Eileen Nauman - The Right Touch

The wrenching jerk of the catapult driving the screaming jet down the expanse shattered the aircraft’s immobility. There would be five seconds of thousands of tons of catapult pressure pushing the jet, giving it enough speed to safely hurl it off the carrier.

It was then that Cal heard an explosion. The jet suddenly lagged beneath them. His gaze snapped to the engine manifold pressure. The engines were screamingly alive. The catapult! So many thoughts sheared through his steel-trap mind. He had decisions to make: slam on the brakes and shut down the engines, try to stop before they hit the lip of the deck and slid over the edge of the carrier or— No, it was too late! Too much yardage had been eaten up. His hand pressed against the throttles, willing the engines that were shrieking around them to have the power to lift them. Too late! Too late! His eyes bulged as he saw that the manifold pressure wasn’t enough to lift the jet’s tonnage off the deck. His breath froze in his throat. He heard Chief’s curse.

The A-6 screamed off the carrier, but Cal felt the jet drag, and he kept the throttles to the fire wall, working the sluggish rudders to turn the aircraft out of the path of the carrier. If they dropped below the bow and crashed, the ship would be heavily damaged. Teeth clenched, his body straining against the harness, Cal wrenched the stick to port, praying the jet would make the turn before they hit the gray-green water coming up fast. And then…water spewed in avalanching sheets around them as they hit the ocean’s surface. Cal wrenched back with all his strength, keeping the nose of the jet up so that they wouldn’t tunnel in, giving them precious seconds to break free as the jet’s stubby wings kept them on top of the water. His teeth ground together. Pain soared up through his left hand as the stick was ripped out of his fingers.

Frantically, Cal and Chief worked open the jammed canopy. Steam shot skyward as seawater rushed into the hot engines. Water gurgled and burped into the cockpit. Cal’s hands trembled badly as he worked to unsnap all his harnesses. He glanced over at Chief. He was doing the same.

“I’m in trouble, I’m in trouble,” Chief yelled.

Cal released the last hitch on his harness, twisting. Water slopped in over them. He felt the jet’s nose begin to drop. It would be a matter of seconds before they were swallowed by the ocean. Cal tried to help Chief get the lap harness released. The thick, heavy, leather lap belt was held by a stout aluminum device. Water washed up to their chests.

“It won’t come….” Cal said, gasping. He twisted back again, pulling his survival knife from his belt, throwing off the sheath.

“Jump, Cal!” Chief cried hoarsely. The jet was sliding in, wing down. Sliding into a cold, watery grave.

Cal cursed, sawing into the confining leather belt. “No! Shut up, damn it!”

Water closed over them. Cal took a deep breath into his lungs, clinging to the belt as the jet sliced downward with frightening speed. The knife made huge, gaping tears across the leather. Cal felt his chest expand as if it would burst. Two more cuts…God…just two more and Chief would be free. The aircraft suddenly rolled over. As it did, the action wrenched Cal, who had nothing holding him in the cockpit other than one hand on the leather belt, free. His gloved hands clawed outward as he felt himself tumbling, trying desperately to grab for the cockpit frame. Fire arched through his chest. Water funneled up into his nose and down into his throat. He was going to drown. Chief! Oh, God, Chief! Cal struck out toward the surface that seemed so far away, blackness closing in on him. Only one thought screamed through him: Chief was going down with the jet. He would drown. He’d die. Oh, God, no…not Chief! Not his best friend.

“Cal, Cal, it’s all right…shh, it’s all right. You’re safe…safe.” A soft voice crooned to him.

Cal shuddered, still hooked into the nightmare of survival that haunted him, as he broke the surface of the gray sea. Gasping, he vomited up the sea he had swallowed, flailing weakly to stay afloat. Instinctively, he pulled the cords on his life vest and it inflated immediately, holding his head and shoulders above water. He cried out Chief’s name, oblivious to the rescue helicopter that had been launched immediately after the accident. He felt cool hands on his face, fingers gently combing through his hair, and he sobbed. Chief was dead. The only real friend he had ever made was dead. Heading fifty fathoms down in a jet while he floated on the surface, rasping and swallowing the life-giving oxygen.

“You’re safe now, Cal. Relax. Come on, you’re going to be all right….” Cal felt movement. It wasn’t the movement of the ocean that embraced him. He forced open his tightly shut eyes, aware of sweat running down his taut face. Dark. It was so dark. Cal felt the moist warmth of a cloth against his face. Heat. It felt so good and he was so cold. Icy cold in the water. Automatically, he began to relax. Someone was gently running a hand across his trembling shoulders, and he visibly responded to these tentative ministrations. Where was he? Where?

“Chief?” His voice came out in a raw whisper.

“No. It’s me, Dev. Just rest, Cal. You’ve been through a lot. Just close your eyes and rest. You’re safe. I promise you….”

Her voice was so close, so rich and husky. Cal closed his eyes, trusting her. Trusting her hands that were easing the coldness and terror out of him.

“But…Chief…”

“He’s gone, Cal. You couldn’t help him. But you’re alive. Alive. Come on, try to rest. You’re so tired.”

A huge pressure welled up like a fist within his chest, and Cal turned his face, burying it in the soft warmth of her. He shut his eyes tightly, fighting the pressure, trying to wrestle with the grief and loss. The instant her trembling hand settled on his hair, he blindly reached out, his arms sliding around her body. He felt scalding tears pummeling the back of his eyes, and he felt her arms embracing him. Holding him and rocking him. The pain was like a fist ripping through him, and a low, tortured sob tore from him, sending a shudder through his entire body. The sounds were so foreign to him, so strange. But he couldn’t help himself. Animallike sounds shattered him, expressing the loss, and all the while, she held him. Held him and murmured soft, unintelligible words meant to heal.

3

CAL FORCED HIS EYES OPEN to mere slits. His head was throbbing like a kettledrum, and his mouth felt as if an army had tramped through it. His scowl deepened as he realized someone was sitting very close to him. He forced his lids higher, his vision unfocused. Light was cascading from a hall, slanting into the room, backlighting the unruly auburn hair that framed her concerned face. Her eyes were cobalt as she sat there in silence, leaning across him, her one hand resting near his hip.

He moved his mouth, trying to form coherent words. He felt drugged and incapable of speech. “Where?”

“You’re in my hotel room, Cal. The Shangri-La Hotel. Remember?” Her voice was low. He was grateful for that; each sound multiplied and reverberated through his pounding skull. His eyes slitted again as he tried to piece together the jumble of events, separating the present from the accident. And Chief. Giving him an understanding smile, she sat up, removing her hand.

“You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours, Cal.”

He forced his limited attention back to her. Back to her kind and beautiful face. He knew her. Yes, Dev was her name. Wasn’t it?

“Dev?” His voice was raw as if he had been screaming at the top of his lungs for hours. Had he?

“Touche, Major Travis. You’re starting to remember, I see. How about some water? You’ve been very sick. I think you’re close to dehydration.”