Sorry for the long wait! I've been a little busy and kind of stuck on this chapter. But here it is, and I'll try to be faster with the next one! 3
Hutch was on her wing in an instant, working on her canopy. As soon as he got it unlatched, her threw it open and reached in to unbuckle her.
"Bettie! Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" He was frantic to get her out of that plane, and practically dragged her out.
"I'm okay! I'm okay! I didn't get hit!" She protested between sniffles. She unplugged her headset from the radio as he yanked her out of the cockpit. "Ouch! Hutch, I'm fine. Wait a second!"
"What the hell happened?!"
"We got jumped, I'm fine. The canopy was stuck and the dream and I just…" She made a helpless gesture with her hands. He let her go, safely on the ground. Boyington was striding towards them, and Bettie had a momentary thought of hiding behind Hutch from the tongue lashing that she was sure was in store for her.
She hung her head, and tucked one foot behind the other, looking for all the world like a little girl. She waited for him to say something, and looked up guiltily at him. She knew what she had done went against every rule of air combat, including abandoning her wingman and purposely disabling her plane. He stood in front of her for a moment before saying anything.
"You wanna tell me what happened?"
She looked around at the other pilots nearby, who were trying to look busy putting away their flight gear, but were also trying to overhear their conversation.
"Can I talk about it in private?" She asked, jerking her head towards the crowd. Boyington nodded in agreement.
"Probably best. Don't want to give these meatheads any ideas about stunts to pull."
"All right," Boyington sighed, sitting on his cot across from her. "What happened?"
She shifted a bit in the chair she was perched on. "Well…" She began, chewing her lip. How to explain that she watched her nightmare unfold, but she changed it.
"Remember when I had that nightmare? I woke up the whole damn island?" She laughed softly, shaking her head. He nodded, bidding her to continue. "Well, I dreamt that we got jumped, and I got separated from Jim, and there was this Zero that was just… he wouldn't let me go. He just kept chewing me up piece by piece, and I went to dive and…" She trailed off, struggling not to let him see her cry.
"So you pulled up." He stated, matter of fact. She looked at him, surprised.
"Look, it's not unheard of for pilots to dream about things like that, and you end up reliving them. I don't know what it is. Probably your subconscious or whatever pointing out where you're weak." He explained, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "To me, it sounds like you were running scared because you knew you were gonna die. So you did the opposite of one thing you could change."
She nodded, relieved he understood.
"So why did you keep climbing? Did you mean to stall out?" Her brown eyes met his blue ones. He was gazing unflinchingly at her, and she looked away at the floor.
"At first, I was just running. I got a break where I could outrun that Zeke, and he couldn't catch up. And the higher I got, the clearer my head got. So I kept going until I had a plan." She swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice getting steadier.
"I'd never done it before outside a trainer plane, and the trainers we used had those electric starters—not like the shotgun ones on the Corsairs—so they were easier to kick over in midflight. But I had done it, a few times…" Her hands began to move as she explained, illustrating what she'd done.
"See, you fly straight vertical until you stall, then you haul back as hard as you can on the stick. Once the power cuts, that is. You loop backwards, and get heading straight down. Sometimes we'd play chicken, and fly against each other, like that Zeke. But that's not…" She took a breath and continued. She was excited to explain the maneuver. It was exciting to teach a very seasoned pilot something that she knew and he didn't.
"And once you get to about where you wanna pull up, you hit the starter and once it catches, you haul back and climb to altitude again. 'Cept the Corsairs don't start well. So I went too low today." She blushed. "I swear I don't usually cut it that close. I don't have a death wish or anything."
"I'll say you cut it close. You looked about ready to land that damn bird on a reef!" Pappy laughed. He'd played plenty of chicken in his time, but even he didn't fly as crazy as she had that day.
"I promise I won't do it again, Pappy. I just got stuck." She mumbled, looking embarrassed. Her first time flying combat and she gave the whole squadron a heart attack.
"I just want to promise you won't tell those yahoos out there how to do it." The last thing he needed was for him to have a whole squadron flying like that.
"Deal." She grinned.
That afternoon, after a nap through the heat of the day, Bettie headed back out to help Hutch with the planes. She felt a little guilty bringing the one she'd flown back in such bad shape. She'd do her penance with a wrench and a smile, she supposed, and he'd forgive her. Mostly.
He didn't even say anything when she arrived, just handed her some tools and parts and pointed to her plane. She dutifully went to work, replacing the oil lines that had been ripped out. It was a particularly hot day, and she found herself in less clothes than normal. A cast off uniform shirt that Casey had torn the sleeve beyond repair had been given to her to do something with, so she'd removed the sleeves, and was now wearing it with her ever-stained flight suit rolled down around her hips. She tied the shirt around her ribs to get a little sun, since she was out in it anyways. While she could justify it as functional as much as she wanted, the truth was, it had become a trend with the women around the South Pacific, and it was one that she could actually wear. And she felt pretty cute.
