ball and started squeezing it. Her shoulder might be weak, but some of that she could compensate for by better conditioning her arm muscles and hand strength.

  She got on the bike and started a steady ride. They were letting her go home Monday. The doctors were pleased with their work. But they were being noncommittal about her coming back far enough to get cleared to fly. She’d impressed them, but not enough for them to change their odds.

  She did not want to go home, was afraid that meant out of sight, out of mind, in a nice kind of way. The press was following her progress—the first female pilot to get shot down. If there was any question on her recovery, she was sure the Navy would prefer her not to fly again. If they let her fly and something happened . . .

  She had to fly again. She just had to. She picked up the pace on the bike.

  Grace ~

  How’s my special lady doing? I miss you, honey. I’m thrilled with the news they are letting you go home. Jill has been sending me updates too, so I admit to knowing all about the mail, and the change in movie tastes, and the fact you tend to pace when you are frustrated. On my behalf, please enjoy a sunset, an ice cream cone, and watch at least one baseball game first pitch to last. (I know you can’t sit still that long, but we have to work on it.)

  I caught a clip of CNN and got to see you LIVE and STANDING and joking around with the reporters. That was so much fun. I’ve threatened to have Jill show up with a video camera to tape one of these workouts I hear about, but I haven’t been able to find a VCR while I’m stuck out here in nowhere land.

  I’ll call Monday night if at all possible. I’ve been pulling strings to be able to get to a phone. Honey, joking aside, I know recovery is slower than you would like. One day at a time, Grace. Wherever this goes, God loves you, I love you, and the answer hasn’t been written yet. I am praying for you.

  Love, Bruce

  Psalm 18:35

  Thou hast given me the shield of thy salvation, and thy right hand supported me, and thy help made me great.

  MAY 7

  NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

  She was home. And she was desperately afraid this was what her life had become. Grace tossed her socks toward the clothes hamper. It was so atrociously quiet in her apartment. She missed the noise of the aircraft carrier.

  She curled up on her bed with her big pillow, fighting the blue mood. Emily jumped up beside her and flopped over on her side. Grace would have normally nudged her back down, but instead just reached over and stroked the dog’s head.

  Emily was old, peaceful, and content. Good company. Grace looked at the clock. Bruce had said he would call tonight if pos-sible. She translated the seven-hour time difference and watched the clock tick away the minutes.

  Jesus, I can’t imagine being a civilian. The word sounds foreign to me. I can be involved in the Navy even if I’m not flying, but it would be like salt in this aching loss. What do I do? The last thing Bruce needs is to marry someone who isn’t grounded and comfortable with life. I want to fly. It’s the one thing I have always wanted to do. What do I do if I can’t?

  She rubbed her shoulder, feeling a burning sense of heat deep in the shoulder. In the quiet of the apartment the reality of what was probably coming was impossible to avoid. She looked at the pictures on the wall, her history at a glance. The Cessna she had soloed in at seventeen, her first days in uniform. The wall ended with a picture of the jet with her name on it, a jet that was no more. Just looking at the pictures made her sad.

  I’m having a pity party. This is awful.

  She punched the pillows and nestled down and got comfortable. She was alive, and there had been moments during the crash she hadn’t thought she would be. When she got over the fact she?
??d crashed her plane, maybe it wouldn’t feel so awful.

  The phone rang as she was dozing.

  “Hi, honey.” The connection was good; Bruce sounded near.

  “It’s so good to hear your voice.” She snuggled the phone close. She had thought he would never be able to get through. And on the night she was hurting . . . There was no rush to find words. Just hearing his voice was wonderful.

  “You’re home.”

  She smiled. “I’m home. It’s nice to have my own pillow. And your flowers are beautiful, all of them. Jill had the apartment ready for me. Fresh flowers, fruit, books, movies . . . I could see a few of your suggestions in the items she brought. She’s been taking great care of me, even though it has put her behind in her own work.”

  “You’re her best friend, Grace. She wants to be able to help however she can. How’s the press and the mail?”

  She tried to laugh. “Increasing in volume by the day. How in the world I became a hero by getting shot down is beyond me.”

  “I know what the media is like when it swarms. Physical therapy is coming along? You said they were transferring you?”

  “I’m working out in the pool now. They eventually want to get me to rotate my arm through a full stroke when I swim.”

  “It will come. Give it time.”

  “I want to be able to fly,” she whispered, so afraid she would not be able to.

  “I know you do. I know. I love you, honey.”

  Hearing it in words made her tremble. “I love you too.”

  “Grace, what is it?”

  “I feel like I’m making you a consolation prize.”

  Silence stretched between them.