Test Pilot's Daughter: Revenge (8 page)

When she arrived at PDK, Furgeson had a curious twinkle in his eye. He seemed to be in an unusually stellar mood. “Hey ace, you’re one lucky chick. Daddy called to talk about your birthday. How’d you like to taste some real flying, dogfightin’ that is?”

“
You’re shittin’ me.”

“
No, he came up with one hell of a birthday present.”

“
What, a war video?”

Furgeson handed her a brochure about an adventure enterprise called
Sky Warriors
. “He’s gonna pay for you and I to spend a day in the
Sky Warriors
combat training program.”

She looked at the pictures, pointed and said, “You mean we get to fly these? Holy crap, where is it?”

“
Fulton County, Charlie Brown Field on the west side of Atlanta.”

“
Wow, that’s gotta cost a shit-load.”

“
It’s over a thousand dollars.”

“
Just like my dad,” she said, “see what the little girl can do. I’ll show him.”

Glancing over the brochure, she learned the business was started by two guys who owned military trainers, T-34 Mentors. After years of dogfighting each other, they realized people in search of an exceptional thrill would pay for the experience of being a fighter pilot for a day. They equipped their classic airplanes with 300 horses of muscle to simulate the feeling of a small jet. Just like military fighters, the Mentors were flown with stick and rudder. A heads-up gun sight was mounted in front, allowing the pilot to aim the nose at the opposition and fire a laser gun by pulling a trigger on the stick. Laser actuated smoke generators would indicate a kill. The program was organized to teach one very basic dogfighting maneuver called the “High YoYo.”

High YoYo, my ass,
she chuckled as she stared at the inverted airplane on the brochure.

Like kids on a fieldtrip, Christina and Furgeson drove through heavy Atlanta traffic across town. Stuck in a mass of automobiles on the north loop, forward progress slowed to a creep. A fast jogger would’ve had a significant advantage.

“
God, this sucks. Can’t we figure out some other way?” Christina was restless.

“
I guess we could head down to I 20.”

“
Do it. We’ll never get there this way.”

Furgeson picked his way through traffic and headed south.

“
So do you think you can handle air combat?” he asked.

“
Hope so,” she replied, looking at the brochure. “It’d be mighty embarrassing to toss the cookies all over one of those beauties.”

“
Just remember to tighten your stomach when you get into the G’s.”

“
Why’s that?”

“
Blood runs out of your head. . .you’ll black out.”

Christina giggled, reaching over and poking at his potbelly. “Shit John, if tightening the stomach is the trick, you’re dead meat.”

“
We’ll just see. My body ain’t in the greatest form, but remember, I been there.”

Eventually, they made it to Charlie Brown field and located the big green building with
Sky Warriors
over the door. Ron Jacobs, owner of the business, introduced himself and almost ripped their hands off with enthusiasm.

“
Hi ya’ll doin’? Ya’ll come on in to the briefin’ room now. Mighty glad to see ya’ll. I’m Ron Jacobs, call name, Blue Eyes.”

They were fitted with flight suits, helmets and parachutes. He gave them a cup of coffee and a quick safety lecture. The primary topic was how to exit the aircraft in an emergency and how to deploy the ‘chute. Christina began to wonder,
Is this a dog an’ pony show or what?

The two safety pilots for their mission walked in laughing loudly like one had just whispered a sleazy joke. They were slamming down Big Macs and fries as they approached the conference room. Christina couldn’t help but notice the good looking fighter pilots. They finally realized customers were aboard when they shucked the food and introduced themselves.

“
Hi, I’m Lazer, and this here’s Frog.”

The ex-military flyers, fully decked out in gear, were in their mid-twenties. They invited Christina and Furgeson to sit down as they began the briefing. It all sounded very serious and very military.

Carefully looking over the two young men with the keen eyes of a twenty-one-year-old female, Christina was struck by the stature of the one called Lazer. He was at least six-four, dark hair and blue eyes, strong jaw and quite impressive in his blue flight suit.
No doubt, a certified jock and a jet driver to boot,
she drooled. Unlike Frog, Lazer wasn’t wearing a ring. Completely out of character, she tried to conjure up some flirtatious gestures without being too obvious. She batted her big brownies and teased, “Hey fighter jock, what’s your real name, anyway? Surely your mother doesn’t call you Laser.”

“
Well Ma’rm,” he said in a heavy southern drawl, “my mama calls me Mike, but everbody else calls me Lazer. That’s Lazer. . .with a Z?” He wrote his call name on the white board.

“
So, let me guess,” she flirted. “You majored in electrical engineering with a minor in electro-optics, and you’re a laser expert? That’s why they call you Lazer, right?”

“
Hell no!
I majored in girls and minored in raisin’ hell. Call me Lazer ‘cuz I tend to zap folk outta the sky,” he responded with a roar.

Christina cringed at his southern slang but liked the sound of his laughter. “Well then, if I may be so bold, is there a Mrs. Lazer?”

“
Negatron
,
ain’t no Mrs. Clark neither, ‘ceptin for my ma that is. Why?” He grinned from ear to ear.

“
Just curious. So, would you mind if I asked about your flying credentials?”