She wasn't the only one who thought she looked pretty cute. T.J. had been taking pictures to send home when she caught his eye. He raised the camera and focused it on her. Through the lens, he lined up the perfect shot—her hair was draped softly across her shoulder as her braid unwound itself, and she was standing at the top of a ladder, bent slightly at the waist as she reached with a wrench into the engine. Her face was relaxed and she was smiling slightly as she worked. He snapped the picture and hoped it looked the way he saw it.
Bettie caught a glimpse of light glinting off of glass, and realized a second too late that it was T.J. with a camera that she'd seen. He was already lowering the device when she saw him. She debated on climbing down to scold him, but she took a deep breath, and kept working.
He likes you, remember? Don't bite his head off.
He sauntered over, and stood in the shade of the plane, watching her work. She was straddling the nose now, reaching down into the engine.
"Why hello, Lieutenant Wiley." She greeted him with a charming smile. "What brings you out on this fine day?"
"Not much, Pilot Hutchinson, aside from to tell you that your kill was confirmed." He answered, just as breezily.
She stopped working. "It was confirmed?!" She pumped a fist in the air and whooped, before slinging a leg over the nose in front of her and slipping off the plane and landing with a thump. She felt remorse after attacking the Kubitzu because of how they had done it, but she felt nothing towards the pilot who'd tried his hardest to knock her out of the sky. It wasn't her fault that she'd turned the tables.
"Yep! Coastwatcher just confirmed it." He couldn't help but smile back at her. Her grin was so infectious when she really opened up, and he remembered how it felt to get his first kill—well, his first Japanese kill.
Hutch called over from where he was working, "That better have been the one that chewed your bird to hell."
Bettie just waved a hand at him and he went back to work. He knew when she was dismissing him because he was being grumpy. He grumbled to himself, displeased about how things were going between her and T.J. Of all the pilots, it had to be him.
She realized now that she was standing awkwardly close to T.J., dressed much more scantily that she normally would ever be seen in. She looked at her dusty boots and blushed. "I, uh… I should get back to work. Boyle will need his plane flying when the nurses let him go…"
"Oh! Yeah! Sorry… I, uh, didn't mean to take you away from your work." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"No, no. It's okay. Thanks for telling me." She smiled shyly at him.
"You can stay if you want to…" She began, but at the same time he said,
"I can keep you company if you want."
When he realized he'd interrupted her, he stammered an apology, at the same time that she said,
"Yes."
"Okay!" He agreed, offering a hand to help her up the ladder.
She took his hand and allowed him to help her up, even though she'd been climbing up and down that ladder all day. As she climbed past him, he glanced away so she wouldn't feel like he was looking at her, er, tail assembly. Something caught his eye, though, and he snuck a peek. Neatly stitched to the left back pocket of her suit was a Black Sheep squadron patch. He was fairly certain that was not her doing, and that she hadn't noticed. The tiny stitches looked like something Casey would do, but the less-than-regulation placement suggested that Boyle, Anderson, or Gutterman had something to do with it too. He looked away again, trying to hide a smile.
Once he'd climbed up after her, he realized why the patch was there. She knelt on the nose of the plane, bent forward and reaching shoulder deep into the engine, the patch proudly on display to anyone passing by. He wondered just how long it had been there. Since Seona? The idea of her working bent over a Zeke with his squadron's patch jauntily perched on her can amused him greatly.
She glanced up at him sitting opposite of her, and noticed him smiling.
"What are you smiling about, Lieutenant Wiley?" She asked, arcing an eyebrow. She was playfully using his rank and last name, but at the same time, she hoped he'd figure out that she wasn't quite ready to be too terribly close with him.
"Oh nothing, Pilot Hutchinson. It's just a lovely day." He leaned back against the prop. He quickly sat back up right when he noticed Hutch a few planes down glaring at him and shaking his wrench reproachfully. Truth be told, while he was smiling at the patch, he sure wasn't going to tell her that it was there. He didn't want her to know he'd been looking. He hoped it was in his picture of her, though.
The ribbon that had been holding her braid together had given up, and was tangled in the end of a lock of hair. She set the wrench down and pulled the bow out, stuffing it in her pocket with a frustrated sigh. She swore one of these days she'd whack all her hair off, since it was always in the way. She didn't know how to style or cut it really, so she'd just let it grow, and kept it braided. But there was something about the humid tropics that made it defy her ribbons. Now, it fell in a wavy mess around her shoulders as she continued to work, and T.J. would later swear that it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
It was growing dark when they called it quits. There were no missions for a few days, so Hutch had decided that here was no point in working all night, and had shooed the couple off the airstrip so he could shut down the lights. T.J. offered Bettie his arm to walk back, and she tentatively took it. Soon though, his playful talk had her giggling and much more at ease. They had just gotten into camp, when Boyington linked his arm in her other arm and announced,
"Sorry, T.J., I'm cutting in."
