The Road to Wings Read online

  The Road to Wings

  What does it take to earn air force wings? Your heart, your soul, even your very life? Lieutenant Casey Tompkins is starting the most difficult flight training program in the world. She has to face thunderstorms, the death of friends, and male instructors who want to wash her out.

  Captain Kathryn Hardesty is the toughest and best instructor pilot on the base and the chief of flight safety. She’s demanding because she knows the price of failure is tragedy and a smoking hole. She looks out for all the students, especially the female ones.

  Casey has to learn to fly a supersonic jet, not get killed in the process, and face a growing forbidden attraction. Can she muster the intelligence, courage, and unbreakable determination to become an air force pilot? Does she have what it takes to earn wings, find love, and not crash and burn?

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  The Road to Wings

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  The Road to Wings

  © 2017 By Julie Tizard. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-987-7

  This Electronic Original is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: October 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design by Julie Tizard

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to everyone at Bold Strokes Books for taking a chance on a new author who spends more time in the air than in front of a keyboard. Thank you to Patricia Hennig for making my cover vision into something gorgeous. To VK Powell, for your advice in getting this baby off the ground. To Cathy Osweiler, for being a great beta reader and for forty years of crazy friendship. To Kathleen McGrane, for your love, support, and encouragement. I couldn’t have written this without you.

  Finally, to the courageous women military pilots it has been my honor to fly with, you are superstars. And to women everywhere who refuse to take “no” for an answer. Keep reaching for the stars.

  For Maddix Grace

  You are the most amazing young woman I know.

  I love you to the stars and back.

  In loving memory of

  Captain Jody M. Combs

  Navigator, United States Air Force

  9 Oct. 1958–13 Jan. 1993

  Your love and your service will never be forgotten.

  When once you have tasted flight,

  You will always walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward;

  For there you have been and there you will always be.

  —Leonardo da Vinci

  Prologue

  May 1987

  Captain Kathryn Hardesty stood on the wide ramp watching the planes in the airport traffic pattern. As flight safety officer, she was responsible for the safety of the flight operations, and this was her first duty shift. She never got tired of the sight of the massive jets flying different approach and landing patterns to the runway. It was an amazing demonstration of precision and power. The radio brick on her hip crackled to life. “Flight Safety, this is the control tower.”

  Her insides clutched as she keyed the mike button. “Tower, this is Flight Safety, go ahead.”

  “Spokane Approach Control is declaring an emergency for a KC-135 aircraft, call sign Copper 21.”

  “What’s the nature of the emergency?”

  “They are reporting Copper 21 as a missing aircraft.”

  “When did they last have any radio contact?”

  “Last contact was when the aircraft entered the traffic pattern at the auxiliary practice field at 1545 hours. Time now 1615 hours.”

  “Are there any search and rescue aircraft in the area?”

  “They report Elite 85 is inbound to the practice field, ETA ten minutes.”

  “Has the fire department at the auxiliary field been notified?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Roger, Tower, I copy all. Is there anything else?”

  “Elite 85 also reported a column of smoke southwest of the practice field.”

  “Copy, Tower. I’m responding now. Flight Safety out.”

  Oh, God, please don’t let it be her.

  Chapter One

  March 1992

  First Lieutenant Casey Tompkins smiled looking out at the perfect day. The air was cool, the sun shining, the sky a blazing blue, and she was starting the new life she’d always dreamed of. Today was the first day of Air Force pilot training. Driving due east on the long, straight road through the Arizona desert, she recalled everything she had done to get here.

  She’d already beaten the odds just to get accepted. Thousands applied every year, and only a few hundred were chosen. Most didn’t make it past the grueling flight physical. She had to prove she was almost physically perfect with twenty-twenty vision, perfect hearing, no color blindness, and on and on. She’d scored very well on the battery of written tests after studying every night for months. It was two full days of examinations covering math, physics, electronics, mechanical engineering, aerial photo recognition, and flight instrument interpretation. She’d put in extra work to get outstanding personal recommendations from her commanders, and earned an exemplary service record in her first three years in the Air Force. Every spare dollar went to flying lessons to get her private pilot’s license just to make her application more competitive.

