was easy to find a good-looking woman, but one with a head on her shoulders instead of air—that was another matter.
This woman carried herself with poise. Her tan meant she had free time during the day, and the bag she carried resembled those carried by flight crews.
She had to be a stewardess, then. They sometimes frequented the O’Club pool, but were usually driven away either by the families or the hordes of pilots. He stole a glance—no ring. He still couldn’t determine her age. She couldn’t be a high school student, she was much too mature; and he couldn’t believe that an unmarried teacher for the Department of Defense schools would have lasted this long, unless she was new.
Which led him back to his original conjecture of a stewardess.
He suddenly realized that he hadn’t read his book at all since picking it up. It was as if his eyes had been flash-burned by the sight of her.
He put down his book and headed for the pool. Not looking back, he dove in and stroked for the far side. He pushed off the side and glided the width of the pool underwater. The movement relaxed him, took away some of the tenseness that had been putting his muscles into rigor mortis.
After a few laps Charlie lifted out of the pool, water dripping, and headed back to his seat. He could just make out the title of her book.
Reaching for his towel, he tried to sound relaxed. “What’s an airline stewardess doing reading a book called Alive? Doesn’t that make your passengers uneasy?”
She looked up. “I’m not a flight attendant.”
Charlie’s mind yammered at him, but he was in too far to back out. “You’re not? I’m sorry—it was meant to be a compliment. But how do you like the book?”
She put down her book. “It’s all right. A little gory.”
“Cannibalism usually is. But at least those guys had a conscience about it.”
“You’ve read it?”
“Oh, yeah. Years ago, but it sticks with you.”
She brushed back her hair. “What do you mean ‘at least they had a conscience’?”
Charlie finished wiping himself off. He sat on the side of his chair. “Ever hear of Alfred Packer? There’s a cafeteria named after him at the University of Colorado.”
“No.” She drew her legs up, but seemed interested.
“Talk about macabre. Packer was a guide in the Rockies, took a group up in the fall and got caught in a snowstorm. That spring, he was the only one who made it back from the mountains.” Charlie paused. “They later discovered he had murdered, then eaten, everyone in his party to stay alive. At least those soccer players in your book knew that what they were doing was morally repugnant when they were forced to resort to cannibalism. Packer didn’t hesitate to commit murder, much less eat the people.”
She shivered. “So what’s a pilot doing reading stuff like that? Ever afraid you’ll make your friends uneasy?”
Charlie grinned. “I’m not a pilot.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Really. And by the way, I’m Charlie.”
“Nanette.”
When he shook her hand, it took all his strength to let go.
***
Chapter 6
Monday, 4 June
Clark AB
A monkey-wood sign hung over the Officers’ Club main entrance. The sign pointed to pizza at the left and rathskeller to the right; muffled yelling and whistles came from the right. Bruce, Catman, and Robin turned toward the Rathskeller.
As they approached the door, Bruce heard methodic banging and thuds coming from inside. He cautiously opened the door.…
… and instantly pulled back as a beer bottled whizzed past his head. A female laughed, then shrieked as two men plopped her on top of a table. Music blared from speakers set throughout the room; not new music, but really old, solid rock classics, the type of songs that had been popular before Bruce was even born: Van Halen, .38 Special, Rush, Boston. It marked a fighter pilot hangout, keeping with the hard-driving songs.
They eased themselves into the room and made sure the door was
This woman carried herself with poise. Her tan meant she had free time during the day, and the bag she carried resembled those carried by flight crews.
She had to be a stewardess, then. They sometimes frequented the O’Club pool, but were usually driven away either by the families or the hordes of pilots. He stole a glance—no ring. He still couldn’t determine her age. She couldn’t be a high school student, she was much too mature; and he couldn’t believe that an unmarried teacher for the Department of Defense schools would have lasted this long, unless she was new.
Which led him back to his original conjecture of a stewardess.
He suddenly realized that he hadn’t read his book at all since picking it up. It was as if his eyes had been flash-burned by the sight of her.
He put down his book and headed for the pool. Not looking back, he dove in and stroked for the far side. He pushed off the side and glided the width of the pool underwater. The movement relaxed him, took away some of the tenseness that had been putting his muscles into rigor mortis.
After a few laps Charlie lifted out of the pool, water dripping, and headed back to his seat. He could just make out the title of her book.
Reaching for his towel, he tried to sound relaxed. “What’s an airline stewardess doing reading a book called Alive? Doesn’t that make your passengers uneasy?”
She looked up. “I’m not a flight attendant.”
Charlie’s mind yammered at him, but he was in too far to back out. “You’re not? I’m sorry—it was meant to be a compliment. But how do you like the book?”
She put down her book. “It’s all right. A little gory.”
“Cannibalism usually is. But at least those guys had a conscience about it.”
“You’ve read it?”
“Oh, yeah. Years ago, but it sticks with you.”
She brushed back her hair. “What do you mean ‘at least they had a conscience’?”
Charlie finished wiping himself off. He sat on the side of his chair. “Ever hear of Alfred Packer? There’s a cafeteria named after him at the University of Colorado.”
“No.” She drew her legs up, but seemed interested.
“Talk about macabre. Packer was a guide in the Rockies, took a group up in the fall and got caught in a snowstorm. That spring, he was the only one who made it back from the mountains.” Charlie paused. “They later discovered he had murdered, then eaten, everyone in his party to stay alive. At least those soccer players in your book knew that what they were doing was morally repugnant when they were forced to resort to cannibalism. Packer didn’t hesitate to commit murder, much less eat the people.”
She shivered. “So what’s a pilot doing reading stuff like that? Ever afraid you’ll make your friends uneasy?”
Charlie grinned. “I’m not a pilot.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Really. And by the way, I’m Charlie.”
“Nanette.”
When he shook her hand, it took all his strength to let go.
***
Chapter 6
Monday, 4 June
Clark AB
A monkey-wood sign hung over the Officers’ Club main entrance. The sign pointed to pizza at the left and rathskeller to the right; muffled yelling and whistles came from the right. Bruce, Catman, and Robin turned toward the Rathskeller.
As they approached the door, Bruce heard methodic banging and thuds coming from inside. He cautiously opened the door.…
… and instantly pulled back as a beer bottled whizzed past his head. A female laughed, then shrieked as two men plopped her on top of a table. Music blared from speakers set throughout the room; not new music, but really old, solid rock classics, the type of songs that had been popular before Bruce was even born: Van Halen, .38 Special, Rush, Boston. It marked a fighter pilot hangout, keeping with the hard-driving songs.
They eased themselves into the room and made sure the door was
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