T.J. dropped her arm and allowed Boyington to take her.
"Sure, Pappy. Go ahead." He agreed. He figured that the major had something to discuss. "I'll be at the Sheep Pen, Bettie, if you want to come by."
As T.J. walked away, Greg steered her away from the camp, "Fancy a walk?"
Bettie didn't really want to go for a walk, since she was tired and worn out from that morning, and devoting hours to fixing her plane in the aftermath, but she assumed that he had something to tell her.
"Sure, Pappy. What's up?" She asked, a bit tiredly. She hoped he'd be quick, so she could have a drink or two to take the edge of the day off, and go to bed.
"General Moore just wired me. Apparently trying to get you commissioned and assigned to combat duty is causing quite a stir." He laughed quietly.
"I tend to cause a stir no matter what I do." She sighed, wondering what he'd wanted.
"Point is, a bunch of brass is coming to Espritos for a hearing. They want to meet you face to face and go over why you should be commissioned." He looked over at her. "If I were you, I'd try to rack up another kill or two. You have about a two weeks."
"I don't… I got lucky with that Zeke. I don't know how to fly combat." She murmured. They were supposed to go over some maneuvers that morning, but they'd gotten jumped before they could.
"We'll have to teach you, then. We'll go up tomorrow afternoon and practice. All right?" He offered. He knew she would catch on quick, but she just needed a little experience.
She nodded, stifling a yawn. "Sure, Pappy. Sounds good."
He turned her back towards camp with a chuckle.
"Let me get you back to that fine Marine pilot you were with, then. After today, you could use a drink."
T.J. ordered two scotches as soon as he saw Bettie come through the door of the Sheep Pen. He swooped in and offered her the drink before anyone else could get her attention.
"What did Pappy want to talk to you about?" He asked, trying to sound casual. He seriously doubted that he needed to be jealous of his CO, but T.J. couldn't help but feel a little jealous whenever Bettie was concerned. He guided her to the table in the corner where they could have relative peace, and made sure to pull out her chair for her.
"Oh," She sipped her scotch, and made a face. They finally had some strong scotch back in stock, but she'd gotten accustomed to the watered down kind. "Washington wants to hold a hearing about my commission. He just let me know, and advised that I get some more kills. And some training."
"Training?" T.J. asked. Would it be too much to hope that Boyington would assign him to take her up and teach her?
"Pappy's taking me up tomorrow morning to learn a little bit, since, y'know, WASPs aren't exactly taught how to dogfight in flight school." She shrugged and gave him a rueful smile. "I don't think they ever expected us to end up out here."
Her finger trailed around the edge of the glass in front of her, making it ring softly. "To be honest, I'd rather not talk about it. I'm a bit nervous about it all."
At that moment, T.J. opened his mouth to suggest a new topic of conversation, and Gutterman, shoved his way into their conversation.
"So darlin'," He grinned, straddling the back of a chair and leaning his forearms on the back, "First confirmed kill. Mighty fine thing, ain't it?" He didn't miss the annoyed look that Wiley shot him. In fact, there was little else that pleased him more than annoying the lieutenant.
Bettie smiled slightly. She'd been hearing congratulations all day, even before it was confirmed. She drained her glass and set it back on the table before standing.
"Gentlemen, unfortunately, I've got an early day tomorrow. I'm off to bed for tonight." She punched Gutterman lightly on the shoulder. "Be quiet when you come in tonight, huh?"
He waved her off and grumbled, "Yeah, yeah."
She turned to go but turned back with a slight smile, "Thanks for the drink… T.J."
True to his word, Greg was in her tent shaking her awake as the skies grew pink with the dawn.
"No. G'way." She moaned, hiding her face in her pillow. It had been a very drunk and chatty Captain Gutterman who'd rolled in about 0230 and woken her up, and she was not going to get out of bed when it felt like she'd been asleep five minutes.
"Up and at 'em, sunshine. We've got birds to fly and Zekes to kill. You've got two minutes to get dressed and outside." He warned her, before leaving.
A few minutes later they were taking off. The sky was awash with pastels as the sun rose and Bettie craned her neck looking all around her in appreciation. Flying was something that she truly loved to do, and she tried not to think of the day when she'd be discharged and go back to life in that rundown little flat in Flint. When she was flying, she was graceful, and she didn't stick out.
Her reverie was interrupted by Boyington over the radio. "Ready to fly like a marine?"
"Do I have to?" She laughed. Boyington's bark of laughter rang out through her headphones.
"Well, at least learn how to fly combat."
