Natasha scrubbed her dry, tired eyes. The hospital room clock read 2am. She was running out of time to have a decent sleep.
If I only had reacted faster … extinguished the fire sooner … then the other engine wouldn't have overheated and the hydraulics—no, there's nothing more you could have done.
She turned her head again to look at the curtain, regarding the shadow of Bob's peaceful sleep with envy.
Think of something more pleasant …
The beach.
Beach and football. That had been fun.
She and Halo had low-key admired their male counterparts' beach bodies as they played and were especially impressed by their instructor, Maverick, whom time seemed not to touch.
Natasha had been a little disappointed, but not surprised, to see Bob in a t-shirt. When teased about it he protested that he had sensitive skin. But, in reality, Bob, although fighting fit, did not have the ridiculously toned, washboard abs of his male colleagues and was a little embarrassed.
It was with a bit of pride that Phoenix watched the boys hoist Bob on their shoulders after a "touchdown" and chant his name. It was nice to see him finally folded-in to the group.
Natasha sighed as her mind was inevitably pulled back to events of the last twenty-four hours …
How ironic it had been to go from watching a fellow pilot nearly burn out from G-Lock, to almost burning out themselves.
And feeling so helpless in both incidents …
……
"Bird strike! Bird strike!"
"Phoenix, left engine's on fire!"
Natasha's mind went through her emergency checklist for engine failure recovery.
Airspeed, 139 knots. Nose up.
She yanked back the stick. "Climbing!"
She lifted the throttle finger lifts located on her left side and pulled it back.
"Throttling back."
She pressed the left FIRE warning light button. "Shutting off fuel to left engine."
She waited for Bob to announce the engine had spooled down. Nine seconds never seemed so long. On the ELEC control panel she set BATT to off.
Once Bob gave her the okay on the MASTER ARM control panel she hit the DISCH FIRE EXTGH switch.
"Extinguishing fire in left engine."
That should do it.
The plane shuddered. Alarms went off.
"Right engine is out!"
"It's still spinning, I'll try to restart it!"
She flipped the BATT switch back on, switched APU back on. Once the APU READY light came on she flipped the ENG CRANK switch to the right.
Maverick's voice came in her ear. "Phoenix, it's on fire, don't—" but it didn't register.
"Throttling up."
Fuel was injected into the engine and it flamed out.
"WE'RE ON FIRE! WE'RE ON FIRE!" Bob's voice cracked in panic.
"Damn it!"
"Engine fire, right." Came the placid voice of 'Bitchin' Betty'.
On the MASTER ARM control panel she pressed the extinguisher button again. "Extinguishing right engine."
"Phoenix, Bob, punch out!" Maverick commanded.
"Warning lights everywhere! Hydraulic failure!" Bob cried.
Natasha grabbed the stick but the plane did not respond. It was like the bottom literally dropped out of her world as, for the first time, Natasha felt sickeningly disconnected from her plane. Her bird, that was like an extension of herself, became a lifeless, metal airframe.
"I can't control it!"
"WE'RE GOING DOWN, PHOENIX! WE'RE GOING IN, WE'RE GOING IN!" Bob screamed in her ear.
"What are you going to tell his family at the funeral?"
What would Maverick tell hers?
"You can't save it! Eject! Eject! Eject!" Maverick commanded again.
"Eject! Eject!" Phoenix commanded Bob.
The back of the plane dipped as Bob punched out. She briefly felt the heat of the rocket. It was surreal to see the canopy of her Super Hornet sailing through the air.
Unhelpfully, her mind reminded her of the story of the two east coast airmen who ejected from their F/A-18F after engine loss and still died.
Natasha put her hand through the loop, said a quick prayer, and pulled.
…..
Her body jerked as the second parachute deployed after the seat fell away from under her. Her hands automatically clenched the empty air where the stick would have been.
Idiot, you're no longer in the plane.
She squeezed the oxygen mask release clip and took a deep breath of fresh air.
All too soon the ground rose terrifyingly fast to greet her.
Limp legs, limp legs, right side first.
Natasha collapsed against the ground. She pulled off her helmet and rolled over with a groan. They'd all had their required hours in the ejection simulator, but a machine on the ground could not completely prepare one for the shock and violence of the real thing in the air. Her shaking fingers fumbled with her harness.
Bob … Must find Bob.
She thought she'd seen his parachute deploy …
He wouldn't have landed too far off. Her stomach churned. Ejection didn't guarantee survival.
Almost as if in answer to her anxious wondering, his compact figure came into view, wavering in the heat rising off the desert floor.
Phoenix's raven hair had come loose from its regulation bun and she impatiently pushed it out of her face. Bob was running to her now, a slight limp perceivable in his left leg.
"Natasha!" Bob yelled. "Phoenix, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she answered back. He dropped his very expensive helmet and fell to his knees in front of her, coughing as he kicked up dust. He then noticed Phoenix was scanning the ground.
"What—what're you looking for?"
"My hair pins."
Bob suddenly pulled off his gloves and, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he gently tilted her face upward and studied her through one cracked lens.
"Follow my finger," Bob commanded, passing his index finger back and forth before her eyes.
She tried to follow. Bile suddenly rose in her throat.
"I think I'm going to be sick …" Phoenix murmured and quickly turned away. Bob promptly reached forward and held her hair back as she retched.
Once finished, she wiped her mouth with her sleeve then said, "I could've used you on graduation night." Phoenix joked to hide her embarrassment, but she couldn't hide the shake in her voice or her body.
Bob let go of her hair and fumbled in the breast-pocket of his flight suit, pulling out a handkerchief, which he then pressed to her forehead.
"You're bleeding."
She automatically reached up and put her hand over his. "Oh, thanks." Bob let go of the handkerchief to let her hold it herself. Phoenix gave him a small smile of gratitude, then her eyes rolled into the back of her head.
…..
Bob did not make a habit of swearing, not even in the most intense situations—and yet, as Natasha practically fell into his arms …
"Oh, shit …"
Guess that answers the question about concussion. What if there's internal bleeding? What if she doesn't wake up?
Bob held Phoenix a little tighter to his chest, cradling her upper body while the rest of her lay half in his lap.
It had galled every protective, masculine fiber of his being to have to eject first, leaving her behind.
Bob regarded Natasha's pale face and fear squeezed his chest. He was having difficulty processing the sight of this tough, commanding woman looking so fragile.
His teammate. His friend.
His fault.
The birds that hit them must've been freaking condors to flame out a jet engine!
"I'm sorry, Phoenix, I should have spotted them …"
Bob swore again, mentally this time, as an overwhelming sense of helplessness and guilt swept over him. He gently tapped the side of her face, loath to hit it much harder than that.
"Come on, Phoenix, wake-up!"
The desert wind blew dust into Bob's eyes. He blinked back tears that were already there. He tenderly pushed back the raven tendrils that had blown into her face again.
"Come on, Natasha, please …"
Bob almost sobbed with relief when he heard the whump, whump, whump of the Navy chopper coming to get them.
