No Quarter Given (SSE 667) by Lindsay McKenna Page B
Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Tags: Army, Women in Army
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Turcotte. I'm not going to fail to sign off the discrepancy log."
With a grimace, he muttered, "I'll believe that when I see it. But then, you won't be making it past six weeks with me, anyway. I'll bet you fall apart on me within the first week, Coulter."
Dana held his glare. "You really believe that, don't you?" What made Griff feel so strongly about women? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she decided not to—at least, not right now. Some of Griff's surliness had disappeared as he'd gotten out on the flight line. Even now, a new eagerness and excitement in his eyes had replaced the brooding glare he normally had around her.
"In my experience, Coulter, women pretend they're strong until the chips are down. Then they fall apart, expecting a man to pick up the pieces." He halted at the tail of the plane, placing his hands on his hips. "Well, I'm going to let you prove it to me all over again."
It hurt to grin, but Dana did anyway. "Obviously your experience is limited, Lieutenant. I'll show you differently."
"Noway."
Dana didn't respond, instead allowing Griff to teach her all he could from the ground. If she didn't know better, she'd think he seemed perversely pleased by her incessant questions after the walk-around. She took notes, opened her walk-around manual, and asked more questions.
With a pang, Dana wished that she could climb into the cockpit, as other students and instructors were doing right now.
Griff saw the longing on Dana's face. He wanted to tell her to sit in the cockpit and run through the start-up and shutdown routine, but he squelched the urge. He was damned if he would give her an edge. A smart student would make a cardboard mock-up of the cockpit at home and spend nights memorizing where the dials and gauges were located. But he wasn't about to suggest that, either.
As they walked down the flight back toward Operations, or Ops, Dana risked everything: "Where do you come from, Lieutenant?"
Disgruntled, Griff gave her a sidelong look. "Jerome, Arizona."
"Hot country?"
"Yeah, and if you're stupid, it can kill you."
Delighted that he was at least talking to her, Dana eagerly took the lead. Knowing something about Griff might help her anticipate what he would be like in the cockpit. She had no idea what a "screamer" was, but her survival reflex told her that any bit of information that might help turn a negative situation into a positive one was worth pursuing.
"Why is that?"
"Jerome sits on the side of Mingus Mountain. Below is a desert valley. I was taught from the time I was old enough to walk, always to carry a canteen of water and a hat with me."
"So if the car broke down, you weren't caught without water in the desert?" Dana saw his surprised look. For an instant, she thought she saw admiration in his gray eyes at her quick grasp of the situation. Just as quickly, his eyes became hooded again.
"Yeah."
"So, how big is Jerome?"
"Small. Maybe a thousand people live up there."
"You're a country boy, then. And you like your privacy."
Uncomfortable at Dana's insight, he ignored her remark. "Jerome was a copper-mining town. My dad was a miner until the shafts closed down."
"And your mother?" Dana hoped to find out more about Griff's negative attitude toward women. She held her breath, hoping he'd respond.
"She was an invalid. While she was in labor having me, she suffered a stroke."
A lump formed in Dana's throat. She heard the regret— and maybe guilt?—in Griff's icy tone. Softly, she offered, "I imagine it was hard on you growing up thinking you'd caused your mother's illness."
Griff slowed his walk, remembering the times he'd sat with his bedridden mother. Her entire right side had been paralyzed, making it tough for her to get anywhere without help. "I spent a lot of time with her when I was young. She taught me to read at an early age. I was reading Erie Stanley Gardner mysteries to her when I was twelve."
A tremor passed through Dana—of understanding, of sympathy
With a grimace, he muttered, "I'll believe that when I see it. But then, you won't be making it past six weeks with me, anyway. I'll bet you fall apart on me within the first week, Coulter."
Dana held his glare. "You really believe that, don't you?" What made Griff feel so strongly about women? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she decided not to—at least, not right now. Some of Griff's surliness had disappeared as he'd gotten out on the flight line. Even now, a new eagerness and excitement in his eyes had replaced the brooding glare he normally had around her.
"In my experience, Coulter, women pretend they're strong until the chips are down. Then they fall apart, expecting a man to pick up the pieces." He halted at the tail of the plane, placing his hands on his hips. "Well, I'm going to let you prove it to me all over again."
It hurt to grin, but Dana did anyway. "Obviously your experience is limited, Lieutenant. I'll show you differently."
"Noway."
Dana didn't respond, instead allowing Griff to teach her all he could from the ground. If she didn't know better, she'd think he seemed perversely pleased by her incessant questions after the walk-around. She took notes, opened her walk-around manual, and asked more questions.
With a pang, Dana wished that she could climb into the cockpit, as other students and instructors were doing right now.
Griff saw the longing on Dana's face. He wanted to tell her to sit in the cockpit and run through the start-up and shutdown routine, but he squelched the urge. He was damned if he would give her an edge. A smart student would make a cardboard mock-up of the cockpit at home and spend nights memorizing where the dials and gauges were located. But he wasn't about to suggest that, either.
As they walked down the flight back toward Operations, or Ops, Dana risked everything: "Where do you come from, Lieutenant?"
Disgruntled, Griff gave her a sidelong look. "Jerome, Arizona."
"Hot country?"
"Yeah, and if you're stupid, it can kill you."
Delighted that he was at least talking to her, Dana eagerly took the lead. Knowing something about Griff might help her anticipate what he would be like in the cockpit. She had no idea what a "screamer" was, but her survival reflex told her that any bit of information that might help turn a negative situation into a positive one was worth pursuing.
"Why is that?"
"Jerome sits on the side of Mingus Mountain. Below is a desert valley. I was taught from the time I was old enough to walk, always to carry a canteen of water and a hat with me."
"So if the car broke down, you weren't caught without water in the desert?" Dana saw his surprised look. For an instant, she thought she saw admiration in his gray eyes at her quick grasp of the situation. Just as quickly, his eyes became hooded again.
"Yeah."
"So, how big is Jerome?"
"Small. Maybe a thousand people live up there."
"You're a country boy, then. And you like your privacy."
Uncomfortable at Dana's insight, he ignored her remark. "Jerome was a copper-mining town. My dad was a miner until the shafts closed down."
"And your mother?" Dana hoped to find out more about Griff's negative attitude toward women. She held her breath, hoping he'd respond.
"She was an invalid. While she was in labor having me, she suffered a stroke."
A lump formed in Dana's throat. She heard the regret— and maybe guilt?—in Griff's icy tone. Softly, she offered, "I imagine it was hard on you growing up thinking you'd caused your mother's illness."
Griff slowed his walk, remembering the times he'd sat with his bedridden mother. Her entire right side had been paralyzed, making it tough for her to get anywhere without help. "I spent a lot of time with her when I was young. She taught me to read at an early age. I was reading Erie Stanley Gardner mysteries to her when I was twelve."
A tremor passed through Dana—of understanding, of sympathy
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