Strike Eagle by Doug Beason Page A

his interest in psychology take over and analyze his friends for him. Bruce was good. It was just that sudden pull-up, and Charlie screaming about the stall, that had hit Charlie hard.
    That moment he had realized that Bruce was human, not invincible, and prone to the same mistakes and errors that everyone made. But when Bruce made a mistake, it wasn’t just him that was affected—Charlie’s butt was on the line, too. Through the pleasant folds of heat and drowsiness, he heard a familiar voice.
    “Fooogggggyyyy!”
    Charlie barely lifted his head and opened his eyes. Bruce, Catman, and Robin stood just outside of the pool area at the opposite side of the complex. They raised their beer bottles in a toast to him. Still decked out in flight suits—the ubiquitous “green bags” that distinguished the rated, or flying officers, from the rest of the Air Force—the three seemed to be having trouble standing up.
    Charlie threw them a halfhearted wave.
    “Fooogggggyyyy!”
    Bruce and Robin were holding Catman as they would a log. They pantomimed tossing him into the pool. Catman started squealing like a hog.
    On the other side of the fenced-in pool area, not twenty feet from the three officers, two women, who certainly weighed six hundred pounds between them, bathed. The officer’s squeals were meant for the two overweight women. Some people turned to stare at the men. Uproarious laughing drifted across the pool area as they left, staggering back down the steps to the Rathskeller.
    Charlie sighed. Oh well. He’d have to commandeer another taxi for them tonight.
    A shadow passed over him, then went away; probably a cloud. It was time to jump back into the pool. Opening his eyes, he sat up.
    A woman laid her towel on the chair right next to him. Charlie drew in a breath. She had an ageless look, impeccable; he couldn’t tell if she was eighteen or forty.
    A slight tan accented a white two-piece swimsuit; long blond hair was set off by dark eyebrows. She was slender but not skinny.
    He realized that he had been holding his breath when his chest started hurting.
    She swung her hair around, glanced his way, and showed a quick flash of teeth. She settled into her chair, then rummaged through her purse before hauling out a book. A pair of sunglasses with white frames came on before she started to read.
    Charlie blinked. It was if a goddess had descended from the heavens.
    Flawless.
    He had leaned on one elbow to watch her, when she turned to him. She wore a slight frown. “Excuse me. I’m sorry for not asking, but is this seat taken?”
    He couldn’t see her eyes, but that made her more exotic. “Uh, no, it’s not.” He waved an arm. “Feel free to stay.” Oh, please God, stay! He started to settle back down into his chair. He pulled his book up to him.
    She lifted her sunglasses and squinted across the pool. She motioned toward the Rathskeller with her eyes. “You’re sure your, ah, friends, weren’t planning on joining you?”
    “Friends? Those guys? Are you kidding? They wouldn’t be caught dead in here—drinks aren’t served out by the pool. Besides, they’re having too much fun to come swimming.”
    Dryly: “I noticed.” She swung her hair behind her head and put her feet up on the lounge chair.
    Charlie watched her for a moment before settling back in his seat. He brought his book up and tried to read. His hands felt wet, and if he had to speak with her again he wasn’t quite sure he could be coherent. He felt ashamed at himself—he was acting like he’d never seen a beautiful girl before.
    When he was in college, Auburn had had some of the best-looking girls around—absolute dynamite, and their good looks almost made up for the Southern Belle act and the sticky-sweet talk. And every location in which he had been stationed—Phoenix, Fort Walton Beach, Langley—had always had more than their share of head-turners. As a college professor’s son, Charlie had been around coeds all his life. For him it