  She also remembered the women she left behind. One in particular came into her mind—Lynn. She was sweet, kind, loving, and ready to quit her job and sell her home to move to Arizona to be with her. Casey had broken her heart when she told Lynn not to come with her. I
t had to be done. She had to focus all her time, energy, and attention to make it through pilot training. Now she was on her way. The struggle and sacrifice evaporated into the clear desert sky as anticipation buzzed through her veins.

  There was nothing but cotton and alfalfa fields as far as she could see with the rugged Superstition Mountains on the far horizon. Something in the distance caught her eye. It looked like a swarm of gnats or maybe a beehive. Driving closer, she could tell they weren’t bees but were, in fact, airplanes. She pulled over for a better look and saw dozens of planes banking, descending, and climbing in a crazy, coordinated dance. She had never seen so many planes so close together in her life.

  She recognized the T-37, the primary jet trainer, and the sleek T-38, the supersonic advanced trainer. The T-37 would soon be her jet, and this would be her new world. A T-37 flew right over her head making a hard banked turn with the high-pitched whine of jet noise. The pungent smell of jet exhaust was intoxicating. The ground rumbled and she looked up as a four-ship formation of white T-38 jets roared overhead in a tight line approaching the airport. Transfixed, she watched the lead aircraft snap into a ninety-degree bank turn followed immediately by the second, third, and fourth jets as they executed identical maneuvers. The landing gear came down on the lead jet, then two, three, and four as they flew a graceful descending turn to the runway with perfect symmetry. She was so filled with exhilaration she thought she might spontaneously combust. This was her life’s dream coming true before her eyes. In her soul, she knew someday that would be her leading a four-ship formation of supersonic T-38s to a perfect landing. Only one thought came to her mind: Please, God, don’t let me fuck this up.

  She drove to the main gate, got out her green military ID card, and watched the cute security police airman wave the cars through. The young woman snapped to attention and saluted Casey when she recognized the officer decal on the car.

  Casey returned the salute. “Could you please tell me where the 82nd Student Squadron is? I’m new here and starting pilot training today.”

  The airman gave her a big smile as she pointed down the road. “Yes, ma’am, the student squadron is the third big building on the right. You can park in the rear.”

  “Thank you, Airman.”

  “Any time, ma’am. Congratulations and welcome to Willie, ma’am.” She gave Casey another smart salute and waved her in.

  Casey read the big sign just inside the main gate. “Welcome to Willie. Home of the Best Trained Pilots in the World.”

  She walked up to the student squadron building fifteen minutes early and headed toward the group of men in blue uniforms with fresh, very short haircuts. They were in excellent physical shape and were gesturing and talking like they were already the hotshot pilots they thought they were. Casey sized them up. They were her classmates but also her competition. She could easily match any man here in physical conditioning, intelligence, ambition, and hard work. They were chatting with each other and glanced at her but didn’t speak to her. She approached the nearest one and asked him, “Is this UPT class 93-02?”

  “That’s us. I’m Mike Harris,” he said as he extended his hand to her.

  “Nice to meet you, Mike. I’m Casey Tompkins.” She returned his handshake with a firm grip.

  A loud voice boomed, “All right, everyone, fall in and take a seat.”

  They filed into a large, austere-looking classroom with chalkboards at the front, large airplane models around the room, posters of electrical diagrams, and a giant-sized “whiz wheel,” the portable mechanical flight computer, off to the side. In front of each seat was a big stack of books, a regular-sized whiz wheel, a green flashlight, and a large briefcase. Casey scanned the titles of her books—Weather for Aircrews, T-37 Flight Manual, Aerodynamics, Instrument Flying, Aircraft Weight and Balance, Aerospace Physiology, Instrument Flight Rules, USAF Air Navigation.

  She saw only one other woman in the group. The woman had a big smile on her face as she talked to the guy in the seat next to her. She was pleasant looking but not remarkable. She definitely looked straight, but Casey was glad she wasn’t the only woman in the class.

  “Room, ten-hut!”

  The entire group jumped up and snapped to attention as a middle-aged man in a green flight suit walked to the front of the room. He surveyed the group, let everyone stand ramrod straight for a few minutes, then said, “At ease.