“
Not at all, sweetheart. I love to brag. An uncle of mine taught me to fly when I was about twelve, just big enough to reach the rudders. Got my private when I’s sixteen. Had five-hunert hours and an IFR ratin’ before I finished college. Then I went an joint the Air
Farce
. Just now getting out with over two-thousand hours in an F-18. Last year at Nellis, they give me the Risner Award.”

“
My God!”
she gasped. “Can’t be
.
. .So you’re a Top Gun?”

“
Naah, that’s what they call them sissy li’l navy pilots.”

“
I can’t believe that.”
Sounds more like he got the Li’l Abner award,
she snickered.

“
It’s the God’s truth. Hey gal, wanna come up to my room and see my trophy?” he teased with a chuckle.

“
So, what’s an ace like you doing in a piss-ant operation like this?” She was immediately embarrassed by her own impudence. “Err. . .I mean no disrespect, but why get out of the military?”

“
Naah, real question is why wud anybody in their right haid stay in the military? Outside a flying, it sucks sompin’ fierce. Air
Farce
treated me like a turd in a swimmin’ pool. Anyway, they wanted to put me behind a desk. Reckoned it was a good time to bail out and try an get on with Delta. Just having some fun here at the
Sky Warriors
while I’m a waitin’. Hey, cain ya believe it? They
pay
me ta do this.”

“
Well, I guess that makes a great deal of sense then. I wish you the best of luck.” She gave him her warmest smile.
Now there’s a real man,
she thought,
a little redneck, but he’s got a cute butt
. An unfamiliar but cozy feeling warmed her to the core.

Lazer took control of the briefing and said, “Now you two listen up. I’m gonna tell ya what yer in for.”

Waving two toy airplanes mounted on the end of sticks to demonstrate the various maneuvers, he explained the fundamentals of air warfare. Although his grammar and enunciation were on the borderline of horrid, he spoke with a great deal of passion.

Here’s a man who truly loves to fly,
her mind wandered.

“
Secret to success in air combat is the management of yore kinetic energy. Gotta larn two things if you wanna keep from getting your ass shot off. Gotta keep yer head on a swivel see, stay on the high ground. The trick is to always know the where ‘bouts a yore opponent and conserve the potential energy. Potential energy, yore altitude that is, can be converted to kinetic energy when you dive down fer the kill. The first man that runs outta kinetic energy or loses sight of his opponent usually gets his nuts busted. Oh. . .er. . .scuse me Ma’rm. . .I mean, he usually gets kilt. You gotta larn how to fly by the seat a yore pants.” He looked at Christina and snickered, “Heh, heh, in yore case, sweetheart, that’d be by the seat a yore panties.”

All the men in the room railed heartily at Christina’s expense. She thought,
What a pig! Bet he loves the idea of women fighter pilots in the military.

“
Very funny,” she said. “Mind keeping the panty jokes to yourself?”

He looked at her and grinned, then went on, “Point is, ain’t no time to look at yer instruments when yer in a dogfight. Gotta keep yer eye on the enemy.” He paused, took a long drink of coffee and continued, “Now, today we’re gonna concentrate on the High Yo Yo, one of the most fundamental combat maneuvers ever invented. You see, when the enemy’s in front and sees you attacking, his only defense is to roll on his side and pull like hell right ‘cross yore path to cover his tail.” He showed the two planes turning and closing head on. “If he can pull more G’s, yore never gonna get behind. Yore only counter-strategy in this case is to work in the third dimension. That’s the vertical. When you see you can’t get thar, take yore plane straight up, roll ‘er over one-eighty on ‘er back, and pull like a demon in his direction. If yore still not on his tail, do another High YoYo and so on ‘til you get lined up fer the shot. Long as you don’t run out of kinetic energy, and you can stand the G’s, you’re gonna win ever time.” He demonstrated the repeated maneuver with one toy airplane pulling up, over and in behind the other.

“
So Lazer, why is it called a High Yo Yo?” Christina asked, trying to drum up a little conversation.

“
Gist full a questions ain’t ya, sweetheart? Not sure, but I do know one thing, you’ll feel like a friggin’ Yo Yo when yer done.”

Christina thought,
Gee, they must not teach English in air combat school.
When she tried to picture the actual maneuvers, she had a chill.
What the hell am I getting into here? Can’t believe we’re actually gonna do this shit with two planes close together. Can’t be legal.

“
Looks pretty wild Lazer. Just how safe is this?” she asked.

“
Don’t worry none, sweetheart. Why it’s safer ‘an driving down I 85,” Lazer roared. “That’s why we sit in the back. Frog and I are up there to make sure ‘n git yore little fanny back alive. When I say, ‘my airplane’ or wiggle the stick, you just let go the controls, and ole Lazer’ll save yore ass.”

Christina had to laugh.
What a joke! By the time he says ‘myyyyy aaairplaaane’ we’ll all be dead!
She couldn’t help herself, she just had to fire back at this hot shot. “So what you’re saying is, we’re paying big bucks for the opportunity to trust our lives to two guys named Frog and Lazer?”

Furgeson gave her a stern look that said,
Would you please shut the hell up?
She decided to back off.

“
No, sweetheart,” Lazer replied. “Yore payin’ to get up thar and have the time a yore life.”

Frog jumped in to explain that after both Christina and Furgeson practiced a few High Yo Yos, they’d go out and make a couple of combat runs, where anything goes. It would be as real as it gets without hard bullets.