It took a couple weeks, but John had finally figured out her schedule. Every second day she would arrive at McMurdo. And every second day he would find a quiet corner of the commissary and watch her.
Rumor had it she was up to something hush-hush. That she was the head of some top-secret expedition several miles to the south.
John knew the spot. He had actually ferried a few loads of personnel to the secret base. Doctors. Scientists. Government officials.
He wondered what she was about. This tall, elegant brunette that had captured his attention. She would hitch a ride to McMurdo. Lock herself away in a secure room that had video-conference capabilities. An hour or so later she would emerge, talk to the base commander, then hit the commissary for a hot meal and cup of coffee as she waited for the ride back.
He had no clear idea why he was so fascinated with this woman. She certainly wasn't the type that a typical flyboy would hit on. She wasn't a sculpted blonde with tits the size of grapefruits and more air in her head than an SUV tire. Attending community college by day, gyrating in a g-string by night.
No, this girl wasn't the sort you stuck dollar bills into her thong. Although, John mused, he wouldn't mind trying. This girl was something else entirely. Scholarly. Graceful. A power and confidence bubbling just beneath the surface. A woman who could knock your socks off in an evening gown or by reciting poetry or debating philosophy.
If he had any balls at all he'd go talk to her. And say what exactly? Likely he would stutter and look the fool until left with no choice but to walk away like an idiot. "You sure look pretty, mysterious scholarly lady with the intriguing eyebrows." Or perhaps he could try, "I'm dying to know who you think is a better poet, Percy Shelley or John Keats. Please be thorough because I want to listen to your voice."
That would undoubtedly go well. With his luck she'd noticed him every time she's been in the commissary and thought him to be a stalker. Who the hell was he kidding? No way a girl like that would go for someone like him.
She was the picture of grace. Of worldly knowledge. Almost regal as she sat tall, hair swept away from her face, piercing eyes absorbing every detail of the file she read. And he was so…
John looked down at himself. Flight suit rumpled and greasy. The result of assisting in the maintenance of his Huey. With black oil smeared on his face. Hair unruly. She'd likely take one look at him and scream.
What the hell could he possibly offer? Sure he was college educated. Boston College was nothing to scoff about. He even graduated. Maybe he could…nah. Girls like that didn't go for military types. He was blue collar. A grunt. A soldier with a checkered past and a bleak future. And she was…hell, he didn't even know her name.
Sarah? Maybe. Michelle? Nah. Not a Michelle. Every Michelle he'd ever known was the type to put out on the first date. Elizabeth? He could see her as an Elizabeth. It had a certain nobility to it. There were queens named Elizabeth after all.
Might as well forget about it, Johnny boy. Be realistic and shoot lower. The occasional waitress or barmaid when you're not exiled in frozen hell. The fling you have with Janine, the perky redhead on Renshaw's crew every other Tuesday and Friday. And of course Heather, the old high school sweetheart that you see whenever you head home. Sure she's married now, but that hasn't stopped the two of you before.
And here comes the nameless airman. Here to take away the girl. Her helicopter had arrived, the nameless airman says. Thank you, airman, the girl says. And she gathers up her files and delicately replaces them into her backpack.
She puts on her bulky coat, right arm first. Then the gloves, right hand first. Then the scarf. Once over the left shoulder. Twice over the left shoulder. Then the blue sock cap with the "GU" printed on it. A Georgetown girl, eh? Well, no one was perfect. But if that was the extent of her flaws then Miss Hoya was a damn fine woman.
He watched her stride from the commissary. Upright. Proud. Confident. Who was she?
"Major Sheppard."
General Easley stood above him. John bolted upright to stand at attention. An effort to portray the upstanding and model officer. The General didn't buy it for a second. He knew John too damn well.
"At ease, Major." John took his seat. "Hope you have that bird of yours up and running by tomorrow. Because you've been assigned the job to fly General O'Neill down to the basesite."
"Yes sir."
The General strode away. John considered his new assignment. It would certainly prove as boring and uneventful as all the other trips. As boring as life in Antarctica usually was. But who knew? Maybe he'd get lucky and catch a glimpse of Hoya while he was down there.