  “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Gary Oscar, commander of the 82nd Student Squadron, and I want to welcome you to your first day of pilot training. You’ve accomplished a lot just to get here, but now the real work begins. You’re going to have a very busy day today, and every day, for the next year. Your only job right now is to complete this training program and learn to fly as an Air Force pilot. Here are a few points I want to touch on. Be on time. Lateness will not be tolerated whether it’s showing up for class or dropping a bomb on a target; you will be on time for everything. Don’t get in trouble with the locals. If any of you gets a DUI or gets arrested, even off base, you will be out of this program immediately and probably out of the Air Force as well. And finally, we are here to help you. If you have any problems, of any kind, my door is always open. Come and talk to me and I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Once again, welcome to Willie, and now I’d like to introduce your class commander, Captain Steve Morgan.”

  Another voice shouted out, “Room, ten-hut,” as the squadron commander left the room. Casey watched the commander walk past her out of her peripheral vision and knew the last thing he’d said was a complete lie. In her three years in the Air Force, and the four years of ROTC in college before that, she’d learned that you never go to the commander with any problems, certainly not any personal problems. That was the quickest way to end your career. The statement “We’re here to help you” was a required platitude in every commander’s speech. No, Casey would never talk to this man about any problem, would prefer he not even know who she was, and would maintain a very low profile while in pilot training.

  “I’m Captain Morgan, your class commander, and we have a jam-packed day today, so you need to pay attention because I won’t be repeating myself. On top of your manuals is your schedule for the next month. You’ll be doing ground training, academics, and physiological training for the first four weeks before you go to the flight line. You’ll be taking three to five written tests every week, and you’ll be evaluated on everything you do at every stage of training. Unlike the way some of you got through college, we do not use the ‘Pump and Dump’ system here. You cannot cram the night before the test, regurgitate the material, and then forget everything you just learned. Everything here is based on the building block approach. You need to thoroughly understand the material, memorize it, retain it, and correctly apply it in the air. You need to hit the ground running if you are going to make it through this program. Put your books in your briefcase and follow me to equipment issue.”

  Casey was a little nervous as she packed up her books, but her nerves were overcome by the excitement of being here. How am I ever going to learn all this? She vowed to never let any of her classmates ever see any of her nervousness.

  The group filed out and went down the hall to a big room with a sign reading “Individual Equipment Issue.” Arrows on the concrete floor showed the direction of movement through the giant room with piles of gear stacked on long tables. There were three small fitting rooms to try on flight suits. When Casey got her turn in the fitting room and tried on her flight suit for the first time, she almost whooped out loud as she stepped into the green coveralls. There were a dozen zippers on it, and the synthetic fire-retardant Nomex material was stiff and scratchy at first. She pulled up the long zipper from her crotch to her throat and stared at herself in the mirror in amazement. She pulled in the Velcro tabs at the waist so it wasn’t quite so baggy and admired herself in the mirror. The flight suit made her shoulders look broad, her waist tapered, her legs long, and nicely showed off her firm butt. She couldn’t wipe the huge grin off her f
ace. This flight suit made her look and feel butch, powerful, and hot. This would definitely be her favorite Air Force uniform ever.

  They each received a green padded helmet bag, four olive drab flight suits, a Nomex flight jacket, a pair of black leather flight boots, leather flying gloves, and a duffel bag. They were herded into another room labeled “Helmet Fittings,” where Casey watched with fascination as each of her classmates had a large metal contraption put on their heads followed by an enlisted technician pouring a liquid resembling pancake batter into the top of the device. The first man cried out like a little kid, “Ow, that’s hot!” as the liquid turned into foam and oozed out from the holes all over his head. It solidified instantly and the technician scraped off the excess with a knife, then released the man from the head mold. Another technician removed the rigid foam skull from the mold, labeled each one with the student’s name, and stacked them like a skull collection in boxes on the wall. When it was Casey’s turn, the liquid felt like a warm hug on her head. This is for my very own helmet, custom made for my head.

  The class commander shouted, “Drop your gear off in the classroom and you have thirty minutes for lunch. The dining hall is across the street. Be back here at 1300 hours. Do not be late!” As they hurried across the street to the dining hall, her classmates were talking and joking with each other. None of them spoke to her with the exception of Mike, the guy she met when she first got here.

  “That’s quite a pile of books they gave us, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be up late reading every night.”

  “I noticed you’re a first lieutenant, not a second lieutenant ‘butter bar’ like the rest of us. What did you do before pilot training?” Mike asked.